Tom took his arm away from his face and looked up. His face was wet with tears, his eyes sad and lonely. He tried to regain his composure and look strong, but as Doug approached him he lost it. His face crumpled in tears and he brought his hands up to his face to cover it, but as he did he felt arms around him. He tried to pull away but the arms held tight, so he just accepted it. The feeling of comfort overwhelmed him, and he began to sob in earnest, finally putting his arms around Doug as well and clutching him tightly as he cried.

Tom was finally asleep, but he was restless. He tossed and turned, waking every once and awhile and raising his head, sure that he had heard something, but there was never anything there. A loud creaking noise suddenly brought him full awake, sitting halfway up in the bed and looking around the dark room, but again he found no cause for the sound. He settled back down on his side under the covers, sighing deeply and then rolling over onto his other side. He found himself staring straight into the eyes of Lee Eckert.

"Hey there, buddy!" Eckert shouted, grinning like a madman.

Hanson tried to scramble away, but Eckert was on top of him in a second, one large hand clamped down over Tom's mouth. Eckert brought his sweaty, dirty face down close to Tom's and put a finger up to his own lips, uttering "Shhhhh." Tom whimpered beneath the filthy hand pressing down on his face, causing Eckert to tighten his grip on the younger man's face. He brought his mouth down to Tom's ear and breathed heavily into it, whispering gutturally, "I told you I could come back."

Beneath Eckert's hand, Tom screamed, his eyes wide with terror. Eckert just laughed in response, then brought his other hand up holding a large knife that glinted in the moonlight streaming through the window. "Now," he said putting the blade against Tom's throat, "I'm gonna take my hand off your mouth, and I'm gonna put this knife…" He pressed the blade harder for emphasis. "…right here where I can get to it when I need it." He put the knife down on the window ledge above the headboard. "So I'm gonna take my hand away now…and you're going to keep your fucking mouth shut. Right?" He leaned over farther so that his face was inches from Tom's. "Right?"

Tom nodded fearfully, and Eckert let go of his face. He grabbed Tom's hands and pinned them above his head, then brought his mouth down to Tom's neck and began biting and sucking it. He ran his tongue up to Tom's ear and whispered again, causing a shiver to run through the trapped man's body. "Mmmm…you remember how good this feels, don't you?" Suddenly he was looking down on Tom from above again, then brought his mouth down hard against Tom's. Using just one large hand now to hold his victim's hands above his head, he used his other hand to pry Tom's jaw open while his lips devoured the tender ones underneath him. Eckert's hot, vile tasting tongue probed and explored Hanson's mouth.

Tom gagged and writhed beneath the heavy man, trying desperately to pull away from the disgusting invasion, but Eckert persisted and let go of Tom's hands so that he could reach between their bodies and grope Tom's genitals. Eckert was grinding himself against the smaller body beneath him, and Tom was finding it harder and harder to breathe. Eckert was back to nuzzling Tom's neck again and mumbling against his throat, "Gonna fuck you, cop…gonna fuck you into next week and back."

Eckert's hands were reaching between Tom's legs again and his tongue was making its way down his bare chest as Tom reached above, stretching his arm as far as it would go and praying as his fingers felt all around the window ledge. Finally he was rewarded with the feeling of cool metal beneath his hand. He grasped the knife and brought it down fast and hard, plunging it deep into Eckert's back. But Eckert did not stop his assault. Tom tried to pull the knife out to strike again, but it would not budge. He stared in horror as Eckert rose above him, laughing. "You dumb fuck!" he roared. "Haven't learned your lesson yet, have you?!" he shouted as he reached his arm around behind him and pulled the knife from his back. He held it in front of him…the thick, dark blood oozing along the blade and dripping onto Tom's chest. Eckert stuck his tongue out and drew it up the blade, lapping up his own blood. He looked at Tom again and howled with laughter. "Praying, are ya, Tommy? God ain't gonna help you now." He leaned in close and clamped his blood coated mouth over Tom's once more. Tom felt the bile rising in his throat as Eckert's lips and tongue meshed with his, spreading the blood in and around his mouth. His attacker then moved his mouth to Tom's ear and whispered, "Are you ready to die now?" Tom watched, terror stricken, as Eckert rose up with the knife and then brought it down fast, swiftly and cleanly slicing Tom's throat from left to right.

Tom bolted upright in the bed, clutching his throat, his long, loud scream echoing off the walls of the hospital room. He gasped for breath, looking around wildly but not really seeing anything, and then wrapped his arms around himself as the tears began to fall.

Doug had been sitting in a chair near the bed reading while Tom slept. His friend had dozed off soon after Doug had returned to the room following Detective Michaels' questioning. Now, Tom's sudden scream had startled him to attention. He jumped to his feet, his magazine falling to the floor, trying to figure out what was going on. When he saw Tom sitting up in bed and crying again, he wasn't sure what to do. He approached the bed and asked tentatively, "Hey…Tom…what…what's wrong, man?"

He reached out to touch Tom's shoulder, but his friend cowered and yelled, "Get off of me! Get the fuck off of me!!"

Doug looked around the room nervously, wondering what to do and hoping someone else would come to help as Tom rocked back and forth, his arms tight around himself, uttering, "No, no, no, no…" over and over again.

