Chapter 7: Chapter 7

HEARTLESS

Chapter Seven – "I Am Legion"

Horatio sat in the small hotel suite he'd booked for Catherine's stay. He could hear the water running from inside the bathroom as she freshened up. Reluctant to leave her just yet, he'd persuaded her to have dinner with him.

As he waited, his mind once again went over the bizarre story she'd shared with him earlier that day. In tortured bits and pieces, she had spoken of the Fosdicks, the strange and magnetic couple who had so quickly captivated her ex-husband. It was a strange story, and it continued to haunt him, making him uneasy in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He ran his hand quickly through his hair, trying to dispel the sense of eerie foreboding her words had created. Something was off. He had the disquieting feeling that he was being scrutinized by someone… no, some thing… His rational mind rebelled at the silly imaginings, and he pushed them aside. But there was one thought he couldn't push aside: the thought of Catherine returning to her house in the decaying neighborhood where Saint Ignatius was located, and perhaps meeting up with the same man who had accosted the hapless Theresa.

He wouldn't let her go back there. Not yet. He was too concerned that someone might be watching – waiting – for her.

No, until he had an opportunity to check out her ex-husband and investigate his connection with Emerson and Faith Fosdick, he didn't want Catherine back at her house. He would like to order her to stay away from the church, but he wasn't very optimistic on that score. It had been hard enough to convince her to take up temporary residence in the hotel.

And yet, he knew she was terrified. He'd seen her reaction to the DVD. After her story, he began to understand why.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he rested his head against the soft cushions of the overstuffed sofa, thinking about the peculiar tale she had told him, a tale involving secret societies, strange loyalties, hallucinogenic drugs – and barbaric, disgusting rites.

She had only hinted at much of it, apparently unable to put the experiences into words. Impatient to get answers, Horatio had prodded her toward more precise answers during the drive to the hotel. But in the telling, she'd suddenly become physically ill, forcing Horatio to conclude the questioning as he quickly pulled off to the side of the road. Gently, and with the expertise of one who'd witnessed such episodes before, he had held her head outside the car's window as she physically expelled the memories she was unable to share verbally. Watching her struggle to regain her composure, he felt remorseful for having pushed so forcefully for answers.

But he needed those answers, dammit! He had a killer on the loose, one who had forcefully removed a girl's beating heart – and he had a crazy ex-husband who might be behind the chilling DVD sent to his former wife. And to what end? To frighten Catherine? Or something worse?

One thing that he had gotten out of Catherine especially disturbed him – and it involved animal sacrifice. Horatio knew that crimes committed against animals showed a brutality that often transferred itself to the commission of similar offenses against human beings. In recounting the ugly story, she told him that Fosdick's followers believed in the life-giving power of a beating heart… and that the hearts of poor creatures had been ripped from them. And used.

But for what purpose? He could get no satisfactory answer from her.

Until today, it had not occurred to him to doubt Catherine's mental stability. He had observed her handling of the soup kitchen, the way she had calmly and kindly interacted with the despondent men and women who came in for a meal, and in the capable manner in which she organized the distribution of food. He had also witnessed the loyalty and affection she inspired from those serving alongside her.

She hadn't impressed him as a hysterical personality… except when speaking of Barton. It was clear she feared him, and when she spoke of him, she seemed to credit the man with an almost supernatural influence. What she had hinted at strained the credulity of Horatio's dispassionate, scientific mind. Hell, it would strain the credulity of any sane person's brain!

Catherine, however, certainly believed the story she'd told him and had turned white as she recalled how the Fosdicks, at first charming and engaging, had influenced her ex-husband. Under their tutelage, he had changed from the romantic and dashing man she had married into someone frightening… someone unrecognizable.

With a sudden chill, he remembered something she'd told him just before sickness overcame her.

"He went away, Horatio – one day, Joe just disappeared. He looked the same – the features, the coloring, the voice… but it wasn't him! I know it sounds crazy, but the eyes…. the eyes that looked out from his face – those were not Joe's eyes. It wasn't him. It wasn't! And each night – each night, Horatio! – I lay next to him in our bed, knowing he wasn't Joe, but unable to prove it."

