A/n OK, i was planning on writing more to add to this chapter and have it beta'd, but after reading that last review by Tello i decided to put this chapter up.( Thank you Tello! ;)) I'm not sure its going to help my cause in the long run, But here it goes. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own white Collar, im also the king of the universe...HA! If only ( i don't, so don't sue!)
Peter pulled into the same parking space that he had used when he had dropped Neal off earlier that evening. El had chided him for leaving Neal alone, what was he thinking and how could he be so selfish. The fact that he had stated he knew he had made a mistake and was on his way to fix it didn't seem to pass into her ears. As he walked out of the door, she had insisted that he bring Neal back with him.
The scene had not changed in the past half hour or so since his last visit. He glanced over at the two agents in the car, they hadn't moved either. Shifting his gear stick in to park, Peter felt his jaw jut forward. He couldn't see what it was, and he had no reason for it, but he could sense it. Something was wrong.
He looked back over at the parked car that held the two agents sitting in shadows. He could see one of them moving slightly within. Peter turned, about to make his way to the house, when he noticed something on the floor by the driver's door. What was that? Pulling his coat around him, he hauled himself out of his cosy car and started to walk towards the agents. As he got closer, he saw that the object on the floor was the sandwich that he had seen the driver eating on his way home. If he had thrown that out his window Peter was going to give him an ear full of proper police conduct. Then he saw that the door was ajar.
Slowly he approached the rear of the car, glancing around him before he lowered himself to peer into the parked vehicle. Shadows clung to the figures, and it took a moment for Peter to work out what he was seeing. Before him the agent that Peter had seen eating the sandwich, if he could recall his name was Roux, had his head tilted back against the headrest. His eyes were closed and his mouth was agape, a dark drool of blood was oozing from his mouth.
Yanking open the already ajar door Peter went to help the agent, instead he found the cause of a mass amount of red blood that was covering his torso, manufacturing an illusion in the night of a black shirt instead of white. Lodged in his mouth was a stiletto blade securing his head to the headrest. Peter heard himself gag, and had to fight the urge to run inside and find Neal. Instead, he looked over to the passenger seat.
Bright white eyes, filled with terror shone back at him. The other agent had a strap tied around his neck that was suspending him inches above his seat, secured in place by the sunroof. His hands were bound behind his back preventing him from being able to do anything other then push with his feet against the floor to stop himself from being strangled. A rag was jammed between his lips preventing him from crying out.
"Oh Jesus." Peter spluttered, as he practically leapt over the driver to get to the hanging man. "Hold on!" he called, finding it difficult to reach him Peter quickly clambered around the car to the other side, pulled open the door and started to grasp at the cord around his neck. It was too thin to get a good enough grip on to untie, so he leaned over and started to wind open the roof, which allowed the young agent to collapse down into his seat with out fear of being strangled to death. Peter could see blood gushing from a wound on his head and a dark bruise starting to form below his eye. "What's your name kid?" Peter asked lightly as he pulled out the gag and started to untie him.
"Kip," he whispered.
Peter couldn't help it, he paused in his actions and stared at the youngster. "Seriously. Your names Kip?"
Kip's eyebrows quivered into a frown. Now was not the time, Peter realised. He went back to trying to untie the kid's hands. "Tell me what happened Kip."
"I only stepped out of the car for a minuet. I didn't mean for-" Kip looked over at Roux, the agents mouth still agape in a transfixed horror.
"It's all right Kip, take it slow. Start from the beginning." The boy was in shock Peter realised, and with good reason.
Kip took a shaky breath. "I got out to stretch my legs and-" he paused momentarily. "-pay the water bill, when I was hit from behind. I was only out for a minuet I swear." He said panic returned to his voice as he tried to justify the injustice imparted onto him. "And by the time I started to come to, I was already back in the car. He'd tied my hands and feet, I couldn't move. And agent Roux was-" Kip gulped. "And he was tying a noose around my neck."
"It's alright now Kip, ok? I'm going to take care of this guy." Kip nodded feeling his throat where the cord was with his now free hands. "I'm going inside. I need you to call for back up. Can you do that for me?" he nodded again licking his lips. "Good." All of Peter's attention was now focused on getting to Neal.
The Beholder had come for Neal and Peter had left him the perfect opportunity to strike. He cursed his own egocentricity. Why had he even left Neal alone, because Neal was a con artist? Did that merit him the reward of being targeted and attacked by a psychotic serial killer? Underneath Neal's bravo and his con ways aside, Peter knew all he wanted was to be left alone to live his life with Kate. But Neal had to take responsibility for his actions, Peter just hoped that Neal could see the good that he did when he worked with the FBI instead of against them.
Just be all right Neal, please. Peter pleaded as he shot up the stairs of June's home, drawing his weapon as he did so.
"What a bother you didn't consume enough wine Neal, you've cut our talk here quite short. I thought that we would have had more time," Said The Beholder genuinely sad, who was once again pacing the room. Mumbling to himself, he added. "Should have put more Rocuronium bromide into the wine. Well! I will know better for next time, best not to dwell on the little things. Onwards and upwords, that's what my farther used to say." He clapped his hands as he moved into action. Floorboards creaked under his feet as he made his way towards Neal.
Still blindfolded and immobile, Neal strained to hear every move The Beholder made. "Now, I have prepared a little abode for you, but it's quite a distance away." A dull thump came as something was dropped onto the coffee table in front of Neal on sofa. He heard the zipper of a bag divide with one curt hiss as it was pulled open, followed by a rummaging as The Beholder looked through, then finally picked something out. The sofa then dipped under his weight as he sat down next to Neal. He sighed a tired sigh one might make after a long day of work. "Not to worry though my dear boy, I brought something with me that will help to pass the time, you won't even realise that you've travelled. Wouldn't you say that's considerate of me?"
