[dollfinluver1076]

Seventy-Four down...one more to go

I know I'm excited about the grand finale

to everyone who's helped in bringing this to life and who has been loving to read it as much as we all did writing it


Previously on Third Watch: Last time we caught up with Detectives Yokas and Boscorelli, we witnessed their unique partnership back in full swing while solving a case of a confused daughter gone berserk. A certain and easily offended Dante took their amusing jabs at his lifestyle with subdued ease but took his chance for some revenge upon meeting the unsuspecting Emily that same night. His plan will be played out in the several hours ahead.

Meanwhile, Faith has done away with lying to herself about Bosco. She loves him and it’s not just about the job and all they’ve been through. When she caught sight of Grace with Bosco after an unproductive tour at a stakeout she was jealous. That doesn’t happen if you’re not madly in love with someone else.

She’s done some crazy things for him and him for her. Topping that list would be what they did for one another in the span of four hours, give or take. To be almost killed for her and to kill for him screamed of their unfathomable love.

To know and feel that is one thing…


An Ordinary Hero


8:03 a.m.


“I think Emily’s dating someone.” Faith states this, a little miserably, from behind an opened menu. She doesn’t even know why she’s looking. Coffee is all she usually gets this early, so coffee it will be.

An hour window rests in between now and when the work day begins. Faith called him last night for an impromptu get-together and as stupid as she thought she was for doing it, Bosco agreed.

With her terrible secret regarding Mann’s true murderer finally set free, other people’s murders were the only points of discussion between her and Bosco for many days since her confession. It was a mutual distancing they both happily partook in. But the blank stares she spied him giving her dead-on was taking its toll on her patience. He looked over at her at times as though she was an impostor; in a way she was and still is.

Faith had a choice to make, let her admission break them or let her admission strengthen them. As she picked up her telephone she chose the former. Bosco’s lack of emotion on either end of the spectrum was not going to defeat her. She lightly punched in his number and hoped their partnership would not be quarantined to only the streets from her on out.

“Does he have a name?” Bosco cranes his neck from beyond his own heavily fingerprinted, laminated menu, addressing the top of Faith’s head, since it’s the only part he can see.

“David.” Faith lays her menu aside, plainly uninterested.

“How do you know? You ask or snoop?” Bosco tosses his on top of hers and clasps his hands on the lip of the table.

A waitress appears and takes their easy order. Her name tag reads ‘Carol’. Bosco and Faith know her well. The Country Town Diner is on a very short list of eateries actually suitable for eating. They practically have reserved seating. Carol’s no spring chicken but she looks incredibly well-kept at 58 and she’s damn good at what she does. Bosco likes her mostly because she reminds him so much of his mother. He could definitely see Carol and his ma getting along very well if they ever met.

After a failing attempt to wrest the two Detectives into ordering a more substantial meal, she gives Bosco her customary wink and clucks her tongue like a disapproving mother at both of them. Her orthopedic sneakers squeak as she retrieves their coffee.

Faith wrinkles her nose at his accusation, accurate or not.

“Admit it, you snooped.” His all-knowing smirk grows more and more pronounced with each passing second she doesn’t answer. A hot rush prickles her insides. Faith feels like she’s been stripped of her clothes and her body laid out for Bosco to inspect. His longing stare is unnerving but she’s enjoying it anyway. “I know you did.”

“She’s my kid….you’re damn right I snooped.” Now stop looking at me like that. Coffee’s not going to be the only thing staining this table if you don’t. “I can’t help thinking she’s gonna get hurt again.”

“You have to let her live, Faith. She’s smart. She’s done a lot of growing up since that Eric kid was around.” Bosco raps his overturned knuckles off of the baby-shit colored Formica table, watching Faith relax. “You know that old saying…the more you keep ‘em away-”

“The more they want it…or something close to that.” Faith completes Bosco’s thought and finds herself relieved when a steaming pot of coffee drops down between them filling their saucers three-quarters to capacity. “Besides, if I listed off the things I was doing at 16, Em would read me the riot act.” Faith cradles her cup and looks through the rising steam. Bosco can clearly see an unmistakable gleam in her eye.

Bosco breaks eye contact first and busies himself pouring sugar into his cup, trying like hell to expunge the image of a younger, hairy, and naked Fred Yokas from his thoughts. Now, a younger version of Faith, naked of course, is slowly conjured up, and it does wonders in settling his offended gut. He stares, unblinking into the swirling drink, with a serene smile on his lips. He should be daydreaming about Grace. After all, he is nuts about her. Faith rudely boots him in the shin under the table. Not too hard. Just hard enough.

“Owww…dammit Faith! What the hell did you do that for?” His spoon clanks onto the small plate holding his cup. He bends down, rubbing the sore spot as Faith continues to drink her coffee casually.

“You looked too happy there for a minute. Thought somethin’ might be wrong with you.”

“Sorry for being happy. I’ll keep that to myself from now on.” He scowls, his mood taking a nosedive. “Can I kick you the next time I see you yammer on over some guy?” He keeps his eyes purposely diverted from Faith, knowing he probably pissed her off. Highly. Or worse, hurt her feelings.

“You know what, Bos?” Faith lays her palms flat against the cool surface of the table and angles her neck downward, forcing Bosco to quit avoiding her. He thinks, ‘Oh shit, here it comes’.

“If I ever get that lucky again before I die, you can kick me all you want.” She’s not angry. Not at all. “And that’s a gigantic ‘if’.”

“Are you fishing for sympathy, Yokas? A little late for that, doncha think?” He fakes another wince at his minor injury. Miller’s a fucking tool for breaking it off with you. I tried not to like him but he made you happy. Your kids liked him too.

“It’s too late for a lot of things with me.” Faith shreds her napkin in long, symmetrical strips. Her mood has taken the same nosedive as Bosco’s moments ago.

John’s gone; Emily’s growing exponentially more independent and Charlie isn’t her little boy anymore. Alone. She’s really, truly alone after always being needed by someone. Nobody needs her now. Not even Bosco. He’s happy with Grace. He, of all people, deserves it. Finally.

“I’m not going to let you mope around. I’ll send you packin’. Right back to Jelly.” He snaps his fingers as if he possessed the power to do such a thing. He wouldn’t even if he could.

“You don’t mince words, do you, Bos?” Faith balls up her destroyed napkin and beans Bosco directly in the center of his forehead with it. She cackles when it plops into his unfinished coffee.

“See, you’re better already.” He slides his cup to the edge of the table, signaling that he’s had his fill. He grimaces at the brown lump now sitting in his cup soaking up most of the coffee. “Torturing me suits you.” Too bad loving me like I love you doesn’t. “It looks like someone took a dump in this.”

