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The Secret Spaces

Chapter 11

Fenton shook his head in frustration as he sat down at a table in a private NYPD office with Ezra Collig. They had just come from the offices of the show Criminal Hunters which was located far from the set in central Manhattan. "This is like looking for a needle in a haystack," he said, dejectedly. "Who would have thought that a network drama could possibly have so many people involved?" He slammed the file on the table in frustration.

"It's a little overwhelming, yes, Fenton," Collig replied to his old friend. "But we have the best of the best on the case. We'll get answers soon."

"Not soon enough!" Fenton answered, dejected. "Damn it, Ezra! I don't understand these psychotic bastards, no matter how long I've been a detective. Good God. These murders- they were planned to get revenge on us. Five people are dead- because of us. And we haven't been directly targeted… because," his voice broke, and he looked away, "he knows that no matter what could be done to me, nothing could be worse than seeing my family suffer."

Collig nodded. He had the same fear that Fenton did about his own family, and his men were protecting them around the clock. But still- while he had been instrumental in Cotnig's arrest and imprisonment, it was Fenton who had broken the case- Fenton who had been targeted in those original ads by some twisted criminal obsessed with the likes of Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot. And now it was Fenton paying the steepest of prices. "We're doing all we can," he started, but Fenton cut him off.

"It's not good enough!" he lashed out. "My daughters- in- law are in the hands of a man who has no problem killing people; making them suffer beforehand. And if anything happens to them, my family will be destroyed. They are the entire world to my boys," he went on, "and Laura and I love them both dearly."

"You're right," Ezra validated. "But we haven't heard more news. It's stopped. Why? Why prolong this? The fact that we haven't heard anything gives us hope, though I don't know what he's prolonging the agony for. Fenton, if he wanted to kill Vanessa or Callie, he would have. They're being used right now as pawns to make you suffer with doubt. You know nothing is worse than imaginations running wild. And what the hell this has to do with a damned tv show is beyond me right now."

Fenton took a long, slow breath, trying to listen to Ezra's logic. "It's a media sensation," he said softly. "My family is in jeopardy- and the newspapers are completely invasive. They've caught wind of the identities of Callie and Vanessa. They're eating up the detective wife angle. It's front page news. And in the meantime, my son's wife, who is pregnant with my grandchild in real life and who should be doing nothing but resting and taking care of herself, is in grave danger. And it's a damned game to them."

Collig was contemplative. "I wonder," he said at last, "if someone is leaking information to the press. I mean, we're here to locate names of people who must have known about the finale episode. There's also no finalized script for the season opener. That's makes no sense! Why have the actors film short scenes and not know where they're going?! Unless...what if… what if it's part of Cotnig's plan to have this play out in the papers, the same way it started originally all those years ago, and he's waiting to see what happens with Gellers and your daughters- in -law. I mean, it's crazy, but couldn't it be? In his mind, he defeats and humiliates the great NY Detective- and if he's manipulating media, then…"

"Then there's an accomplice in that industry, too," Fenton finished. "This is crazy!" he shouted, finally giving into his rage. "So now we have at least one accomplice on the show, and one in the media, and probably one strong man, at least, directly involved in the murders. How many people are we looking at? Where do we even start? And you know what's the worst thing? I'd give up even looking for the son of a bitch if I could have my family back. But I don't. And I have no idea where to start. Everything's a deception, a game. How do I win?"

Collig picked up the file in front of him. "We start here and use whatever information we know."

Fenton was summoned by an FBI officer who approached his table. "Sir?" he began. "We have a general path that the truck took out of the city. We are seeing if we can trace probable paths past the five boroughs now. Also, you should know- we are going to check out this lead now- we got a hit on Vanessa's cellphone, located about an hour outside the city. We thought you may want to come along with us."

Fenton stood at once. "Of course I do!" he answered, and got up to follow the special agent.

Collig watched his friend go. He hoped against hope that the lead would pan out. But it seemed unlikely. Hadn't they already concluded that a man this smart wouldn't be careless enough not to ditch the phone? Hadn't Fenton just said that everything was deception? Something didn't feel right; he didn't like it.