In spite of his belief in Catherine's mental stability, Horatio wondered if there wasn't a small degree of hysteria in her personality. What did he really know about her? Was his attraction to her responsible for his willingness to listen to the ravings of someone perhaps in need of a mental evaluation?

Was she having a nervous breakdown, and taking him along for the ride?

But the thing was, she wasn't raving. She was terrified, but except for the brief fainting spell at the church when forced to again listen to the DVD, she'd pretty much held herself together.

Suddenly, Horatio felt the phone from inside his jacket begin to vibrate, pulling him from his unhappy thoughts. He sat up quickly, his movement cat-like and alert.

"Eric, what's happening?" he asked, his eyes recognizing the incoming call.

Eric's voice floated urgently over the radio waves. "Just checking in, H. You've been gone for a while… everything okay on your end?"

"Nothing for you to worry about. What do you have for me?"

"Calleigh and I ran the DVD for Denton, and then we pulled Loman in for a consult."

"Tom?"

"Yeah, after what Denton told us, we wanted him to listen to the recording... Cal thought there might be some medical reason for the wheezing noise the guy made whenever he spoke, and we figured Tom was the man to make that determination. But the doc was also able to identify the noise we heard in the background."

"And?"

"And he confirmed what we thought – it's definitely the sound of something being sawn. Here's the thing, H – he said it sounded a lot like a surgical saw. Tom thinks what we heard was surgery being performed – and without benefit of an anesthetic."

Eric paused for a moment, recalling the look on Loman's face as he'd shared that information with his colleagues. "Christ, H! This was the first time I ever saw a reaction from Tom to any of the stuff we witness… he's usually so deadpan… making the odd joke or remark… you can never tell what the guy is really thinking… but when he listened to the woman on that recording, he looked grim and had little to say afterward."

"It's one thing to examine a dead body, Eric… but a victim still alive, crying out in the throes of death? The audible evidence of… of such suffering is not something easily handled."

Eric said nothing, recalling his own reaction to the woman's agonized screams. He'd be willing to place a wager the woman hadn't been alive for long once the 'surgeon' began the grisly operation.

"What about our mystery man – what did Tom say about the voice? Was it a simulation of sorts, a trick to disguise his detection?"

"Doesn't seem so. Tom says he's heard voices like that before; it usually occurs when there's been trauma to the larynx."

Horatio thought about this for a moment as Catherine's remark about tortured animals and the removal of their hearts came back to him. He wondered if the surgeon were somehow connected with the strange events Catherine had recounted. It seemed too coincidental that the DVD turned up in Catherine's office just a day or two after Theresa Lopez's murder. And just what had happened to the surgeon's throat that caused the disturbing wheezing when he spoke?

"Eric... tell you what I want you to do. Have Denton run a search of all the databases for the following names: Josiah Barton, and Emerson and Faith Fosdick. Tell him to see what he can find out about them. Barton shouldn't be too difficult to nail down – apparently he's in prison. I want to know which prison and I want to know the details of the case. I'm thinking about paying Mr. Barton a little visit."

"Who is this guy? What's his connection to the surgeon?"

"I'm not sure there is one, but I intend to find out. Josiah Barton is Catherine's ex-husband. If what she's told me about him is accurate, expect some odd and nasty stuff to turn up on him."

"You think he's sending her a message?"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking."

"What about the Fosdicks?"

"Yes... what about them… Well, I think they might be Barton's playmates."

Eric digested that remark for a moment, perplexed by Horatio's statement and his odd tone. "Okay, I'll get Denton on it. Anything else?"

"No... not at present." Horatio glanced at his watch. "Go home, Eric. I think tomorrow is going to be a busy day... get some rest."

"Gladly. I've had enough of mad doctors and screaming women for one day."

Yeah, me too, thought Horatio.

He put the phone back in his pocket as Catherine came into the room. He looked up at her. "Ready?"

"I guess... can't say I'm all that hungry," she said, looking uncertainly around the suite. "Is all this really necessary?"

