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Chapter 7

Carla and Mike exchanged glances of apprehension as John clicked play on the video file. Sam was leaning against the far wall, his eyes downcast when not returning glares at the sheriff. The movie was silent, but what was shown spoke volumes.

The screen showed a small basement room, probably used as a shop judging by the tool bench along one wall and the scraps of material lying around. In the center of the room, a large clear box sat suspended from the ceiling with wire. Trapped in the box were two young boys, looking to be about fourteen, and both naked.

They were crying and banging on the side of the glass, screaming to be let out by any guess. There was a pipe coming down from the rafters of the floor above, a large red valve connecting it to the box. The silence of the movie was almost painful, both the sheriff and his deputy obviously uncomfortable.

They watched as a man came into the frame from somewhere near the camera. He paused long enough to turn on the valve, water gushing forth to drench the two boys, then walked out of the basement using stairs at the back of the frame. Carla covered a gasp as the tank slowly filled, the boys fighting to try and plug the pipe or break their clear prison to get free.

It didn't take long for the tank to fill, both boys taking a last gasping breath as the water reached the top. They kept kicking and punching at the glass for a short time, trying desperately to save themselves. It was in vain though, the glass much too strong for them. Soon, their movements slowed, then both looked to each other. Carla and Mike could see the look of sadness between them before the look faded to nothingness.

"He was my twin." Sam said, answering the unasked question. "The man you saw was our father." Mike looked up to Sam in utter shock, the younger man's face showing nothing. Mike couldn't begin to imagine just what was going through Carla's mind at the moment, but he knew that she was obviously shaken. A gasp from Carla drew his attention back to the screen.

He saw that a large crack had appeared in the side of the tank. Soon after, one, then two, then the rest of the wires holding the box off the floor broke. The glass container seemed to fall in slow motion before finally smashing into the floor in an explosion of glass and water. For a moment or two, neither of the boys in the movie so much as twitched. Then, without warning, one of the boys began heaving and coughing. Carla let out a whimper as the boy continued to shake with the violence of his body rejecting the water in his lungs.

The other boy didn't move though, until the first accidentally hit him in the chest with an arm. Only then did he move, but not with the heaving and coughing the first had. Instead, his thrashing was more violent. There was no gasping breath making his chest heave, no fight for air in the boy's movements.

The first boy, Sam the sheriff guessed, finally calmed enough to look over to his brother and check him. His face twisted in horror at the other boy's obvious distress. Carla and Mike watched as Sam tried to calm his brother, pinning his arms as best he could in his weakened state. Finally, the second boy stilled, but completely.

Sam shook him a few times, trying to rouse him. Then, seemingly realizing what had happened, Sam began to use C.P.R. on the lifeless body of his brother. It was all in vain though, as no amount of effort on Sam's part could revive his dead brother. It seemed like an eternity before Sam finally gave up, sitting back on his knees and visibly screaming with tears.

He sat for a few moments, then something must have made a noise upstairs because Sam jumped in fear. He looked around, waiting for something to happen, but whatever had scared him was gone. He sat in the pool of water and glass, the pipe still spraying above him so it was as if he was sitting in the rain. Finally, he looked up, directly into the camera's lens.

An expression of pure hatred on his face, Sam climbed to his feet and walked over, glaring at the camera for a few moments before he finally wound back and smashed his fist directly into the lens. The movie ended there, Carla and John staining at the blank screen for a few moments before Sam spoke again.

"His name was Jordan. We were fourteen when our dad did that to us." "Before that, dad had started to beat us, but Jordan wanted to protect me, so he would keep trying to distract dad by pissing him off whenever he came after me. I hated him for doing it, cause dad would get more violent."

Carla looked up to him, her lip twitching and a tear running down her cheek. She wanted to get up and rush over to Sam, now only seeing him as the little boy in that video. Every motherly instinct in her told her to take him against her bosom and promise to keep him safe for ever and ever. Before she could move, John spoke up.

"It was a seizure, wasn't it? The shaking your brother was doing. He had a seizure." Sam nodded, sighing deeply and looking down before continuing in his matter of fact tone.

"I'm guessing that dad threw him against the wall a few too many times when he was defending me."

"It's not your fault!" Carla shouted, jumping to her feet. Sam just shot her a smile, his eyes cold.