Doug was grateful when he saw a nurse, an older woman in purple scrubs, enter the room. She saw his apprehension and quickly calmed him when she said, "It's okay, hon'…this happens a lot. Usually his mom's here though." She went over to Tom and moved in front of him so that he could see her. "Tom? Hey…it's Helen…it's okay." She put her hands on his shoulders. "It's okay…you're okay…it's just another dream."

Tom had stopped rocking but was shaking badly. He looked up at the woman. His wide, brown eyes were still wet with tears, but he seemed to calm down when he saw her. "I…I…" he stammered.

The nurse gently pushed him back to lie down on the bed. "C'mon, sweetie…lie down. It's okay. I'm going to get you something to help you go back to sleep, okay?" He looked up at her and nodded. She smiled and said, "Okay. You talk to your friend here, and I'll be right back."

Helen walked toward the door, but stopped first to whisper to Doug, "Don't worry, hon'. I know it's scary, but he's okay." She turned back to look at Tom who was now lying back against the pillows with his eyes closed, breathing heavily, his arms still wrapped around himself. "Happens every night. Sometimes during the day too if he's really tired." She sighed. "I'll be back with a sedative. Go on and talk to him. It helps." With that she left the room.

Doug stood feeling helpless. He really didn't know what to do or to say, but he knew his friend needed him. He pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat down. For a moment he just sat there, clasping and unclasping his hands nervously. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke, "Hey…Tom. You…you okay now?"

Tom opened his eyes but did not look at Doug. He reached down for the sheet and pulled it up higher around himself, and then shook his head slowly. "No…I don't think I am," he said, barely audible, fighting back the tears again.

"Well…um…" Doug looked around, hoping the nurse would come back soon. "Maybe you need to talk to that guy…that uh…psychologist guy! Yeah…that psychologist guy."

"Yeah," Tom muttered. "Maybe." The tears were falling freely now. "Stupid fucking dreams." He sniffed and leaned back again, closing his eyes.

Doug didn't know if he should keep talking or stay quiet. He looked toward the door again and was relieved to see the nurse coming back into the room. She went over to Tom and injected a sedative into his IV, then patted him on the shoulder. "There you go, sweetie. You'll feel better in no time." He swallowed hard and nodded, and she pulled the blanket up over the sheet. "Just close your eyes and let the medicine help, okay?" She watched as he settled under the covers, closing his eyes and turning to the side just a bit, his hands folded under his cheek. She whispered to Doug, "He should be asleep in a few minutes. You could go ahead home then."

"But…" said Doug, "but what if…I mean…"

"He won't wake up. Not until mid-morning…maybe closer to noon. Believe me…" Helen looked at her patient again sadly. "It's always like this."

Doug watched her leave the room and then moved to the more comfortable chair that he had been occupying before Tom's outburst. He picked up his magazine and tried to concentrate on it, but the words didn't make sense anymore. After several minutes of watching Tom, he felt confident that his friend was now sleeping soundly, so he reluctantly left to go home for the night, knowing that he would not be getting much sleep himself.

"Adam! Come on in. Have a seat." Detective Michaels motioned to Captain Fuller to enter his office while he wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Tuna salad," he said as he wadded up the paper bag, wrapper, and napkin into a large ball and tossed it into the trash can.

"From downstairs?" Fuller asked as he sat down. "Brave man."

Michaels laughed. "I should know better, right? The wife quit packing my lunch years ago…says to make it myself or take my chances at the deli." The detective shrugged. "Lesser of two evils."

Fuller chuckled, then asked, "So…what have you got?"

Michaels sighed and shuffled through the papers on his desk before finding the one he wanted. He picked it up and handed it over to the captain. He talked as Fuller looked it over. "We have reason to believe he's hanging out over in Langston. One of our informants in the area says he's seen him in the Toro Bar a few times. I've got some guys canvassing the neighborhood…checking out the apartment buildings and such."

"It says here he opened a bank account at Tanner Financial two days ago," said Fuller. "What the hell?"

"Yeah, I know. He used a post office box for an address though. We're staking it out, but what I don't get is…"

"He's just out running around," Fuller interrupted. "He's not even trying to hide."

"Right," answered Michaels.

"And why did he let Hanson live after attacking him? He knew Tom could identify him. And he left his DNA all over the place. It's almost like he wants to get caught."

"Or he doesn't care either way," said Michaels. "Like Hanson said…he's a career criminal…knows he's going away for something eventually…figured he'd make it worth his while…get his revenge on the kid first thing after he got out."

Fuller shook his head. "Son of a bitch." He sighed. "Well, at least if he's not trying to hide, we ought to be catching up to him pretty soon."

Tom sat propped up in the hospital bed, waiting. His stomach was in knots, and he had a headache that just would not go away no matter how many pain killers he had been given. His hands were in his lap, twisting nervously around each other as he tried to keep them from shaking. He had put this off long enough. He looked up as a tall, thin, grey haired man entered the room. He looked to be in his late fifties and had a pleasant smile on his face as he approached Tom. "Hey, Tom. How are you? I'm Dr. Hirsch," he said, extending his hand.

Here we go, Tom thought as he half-heartedly shook the psychologist's hand.

Finally, an update! Thanks for waiting patiently. I think I can get another chapter up pretty soon to make up for the delay. :-) Please keep leaving reviews! It really does make me want to write more when I get feedback from you. Thanks! :-)