"Maybe not; probably not. But if your husband is involved, I don't care for the idea of you staying at your place. He may know where you live – he found out where you work. I want you here for a couple of nights. You can afford it, and prudence is never too expensive. I'm going to have an officer in the lobby. He'll keep an eye on things. The front desk knows to alert him if anyone asks for you."

She shivered. She didn't like the sound of this.

Watching her reaction, Horatio tried to reassure her. "Look," he said kindly, "I don't want you to worry about this. It's just a precaution. Okay?"

She nodded, looking at him with eyes that looked too bright in her pale face. "Okay," she whispered.

"Now let's go get something to eat. I'm not sending you back to this room until you eat something. I don't want you passing out again." He smiled, but he was serious. She hadn't eaten all day and he wanted her strong and alert. He held out his hand. "C'mon."

Calleigh laid two pairs of ivory chopsticks next to the plates and cartons she'd hastily set out on the kitchen table. She wasn't a fan of take-away food, especially Chinese, but Eric liked it and she didn't feel much like cooking tonight.

She was tired. More than that, she was disturbed. Hearing the screams of the girl on the DVD had upset her. Worse, Tom's remarks had made it too easy to imagine the horror and pain that the unfortunate woman had endured. It made her skin crawl.

Just what are we dealing with? Was that Theresa Lopez on the recording? What kind of monster would remove someone's heart while she was still alive?

Thinking about the ghastly images the recording conjured up, an involuntary shiver ran through Calleigh's body despite the kitchen's warmth.

She was so lost in thought that she failed to hear Eric's approach. He stood quietly behind her, reaching gently for her shoulders. She gave a little jump, and he tightened his hold slightly, pulling her tense body close to his chest.

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?" he whispered, frowning. His warm breath lingered lightly against her skin.

Hearing his voice, feeling his touch, she slowly relaxed, leaning gently against him.

"Lord, you just took ten years off my life! What are you doing, sneaking up on me like that?"

He smiled and brushed his lips against the side of her neck. "I didn't sneak up on you. You were a million miles away." He began to place feather light kisses against the softness of her skin. A sigh of pleasure escaped Calleigh's lips at the warmth of his mouth against the sensitive flesh.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just jumpy. That damned DVD..."

She moaned softly as he began to run his hands lightly up and down her arms, his lips still on her neck. "Hm... that feels nice." She turned then and gave him a pretty smile. "You know, you keep that up and in a little while, I'll forget all about butchers with surgical tools..."

He drew her to himself, holding her close. "I'm happy to continue," he said, and brought his mouth down on hers with a passion that was sudden and thrilling. "God, Cal," he murmured against her lips, "no one makes me feel like this... no one..."

She broke away, shaken by her response to him. "Dinner –"

"Can wait," he interrupted. "Let's forget all that craziness on the DVD... The girl's shrieks over top that eerie music... I just want to get it out of my head for a while. There will be time enough tomorrow to think about all that."

He reached down, placing an arm beneath her knees. With a quick and fluid motion, he swung her up into his arms, grinning mischievously.

She started giggling. "What are you doing, you crazy person?"

"Making love to my girl. Love now, dinner later. Right?" He raised an eyebrow, giving her his best smile.

"Right," she replied.

Later, the two lovers sat at the kitchen table, wearing bathrobes and scarfing down the food they'd picked up earlier in the evening. The afterglow of their lovemaking still lingered, and for the time being, they'd managed to push back the day's horror.

Finally, Calleigh sat back from the table. With a satisfied sigh, she blew back several strands of hair that had fallen into her eyes. "That was good. I was famished."

Eric grinned. "Yeah, well... guess you worked up an appetite."

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"Hey, I've got something for you."

She raised her brows, watching him as he reached deep into the pocket of his flannel robe. He pulled out a small velvet box and placed it on the table, his index finger slowly pushing it across the table in her direction.

"What's this?" she asked, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Go on, open it."

Biting her lip, she paused for a moment before reaching for the tiny black box. Almost reluctantly, she opened it. Lying on a black velvet cushion was a ring, its small diamond set in gold. Shocked, she looked up at Eric, who had a goofy smile on his face.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his eyes dancing with expectation. "The diamond is small, but it has sentimental value… it was my grandmother's. Being the only male in the family, it came to me – to be given to my bride."