Meanwhile, Carol’s been busy watching Bosco and Faith. She’s kept herself conspicuous behind the cubicle-style area where the silverware, condiments, and extra cups and saucers are stacked. She’s had her own theory about the two people sitting in the booth directly across from where she is.

“Carol, what do you call yourself doing?” Louise, another ‘lifer’ in the food service business, whispers to her long-time friend, on and off the clock. “Spying on our customers again?”

“Just these two. I’ve heard love is blind. But is she deaf and dumb to boot?” Carol turns to Louise and they both dissolve into a snort-like laughter. Rose Boscorelli would fit right in.

Louise recovers first, watching as Faith kicks Bosco under the table. “If that isn’t love, honey, I don’t know what is.” She sets her back up to one of the walls. “I taught 1st and 2nd graders for ten years before landing here. And yes, you already know that.” She points a finger at Carol asking her to stay quiet. “The little boys and girls did the same things; pulling hair, punching each other in the arm, teasing in general. You know, the “I actually like you in reality but I’m hurting you by showing it kind of thing”. I see age doesn’t matter here.” She jerks a thumb over her left shoulder in the direction of the oblivious Bosco and Faith.

“Don’t look at me…I’ve been dropping hints like lead balloons on both their heads for years. I’m obviously no matchmaker.” Carol hears the unmistakable ‘ding’ of a bell as another order of food is slid into the open window separating the kitchen with the front counter. “Shit. Back to work.”

“Are they a hopeless case?” Louise follows behind her friend as a second set of plates fill the empty space of the lengthy window.

“Love like that is never hopeless. Lazy but not hopeless.”

******************

3:19 p.m.

“Don’t block the damn box!”

“Davis, yelling at the traffic is not going to help. We haven’t moved an inch in 15 minutes. Read your paper there.” Sully flicks a finger at Ty’s wrinkled New York Post then rests his head on his bent left arm sticking out of his window; as if nothing could get under his skin. Not the front-to-ass traffic clogging up all conceivable avenues, not the screaming imbeciles in roughly every fourth car thinking that their personal hot air is doing any good. This isn’t the Red Sea and no one here resembles Moses, so there’ll be no parting of yellow taxis or gas-guzzling SUV’s this Friday afternoon. Everyone’s suffering; even the two cops in 55-Charlie.

How can you be so damn calm? What if there’s a call?” Ty restlessly flips through the paper. He grows bored rereading the news he’s read once already. He folds it over on itself and wedges it between his seat and Sully’s. He shields his eyes and takes a look out his side.

“We’re stuck either way, calls or no calls.” His passive attitude is starting to irk Ty. He knows he’s usually the grouchy one on days like these but he has no reason to be. Sully is in a very good place in his life. He’s been back working with Ty and he’s still with Rose, who he cares for and who cares for him. He doesn’t know how long this stretch is going to last but he’s prepared to run it till it gives out. “Unless you have the A-Team hidden in your back pocket ready to move that semi blocking the intersection, we’re S.O.L..”

“You could radio it in. Or I could flip the lights on; move all these cars out of the way.” Ty reaches for the siren and lights. Sully cuts him off and unhooks his radio from his shoulder.

“This is 55-Charlie to Central. We need an extra large tow truck at Jefferson and Henry. We got a semi blocking the intersection.” Sully calls in to dispatch the problem of the broken down truck. “There, is that better?”

“Getting a call would be better.”

“Who lit a fire under your ass? You’re awfully eager all of a sudden.”

“Just want to work. What’s different about that?” Ty sighs heavily, anxious to be doing anything but this. “The A-Team, Sul?” Ty rubs his eyes after the beaming sun’s rays attempt to singe his retinas. “You were into that show?”

“What? You didn’t watch it?” Sully did the required math in his head, concluding that Davis was definitely old enough.

“Yeah I watched it. Me and every other 10 year old kid in America.” Ty hears the movement of cars before his eyes can register it. The glitch that had single-handedly swamped the streets with unmoving vehicles was finally clearing up. Ty claps his right hand to the outside of his door in minor triumph. “Niiice. We’re moving.”

Units in the 55, we’re getting a holdup alarm at the Center East Bank. 110 Hudson St.

“Now we’re talkin.” Ty switches the siren and lights on this time with no interference from his partner.

Sully drops the car into drive and weaves around the mass of cars still scattered ahead.

“Come on, we gotta bank robbery to get to.” Ty snaps his seatbelt on, ready for the race to the scene. He wants the collar so bad he can taste it.

“You are just full of beans today.” Sully catches a clean split in the congestion and hauls ass through it before it has a chance to close back up.

The speedometer in 55-Charlie is steadily clicking higher and higher. All looks free and clear on both sides. Looks clear, not is clear.

Ty sees the van plowing towards them, almost moving due to something or someone else’s volition, out of his peripheral vision. He cringes in instinct when the blue-gray van collides with Sully’s driver’s side door, t-boning the squad car, crushing it inward. He doesn’t even have time to yell Sully’s name in warning.

The impact slams the front end of the car into a line of parked cars on a corner. The momentum is so violent; their car does a backflip, back end going over the front, landing in an upside down heap of broken glass and buckled metal. The loud braying of a car alarm is the only measurable noise after the hellish accident.

“Sully…Sully wake up.” Ty forces his breath out in small pushes. He can feel blood trickling down his head in bifurcating rivulets. His entire body is under the impression it’s been slammed into a concrete wall numerous times it’s so sore.

The airbag has exploded in a useless white inflation of air. Sully is unconscious.

“Sully.” Ty firmly nudges him. Nothing happens.

Ty arches his neck and sees a white pickup truck stop several feet from the overturned car. He sees a man get out of that truck through the busted glass of the windshield. He’s carrying a double-barreled shotgun close to his right side and low to the ground. The man opens the driver’s side door of the van and discharges two explosions of sound into the driver and passenger.

BLAMM!!

BLAMM!!

Ty grabs for his radio and does not find it. He misses the fleeing younger man running away from the shooter. More like being let go purposely. Yet he hears the older man’s words directed at the other guy…”You can run now Stevie, you’re free.”

His fingers locate Sully’s radio. He pulls the tangled wired closer to his mouth. Ty looks up again and sees the shooter looking down on him. He hunches forward for a moment then walks back to his truck without offering any assistance to the injured officers. Not that Ty was expecting any. Not after seeing two people being blown away.

