c h a p t e r  5 :

A white sheet was drawn over the deceased man's waist. Jamie knelt beside the exposed upper body, Nikon camera in hand, photographing every detail. He watched on as she studied the writing, moving the man's arm with gloved hands.

He said nothing. He couldn't. He couldn't even think. Hand bunched in his hair, he had forgotten what it looked like to see life leak from a Human's eyes. But he held himself together, to the best that he could.

"He's right-handed." Jamie slowly brought the examined arm higher to study underneath. "He did most of the upper left region himself, but this is someone else." She gestured to curved writing along the torsos edge, it disappeared behind his back. Her head lifted to Gaspard, "Cross, possibly?"

"Doubtful." He replied dropping his hand to his side. "They're running analysis for a match."

An officer approached, handing him his bag. He uttered a, thank you, turning his back to the room fishing out a water bottle. Fingers twisted the cap releasing a bitter odor to assault his nose. Precious vodka. Tilting the crackling plastic bottle upward, Gaspard wasted little time swallowing greedy mouthfuls. 

"Once upon a midnight dreary." Jamie read, "This fever called, living is conquered at last."

He felt better. It settled his mind, made ease pass over his heart – it was something not all understood. Screwing the cap back in place, he spoke to the young Agent with his back. "It's all Poe. And what he said at the end--"

"Poe's last words." She said sliding off her gloves. He faced her. "When found delirious on the streets of Baltimore, he's believed to have verbalized, 'Lord, help my poor soul.'" She stood and adjusted the camera strap around her neck noticing the water bottle he held so possessively close. "Is that water, sir?"

Gaspard eyed her carefully, "Yes."

"Mint?" She offered, reaching into the pocket of her FBI labeled jacket.

"... Sure." He reached slowly toward the metal mint tin that Jamie held, plucking out one, feeding it into his mouth.

"We've run his prints." Jennifer broke the moment walking up, file in hand. "So far, we've found five identities." Shuffling through pages she read, "Three of them are wanted in four states and one of them visited Cross repeatedly in the last six months."

"Anything on the cell phone?" He asked.

Jennifer shook her head, "Disposable. The text said, 'Do it now.'"

"Cross could have easily convinced an unbalanced brain to do this." Jamie glanced at him for a split second. "It's an exertion of power, theatrics."

Like she tried to do to me, Gaspard thought chewing down on the mint.

A phone rang. It was in the palm of Jennifer who held it out toward him. "I have Natalie Huard for you."

Natalie Huard. He had been close with her once upon a time, that was until Kate came into the picture. An ex. member on the task force, just like himself. Guess he wasn't the only person who stooped into their own personal hell those long ten dreadful days. She had gotten too close to her work, seeing people almost die - then those that did - Kate's work on him did the number. It took a toll on her mentality, so she got out. Made something else of herself. Stopped contact with him, leaving him alone to rot. Part of him was still rotting ... and it just couldn't be cut off.

He took the phone walking away from the Agents, trying to muster some sort of privacy. "Hello?"

"Mr. Booth, it's been a long time."

Six years had passed and he still knew that voice anywhere. Gaspard looked to her like a sister, the big one he never had been given in this life. A touch of a smile almost breached his thin lips. "Natalie, hi. How are you doing?"

A sigh. A pause. "Well, not great."

"Listen. We're gonna find her. Nothing is gonna happen to you again, I promise you that." His voice broke.

"I really appreciate you calling," she said softly.

He shrugged up his shoulders, "I'm just, um, just happy to hear you're safe." His eyes were ready to betray him, "Bye-bye now."

"Good-bye, Mr. Booth."