Calleigh looked at the ring again, and then raised troubled eyes to Eric. "I don't understand, Eric... what's this all about?"

"What do you mean 'what's it all about?' It's an engagement ring, Cal."

"Oh, Eric..." she replied, helplessly. "We haven't discussed marriage... we haven't even been together that long."

Some of the excitement drained from his eyes and his smile disappeared. "I thought you wanted this, Calleigh. I mean, we're good together, right? Wasn't it good for you, just now?"

Calleigh rose from the table and began to walk around the room. "Of course it was... but that's not what this is all about."

"Cal, sit down. Let's talk about this."

She stopped pacing and looked at him. "Eric, what about last night? The girls at the restaurant... the flirting. You're not ready to settle down."

"Those girls don't mean anything to me. It's just... just something I do... All the men in my family do it. It's in our blood. It's harmless." He stood up and went to her, brushing her blond hair back behind her shoulders. "You know how I feel about you. It's different, you and me. It's for keeps, you know?"

She looked into his eyes and sighed. "Honey," she said softly, "I can't accept that ring."

He frowned. "Don't you love me? I thought you wanted to settle down, have a couple of kids. I want that, too, Cal. I do... I want it with you."

Her fingers grazed the side of his cheek as she tried to soften the lines of sadness she saw forming around the corners of his beautiful mouth. "I think you're sincere... I think you mean that."

"I do," he said eagerly.

Placing two fingers gently against his lips, she said, "Shh... don't talk. Just listen. Just for a few minutes, okay?

"Honey, we're just not there yet, you know? You say those girls don't mean anything to you –"

"They don't!"

"Okay, okay... maybe to you they don't... but, Eric, they mean something to me. It makes feel empty inside when I see you flirting; it makes me feel you don't really... value me."

He bristled. "Christ, Cal, I just asked you to marry me."

"That's not the point," she said, trying to make him understand. "The point is how it makes me feel. And it makes me feel crummy.

"Eric, I don't think you're really ready for a wife just yet... and certainly not for children. You've... well, you've got some growing up to do..."

"If you feel that way, I don't know what you're doing with me. What the hell was all that just now in the bedroom? Just sex? Because that's not all it was for me." He started to turn away, but she restrained him.

"It wasn't just sex. And I'm here with you because I'm hoping things will change... You need to figure out what it is you really want, Eric. Is it me? A family? Or do you just want to be the good-looking guy that the girls go nuts over? I don't want a flirt, baby. I want a strong man, someone I can depend on... I want to be the only one in the room you want to impress."

She watched him as he silently digested her words. She worried she'd been too blunt, but it had to be said. She did love Eric, loved him with a passion that surprised and delighted her. His charm and magnetism disarmed her… and that was the problem.

Calleigh had experienced her share of disarming men, men who said they loved you but still went off and did hurtful things. Her thoughts briefly touched on her charming father. He professed to love her and her mother, yet it didn't stop him from doing what he wanted, in spite of the hurt it caused them.

She wanted a real man. She wanted someone who'd put her and their children first. She didn't want a charming rogue who was an emotional child.

Eric seemed to come to a decision and, reaching for her, he kissed her forehead. "I don't need that stuff, Calleigh. I can stop it. I will stop it. I don't think about it... it's just who I've always been, you know?"

"I know."

"So... you're turning me down?"

"For the time being."

"I love you, Cal."

She smiled. "Then prove it. Grow up. And then I'll marry you."

Catherine picked at her dinner, her eyes focused unseeingly on the cooling salmon in front of her. She could sense Horatio's eyes watching her, and they made her uncomfortable.

That afternoon, in the privacy of the park, she'd shared with him some of the fantastical story of Joe's strange relationship with Emerson and Faith Fosdick. For the past several years, she'd tried to forget the frightening couple who drew them into their social orbit. It had been accomplished so swiftly, and their hold had been like a noose, slowly but surely tightening. She had been the one to see it, not Joe. No, not Joe. He had been so taken with them, finding them exotic and exciting.