“55-Charlie, we’ve been in an accident. Shots fired.” His arm weakens and he loses his grip on the radio. “Shots fired.”

5- Charlie, come in. We need your locale. 5-Charlie, can you repeat?

The blue and white numbered 9920 is still smoking from the engine as the only person around leaves Ty and Sully for dead. The man drives by the wreckage he’s caused and out of sight.

******************

3:27 p.m.

“More coffee Bosco?” Faith stands in the doorway of their joined office, a heap of manila folders resting on her crossed forearms. “You’re not all jittery yet?”

He dumps one last teaspoon of sugar in his large cup, using the last of the plastic stirrers in the process. “With all the lying around I did…this is nothing.”

Faith doesn’t say anything about that. She doesn’t have to. He can have all the damn coffee he can handle. “You didn’t use up all the stirrers, did you?” She laughs at his sudden wilted posture.

Bosco looks around the small table and inside the trashcan beside it. He raises his hands dramatically. “Ooops.”

Faith, who never lets an opportunity to pass on a cutting remark about her favorite Sargeant, makes a suggestion. “I wouldn’t worry; everyone can just use Cruz’s skinny ass instead. Head first, of course.” She lifts one eyebrow, smiling without a hint of humor, and wheels around on her heels back to her desk.

Bosco makes a clawing catfight noise behind her back. “Good one, Faith.”

“Please, do not include me in any of your creepy fantasies. Especially not with her.”

Units in the 55, we have 5-Charlie calling. Shots fired and an accident at the intersection of Henry and Jefferson.

“Shit! Ty and Sully.” She hisses as the folders fall from her arms, some slipping to the floor.

“Come on, I’ll drive.” Bosco leaves his coffee neglected and bolts from the office and tears down the stairs. Faith shadows him, seconds behind.

“Mom!” Emily moves from the seat she was waiting in. She is there to meet her mother for a late lunch. Lt. Swersky is at the front desk when she comes in and was on his way up to alert Faith when 55-Charlie’s distress call came in over the wire.

“Oh, Em. Lunch. I’m sorry, we just got a call. Sully and Ty are hurt. You remember them?” Faith meets Emily at the bottom of the stairs and hugs her quickly. “We have to go.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Emily nods her head. “Okay. Some other time then.”

“I’m really sorry.” Faith tries to hurry her daughter out of the station house, seeing Swersky sweep past her and Bosco, bellowing into the radio being throttled in his hand.

“She’ll make it up to you, Em. Be sure of it.” Bosco calls over his shoulder, promising Emily.


******************

3:31 p.m.

“Sullivan better be alright. My mother doesn’t need any more grief.”

The car is turned right onto Henry Ave. The chaos is almost indescribable.

“We’re about to find that out.” Faith’s eyes goggle at the wreckage piled up all over the street as Bosco shifts their car into park. “What in the hell happened here?”

Manny and Cruz are seconds ahead of them, parked caddy-corner in front of the crushed van, opposite Bosco and Faith. Cruz runs to Sully; Manny to Davis. Adam 55-3 rounds the third corner, Grace and Carlos being the last ones to arrive. They rush over to Sully who’s lying, still unconscious yet breathing, on a makeshift area on the curb. Four of the spectators took it upon themselves to pull him from the remains of the squad car. Residents don’t do these types of things often but it’s nice to see it when they do.

Faith sees Ty propped up against a street lightpole, bloody but moving. He‘s talking with Cruz and pointing to the van which Bosco and Faith are beelining toward.

The dead man and woman fortunately have their eyes closed. The man’s head is resting on the woman’s shoulder, in a hyperextended ninety degree angle. Bosco is expressly thankful for this; he’s been around enough death without needing it to be literally “staring him in the face”.

Grace hollers to Carlos for a collar. Sully is quickly scooped up and rushed to Mercy. Bosco looks through the van’s driver side door and the only glimpse of Grace he gets is the swinging of her ponytail as her and Carlos speed off to Mercy. He thinks, ‘That’s better than most days out here’.

Holly and a new paramedic, Connie Dennison, arrive in Boyd 55-3 to take Ty to the hospital. The huge numbers of people have dissipated but several straggling clusters are hanging around.

“I hear the meat wagon coming to pick these two up.” He pops open the glove compartment, retrieving the registration and insurance papers belonging to the deceased’s vehicle.

”There’s that overwhelming sensitivity again.” Faith interjects him brusquely while copying down the license plate number in the rear.

Bosco peruses the zippered booklet containing all the information they need. “Great. They’re church people.” Way to make a bad case even worse.


******************

4:11 p.m.

“How are they?” Faith approaches Swersky at the nurses’ station with great apprehension.

“Sully’s awake. Had a minor concussion. He should be fine.” His fatherly concern is evident regardless of the fact that Sully is fairly close in age to the Lt.

“And Davis?”

“He’s in with the doctor now.” He looks around as if someone is missing. And obviously there is. “Where’s Bosco?”

Faith scoffs. “You know, we have crime scenes where nobody sees anything. Everybody wants to talk about this. We got like 50 witnesses. So, Bosco’s getting’ all the pedigrees.”

She relays what’s been pieced together by Ty at the scene and from the other willing witnesses, who were all more than eager to cooperate. New Yorkers; always keeping you guessing and on your toes.

Apparently, a truck without license plates was in a traffic altercation with the victims. The driver of the van drove up on the sidewalk to get away from him. Then the pickup went up on the sidewalk after them and pushed their car into the intersection, right into 55-Charlie. With the van stalled due to the crash, the man aimed a shotgun at the two people up front, taking them out like sitting ducks.

The man is identified as Peter Hart from Rockland County. The van is registered to the New Saints of Freedom Church. The female had no i.d.

Davis is sent home with a separated shoulder after Faith and he talk once again. A spark of interest ignites within her when Ty tells her about the mysterious third passenger who was strangely released and spared a gunshot to the chest.

Stevie is the name Ty heard.

Now they’re getting somewhere.


******************

6:16 p.m.

Emily Yokas steps inside the coffee house, cleverly named Grounded, and searches for David. She hopped on the nearest train after leaving the 55th precinct and headed to the West Village where her new boyfriend works. She called him on the way over, hoping she could hang out with him.

Emily makes the mistake of saying she wasn’t able to go to lunch with her mother. She defends her mother as David continues to criminalize Faith’s long hours and unexpected workload. She holds a laugh in when David compares his job to her mother’s. She’s a Homicide Detective, David…you grind beans and add milk to it and God knows what else. I’m not surprised you have more time to spend with me than my mom.

