Diana glanced in the review mirror, glanced at the little boy huddled in her back seat. He stared out the window silently, his knees drawn up to his chest, skinny arms wrapped around them. He was swimming in the FBI windbreaker, but at least he wasn't shivering any more. The lost expression in those huge blue eyes tugged at her heart. The dark bruise on his cheek raised an irrational anger in her.
"Hey Nathen" she spoke softly, afraid of startling him "How're you doing back there?"
"When can I see my mama?"
"Soon…we need to let the doctors check you out first. Ok?" he nodded, she waited for him to say more, to cry for his mom or ask why they hurt him or something, but he was quiet…watching the traffic go by.
"I know who he is…" she almost missed the soft statement…
"Who Nathen? The man who hurt you?" the little boy shook his head as they turned into the garage.
"The man who took me said he was a killer, but I don't believe it. He was really nice." Diana fought the urge to be sick, please don't let this boy think the man that took him and hit him is nice, she thought.
"Who?"
"Neal…"
"Oh"
"He isn't is he?" Nathen looked at her "A killer, I mean"
"No he isn't" she decided it was probably best not to get into the things Neal Caffrey actually was.
"That's good" Nathen murmured "cause I think he's my birth dad." Diana barely caught the words, but they brought her head up sharply.
"What makes you say that?'
"My other mom used to come see me… sometimes… until… she stopped" the little boy looked at her sadly. "She showed me a picture of my other dad… once… when I was five"
"I see"
"He looked a lot like Neal." Diana nodded wordlessly. Nathen rested his chin on his knee studying her quietly
"Do you know if he is?
"I don't know Nathen" she kept her tone reassuring, but Diana had to force herself to look into his eyes because there was no doubt in her mind… those eyes were exactly the same.
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Peter stood on the icy sidewalk and stared at the door… at the flaking tint on the glass… the worn keypad. They had guns… he was bleeding… The urge to just slam it open was almost overwhelming, but the property owners had promised that the manager would be on sight to let them in. He was bleeding… The icy wind that rustled the bare skeletal hedges bit into his face…tore through his coat. The temperature was definitely falling, just like his mood. Peter twitched impatiently while he waited for the building manager to arrive and unlock the door. Finally… the plump smiling elderly woman bustled up…
"Never expected to have the FBI take an interest in this old place." she grinned pleasantly "Not much here these days." she tsked softly "neighborhood is headed down hill. Such a shame … used to be such a nice place…" She shuffled over the keypad "What was that code again? Used to be a beautiful building… the hedges all shaped and the windows shining… and the fountain bubbling… we were all so proud of it when it was built… Been managing it for my friends for almost forty years…"Peter bit his tongue… resisting the urge to snap at her to hurry up…as she chattered on about the heyday of her building and miss entered the code three times…
"Ms. Evans… I'm sorry" he tried to keep his voice polite, but the words still clipped sharply "but we are in a hurry…"
"Oh yes of course…"she smiled " I assume men in your job are always in a bit of a hurry… not that I've had much experience with FBI agents…I'd have to say you are the first I've ever met…"
"Ms. Evans… Please, one of my people is in your building… his life may be in danger… could you please just get the door open" He was bleeding…
"Oh my… the poor man…" she looked up at him with a look of fascinated horror "there you are" she held the door for them. "Please let me know he's ok" Peter darted inside without answering her, the team followed... In the corridor they separated…breaking into search pairs. Peter glanced at his watch… 11:34… almost an hour since the tracker went dark…Neal could be anywhere by now…could be… he swallowed that thought… forced his mind to focus on each door they opened…echoes of "FBI" and "Federal agents" floated through the halls…
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He risked a look at his ankle as they pulled him upright. He couldn't feel it at all now, probably a bad sign, Neal thought, but he was grateful all the same. Already purple and black, it was swelling to alarming proportions in just the few seconds they let him lay on the floor. The shape of it was… bizarre… that was the only way to describe it and his foot flopped at an odd angle as if it were barely attached. They seemed to expect him to walk on it, but when he tentatively rested the foot on the floor the pain was so excruciating he laughed…a choked gagging laugh that fell harshly from his lips…
Rough hands kept him from collapsing, dragging him, half carrying him through the dark musky hallways… there were stairs… down… subbasement… water seeped from the walls down here…leaving dark greenish brown stains…the floor was ice cold... dirty… he would bet money the janitor hadn't been down here in at least 10 years… it struck him funny that he noticed that, through the fog in his mind…Neal chuckled to himself…the hands that kept him up shook him roughly… obviously they didn't get the joke… The thug growled "shut up"
They tossed him on the damp, cold concrete floor…he lay there... quietly pressing his cheek to dirty cement just breathing. His ankle throbbed distantly. He chanced another look and found himself trying not to gag… broken was not the word for that mess… he had a feeling there was nothing but bone meal inside the skin...