"Yuave-it…" Slurred Neal. His muscles were still mostly unresponsive to the majority of his commands, but slowly, he could feel he was gaining more strength in them. But even through his lack of mobility and run together words, Neal's message sounded clear. 'You have it'. The only problem was that control was returning slowly, and Neal's trivial protests only afforded the response of a slow melancholic laugh.
"Oh no Neal." he hummed "Just who would drive us there? Besides, what I have prepared for you is a surprise." His tone then changed to something more serious. "I know you're not too fond of the idea Neal, but you'll see. You will grow to like the place. I have thought of everything."
He exhaled loudly beside him, and started to trace Neal's hairline with the tip of his fingers. Neal jerked at the touch and turned his head away as best he could, but The Beholder continued to play with Neal's hair. "There has never been one quite like you Neal. You see the splendor in the world that others might scorn at. I simply cannot suffer those fools who think themselves capable of appreciating art. But you, you are someone who can comprehend that the magnificence in a piece isn't all that there is. 'True art is characterized by an irresistible urge in the creative artist'." Neal struggled to swallow, he was now being quoted Einstein and it eerily reminded him of Mozzie spouting out references to famous passages. If he ever saw Mozzie again, he was going to tell him to never quote around him ever again. "That's you Neal, you are not contained by just one genre, not limited by the canvas. You are out there, creating and influencing those around you not allowing anyone to steer you astray. Even in your predicament with that incomprehensible police officer, you prevail."
Neal could smell a pungent sickly sweet smell that emitted from the man's breath as it touched his skin. It made his flesh crawl and he had to fight the urge to gag. Dreamily The Beholder continued, "How could I resist one such as you. You are art Neal. You're my piece of art." A noise hummed out from Neal's throat as the stroking hand travelled down the side of his face, along his jaw and then his neck. Neal had to clench his jaw shut to stop himself from crying out in revulsion. The touch then turned to a careful stroke as his hand travelled down Neal's inner arm and down to his wrist, where he unbuttoned Neal's wrist cuff, and rolled up his sleeve up to the pit of his elbow.
Neal knew what The Beholder's intentions were and he started to struggle in his grasp. "This will only pinch a little Neal, calm your self." Neal felt the scrape of something sharp scratch against his skin as he writhed with all the strength he could muster. He knew if that needle entered his arm, all would be over. He had to prevent it as long as possible, even when the inevitable came, he would know that he had not given in to this Psycho.
"Really Neal you must stay still." Neal heard him pant with exertion, good he thought. "I am trying to do this nicely and without incident, but you will leave me little choice if you do not stop." Neal continued to thrash, he wasn't going to make any of this easy if he could help it. He would fight back even if it killed him, there was no way that he was going to allow himself to become 'a piece' in this sick perverts collection.
The Beholder huffed in aggravation, dropping Neal's arm he raised himself off of the seat beside him. "You leave me little choice then. This will not be the first time I have had to use a syringe on difficult individuals. I was in the Vietnam War, and I can tell you, when I tried to administrate morphine to injured soldiers, they struggled too." He strode around to the back of the sofa, and grabbed a hand full of Neal's hair and yanked it back hard, causing Neal to cry out. Neal struggled fitfully trying to pull free of the man's grasp but he just pulled harder exposing Neal's throbbing throat. He tried desperately to raise his arms to pull the man off of him, but they were still too heavy and listless to do anything to stop him.
A hiss sounded by Neal's ear as The Beholder leaned in close and whispered, hot breath onto his skin. "Hold still now, I wouldn't want to cut your throat by accident." He felt a sharp pinch as the needle pierced his skin and sank into a beating vain. Neal shouted a strangled, "No!" but it was too late. He could feel the drug begin to enter his system and flow into his blood stream.
Three things then happened at once.
From out of nowhere, Neal heard Peter's voice bellow, "NEAL!" causing The Beholder to jerk with a sudden start. The needle in Neal's vain snapped causing Neal to gasp as it scratched his neck and he felt blood or the fluid of the drug, he wasn't sure, flow down his neck. And finally, a gunshot echoed through the apartment, reverberating off of the walls around them sounding like a mark for the beginning of a race.
It all happened very quickly, or at least Neal thought it did. Already he could feel the effects of the small amount of drug that had entered his system web his thoughts together. His contorting world began to swim under his blindfold, he wanted nothing more then to tear it off and see what was happening. Unable to differentiate between what made sense and what didn't he fought to follow the sounds of the fight that had erupted and was taking place around him. He struggled to understand who was grunting with pain and who was yelling with each punch that landed, but with Neal's consciousness fading in and out he found it hard to even concentrate on staying awake.
Then he heard a crash of the balcony glass doors shatter as the two men collapsed into them. He heard yelling. It was The Beholder. He was screaming at the top of his lungs at Peter that Neal was his and he could do nothing to stop him. He was cut short by loud grunt as Peter whacked him across the face, sending him flying where he landed against the balcony wall with a thud.
Glass scraping against the hard concrete floor brought with it a chill that stilled the scene. Deep wheezing echoed around the terrace, and then the sound of a cocking gun froze everything to a standstill. "Don't." Neal heard Peter say with deadly absolution, he did not know whether or not Peter was the one holding the gun or the one pointing it.
Then it went off.