He sweet-talks her into meeting him at a club called “The Cave of Cain” at 8 that same night. She’s skeptical at first but David appeals to her more gullible side by telling her she’d be the “most important person there”. What sixteen year-old girl can possibly resist a line like that?

Emily isn’t impressed by David’s self-described power but she lets him think so. She tells him she’ll see him later.

If she only knew what was about to hit her.


******************

6:20 p.m.

“I called my ma, told her about Sully. She’s on her way over there to see him.” Bosco whips around the city in search of the Freedom Church.

“Good, that’s good.” Faith keeps a lookout for the address. “And Ty’s separated shoulder should heal in a few days.”

Bosco nods his head at the positive news. “Any word on 55-Charlie?”

“I think it’s gone out to pasture. There was nothing salvageable left.” Faith sneaks a glance at Bosco while thinking about how close it could’ve been 55-David on its way to the junkyard. The hood was crumpled like an accordion, the windshield completely covered in spiderwebbed fractures and the light bar trashed; slivers of red and blue strewn on the asphalt.

It was the official ugly end to an era. And if you listen really closely, you can make out the sorrowful notes of Taps wafting through the air. In honor of 55-Charlie, let us have a moment of silence followed immediately with a rousing chorus of “CRAP!”

Sully would surely approve.

******************

6:26 p.m.

A small, low-key gold plaque bedecks the front door of the church. It’s not necessary considering the building is in a high rent district. The offerings must be good. Very good.

Bosco makes eye contact with a guy standing two doors down from the church. There’s an inkling of a connection snapping in his brain but it becomes not much more than that.

He knocks but the door is unlocked. The interior is decorated in monochromatic white. How many kinds of white can there be? Leather chairs, heavily framed oil paintings, and hi-definition televisions accompany each room they explore. Bosco spots an appointment book, commenting on how full it is. Make a bigger contribution, get a better seat; is that how it works in Heaven nowadays?

Faith moves ahead of Bosco forewarning anyone inside of their presence. All is quiet until she stumbles upon a dead woman splayed on her back, a single blast to the chest; a pricey area rug sopping up her blood.

Bosco skirts around the large rectangular mahogany desk as Faith presses her fingers to the woman’s neck, checking for any sign of life.

“There’s another back here.” Bosco draws his gun. A man lies on his back as well, one shot to the chest, tie flipped over itself, revealing the fist-sized hole in his sternum. Both well-dressed people dead.

“You sensing a pattern here, Faith?” Bosco’s eyes travel from the woman and back to man. “Four victims all blown away in the same style. For church people, they sure had one pissed off sheep who strayed from the flock.”

“He didn’t stray that far, evidently.”

As they wait for crime scene to arrive, they surmise what happened to the secretary and the supposed security guard/your guess is as good as mine. The shooter definitely knew where he was, what he was doing, and he knew the two unlucky employees he subsequently blitzed like the two others earlier this afternoon. This guy, whoever he is, is sending one violent message.

A bullet-riddled portrait of a man clothed in white hangs above a table littered with torn photographs. Brother Jonathan Turner peers down from the frame on the wall like Jesus incarnate. The head honcho chose a good day to be out of the office, Faith muses. They both agree that all of this was done last. It was left intentionally. Faith picks up a random handful of the pictures, Bosco does the same.

“Oh my god.” Faith’s tone fluctuates up and down, and with it, a tinge of horror. “It’s kids…naked kids.”

A slew of painful images pop like fireworks in front of Bosco’s unblinking eyes, past cases that stuck to him like tiny, stony emotional burrs. His arm holding the pictures begins to quiver; it steadily moves through his entire body making him look like a tapped tuning fork.

Faith sidles over to him, seeing his punchy demeanor, and withdraws the collection of pictures from his fingers. She stands in Bosco’s view of the table and quickly flips each and every photo upside down, concealing the vacant stares of the objectified children displayed for anyone to see. She gently nudges Bosco in the side moving him forward into the foyer.

“Bos, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He shakes his head as if coming out of a heavy fog and raises a hand in a rejective manner, downplaying his shocked reaction. “You about ready to go?”

“After you.” Faith slams the door with a resounding ‘whump’ behind her.

Two uniformed officers are positioned at the foot of the stairs.

“No one gets in the building.” Bosco informs the men, once again in control of his runaway emotions.

“Bosco, I need this warrant to be comprehensive.”

“You’re gonna tell me how to get a warrant?” Bosco waves an offended finger at Faith then points to himself.

“No, I’m just sayin, if this case involves kids getting’ hurt, I wanna make sure all the ‘I’s’ are dotted and all the ‘T’s’ crossed.” Faith turns her head and catches sight of someone huddled near a building right across the street.

The gears have already begun chugging away in Bosco’s brain. The connection that appeared then dwindled away is back again; the persistent figure of that young man waiting out here as if he wants to be caught is adding some serious meat to this once stripped bone.

“Guy across the street…“ Bosco trails off when he sees the questioning look in his partner’s eyes.

“What about him?” She asks, doubtlessly unaware of him when she and Bosco arrived at the church.

“He was hanging around when we pulled up.” Bosco steps to the curb, checks for any traffic, and strides over to where the guy trying to hide in plain view.

Faith jogs ahead of him, approaching the man first. He sees Faith and makes a very poor attempt to flee the scene. “Sir? Don’t…don’t make me chase you.” She pulls out her gun, aiming at his back. “Turn around.”

The man does as he’s ordered. “I didn’t do anything.” He shows his hands and puts them above his head. “I was just standing there.”

Bosco notices the dark red stains on the man’s white collar underneath his green sweater. Bosco takes a drastically different stance when the surrendering man starts to cry at Faith’s pointed gun. A man he might be but right now he looks no more than 16 or 17. And he doesn’t look dangerous.

“Cuff him, Bosco.”

“What?”

“Did I stutter?” She purses her lips tightly together, eyeing his coat for the obscured set of handcuffs.

Bosco huffs querulously but appeases her by doing the very thing he’s positive is a big mistake. As he moves in to cuff their suspect, he makes a mental side-by-side comparison of the blood found on all four victims; most importantly, the latter two, to the blood he’s looking at on this guy’s clothing. It would more closely resemble what was found at the accident scene given the hours that have ticked by since then. This blood is dried and caked into his shirt. The blood found on the last two victims was still fresh and wet.

Bosco is seeing fifteen and twenty moves down the road. He’s aggravated by Faith’s roughness and patronizing comment. He won’t satisfy her by giving her what she wants: a reaction. He’ll allow his silence to trick her into thinking she’s right.