Exotic. Exciting...

Catherine had never found them so. From the beginning, there had been something dark and disturbing about the urbane Emerson and his stunning wife.

Thinking of Faith, Catherine suppressed an urge to shudder. She recalled the woman's waist-length hair and the way it curled Medusa-like about her shoulders and waist, its paleness the color of fresh snow. The pure whiteness of it was surprising against Faith's flawless tanned skin, and contrasted jarringly with her strange, unreadable eyes. Startling eyes, they were… almost reptilian in their opacity.

Yes… reptilian. That was a good word for the beautiful Faith. She had all the danger and exoticism of an alluring yet deadly snake. The graceful movements of her tall, slender body had always seemed serpentine to Catherine – Faith didn't just walk into a room. No, she appeared to glide into it, her locomotion quiet, dangerous… eerily enticing.

Joe had seen none of that. All he saw was a beautiful, elegant woman, one who charmed and excited.

And Emerson! His were the looks of a 1920s matinee idol: the strong jaw, the flashing white teeth so startling against lips as red and voluptuous as a woman's. It made her cringe to think of his cool, elegant fingers upon her flesh. Those fingers… long, tapered, exquisitely manicured, and so, so cold. The feel of his flesh upon hers – that had been Joe's doing… something new. Exciting. Exotic.

How quickly the pair had become a fascinating addiction for the uncomplicated, romantic man she'd fallen in love with – how had it happened? One day he was her sweet Joe… and then, almost overnight, he was a stranger. A stranger with hooded eyes, who slowly, methodically forced her to take part in depravities she never would have imagined.

Unable to eat, Catherine pushed the plate away, finally meeting Horatio's eyes.

She had only told him some of the tale… the late night meetings with the Fosdicks and their friends – followers – and their distasteful rites. But she didn't tell him everything. Dismayed, she had watched Horatio's face as it took on a look of astonishment, his features growing cloudy with doubt… doubt about her sanity, she feared.

"Catherine? Can't you eat more than that? You've hardly touched anything on your plate." He was still watching her.

His voice was kind, concerned, but Catherine was uncomfortable. Did he think she was crazy?

"I'm sorry, Horatio. I just can't."

Her eyes drifted over to the table nearest them. A bottle of white wine sat chilling in a small silver bucket next to the table's edge. That wine suddenly looked very compelling to Catherine. Wanting to escape the memories dredged up by the day's events, she experienced a keen and sudden desire for the numbing effects of alcohol.

She turned her glance toward Horatio, touching his hand lightly. "I wouldn't mind a glass of wine… what do you think?"

Horatio had seen the longing look on her face as she gazed at the bottle and guessed at her intention. He didn't think she'd be stopping with just one glass. "I think… well, I think maybe that's not such a good idea. Not tonight, sweetheart."

She looked at him, surprised.

"Catherine, until we figure out what's going on, I think it's wise to keep our minds alert. You told me some pretty bizarre things today. I need a little time to process them. And you need to think about what you've told me…"

She said nothing. A feeling of shame washed over her at his words. Her face suffused with scarlet, she glanced away, unable to continue looking at him.

Horatio noticed the sudden telltale color on her face, and he wondered what memories she hadn't shared with him.

He didn't like it.

He intended to find out the whole story on Catherine. He wanted to know why a beautiful woman buried herself away in a soup kitchen in a seedy part of town – and why she played down her beauty, preferring to hide it behind plain clothing and a no-nonsense air. At first he'd taken her commitment to the community of Saint Ignatius as proof of a compassionate heart that found its reward in social activism. He didn't doubt that she possessed such a heart; he'd seen evidence of it.

But for the first time, Horatio wondered if there might not be more to it than that; perhaps there was another reason for her vocation.

Was there some offense, some sin, she imagined herself guilty of, something so painful that she hid herself away, intent on helping others… almost as if trying to achieve penance?

Perhaps... if so, he could understand that.

He knew all about guilt.

And the need for absolution…

It was almost midnight.