"I know it's not my fault. There's nothing a kid can do when someone bigger or stronger wants to beat the crap out of them for no reason. But we could have ran before he did that to us..." Carla shook her head, fresh tears starting.

"How could you have known that he was going to do that?" John nearly shouted, looking once again at the blank screen.

"There were signs..." Sam said, his voice cold and even. "For one, he stopped beating us all of a sudden. In fact, he stopped anything involving Jordan and I a little over a week before he did it. We knew that the fact he wasn't beating us anymore could only mean something had changed. We didn't think that he was going to try and kill us though."

Carla didn't know what to do. She was still a little in shock over what she had just seen, her mind and heart telling her that no father could have ever done that to their child. "H-How did you get away?" She asked in a voice so shaky it was hard to understand.

"I'm guessing that he didn't count on the box breaking like it did, because he left the house. He probably wanted to watch the tape, but not our actual drowning. After I smashed the cam-corder, I went upstairs and grabbed some cloths. Then I just booked it out of there." Sam's unchanging attitude was starting to piss Mike off, but he swallowed hard and counted to ten in his head before he asked.

"So this guy we're looking for. The one who did this to our brothers..." Sam winced at the comparison between them. "He's your father?"

"Why're you doing this?" The man's pathetic shouting was grating on his last nerve. He wanted to reach out and strangle the son of a bitch right then and there. Instead, he reached out, and painfully slapped a piece of duck tape over the man's mouth. He walked over and began to fiddle with his latest creation a bit.

He hadn't been happy that it took so long to separate the lawn mower engine from it's base. Having finally prided it free of it's mount, then placing it on the rails that now went to either side of his latest star's head had made it worth while. Especially when the man began to scream when he attached the blade to the shaft again.

He looked back over his shoulder one last time, then walked over and flipped on the camera, making sure that his star was in focus and ready for his film debut.

"Ok ladies and gentlemen, it's time to meet our newest contestant. Meet Greg Price. He's thirty eight years old. Greg's been a very bad boy, haven't you Greg?" He grabbed his star's hair and violently shook his head yes.

Chapter 8

"I don't get it..." Sam's uncaring voice was a shock to Carla, making her turn to look at him. She, the sheriff, Sam, and the two F.B.I. agents were standing around John's laptop, staining at new video post the killer had made to his favorite shock site. "It's too soon." Sam finished, shaking his head.

"Aren't you the one who said he was accelerating?" Mike accused.

"But he was just picked last night." Sam answered. Both Carla and John whipped around to look at him, their surprise clear. John and Rachel shared a look that said 'oh great', already preparing for the cleanup.

"And just how the hell would you know that?" John growled, taking a step towards Sam. "Are you telling me that you're in contact with this guy or something? That you know who he's picking before they're taken?" Sam rubbed his forehead, regretting the slip up.

"You could say something like that." All at once Mike launched himself at Sam, grabbing the smaller man by the throat. John was the next to move, nearly tackling the sheriff off of Sam. Carla didn't move, instead giving Rachel a look of confusion.

"He claims he's psychically linked to the killer." She replied, closing the laptop as John and Mike wrestled on the floor. Mike was certainly a strong man, but John had the advantage of F.B.I. training, soon pinning the sheriff to the floor. Mike gave a few more struggles, then finally relaxed under John.

"You knew! You knew that he was going to grab my brother and you didn't do a dam thing to save him!" Mike was obviously yelling at Sam. The smaller man was rubbing his neck where the sheriff had grabbed him, backing away to lean against the wall.

"I was two states away and didn't even know who he was, you bastard."

"You could have still called here and told me. Warned the police that he was going to be taken." Mike was shaking with rage, so John didn't make an attempt to let him up.

"I didn't even know where here was at the time!" Sam countered, yelling for the first time since he had shown up. The outburst surprised the others. In the months that Rachel and John hand known Sam, he had almost never altered from his calm and arrogant tone.

Mike and Carla were also surprised, enough so that Mike forgot about killing him...for the moment. Then Carla finally remembered what Rachel had said.

"Just what do you mean by 'linked?' He's got some sort of E.S.P. or something?" Rachel shook her head, raising a hand to direct Carla to Sam for the answer. John let Mike up, even helping the sheriff off the floor; but he stayed close enough to grab him should Mike get violent again.