******************

7:32 p.m.

“Faith, wait.” Bosco walks beside her and tugs on her upper arm, slowing her down. “I think I should go in there… talk to him.”

“Why?” She moves back a foot as if this is the craziest thing she’s ever heard.

“Did you even look at the kid? He’s scared of his own shadow!” Bosco holds his ground with Faith, refusing to give in to this. “You -were- a little tough on him.”

“Okay, you’re in charge. But I’ll be right outside.”

“Workin’ on getting that warrant?” He points his Police Officer’s notebook at their office, hoping she gets the drift; he doesn’t need her to be hawking his every move. She’ll know when he needs her. And right now all he needs is to find out if this kid is who he thinks he is.

“Yes, working on that warrant.” She narrows her eyes, caught totally off guard at his clever ruse to send her away.

******************

7:36 p.m.

“What’s your name?” Bosco scoots out a chair and sits. The steady rocking motion of the young man across from him only serves to deepen the certainty of all he’s assembled so far. He keeps his voice steady and calm. He’s doing whatever he can to wipe out Faith’s immediate harshness earlier. He couldn’t fault her for simply doing her job but if she had taken a few more seconds to see what he had seen, she probably would have eased off a bit. However, in this game, someone always has to be the good cop and someone has to be the bad cop; and Bosco was fucking sick and tired of being the bad cop.

“Steven.”

Bosco receives a jolt at the name. He knew it the very second he saw Steven across from the church. He knew it like it was an impossibility to ever not know it. He also feels something tapping inside him, telling him some vital piece of information but he can’t put his finger on what it is just yet.

“Steven what?” He only asks out of necessity. And not to mention the Bureau is appreciative of a last name on all reports filed in the department.

“Hart.” Stevie croaks it out.

“So you’re Stevie?” Bosco feels his empathetic side beginning to boldly show itself.

“Please, don’t call me that.” He looks Bosco in the eye for the first time since Bosco entered the interrogation room.

“Sorry.” Bosco stares down at the written name on the pad. Shit. “You know Peter Hart?”

“He’s…my father.” His admission comes out partly sounding like a whisper and partly like something he almost hated to say.

“What happened in that van, Steven? Why were your parents shot? Why weren’t you?” There’s no beating around any bushes here. Bosco is taking it easy on the kid but he needs to know who would do such a thing and why. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

“He hit our car and shot my parents…he planned it. We were on out way to church. No, it wasn’t an accident.” Steven’s rocking starts up again. Bosco clearly sees his distress but he’s not sure it’s because of his mother and father being dead. Something’s a little off. “That’s where…where the blood came from…when he shot them.”

“Who killed them?”

“I don’t know. Just some guy.” He shrugs his shoulders and looks away, evading Bosco’s question.

“Some guy? Some guy who called you Stevie and told you that you could go?” He doesn’t believe him. How could Steven possibly think he could? Bosco presses him, talking over Steven when he asks to be let out. Simple questions don’t always get an easy answer. Bosco tries another route.

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“Because…I don’t, I don’t talk to the governmental forces of Babylon.” Bosco does an auditory double-take. Usually you get the old standby response of “Because I was scared”. He’s seen it in hundreds of crime tv shows and movies so he was expecting it.

“Come again?” Bosco leans his upper body closer to the table and raises his eyebrows slightly.

“Uncle Jonathan teaches us that you are the forces of Babylon and that you hate us because of our belief in him.” Steven recites this as if he’d been taught it since birth. He sure looks like he’s buying this crock of shit, even now.

“I don’t hate anyone, Steven. I’m only concerned about those people who were shot in that church and your parents.”

“You want to persecute us all.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You want to get to him through us.”

“Uncle Jonathan?” Bosco cuts in while keeping his negative opinion of the supposed ringleader to himself. The image of the bullet-punched picture is evidence enough that whoever this guy was he was no saint whether or not he had hordes of suckers hanging on to his every word.

“You hate him most of all.”

“I don’t know you or anyone in that church well enough to say that. I just figured out who you were a couple of hours ago. I’m only here to help.”

“We don’t need your help.”

******************

8:03 p.m.

“We got the warrant.” Faith hangs up her phone as Bosco comes in to talk with her.

“Good.”

“So, what do you think? The guy in the box…he your shooter?” Faith strides over to grab a small cup of coffee. Her bladder is cringing but her muscles are rejoicing.

“No, he was the other person in the van. It was his parents who were murdered.”

“Why didn’t he just tell us that?” Faith stops pouring long enough to ask.

His initial snarky answer would have sounded like ‘He could have if it wasn’t for you wanting to shoot first and ask questions later. He mighta shit his pants if I wasn’t there’. He scraps that and goes for a safer response. “I don’t know. There’s something real screwy about this whole thing, Faith. He doesn’t even look upset that his parents were killed.” He pauses then adds, “Right in front of him.”

“Is he involved with the murders in any way?” She scoops and stirs.

“No way. No amount of money could convince me of that.” Bosco waves his hands in front of him like he were shooing away an annoying housefly.

Faith props her body above her desk using her palms as a crutch. “What’re you gonna do?”

Bosco shakes his head. It says to Faith “I have no idea.” He clasps his fingers together and rests his chin on top. His forearms shove away some papers and there’s his answer, in the form of a young boy’s innocent face. Bosco yanks out the picture and it all clicks. Most of the pictures that were found of those naked children were comprised mainly of Steven and another unnamed dark-haired boy. Bosco stares into the green eyes of a little boy lost. Now he’s a grown man but lost even more so.

He trembles for several moments, aware of what has to come next. “I’ve got my answer, Faith.”

She snaps her head up just in time to see him sprinting out the door.

8:12 p.m.

The stenciled letters spell out the right place she’s supposed to meet David. The “Cave of Cain” resides at the end of a set of cement stairs and down a long dark underground tunnel lighted by cheap low-wattage bulbs. Her idea of romantic and David’s idea are dreadfully mismatched it appears.

Emily is dressed more appropriately for tonight than she could ever fathom; without the plastic fangs and pancake makeup. They do say ‘black goes with everything’; whoever “they” are.

She walks through a chain curtain into a dimly lit room with candles and hanging lights every few feet. She jumps back after she calls out into the flickering darkness. Dante, not David, greets her. She smiles and laughs nervously, unsure of what’s going on.

The chains of the curtain rattle and more like him crowd around Emily. Her face sags when she realizes she’s been lied to. You sure can pick them.

Dante goes on with his little spiel of how she’s been forgotten; she’s one of “them”. He’s a Sanguinarian, a human blood-drinker, for all you laymen out there.