From a distance, he saw his younger officers waving him over. With a sigh, Collig rose. Less than a minute later, as he crossed the street over a metal grate, he felt incredible pain. And then nothing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Vanessa looked around and tried to get her bearings after being shoved- literally- out the door. She had been blindfolded and driven somewhere before she was thrown from a car and left in the middle of nowhere.

She tried to catch her breath and fought every instinct to run, trying to memorize everything she could. Okay. I couldn't have been in the car more than 10 minutes. So… so maybe I'm not that far away from where I was being held. Joe had taught her that, in any emergency, she had to pause to note the details, and she was trying desperately to do so. But she was in the woods- and all the trees looked alike.

"No," she mumbled. "That can't be true." Sure enough, after a few minutes, she saw a particularly old tree, slightly taller than the rest. But she had a long journey ahead of her, and she knew she'd forget it soon enough. Reaching in her pocket to warm her hands, she felt the cold, metal object and froze. It was horrifying to touch something that had been use during to hurt someone else. Again, the weight of her obligation to find help for Callie and Johnny descended on her.

But what about me? She had to ask herself. First I have to figure out how not to die.

Then she knew what to do. She walked to the tree, shakingly took the knife, and carved VH in big letters. Then, she looked past the canopy of trees, saying a silent prayer of thanks for the clear day, and calculated which direction to head in. She wasn't sure what she even remembered about topography or using the sun as a compass- it had been years since she had done so. Making her decision, she carved an arrow to indicate her direction. She shivered against the cold.

"Joe," she murmured into the wind, "please help me. I'm scared." But as soon she felt the tears come, she fought them back. She had to get help. Johnny and Callie desperately needed her to.

Having literally no idea where to start, and afraid of what this environment, already cold and harsh despite its beauty, would look like in a few hours in the dark, she searched for a sign. And then she heard it- the rush of water in the distance. It took her about 20 minutes to find it.

A stream! Yes. If… if it went downhill, didn't it normally lead to civilization? She ignored the fact that it may very well lead to nowhere, or, if it did lead somewhere, it could take weeks to get there. But it was water, which she may need- and it was something. And when you have nothing, Vanessa realized at once, the smallest of somethings mean a lot.

She wrapped the jacket tight around her. Now noises were coming from everywhere. Shaking, she started to walk, twisting her wedding band the whole time. Stay with me, Joe. Help me.

She trudged ahead.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The door opened less than an hour after Vanessa left. The scarred man and the man who had left with Vanessa entered, and instinctively Johnny placed himself in front of Callie.

"I was thinking, Detective," he said in an amused voice, "that things are really going quite nicely. I mean…" he paused, the semblance of a smirk on his face, "Part 2 is about to begin. If all goes according to plan, you'll be receiving visitors very shortly- in a few days. That should be more than enough time to figure things out. Three visitors- maybe four, though I'm saving the final one, in addition to your detective friends. Her husband," he said, again pointing a menacing finger at Callie, "and his brother."

Johnny interrupted, unable to help himself. "I don't know what you're talking about!" he said at last. "My show or real life- right now."

The man never lowered his gaze. "Both, actually. What plays out here will play out in the papers either way. They're perfect parallels. See, I'm watching next season unfold, but it's just part of a game that has nothing to do with you. So I just choose to watch it as entertainment. You're actually creating the script for next season as we speak. As I'm sure you're aware, you only filmed a brief scene or two. That's because the ending had not yet been written. You would be rescued by your detective friend and fellow officers, perhaps- maybe by friends. That's what your audience expects. But me? Oh- I like the unexpected. It's much more fun to have Mr. Durant and Mrs. Whitmore here than to have you, Mr. Gellers, and especially you, Mrs. Hardy." He paused on their real names, venom seeping from his words. "It pains me to mention the name Hardy- you've no idea. When I get angry, I have no idea what I'll do. Like right now."

Callie clung to Johnny, terrified.

The scarred man motioned for his cronie to approach them, and, in an instant, he swung right for Callie's face, which Johnny, horrified, blocked immediately.

"Don't you touch her!" he screamed. Being 6'3", a former football player, and muscular himself, it wasn't that hard to block an attack- but he was weakened and still fighting the slow, dripping, painful wound in his leg, and he was just a few seconds slower than he would normally have been.

But that's all it took.

The goon grabbed for Callie again, and put a knife to her throat.