"Shortly after the murders started again, I started having dreams." Sam looked between the sheriff and his deputy, waiting for an interruption that didn't come. "It wasn't until last year that I realized that they weren't dreams, but memories from the killer."

"You mean your father." Mike snapped. "Didn't you say it was your daddy who was killing these people." Sam didn't even bother to respond, but Rachel did for him.

"The person that was Sam's father probably died even before he tried to kill Sam. From our profile on this guy, it seems that he's had a psychological break. His personality is completely different. It's like he's a different person all together."

"Same car, different driver?" Carla's simplified analogy cleared up the sheriff's confusion. Instead, he turned back to Sam.

"So if you have this guy's memories playing in your mind like some kind of movie, then why is it that you can't seem to get to the victims in time to help?"

"He knows that I'm after him." Sam's simple reply made Carla's eyes bulge. Then something finally donned on her.

"Just how is it that you two know so much about all this?" The question was for Rachel and John, but Sam beat them with a reply.

"Because I came to them before about this."

Mike turned to John, the agent not meeting his eyes. "We thought he was some sort of nut job at first, but then he proved himself right. Our director at the field office didn't like the idea of us using the help of a psychic to catch this guy getting to the media, so we were told to get rid of him."

"And I've been hunting him myself ever since." Sam finished.

"About that..." Carla questioned. "You said that the killer knows that you're after him right? Then why hasn't he come after you?"

Sam looked away again, leaving the question hanging in the air.

"My guess is that he wants you to play with him, right?" Both Sam and Mike turned to look at him with surprise. Sam surprised that John had guessed so easily, and Mike for how simple an explanation it was.

"You know, you profiler types are real ass holes." Sam spat as he shoved away from the wall and began to pace. Rachel and Carla watched the exchange in silence, neither really sure what to offer to the conversation.

"This is a game for him, remember?" John reminded. Finally, Carla had something to ask.

"Just who the hell is HE anyway?" The question had been rolling around Mike's head for a few moments as well, but he had forgotten it. So he was startled when Carla seemingly read his mind.

"Franklin Landry." Sam's curt reply hung in the air for a few moments. Carla shivered a bit, wrapping her arms around herself as if a sudden wind had chilled her.

"It's a bit frightening, finally having a name to go with this monster." She almost whispered into the room. "I can only imagine what it must be like to actually know him."

"I don't know this man any more then you do..." Sam answered, his tone gravely inflected. Carla winced, feeling she'd said something wrong. She turned back to look at the laptop sitting on the table, silent witness to all the horrors that seemed so awful they couldn't be real. She couldn't help but envy the computer.

She wished that she were nothing more then circuits and metal as well, so she wouldn't have to deal with the fact that she would have nightmares of the two boys in the tank. Atrocities against children had always affected Carla deeply. She looked again over to Sam, wondering if she'd ever see anything of the man he now was, instead of the boy locked in a clear prison, he and his brother shouting pleas that had gone unanswered.

"So what are we going to do now?" Rachel asked, the uneasy silence eating at her.

"Same thing we always do at this point..." John sighed. "We look for the clues in the video and see if we can find out just where this new victim is being held so we can go and save him.

Chapter 9

Sam twisted in his sleep, the dreams slash memories getting more and more vivid every night. Sometimes, it was images of the current victim, other times, it was the horrible deaths of the others. Sam could even feel the pleasure that the killer took in the torture he saw on the victim's faces as they realized that they were going to die. It sickened him almost as much as the victim's cries angered the killer.

Sam was finally able to pull himself out of sleep, his eyes darting around for a few moments before settling on the white sheet above his head. He lay there panting for a few minutes, the visions of torture and death still fresh in his mind. He had to slowly go over each scene in his head, figure out which ones were of the current victim, if he would have any chance to help.

Finally, Sam got out of bed, running a hand through his short brown hair as he walked to the bathroom. He quickly stripped off his boxers, the only thing he slept in, and climbed over the edge of the tub. That was another thing that Sam couldn't help but reflecting over, and hating it. How many of these dammed things had he climbed into over the last few months? How many times had he woken in a pool of sweat after watching people be brutally murdered by the man who took his brother away?