Hearing that, Emily is creeped out beyond belief. Time to go. NOW! She rejects Dante’s offer of being introduced and backs out of the club a step at a time. Dante, not wanting to look like a complete fool by letting his fresh prey out the door, follows suit.

Emily stands on her toes and signals for a taxi.

“I thought you were open-minded.” Dante strides up behind her.

“I thought you were sane.” Emily tightens her grip on her bag in case she has to take a swing at her now very, very ex-boyfriend.

“Don’t belittle my beliefs.” He stands above her and regurgitates the same crap as before.

Emily drops her hand as the headlights of a cab cut across her bare legs. “This is not a belief system.” She turns toward Dante. “This is ridiculous.”

“It is not.” Dante defends his sad little world like a petulant child who wants to stay up past his bedtime.

“And you know what…I do have people who care about me.”

“Like your mother?” He snipes at Emily.

“She works hard. We spend time together when she isn’t.” Why am I saying any of this? I never want to see this guy again.

“She doesn’t care. I do.” He reaches out a hand and touches her arm.

Emily makes an insulted face, dropping off the curb and away from Dante’s unpleasant touch. “Then don’t.” The cab pulls up alongside her. “And don’t call me again.” Emily opens the door and stops. “Seriously, just take the eyeliner off and go see a doctor.” She flits her fingers at him and shuts the door.

Ooooh, shot down by both Yokas women in less than a week. Nothing squashes your manhood quicker than being nixed by two different generations of females. What is a little vampire boy to do?

******************

8:18 p.m.

A plastic baggie holds what Bosco is about to use to get what he needs from Steven. He watches quietly as Bosco slowly takes a chair and sits on the same side of the table as him.

“I have something to show you.” Bosco swallows hard and fast, taking out the photos of Steven. He lines them up like overturned cards one by one, recording Steven’s subtle yet distraught reaction.

“That’s not your mother is it?” Bosco speaks softly as Steven twitches and bites his bottom lip. The woman in the picture is barely clothed, her hands and their whereabouts not captured by the camera’s lens. Bosco doesn’t need proof to know where she’s touching Steven.

“So-oo?” His eyes flick from the pictures of himself to the ones left in the folded over bag in Bosco’s hand. His offhand reply confuses Bosco. But his body language tells Bosco the reality of the situation. Steven is hunched over with his hands wringing. What did they do to these kids?

“Steven, what went on in that church?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” He pleads with Bosco.

The small sound of his voice instantly reminds Bosco of Danny when he told Bosco of how he and his older brother Steve were abused by both their mother and father. Bosco sat down close to Danny and he confided in him. Bosco gained his trust by sharing what he had endured as a young boy. Bosco instinctively used the parallel of abuse in his own life when he dealt with children who had suffered the same fate. It has always been the deciding factor in how hard he’s pushed to protect and help the ones who couldn’t.

“I know. I believe you.” Bosco holds Steven’s shaky stare, hoping it’s good enough to gain his trust for one last thing.

“It’s only love.”

“Love?” Bosco asks, completely dumbfounded.

“Uncle Jonathan says…God…made love…and God made sex feel good. And that…even if you’re a kid, it’s alright.”

The verbal equivalent of a punch to the gut is Bosco’s only reaction to the depravity practiced on Steven and the rest of those children. “You’re parents let this go on?”

“They all love us very much.”

“Who does?” Bosco doesn’t think Steven’s just speaking of his parents; or maybe he’s not speaking of them at all. Judging by the graphic content of the photos, there’s no doubt in Bosco’s mind that his parents didn’t know what was happening to their son. They had to of known. They were just too busy praying to some sick jagoff to shield Steven from the grim side of their so-called lily-white religion.

“The family.” Steven says this as if he’s never known anything different. Bosco takes another look at the spread of pictures and thinks in his head ‘He was born into this life…what chance did he really have?’

Not the kind of family I’d want to be a part of. Nothing more than a cult. Turner, like David Koresh, seems to think he’s the second coming of Christ.

“Did you have sex?” Bosco forces out the question, a lump rising inside his throat.

“It was love.”

Bosco curls his hands into themselves, fighting off the urge to take Steven by the shoulders and shake him violently. And not in anger, Bosco is only angry at Brother Turner. Steven is a victim in all of this, baptized for years, with the belief that adults’ having sexual relationships with children was fine by them, drilled into him over and over again. He wants to shake all the bullshit out of Steven, make him see what his life has really been; false, misguided, and perverse.

“It was wrong, Steven.” Bosco’s left palm hovers above the table, it trembles with hatred at a world where something so atrocious could be overlooked; locked behind doors where no one would look for anything out of the ordinary or ask any questions.

“Uncle Jonathan said you’d all say that.”

“Because it is.” Bosco lets his anger get the better of him and he jumps from his chair, the legs scraping the linoleum floor as the chair flies back several feet. Steven folds his arms over himself, extremely startled by the outburst. Bosco turns to face the wall and calms himself down, instantly regretting his blow-up. He apologizes to Steven and slides his chair back over the table.

Steven continues to stay quiet for a minute or two, and then before Bosco can ask him anything else, Steven speaks up.

“You sounded like him.”

“Who? Uncle Jonathan?” Bosco is beginning to loathe saying “Uncle Jonathan” like he’s someone’s actual uncle; normal, somebody in your family that you see on holidays and other special occasions, and not this deviant scumbag.

“Tommy.”

“Who’s Tommy?”

“Can I please go now?” Steven’s voice grows small as it did before. It’s evident now that whenever Bosco ventures into an uncomfortable topic, Steven either asks to be released or he reiterates that “He’s done nothing wrong”.

Bosco negatively shakes his head, feeling a slight pang of guilt for pressuring the kid into talking about something he clearly doesn’t want any part of. But, better him than Faith. “Who’s Tommy?”

“He was supposed to be the ‘Anointed One’. He was gonna lead us when Jonathan left.” Steven jerks his head left to right, staring directly at one picture that didn’t quite fit in with the rest. “And now he’s going to kill them all. All the Elders.”

“Why?”

His bottom lip flutters for a second. Then Steven pulls the picture he’d been staring at to the forefront of the group. “They loved him the most.”

Bosco takes the picture from the table, the black background highlighting the stark despair on the little boy’s face named Tommy. The words they loved him the most reverberate within Bosco, a cold shot of harsh reality bites into his spine. They loved him the most converts into they molested him the most.

No wonder a loaded shotgun became Tommy’s best friend today.


******************

8:39 p.m.