"Move and she's dead," he said without emotion, and Johnny froze at the look of panic in her eyes.

He put his hands up. "Please. Please- don't hurt her. I'll do whatever you want."

The goon pressed the knife a bit more forcefully into Callie's neck, nicking it and drawing blood. Callie looked as if she might pass out.

The scarred man spoke from a distance. "I'm currently deciding if Mrs. Hardy is more valuable alive or makes a bigger impact dead. I don't know," he shrugged casually. "I keep imagining the look on her husband's face if he were to see her -and hence his unborn child- dead. Maybe separate the baby from the mother? There's an idea. Hmmm." He paused, and Johnny watched Callie shaking so hard it almost looked like she was having a seizure. How could he help her?! "And while that would be satisfying, part of me thinks that it would be great fun watching him arrive- maybe/ maybe not with his father, which I'll decide- and thinking she's here, but she's not. Because I let the two of you go, too. And then once the realization dawns that you're not here, it may be even more fun to realize that he was too late to save you. Because the great Hardys just couldn't outwit me, and were too slow. Who knows how far you'll get outside in the middle of nowhere- kind of," he chuckled, "especially when you're injured. Plus, imagine the ratings on the show! Do you kill off 1, 2, or 3 of you? Or more, when your reinforcements come?"

He nodded at the goon, who released Callie with a shove and proceeded to hit Johnny in the face hard enough so that blood poured from his mouth. Johnny winced, but just stared menacingly as he spit out the blood. He wouldn't hit back- if he did, he knew Callie would pay the price.

Callie gasped, as the goon turned back to her, kicking her in the knee so hard that she screamed and her leg buckled under her.

Not even thinking, Johnny half dove and caught her in his arms before she could fall, and glared at the scarred man with more hatred than he thought possible. He grinded his teeth as he held onto Callie, eyes never leaving this monster's face. He wasn't afraid- not for himself, anyway. He was furious; enraged; enmity gripping every muscle of his body.

"You're a monster," he choked out. Had it not been for Callie, he would have taken his chances attacking him.

"And you, Detective, and your friend, are free to go. You may make it a day or so in your condition. There's a late spring blizzard on the way, too. It's been fun. Believe me- we shall meet again. It's a promise." They both left, the door open behind them.

Callie was sobbing. "Why?" she cried into chest. "It hurts." She tried to collect herself, but her leg was throbbing; her back still spasming. She could still practically feel the cold knife blade against her throat and she couldn't stop trembling.

Be brave, she reminded herself. Try. At once she looked up and she managed to meet Johnny's eyes for a brief moment- but it was enough for her to see his rage. "God, you're hurt," she realized with a moan. With a shaking hand, she tried to wipe the blood from his face. She was so very grateful for the friendship of this incredible man who was risking everything to protect her.

Johnny felt something inside him snap. To attack him was one thing- he could fight back. To attack a young woman- a petite, seven months pregnant woman who was dehydrated and weakened by this ordeal to begin with- that was unforgivable. If Frank was there, he knew he would have killed both attackers- literally- somehow. He owed it to his friend to protect Callie until he could help Frank get the job done.

"I'm fine," he replied, monotone. "Can you walk, sweetheart?" He looked at Callie, shaking, ghastly pale, blood dripping from her neck. "I… I don't know," she managed honestly.

"Let's try," he said, and gently pulled her into a standing position. The second she started to step forward, she almost collapsed again, sucking in a breath sharply.

He saw how hard she was trying to breathe, to stay calm, despite her pain. "Good job, honey," he whispered as he held her tightly. "But we need to get out of here, and I need you to try again."

Callie nodded, almost dizzy with pain and fear. She held onto Johnny's waist and forced herself to take small steps. Johnny squeezed her shoulders in encouragement. On the way out, he grabbed what was left of the food and water.

"We HAVE to do this," he told her, almost supporting her fully with one arm. "Think of Frank. Think of your family. Think of your baby. Cal, we can't fail here, okay?"

"Okay," Callie agreed through her tears. "I'm trying, John."

"I know," he acknowledged and gently kissed her forehead. "You'll be okay- I promise," he reassured her. He had no idea how he would keep the promise- all odds were against them- but he had never broken his word once he had given it- and he was determined that this time would be no different. There was no choice.