The creature that was Josiah Barton lay motionless on his cot in the semi-darkness of his prison cell. The glaring, intrusive bright lights that studded the ceiling of the cellblock had been turned off for the evening, but lights inside a prison were never completely darkened. Buried in the floor snaking down the lonely prison corridor were small, recessed lights and they cast an anemic green glow into the cells.

Midnight.

It was his favorite time – he loved the dim lighting of the night, the solitude afforded by sleeping men locked inside troubled dreams, and the uneasy silence that permeated the cellblock's atmosphere. It was an ominous silence occasionally punctuated by the snoring and snuffling heard from neighboring cells.

There was something comforting to him in the soft moans that accompanied the nightmares of restless men, and in the sounds of their squeaking cot springs as they thrashed fruitlessly from side to side, attempting to escape the demons that haunted their slumber. Barton smiled in the darkness, enjoying thoughts of the disturbing images that peppered the nether worlds of his fellow inmates' minds, oppressive images that held them hostage.

The imagining of it made him stronger. He fed on chilling dreams and unsettled sleep. His was a heart that embraced nightmares, finding solace in the dark places of the soul.

After all, Barton was a prince of the night, of the darkness.

It was in the darkness that he'd been resurrected. Made whole. Improved.

His thoughts slowly drifted to Catherine. So good. So… righteous. A being of light.

He would have loved to have seen her face when she listened to the DVD. In a previous life, he had loved her... loved her beauty, her goodness, her innocence. He had vague memories of the early years with her, his Catherine. She had evidenced such a passion for him.

No... not for him. The passion had been for Barton.

But now, he was more than Barton. He was legion.

It was odd how quickly she had seen something was amiss. He'd thought to fool her, seduce her toward the darkness. Such a queen she would have been! Just the consort for a prince of the night as he.

Sadly, it was not meant to be. She crossed him at every turn. She saw immediately that something was different about him. Several times, he had caught her in the act of watching him, covertly, confusion written across her lovely face. She was easy to read... his beautiful Catherine. She saw the image of Barton before her very eyes, and yet she sensed an alien presence.

Her fear had intoxicated him. He had loved forcing her to endure his husbandly caresses. At the moment of his release, he'd demand she'd look at him – and the horror in her eyes would push him to fulfillment.

She was his, his sweet Catherine. He claimed her. She had belonged to Barton. But now all that was Barton's belonged to him. Catherine would always be his... her fear was exhilarating to him, sexual in its potency, engorging in its strength.

It made him feel omnipotent. He was omnipotent.

Even now… thinking about her… he could feel himself rousing.

A smile worthy of the depths of hell appeared on his face as he remembered the last night with her... the night before they took him away. Her eyes had been dilated in fear. He remembered wondering at the time if someone could be scared to death.

Dearest Catherine... he'd wanted to make her perfect. To confer royal status upon her. She didn't seem to understand that perfection could only be achieved through purification. He knew he had to cut the impurities out of her... but ever so gently. Not for her the barbarism reserved for others, the less worthy ones. No… Catherine was his shining star. The prize above all others. It was Catherine who would fulfill his destiny.

It had been that way with the vessel. He'd been special.

He remembered the night that he'd joined with Barton. He – no, they – had been waiting for just such a vessel. That was when he seized his opportunity, pouring his essence into the mind of the man who had occupied the body. He had been the stronger one, and he felt the man who'd been Barton screaming in agony as he forced the invasive coupling of their spirits.

Even now, if he allowed himself to listen, he could hear Barton screaming inside him. But his was just one voice among many inhabiting this vessel. Barton was the weakest of them... he was dying.

The being called Barton didn't need him. He'd served his purpose. He who had once been Barton was now many. Legion.

He heard a loud and sudden groaning from one of the adjoining cells. The voice moaned piteously, caught in a nightmare it couldn't awaken from: "No, please, God… no! So cold… so cold… so dark…"

Barton grinned. Fools.

They understood nothing.

The man who had once been Josiah Barton was as good as dead.

What was left was him. And he was strong. He was willing to bide his time in this cell, gathering strength. Waiting. In the end, his purpose would be accomplished. He – they – would grow strong.

Invincible.

He was Legion.

To be continued…