Emily lets herself into the house, not disappointed to find it empty. She goes to the fridge and pulls out some leftover spaghetti from the night before, nukes it, and dines alone flipping through endless crappy television until she settles on some music videos instead.

She washes her dishes and plops on the couch. After a half hour, she bores of the Friday night selection of viewing choices and switches off the tv.

Tv really sucks now on Fridays, doesn’t it?

She fills a glass with water from the kitchen, turns off some lights, and heads for her bedroom.


******************

8:43 p.m.

Bosco and Steven emerge from the interrogation room. He tells Faith to get the kid something to drink. She gives him look that says “What am I, your gopher now?” She shoots Steven a half-hearted smile and retrieves a soda from the machine downstairs.

He gets an extra chair for Steven and asks him more questions pertaining to Tommy’s estimated location. Steven tells him he hasn’t seen Tommy for almost two years because one day he just up and left one of the missions in Costa Rica.

Bosco brings up Brother Jonathan’s name to which Steven becomes very defensive, calling him “the prophet”, “the one true way”, and a “holy man”.

If he’s what passes as Holy these days, I’d hate to see what would be considered unholy.

******************

8:49 p.m.

“Where’s Steven?” Faith demands as she sets down the soda can. She would have been back sooner but the machine kept spitting out her dollar bills one by one.

“I let him leave. He told us everything he knew. There was no reason to keep him.” He sighs and becomes very quiet. He was glad he didn’t have to argue with Faith about releasing the kid. You can’t get blood from a stone.

Faith groans when she sees what he’s intently focused on, laid out on his desk. She walks over to Bosco and stands behind him. She sees the pictures and after a moment’s deliberation, places a comforting hand on his back. Her eyes scan the pictures one by one, her breath stopping midway from her lungs and out her mouth. “Oh my God, is that-?” She can’t finish. She doesn’t have to.

“That’s Steven at about eight years old. Every single one of those kids were molested, Faith. And no one did a goddamn thing about it.” Bosco scrubs his face with his hands then rests his forehead inside his palms. “They were taught it was love.”

“Now I know why you tore out of here so fast.” Faith senses Bosco’s deep distress now that Steven has gone and rubs his shoulders gently, knowing full well how personally he takes all cases like this to heart.

“I saw that same innocent look he had at 8 years old in his face tonight. He’s grown up but not much else changed.”

“Is he gonna be okay? His parents are dead, so who’s left? Does he have any other family?"

“Yeah, a family he has. The same one who screwed him up in the first place.” He reclines back into his chair, forgetting the ills of the world as Faith’s hands rest warmly on his shoulders. “We have to find this guy, Faith. Before he can reload his shotgun.”

“The warrant’s been granted and a uniform’s running over there now. I’ll get an APB sent out immediately. We’ll find him.” She pats him on the back, then turns to face him before leaving. “Do me a favor, Bos?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop beating yourself up over this.” She draws a finger down to his desk. “Some people you just can’t reach like Steven and Tommy.” Her voice softens a bit. “We showed up about 10 years too late for both of them.”


******************


9:12 p.m.

“Alright, I’ll call you in the morning.”

Emily hangs up the phone next to her bed. She called a friend and giggled her way through telling her what had happened tonight with David. She joked the whole thing off. She felt empowered that she had made the right decision in cutting out of that creepy club. She also felt empowered that she had left David standing on the street corner all alone.

An unusually timed knock on the front door is heard and Emily slowly treads to answer it.

“Who is it?” She stands away from the door, her mind racing as to who it could be.

“It’s your neighbor. Is this your key left in the door?” A young girl politely asks. She sounds like somebody who lives on this floor so Emily has no reason not to trust her.

Emily is sure she pulled the house keys from the lock when she came in. But perhaps after the crap David pulled with her tonight, she made a mistake.

She pokes her head around the door after she unlocks it. “My key?” There are no keys hanging anywhere.

The door is pushed back hard and Emily with it. Five or six different ghastly hands shove her back into the apartment. She screams breathlessly and orders Dante and his crew out of her house.

She’s thrown onto the couch by three of the vampire girls. They hold her there while Dante towers over her. He hauls back an arm and launches a vicious slap to her face. Her bottom lip splits instantaneously and starts to swell.

“We’re not going anywhere, bitch.”


******************

9:20 p.m.

“APB’s out.” Faith returns and informs her partner. “He’s gonna stick out like a sore thumb with that beat up white pick-up.”

“You’re not kiddin’. I bet he’ll be scooped up by morning.” Don’t forget the growing list of dead bodies to tip anyone off.

“I’m not betting you ever again, Bosco.” Faith seizes eyes contact with him and laughs at his “Who me?” hands up in protest gesture. She sits down heavily, something more worrisome on her mind. “Em’s not answering her phone or the house phone. I haven’t talked to her since she came by the House today. And I can’t call Charlie…he’s spending “quality time” with dad. You think she’s pissed at me?”

“She could be out with her boyfriend, Faith. It is Friday night.” Bosco’s stomach growls and it finally dawns on him that he and Faith haven’t stopped for a meal all day. And loads of coffee does not count. “I told her you’d make it up to her. She better not be pissed.”

“Anyway, I’ll keep trying.” Faith cocks her head and scans the room. “What was that sound?” She hears it again. It’s coming from Bosco side of the office.

“It’s my stomach. It’s empty. Very empty.” He rubs his belly and it growls again in need of food.

“We have a bad habit of doing that, huh?”

“Yeah, but you and I get more work done than if you and Grimaldi were workin’ a case.”

Faith laughs at his remark. “Oh, absolutely.” She checks her watch, slouching back in her seat as she sees the time. “Okay, I have a deal for you, Bos. I’ll stay here and work. You go pick up some dinner. Do whatever you gotta do then meet me back at my place.” She swivels her chair to the right. “Take these with you.”

Bosco stretches out then takes the files from her hand. “Almost sounds like a date.” He teases when seeing her shocked expression.

“I don’t think Grace would be too into that.” Faith raises her brows suggestively, though she doesn’t realize it.

“You never know. I do know that she’s no angel.” Bosco stops there and a content and dreamy look comes over his face.

“She’s right up your alley then, Bos.” Go ahead, Faith. Fake that happy smile one more time. What can it hurt?

“She is.” I may be settling with Grace but I’m no longer lonely. If it can’t be with you, Faith, well then, I’m damned lucky either way.

This is a love triangle where only two sides are in on the situation. Faith is an island. Her side of the triangle is disconnected. If she only knew what has been lying in her best friend’s heart. He’s been holding out for so long, waiting for her. He’s not giving up. Just because he’s with another woman, it doesn’t rule out the possibility.

