CHAPTER 5

Once Clarke and the forensics team arrived, Max secluded herself in the bedroom, eager to be alone. Ryan however had ventured in at one point, checking on her. "Hey Max, you okay?" He asked, worried as the dutiful uncle that he was.

She hadn't replied, rather merely acknowledged his presence in an effort not to be rude. He figured she had been sitting there by the window for the better part of the day, not moving. She was stubborn that way, unyielding. The world would have to move for her before she would move for it. Once she was committed, she was permanently committed. Ryan nodded to himself knowingly; it was a Hardy trait after all.

"Do you want me to get Mike?" He offered. Surely she'd be in want of the comfort only a husband could give. Mike himself seemed just about ready to keel over into his wife's embrace.

"No." She answered quicker than he expected.

"Alright. We'll be right outside." Ryan said before closing the door. Seeking solitude was another familial attribute.

Mike hadn't told Ryan about his argument with Max that morning. It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last. But unlike the conflicts of his past, they'd forgiven each other and were soon on their way to forgetting. Or rather, their disagreement was perhaps the last thing on their minds at this point.

…

A door slams shut and the sound vibrated across the expanse of the room. "You did well." One voice began, seemingly pleased. "They'll be squirming like worms on a hook." Had it been some medieval torture drama, a hearty yet menacing chuckle would have followed. As it was, this was the real world today and such dramatics were savoured for an ultimate end. And though looming, it had yet to transpire.

"Right." Mark muses absently. His enthusiasm was somewhat lacking in comparison.

A frustrated groan escapes the throat of the other. "What now?"

Mark shrugged, his hands in his pockets. "Nothing." He began, fully intent on the opposite. "It's just… I think we need to be a little more cautious." And it was ironic how cautious he was being in regards to the words he chose. Nevertheless, he was determined to raise the issue and have it heard.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't wanna get caught." He scoffed.

"You won't. As long as you do as I say." The calmer of the two explains. It was all very simple really.

He held up his hands as a gesture of reasoning. "Like going out again later? So soon?" They had to be smart about this.

"Exactly! That's the point - they won't be expecting it."

A heavy sigh drifted into the air. "I think we should lay low for a couple days." Mark replied, keeping himself and his voice small.

A fist slammed on the nearest surface. "Absolutely not!" The owner countered. "We're not gonna let them get comfortable with whatever time they think they have." As if comfort was even an option in the midst of such terror. "Just as you're not going to give them the chance to think."

"But…"

"No buts." He interrupts, having had enough of Mark's excuses. "You're doing this and you're doing it tonight." The tone was equally as demanding as the words.

Mark understood how risky it was going to be. He knew that pushing the envelope further might just cause a tear in their pursuit. And he knew also that he was not the one in charge and he could do nothing more but comply, nodding in submission into the glass void that was the mirror before him.

…

It wasn't until five in the evening before Clarke and his team left. Though they spent the majority of their time in the victim's apartment, searching for clues to help in their investigation, both Max and Mike were bombarded with questions.

"No, i didn't hear anything." Mike answers the same question for the third time.

"Something woke me but I don't know what it was." Max chimes in as she finally joins them in the living room.

Mike takes her hand when she settles on the couch beside him and he's grateful she lets him. "Could it have been the baby?" Ryan asks from the stool by the kitchen counter.

"What baby?" The couple ask in unison.

The agent interviewing them answered. "The victim's baby. It wasn't found in her apartment or nearby." Max cringed at his choice of words. It sounded so impersonal; so cavalier, as though the thing in question was a simple murder weapon or an otherwise discarded tool of leverage.

"She…" Max mused sadly, her eyes drifting elsewhere.

"I'm sorry?"

Her gaze returned to the man questioning them. "The baby. It was a girl." She confirmed.

Mike's hand moved to rub her back, and she looks at him. "She told me last week." Their eyes lock and the fellow felt sorrow is shared between them. Mike remembers how his wife would often confide in the other woman in regards to their kindred condition. They had quickly become good friends and often imagined their children growing together as the same. The bond made the situation just that much more cruel and painful.

