a/n Not as long a wait as last time, truthfully some of this chapter was already written up, i was planning on waiting for it to be betta'd, but i just couldn't resist posting it. So please forgive if there are mistakes, perhaps in the future i will upload a betta version. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own only the creation of The Beholder in this story, and believe me i don't want to, he creeps me out.

When Peter pulled up in front of his quaint attached city house, his guilt for leaving Neal alone had grown again. He shouldn't have left him in that house without any company tonight.

He dragged himself out of his car and pushed the door shut. He should have called after Neal and insisted that he come and stay with him and Elizabeth. Or the very least allow Peter to stay with him at June's. That comment about June being out of town still didn't sit right in Peter's stomach. Neal had said it out of dread of being alone, and Peter had just driven off and left the man that was supposed to be his partner. If anything happened to Neal in his absence, he knew that he would have no one else to blame except for himself.

Elizabeth was going to tell him off in that prudent tone that she did when he told her of the days events. And she would be right. He heaved a tired sigh, he knew what he had to do.

But first he would go in and tell El.

Neal Caffrey pushed open the glass front door to June's lavish house into a softly lit corridor. June had left the lights on before she had left. On a high tile toped table set to the side in the entrance, was an envelope in her delicate looped writing addressed to Neal. He smiled despite himself. He truly loved June, she was a unique woman in a world that no longer bred her kind, one who had accepted him into her life without hesitation. That took a lot of guts, especially in a place such as New York. He picked up the envelope and popped open the seal, in side was a simple message. 'Dear Neal, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to see you before I left. Im staying with my granddaughter if you need anything, you have her details. And don't hesitate one moment to call, even if it is just to talk. You know how fond I am of you Neal, I'll be here for you if you need me. My thoughts will be with you, June. x' He folded the letter and popped it into his blazer pocket, grateful for her kind words.

He then started to make his way up the stairs to his room. The house was eerily quiet, and every sound he made echoed into the darkness, making him ever more nervous of his surroundings. With each step he took, the shadows seemed to grow in there immensity. When he reached the entrance to his apartment, he hastily opened it and hurried in, shutting it quickly behind him. He leaned against the white painted door and locked it into place. 'This was stupid' he thought. He was being stupid. It wasn't like he hadn't had killers after him before. Now that was a comforting thought.

What a life he lived.

He laughed aloud at his own predicament shaking off his anxiety. Taking off his fedora, he flicked it at the standing rack where it looped around one of the hooks before settling in its place. Walking towards the small kitchen that lined one side of the room, he took off his blazer and hanged it on the back of a chair. It was a good job that June's late husband had such expensive taste. Any other suit and the thing would be creased to blazes with the hours that he sat behind a desk.

Wine is what he needed. If Peter were here, he would laugh at Neal, it wasn't with wine that men relaxed, it was with beer. Perhaps a hot shower at some point would be good too.

He reached forward and took out a corked bottle of wine and wineglass from the cupboard, set them down on the table and poured himself a decent amount. The red liquid cascaded from the bottle and sloshed around in the glass. He inhaled the wine before taking a mouthful of the rich liquid. Immediately he started to unwind.

Walking over to the couch, he pulled his trousers at the knees and sat down, relaxing into the soft cushions, indulging in another sizeable helping of wine. He listened to the noise that the city around him still emanated at this hour. It was amazing, it seemed that the city was more alive during the night then it was during the day.

He was tempted to call Mozzie, have him come over and stay with him. Then he rejected the idea. Mozzie did not like to travel at night, not if he could help it. Plus he would never let Neal hear the end of how the repercussions of his callous actions were coming back to 'bite him in the ass'. Mozzie was one of the closest friends that Neal had, and sometimes he knew he took him for granted. But he didn't think that Mozzie's many forms of exceptional paranoia would be best suited to his own state of mind right now.

Besides, he'd have to share the wine.

Neal chuckled to himself without humour, it was just his luck that he would attract a psycho like The Beholder. With another sluggish sip of wine he felt himself becoming one with the wonderful sofa beneath him. He wondered when their paths had crossed. He thought back to the question that Peter had asked at the office. He had considered why The Beholder's attention seemed to be focused on him, he had done nothing but consider it. They hadn't discussed it too thoroughly at the time, and part of Neal now wished that they had. It was one of the most disconcerting feelings that Neal had felt, and one of the most perplexing. In all truth, he had no understanding of what The Beholder's intentions were. And that made him all that more terrifying.