Bosco, on most nights, when he’s with Grace, looks down at her sleeping and feels more alone than ever; worse than if he was filling a bed by himself and no one else. He feels this badly because he knows if the chance ever presents itself for Faith and him to take that next step; he’d have to break Grace’s heart in order to heal his own.

“I’ll see you in about an hour?” Bosco buttons up his coat and grabs the files for later.

“Here, take this.” Faith produces two twenty-dollar bills and folds them neatly in Bosco’s free right hand. His perplexed face causes her to laugh again. “I do owe you three dinners, don’t I?”

“You do. I’m surprised you remembered.” Bosco shoves the money in his front right pocket.

“Hey, I don’t renege on a bet.”

“Never said you would.” He smirks at her slightly annoyed appearance. “What should I get to eat?” He drops down the stairs as they talk.

“Ummm…I’m not sure.” She leaves her desk and follows after Bosco. She pauses at the top of the stairs. “Make sure you get chopsticks.”

“I think I can figure that out, Faith.”

I trust that you can, Colombo.”


******************


9:32 p.m.

Bosco drives home and catches a quick shower, changing from his bothersome monkey suit, as he likes to refer to it, to a more natural state of attire. Jeans and a t-shirt is much more his speed after a twelve-hour work day. And it’s not over yet.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Are you coming over tonight? I didn’t get to see much of you today.”

“Uh, about that…I’m heading over to Faith’s to work on a case. We’re up to four in the body count.”

Grace holds her tongue but sighs anyway. “Is it connected with the shooting earlier?” If he’s not coming over, she may as well talk to him about something. She’s not one to be needy, it’s always been the guys who have been clingy, but Maurice is different in every imaginable way.

“Right. We found two more unlucky bible-thumpers in a church.”

“Call me when you’re free?” Grace sighs again, disappointed. “I’ll be waiting.” Four dead people. I don’t stand a chance do I?

He snaps his phone shut. His battery is a hair away from being dead. When it does fizzle on the way to pick up dinner, he’ll regret not buying that extra charger for his car.

You never know who’s going to need you or when.


******************


9:35 p.m

“Yokas, I think you just got a lucky break.” Jelly thumps into her office, his glasses precariously balanced on the top of his head. He hurriedly flips on the small tv set. “We gotta hostage situation down at INN. Tell me that ain’t your missin’ disciple with a shotgun to that old guys’ head.”

“Bad news travels fast I see.” Who here in the department doesn’t know about this mess? The face of Tommy and his hostage fills the screen. The gun is shaking some but Tommy doesn’t seem afraid to splatter Brother Turner’s brains or any other body part all over the news anchor’s desk.

“Yeah, lucky. That’s me.”


******************

9:39 p.m.

Shit! Where's my cell phone? Emily screams in her head. Terrified? Yes. A victim? Hell no. The daughter of Faith Yokas will be nobody's victim. Dante, David or whatever, is really not right in the head. She's not afraid of him. She knows who he is. He's a fake trying to overcompensate for something. She's not sure what. She is afraid of his painted up friends. They may be like this all the time. He, on the other hand, slings coffee to overpaid yuppies by day. That fact alone is more frightening than his sad attempt to gain power and respect from teenagers who are as lost in life as he is.

Think, Emily, think. Where'd you last see it? She closes her eyes momentarily, retracing her steps after walking in the front door roughly 45 minutes prior. Her eyes shoot open for two reasons. The first being that she needs to ensure no one slinks back into the living room. Her vigilance is a top priority. The second is that she's sitting not one foot from her bag which contains her precious cell phone. She remembers leaving it there after coming in.

The black strap of her bag is visible to her from her current position. On the floor, against the wall, hands bound with telephone cord. One of Dante's minions tore it from the wall smashing the phone attached with one ugly black boot, using it to bind her hands before being shoved down to the floor in the living room.

She scoots closer to the reclining chair not making a sound. Though she's currently alone in the living room, Dante and company are whispering and cackling in the hall. Tiptoeing her fingers across the carpet away from her body, Emily sighs in relief. The phone is lying right in the opening of the bag. Bending her elbows, she's rewarded with her slim midnight-blue connection to the outside world.

It's awkward at best trying to flip the phone open. Her hands handle the difficult and bothersome task deftly. Tossing her head back over her shoulder she eyes the screen and pushes the menu button on the phone. Two clicks she scrolls downward finding her mother's cell phone number. Feeling the sweat already on her shaky fingers, she successfully presses the send button.

And what does she get? A slew of rings. It’s either dead or Faith is on another call.

Of all the times Mom! Emily whimpers, resting her forehead on her knees. Okay, Em. Call Bosco. He'll waste no time getting here.

"Should've done that first." She mutters under her breath carefully listening for anyone approaching. She curses all of them hearing her room being torn apart.

Let them have their fun. It'll be short-lived.

Four clicks down and Bosco's number glows back at her from the display. One last beep connects her with Bosco's phone.

Emily looks upward exhausted, silently calling out to him. Please let him hear me.

One ring.

Two rings.

The uproar coming from her room stops. Footsteps squeak the loose floorboards beneath the carpet in her bedroom's doorway. Someone's on their way.

Three rings.

Emily drops the phone. It stays open in the fall. She bumps it back under the chair hiding it from everyone but her. She prays the line stays intact when he answers. When. Not if.

Come on, Bosco. Please!

Four rings....


******************

9:43 p.m.

“There’s chopsticks in here?” Bosco opens the steaming bag and pokes around. Faith’ll kick my ass if I don’t remember them again.

“Yes, yes.” The little old Asian lady nods and points from across the counter. “Bottom of bag.”

“Thanks. See ya next time.” The overhead jingle of the door signals his exit.

Bosco places the bag on the passenger side and heads towards Faith’s.

Emily’s long-distance cry for help goes unheard.


******************

9:46 p.m

The Lt. in charge has only been so for three days. He gives Faith the go ahead to do her best. He promises a commendation if she can keep this from going bad. Her intentions are to do just that. She asks the Lt. if there is a control room. He says yes then shows her to it.

Faith watches from the control room as Tommy paces before Turner, sounding much like Steven. But Tommy’s on the other side of the fence regarding the “faith of the family”.

She asks for a direct line to Jennifer, the newswoman, and suggests to the guys working the camera equipment that the live feed is cut, Tommy would maybe end this if no audience was not present. This is not about ratings or any personal attention for him. It’s only about exposing a deviant man.

Tommy