Ryan notices how miserable his niece was looking and decided to help in a way he could. "Alright, that's enough." He deems simply and escorts the other man out, allowing the young couple some breathing space.

"She was my friend." Max whispers against Mike's chest. "He killed my friend." With his arms around her, Mike kisses her forehead. He didn't have the words to speak. There were none. What could he say to quell the ache inside her?

It had been hours since that moment she opened the door to reveal her friend – lifeless and limp against the wall; bruised and bloodied. And though the sight was gone, as happens sometimes, an image settles and hovers and remains long after that first glimpse. And sound stopped and motion stopped for much, much more than a moment.

Then gradually, with forensics and coroners, time too reawakened and moved sluggishly on. Mark was still out there, surely intent on killing again. And they were nearsighted. The future lay before them – inevitable... and invisible.

The TV had been on mute for a while but when Ryan returns, he notices the headline rolling across the screen. "Hey, turn that up." He instructed Mike.

Much like the other morning, they listened on in dread. "Another pregnant woman was killed in downtown Queens early this morning. Her profile however is notably dissimilar to that of the six previous victims…" Mike sighs as the news anchor continues on about their neighbour.

"I think we're aware, Ryan." The young agent groans sarcastically, slightly annoyed with Ryan who just had to listen to that which they already knew.

"Wait…" Ryan replies.

Suddenly, an urgent knock at the door drowns out the voice of the broadcaster.

"Someone fitting Mark's description was seen outside Lily Gray's abandoned Art Gallery twenty minutes ago." Agent Clarke announced after letting himself in. "Within five minutes, another woman was abducted from the east side of Central Park."

"Oh God." Max exhales, her face falling into her hands. Could this day get any worse?

"Your men didn't think to look there before?!" Ryan asked. The FBI truly had the capacity for incompetence. "Whatever. He'll be going back. We'll find him there." He proclaimed, grabbing his jacket and gun.

"Wait up." Mike announced, doing the same.

Max stood and reached out to stop him. "What are you doing?"

Mike turns to his wife who hadn't given him that look since the moment they met and his tongue felt the need to belittle both of them. She had looked at him as if he were crazy or just plain stupid for daring to be so. He supposed both. "Max, don't fight me on this." It didn't change his decision however. "You know it's what I have to do."

"No, it's what you want to do." She clarifies. "Ryan and Clarke can handle this." Although she didn't much like the idea of her uncle going either, there wasn't anything she could do to stop him. With Mike however, she had a pregnant wife's advantage. "Please?"

"Max…" He almost whined when she gave him those eyes that would bring even the highest of men to their knees.

"No, Mike." Max refused, and approached him. "You don't have to be the hero." It was something she had said before, a long time ago before they had gotten married; shortly after Joe's incarceration. Mike had wanted to pursue Mark on some solo mission he believed to be fool proof. Of course, he himself was still grieving over the loss of his father and nothing seemed more appealing than catching and killing the man who did it. Nothing except the love of a good woman. "Not for me."

It had worked and that shared love gave him the luxury of forgetting Mark and his looming threat. Now, that threat was very much a reality and neither her promise nor the entreating glint her eyes could keep him from ending it.

"Come on! This is a time critical situation here." Clarke reminded them by the threshold.

When Mike turn back to Max, her eyes had hardened and he knew if he didn't leave quickly, there was every possibility she'd throw something at his head again. "I'm sorry." He says quickly before kissing her lips chastely and following Ryan out the door.

Max could've screamed had she the energy to do so.

After instructing the agents outside to remain there and protect Max, they buckled themselves into the Tahoe. "Better not get killed." Ryan warns Mike from the driver's seat. "I'll never hear the end of it."

…

Upon arrival at the Art Gallery, they're surprised to find no squad cars in the vicinity. Apparently Clarke had called off back up so as not to alert the twin and give him time to flee. Snipers however were stationed on the roofs of each building surrounding the gallery. Of course, they knew, stealth was a priority.

"We've got movement." One tells Clarke over his transceiver.