He licked his tingling lips, tasting the burgundy 'Pommard Premier', 2006 vintage. Funny, he didn't remember the wine effecting him like it was the last time he had drank it. Perhaps it was because he was tired from such a taxing day. But his mouth felt strange, almost like his tongue was swelling to twice its normal size. He lifted a hand to feel his lips, but felt it sluggishly responding and not moving the way he told it to. This wasn't right. He tried to move forward but found that his body merely twitched at his command, and sank deeper into the couch.

Then from outside his door, he heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock.

June? Perhaps she had returned, or possibly one of the agents from outside was checking up on him. No, why would they be inside the house, with a key no less. He tried to call out to whoever it was, but he merely made an indistinct grunting sound, his slack tongue not allowing him to use it properly. This situation was far from right.

A sudden surge of panic overwhelmed him. He tried with all of his might to move himself off of the couch towards his phone that was in his inner blazer pocket, desperately trying to make one last attempt to reach the out side world, to reach Peter. But it was a useless gesture, even with all of his might Neal's body merely flumped to the side, his wineglass slipping from his numb fingertips. The remaining liquid in the glass from the $50 bottle of wine spilled onto his hand and the cream canvas couch. That was the cause of his immobility it was the only explanation. He had been spiked.

From his position on the settee, he heard the door slowly open and the sound of the key in the lock grate as it was removed from the tumblers. There was no doubt who it was. How had he got a key! Was it one of Junes? Worry swelled within him for a moment for her well-being before he remembered the letter he had received upon his arrival home. It meant that she had left the house. And Aaron, her muscular chauffeur, who drove her everywhere she went, usually accompanied her. He was a commodity left over from her days with her late husband's enterprise. She would be safe, at least he hoped so.

He listened intently to the slow methodical footfalls of the person behind him. He prayed that it wasn't him, but he knew that lady luck had punched out for the night. Unable to turn to see the figure, he waited for him to enter his line of vision. But that moment never came. Instead, the sounds of the trespasser stopped directly behind Neal's now immobile figure on the sofa. He could feel the presence of the man emanating onto his shoulders, all he could do was wait for the inevitable strike.

"Neal," the man breathed from behind him, ice ran through his spine. "You have no idea how long I have waited to make your acquaintance." Neal's heart pounded in his ears. The only movement he could now make was the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Why hadn't he just asked to stay at Peters house, was it that difficult of a task?

Gentle hands lifted him into a sitting position again, and light fingertips positioned his head so that it was resting on the plush cushions facing the ceiling. Neal tried to focus on the mans face above him, but The Beholder had positioned himself, whether on purpose or not Neal didn't know, so that his face was just beyond Neal's line of vision.

Neal strained to make his body move, he wanted to thrash, kick and scream at the man to get away from him. At this point, he couldn't even change the direction of his gaze or blink away the discomfort of his rapidly drying eyes. "Do not trouble your self Neal, I've simply placed a little Rocuronium bromide into your wine. I want you to know no harm will come to you while you are in my care." The comment afforded Neal little reassurance. The man gently laid the tips of his fingers on Neal's eyelids and tenderly pulled them down. He then placed a smooth piece of material over them, creating a blindfold. Gently he pushed the material into the impressions in Neal's face and secured it at the back of his head.

This was torture. It was worse then prison. At least there he could fight or con his way out of the situations he had found himself in. Here he was a life-sized doll, completely at the whim of a serial Killer that had evaded the FBI for four years and killed nearly a dozen people. His reassurances meant nothing to Neal.

Apparently reading Neal's thoughts, Neal heard the voice of The Beholder now travelling around the couch to stop in front of him. "The others, they were all re-enactments. They were for you, all just so we could be together right now. I hope you can appreciate the trouble I've been through." He did not. He didn't want to appreciate anything about this man. Then he felt one of his hands being lifted from his side and then positioned on his own lap, then the other that the wine had spilt over. He felt the soaked hand being raised, then something rough and wet, Neal realised a tongue, licked off the remaining liquid, before it was placed too on his lap. Oh god, he wanted to scream, to run. Run and never look back.