Someone grabbed his foot…jerked harshly… a scream that he wasn't sure came from his throat floated though Neal's mind as a faint echo…he blacked out for a moment… when the world swam back into focus, he wished he had stayed in that oblivion. The cord bit into both ankles… his fingers just brushed the floor… he could see one of Richards's big friends tying the rope around a pipe in the corner of the room…the man wore a twisted grin…as he gave the cord a sharp jerk causing Neal's vision to distort and his breath to catch.
Richards's squatted in front of his face… his expression resembling a snarl more than a smile as he grasped Neal's hair, stopping his slow swing abruptly. He could feel Johnny's breath on his cheek as the man pulled him closer.
"I want you to remember I'm going to find the boy and I'm going to kill him…just like this."
"Why? If this is… about that …twenty grand… I can pay you back" it was surprisingly difficult to talk while dangling upside down… by a shattered ankle, he thought vaguely.
"Can you bring my daughter back, Nick? Can you erase her suffering?"
"I didn't hurt you're…your daughter…I only met her… once… you were there…I never touched…her."
"YOU KILLED HER!" Richards screamed whirling away… he was back in an instant … so was the bat. It loomed enormous in Neal's eyes. He couldn't tear his gaze away.
"I swear I didn-!" Neal's panicked plea ended in a strangled cry as the bat struck his hip…
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The rooms were starting blur together… Peter had lost track of how many doors they had opened, how many dusty office spaces they had checked…there was definitely something wrong with the heating in here. The chill in the air was starting to seep into his bones or maybe that was the worry. He should have expected Neal to do something stupid like this. The kid was terrified for Nathen… of course when he got a lead, he ran in without second thought… probably without a first thought, even knowing the kidnapper wanted to hurt him…
"Uhh sir…" the Harvard recruit looked nervous… as if he didn't know how his tightly wound boss would react to his news
"What did you find?"
"There's blood here." For a fraction of a second his heart froze.
"Show me" his voice sounded calm… practical. He drew a deep breath and followed the kid.
In the corner of the room, behind a broken desk and toppled filing cabinet. It was smeared on the wall… and dripped on the floor… "It's not that bad" he told himself "not that much." He was grateful it wasn't a deadly amount… but… he tried not to think the kidnappers might have moved Neal through here…after he bled out…
Peter's radio crackled… Jones' voice sounded tense as it came through
"Peter… you need to get down here…" something about the way he said it…
"What did you find?" it took an effort to get the words out…He was pretty sure he didn't want to hear the answer.
"I can't…" was that a crack in the younger agent's voice "you're going to have to see…"
Peter was already running.
"Where are you?"
Two minutes…it took two minutes to find the basement room…Jones looked up as Peter skidded into the doorway… with a grim face he held up the object he clutched in his gloved hands… for a moment his superior didn't understand why a crushed piece of plastic caused the haunted look in the younger man's eyes… then he did.
He stepped forward… pulling on gloves as he reached for it… he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but he choked on it… the anklet wasn't cut, wasn't broken… it was destroyed… shattered and splintered… Peter tried not to think about the ankle inside it, but he couldn't help it…
"Any other sign of Neal?"
"Well…" he waved to a pile of clothes kicked into the corner of the room "he was clearly here."
"Clearly… and not going far on his own…" he took in the implications of the clothes… Neal had to be freezing…if they took him out of the building, he wouldn't last long in the falling temperatures. Another thought fluttered through Peter's mind… he pushed it away… he tore his eyes away from the clothes… his gaze fell back on what was left of the anklet… Jones couldn't seem to look away from it…Peter couldn't make himself look at it
"You think he was wearing it when they…"Jones shuddered.
"I'm afraid so…" his voice broke… he couldn't think about it… he had to focus.
"Can you even imagine…"the younger man's voice shook on the verge of panic at the thought of their friend's pain.
"Unfortunately…"Peter tried to hide the shudder… he needed to find Neal and he couldn't do that if he panicked. "Yes I…can…" if he thought about Neal already shot… bleeding, his ankle mangled by whatever shattered the tracker… his breath caught and he tried to shove the thought away. Peter's eyes scanned the room searching for a clue… any clue… his voice trailed off as he spotted the small rust, brown smear on the wall…not a lot of blood… Peter wondered if that was a good or bad sign. He spotted another drop near the door. Peter hurried to the hall… there… to the left, five or six feet from the door another drop. He waved Jones and the others to follow as he moved down the corridor, following the blood droplets until they stopped. Peter looked up… looked around. His gaze fell on a door…STAIRS.
"Up or down?" Jones asked… the stairs were dim…Peter couldn't see anything to indicate which way to go… he shook his head
"I don't know… maybe we should split up" Jones nodded and waved the team to move… half up half down… the door below… not quite closed, creaked on its hinges.