Mike sat at his desk, his eyes un-focused as he tried to take in the day. Not only had he found his brothers mutilated body with the help of the son of one of the sickest killers in recorded history, but now he was waiting anxiously to hear if the two F.B.I. agents would have any way of helping to find this next victim before he met the same fate. It didn't take much imagination to figure out that the lawn mower blade was angled to take off a person's head.

His train of thought was interrupted as Carla cleared her throat to get his attention. She had obviously come into the office a short time before and waited for Mike to acknowledge her. He motioned for her to sit down at one of the visitor's chairs, but instead she crossed the room and stood behind him. Mike winced a bit when he felt her hands slide across his shoulders, then begin to kneed at his tense muscles.

"Hell of a day, wasn't it?" Mike could only offer a half smile at her obvious attempt to goat him into talking to her about what he was feeling. Instead, he decided to turn it on her.

"Kind of awful, what happened to Sam?" The question made Carla wince, her hands pausing on Mike's shoulders as she remembered the horrid events that had been captured in perfect digital clarity for the world to see. She quickly pushed it to the back of her mind, resuming her massage of the sheriff's overly tight shoulders.

The two remained silent, neither one wanting to say something that might force a distance between the two on some level. Mike knew that he was growing close to Carla. He had known for some time that she had harbored feelings for him, but their work demanded that he keep their relationship as professional as possible. Mike was slowly forgetting that though, as evident by the fact that without even knowing it, his own hand had reached back and took Carla's in a comforting grip.

As soon as it struck him though, Mike let his hand drop away. Carla backed away then, her own hands finding their way to her pockets. She walked to the front of Mike's desk and turned to look at him. His eyes were downcast at the open file sitting on his desk. She gave a heavy sigh, then turned and headed for the door.

"Do you really think he'll be able to help us catch this son of a bitch?" Carla paused with her hand on the door, turning just her head to look back at Mike.

"I don't know... But with what happened to him, the least we could do is let him try."

"You know as well as I do that he's a civilian and way to close to this investigation to handle it professionally by any means." Mike retorted.

"For god's sake mike!" Carla protested. "How could he not be close. The killer is his father. And not only that, he had to be there when his brother died. I doubt that anyone could possibly handle this professionally with that kind of history."

Mike heaved a sigh, then finally looked up to meet her eyes. "You know, whatever happens, this isn't going to end well."

"These kind of things can't end well." With that, Carla opened the door and left. Mike winced as the door slammed, reminded again that inter office relationships, even one as strange as theirs, were never a good idea.

"So, tell me mister profiler... How long till he kills this latest victim?" Rachel was sitting at her laptop, her fingers flying over the keys as she typed up her report for the day. John was lying on her bed in her motel room, his hands behind his head in a relaxed pose.

"Hard to say." He finally answered, sitting up to look her in the eye as she turned away from her computer. "We could have a week, or we could have hours. It's hard to tell when these guys speed up like this."

"You know it also means that the end is coming..." Rachel retorted, turning back to her computer and typing again.

"Only in your stupid murder novels..." John shot back, resuming his relaxed position on her bed. "In the real world, it could mean anything. Or nothing at all."

"Then let's hope it means nothing." Rachel sighed as she finished her report. She spell checked the file, then saved a copy and e-mailed another to the local field office.

"Finally done?" John asked from the bed, rolling over his side and propping himself on an elbow.

Rachel nodded, pushing her chair away from the motel room desk and stretching. "No matter how many times I try and avoid it, I always seem to hunch when I'm typing." She complained, rubbing the back of her neck. "It always seems to leave me more tense then when I started."

"And I supposed that having to go over every grimy little detail again has nothing to do with it?" John joked, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Just be glad that I don't make you do this stupid report." Rachel spat back as she finally got out of the chair and headed for the bathroom. "I'm going to go and take a shower now so feel free to let yourself out."

John nodded, thinking that a shower didn't sound like too bad of an idea. He left her room just as she was entering the bathroom, pausing long enough to offer a good night before both doors closed. He sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his own neck as he stared at the door.

"Let's just hope this doesn't end like one of your books do." He told the wood before turning and heading over to his own room. John paused when he noticed Sam's car sitting in the parking lot a few spaces down. "And let's hope you can help this time."