"I am sorry I had to taint one of your most enjoyable past times, but you can understand why I did so can't you?" the man chuckled to himself the way a mature man might chortle at a fond memory. He was well spoken with a gentle air about his words, but there was a hint of something in his accent he couldn't make out.

The Beholder traced a finger where he had just tasted the wine off of Neal's finger. "You're a very special individual Neal. My introduction to you had to be-" he paused. "-exceptional." he breathed the last word out, dragging on every syllable. "I wish I had brought some paper, you inspire me so to draw. You know I wasn't quite sure if you would remember making that frame with its secret compartment. It was such a long time ago. But I'm glad you did, you got my drawing. I must confess the thing was a bother to construct." He laughed abruptly. "Coincidently I bumped into Annabel, you remember her don't you? She was the reason you made the frame. Delightfully petite she was, I think I still have her in a box somewhere." He hummed softly, as if his comment on stuffing a young woman's body into a box was completely normal. "Well, when I started to talk to her about you we did have a lot to talk about. She told me all about your encounters, including the time that you had to switch out one birth certificate for another right under a judges nose. Now that was a story. I made her tell it to me a few times." Neal remembered Annabel, she had been a girlfriend of a very nasty abusive mobster. She was a sweet girl who had been messed around with so many times that he decided to help her. By switching her birth certificate with a forgery, he had convinced a judge that she was the rightful and sole heir to inherit a fortune. He had told her to never look back and enjoy life.

Bile swelled within his mouth. He had thought that she had escaped, was free and was living a comfortable happy life somewhere. Instead, he learned that she was stuffed in a box, denied the freedom that she so deserved. It seems that the vow that he made in Peters office that morning of preventing anyone ells from being hurt by The Beholder had been broken as soon as he had made it. He felt tears sting as they pooled out of his eyes onto the cloth.

Oblivious to the surreal atrocities that that were spilling out of his mouth, The Beholder continued. "When I started to put this plan together I wasn't quite sure that I could contain myself. I had never waited for so long before, created such extravagant plans, only to harness one piece. I can tell you, it's made you all the more worth having." A hand caressed his knee in an affectionate pat.

Silence then descended. Neal strained to hear anything, the hush created by the absence of any noise made by The Beholder was that much more frustrating then the moments when there was sound. "I remember when I first saw you. I had originally saw Kate and was going to make my introduction to her. But then," The sound of smacking lisp caused a short pause. "I saw you. You were at the Miller Block Gallery in Boston. I will let you into a secret. After you stole the McNeil piece for your little girl friend, I made an appointment to meet with you. You were so facetious, kept on changing when we were to meet." Neal could almost hear the smile on his lips as he spoke.

The floorboards creaked under the pressure of The Beholder's feet as he started to walk in the direction of Neal's bed and away from the sofa. "Then you went and got your self caught by that, man." He growled in the back of his throat. Neal knew who he referred to. Peter.

"I saw you know, I was watching. You did not have to get caught. I know you had an escape plan, contingencies. You always have a plan b, c, d," he giggled insanely loosing the composure that he had demonstrated thus far, getting caught up in his ranting monologue. "You went to see him, saw him with her. She looks so much like the one you have enthused over the past few months. She poisons you! Why can you see that?"

His instincts clicked into place and he immediately tried to speak to defend Kate. Instead of words though, a gurgled moan sounded in his throat. He stilled, had he just moved or had he imagined it? He tried again. His hand twitched.

A sharp sniff sounded from in front of him. He had seen the movement. Minor though it was, it was a clear sign. The drug was wearing off.

Just so you know, I really love reviews, let me know how you think the story's progressing. It's your predictable wumpage story, but I'm trying to get allot of detail and twists involved to make it that much more juicy. I'm planning a shocking twist to come out in the end, so the more reviews the faster I write, as they are so addictive.

I also plan on going back over the first few chapters, so if they grated you, (as they did me when i went over them, now I've learn of some of the errors that i kept making) some of the kinks will be sorted out as well as plot lines flowing better together.

Until the next chapter,

~Chow4noW~