"Alright." Ryan begins. "We'll go in and keep the line open." He tells Clarke, switching on his phone and hiding it in his pocket.

Mike starts toward the building and unsheathes his gun from its holster. Ryan joined him and they entered, involuntarily slamming the door shut behind them.

"What was that?" Mark's head snapped up, his attention averted from the woman strapped to a table.

He approaches the nearest door and through the crack in it's opening, he spots Mike Weston and Ryan Hardy, guns pointed and ready to fire. "You led them here!" Another voice whispers angrily. "Idiot!"

The woman seized the opportunity and screams in an effort to lead whoever was in the next room towards her.

Both Ryan and Mike warily approach a room at the far end of the Gallery's foyer in search of the source of the sudden shriek. Ryan pushes the door open, letting the light flood into the darkened room and a heavily pregnant young woman is revealed.

While the elder man rushes to the woman's aid, Mike maintains the grasp on his gun, his eyes browsing for any movement in the corners of the room.

"We're with the FBI. We're gonna get you outta here." Ryan promises, relieving the woman from her confines.

"Where'd they go?" Mike asked.

"I don't know where he went." She answers distraught, though less so than she had been as Ryan helps her off of the table.

"What about the other? Did you see where the other went?"

She shakes her head, clearing her throat. "There wasn't anyone else."

Mike takes his gaze from the shadows towards Ryan, confused. Surely he hadn't been the only one to have heard two voices.

A single shot is fired and it's only when Mike falls to the ground that Ryan realises it hadn't been he who had pulled the trigger. "Mike!" He yells as the woman screams in fright.

Another shot impacts the air around them and the screaming finally stops.

Ryan doesn't have a chance to reach for his gun before his knees give way beneath him and he joins Mike on the floor, having been kicked from behind.

"Who's there?!" Ryan demands. He drags himself toward Mike, checking on him. He was alive and awake, though barely breathing. Blood seeped relentlessly from a wound in his chest and Ryan could only hope the bullet had missed his heart.

"Just us." A voice finally answers. Mark slowly emerged from the shadowed corner, revealing himself to the two men.

If Mike could move without causing more damage, he'd have launched himself at Mark and ripped the sick bastard apart. With the lack of energy, all he could muster was the hateful fire in the blue of his eyes.

"So, where's Luke?" Ryan asked, mindful of the gun pointed at his head. He supposed the other voice had been Mark's less conservative twin.

Mark chuckles. "Right here, silly." He replies, his neck straightened and a crooked smirk appeared on his face in the split second since Ryan asked his question.

For the second time that day, Mike and Ryan share a look of sheer bewilderment. And it's only as Mark continues, far more confident and outspoken than they recalled, that they realised it wasn't him speaking.

It was Luke.

The twin Max shot. The twin Max killed. The twin who was now truly one and the same with his brother.

"Hey there, Mikey." Luke greets satirically. "Ooh, that's a lot of blood." He remarks, addressing the bullet wound. He turns his head, staring at nothing and no one. "We better get outta here. We need him to survive."

"Survive for what?" Mike demanded, coughing out the words.

The twin turns back to match the direction his gun was facing. "To endure what we've got planned for you." Which twin was now talking however, they didn't know. "You see, we've not been punishing Max… at least not directly," they explain. "We're punishing you, Mike."

"You killed our mother. Your child will know what it's like to live without his." Mike leaned up, ignoring the sharp bolt of pain in his chest.

"Come near my wife and you're both dead." He promises. The flame in his eyes burning with the conviction in his words.

The twins shared chortle is interrupted by the pounding of footsteps and bellowed orders. Clarke and his team were raiding the building.

"We'll see." They conclude before fleeing to the shadows and down into what Ryan supposed was the basement. Had it not been for Mike's waning consciousness, he'd have gone after them.

"Mike! Come on, buddy. Stay with me." He coaxed, adding pressure to the wound to keep the last of his blood from flowing free. "Think of Max. She'll want the opportunity to hound us later for being idiots."

Mike smiles weakly at the thought before blood escapes his mouth, coughing the last breath when his vision begins to blur.