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Mr. Hyde
January 22nd, 2006, 12:14 PM
Behind the glass Vattick is pacing his cell. His glasses fixed on his shaved head and his medical pants fixed tight around his waist with no shoes and muscles built on his frame decorated with a host of scars. Some self inflicted, some earned. He clinches his fists and the knuckles are busted meat. Judging from the blood stains on the walls and floor, he must've been relieving a bit of frustration. Dr. Epstein tells me he's been like this since I arrested him and I take a seat in front of his cell.

"Mr. Vattick," I start, "What happened to the last two victims? A miss-" He interrupts me and answers, "A miss Alexandra Walcott and Mr. Viktor Lancaster. Does it matter what happened?" "Well to you it won't. But I'm sure their families would care." "Their families would care that he was having an affair with her? I'm sure Mrs. Lancaster would care to know that her husband was sleeping with a barely legal girl. I'm sure Alexandra's family would care to know she was skulking off to see a man nearly three times her age....that was paying her for her 'service.' I'm sure their families would care to know the icky sticky things they did while sweating all over each other."

Nothing in the dossier had mentioned anything about this. No evidence had pointed to this either. Alexandra had a loving family, which isn't typical of prostitutes, and the Lancasters had seemed absolutely happy.

"How can you be sure of that?" I ask. He keeps pacing and says, "It's called research, Agent. You should know me well enough to know I get every detail of the people I interact with. Like you for instance," "Shut it Vattick." He continues anyways, "You've got that ring around your finger, and an unassuming Mrs. at home. She thinks you're out at work, and some nights you are, and others...you're off pistol whipping some kid in a back alley who isn't selling whatever it is you're buying. She probably doesn't know about the thirteen year old kid you killed and dumped in the Hudson does she?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." "I don't? And I suppose those tired bags under your eyes....that...pale thinning skin that leaves your body weak and tired and barely holding together are from a lack of sleep right? I don't suppose you shake and sweat and get cold chills or headaches and have that nervous itch naturally. Tell me Agent, when was your last fix?"

"Alexandra and Viktor-" "Answer me first or they die. I'm already in jail, it makes no difference to me whether or not they live. Filth like them deserve to die anyways." "A week ago." "So you were getting hopped while chasing after me? I bet the D.A. would be very interested in hearing that. The DCI would be too." "Where are they?" "I dug a hole in the basement. Just a simple cell. I covered it before you arrived."

On my way out he calls out, "OH and Agent! I'll be paying you a little visit after I get out." I'd never fired a shot so there was no drug test. Now, with this new card against me and no way to get clean, at least not against the full gambit of tests: Spinal fluid, blood, piss, and hair. He'd get off on a mistrial and I'd be facing a nightmare.

His house was always plain, and there was no sign of his psychosis even DURING the whole ordeal. He was entirely lucid. He knew what he was doing was illegal, and he knew well enough how things worked that there was no way to nail him to the wall. I'd only gotten lucky in catching him. Asking questions and he got sloppy for a moment. Mentioned the dates they went missing. Something the news hadn't known.

The house was practical, to say the least. No television, nothing that seemed unnecessary for a person of his nature. Computer. Stacks of books on forensics, psychology, sociology, criminal law, quantum physics. He had a copy of Hawkins' major seller with footnotes and revisions. And now, he was going to talk to an attorney and get away with everything because of my bad habits. Like he said, the basement had an additional basement of sorts. But inside, there was a just a note and two severed thumbs, one female, one male, and the note said, "The clock is ticking, Agent."

Then I hear a murmur. That kind of desperate muffled cry for help. I run to the source of the noise, the freezer. Inside there's nothing, and it hits me, "I dug a hole in the basement." but he never said WHERE the hole was. I grab the freezer and pull as hard as I can. I strain and feel my muscles pop and burn and stretch against the chilled tomb until there's enough room to see the newly bricked wall behind it.

Inside, there's Alexandra and a dead Viktor. Both missing thumbs. Witnesses. The victim's testimony and the body of the other could keep him in jail provided he didn't already take precautions against it.

.....