The Justice Keepers

By Mary Grant

The Justice Keepers is the final book in the Keeper series. As with the first two books, the twist and turns dont stop until the final chapter. The race is on to stop the sadistic killer known as the Boston Harbor Killer. The FBI and Boston Homicide Division have evidence that Amelia Kent could be the killer. Could the fears of the people that love her be coming true? Has she become what her brother said she would be; a vessel of death? Go on the hunt with the authorities to uncover the truth and find Justice for Amelia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469177267

Mary Grant

Mary Grant lived in New Hampshire and now she and her husband and two dogs live on the Gulf Coast of Florida. She was always driven by the need to write and would spend hours at night creating stories and scripts, all of the treasures hidden away when they were finished. The idea for The Secret Keepers and the sequel, The Truth Keepers, originated from a dream on Christmas night and the manuscripts wrote themselves from there.

Book preview

1

Living with the Past

MCGILL’S IRISH EYES Pub was only a few short steps away from Special Agent Mathew Rossi’s brownstone in Boston. The bar was the last building on Paul Revere Avenue, and Mathew’s condo was at the other end of the block. McGill’s had been a staple in the neighborhood for generations, and the current owner was Riley McGill, fourth generation to Michael McGill. The bar was built in 1894 with Quincy granite and brownstone with stucco trim, and it had minor alterations over the years, but it basically remained untouched with the passage of time.

As you entered through the heavy mahogany front door, the long bar was along the right, and the finish on the dark walnut wood shined like a welcoming grandmother’s kitchen to most patrons who entered this place night after night. On the left side of the room were a few tables with some booths farther down the wall. Old photographs of Ireland and the McGill family were proudly displayed from their nesting places as they hung in an abstract line along that wall. Past the bar was a pool table, and past that were the dartboards. McGill’s likes to have pool and dart tournaments on Friday and Saturday nights; the games gave the locals a place to hang out and have fun, and they could still stumble home without having to drive. The thirty barstools along the walnut bar were also made from walnut with rich burgundy red leather seats and padded backrests. A long mirror filled the wall behind the bar, giving Riley a view of the whole area so that his full attention could remain on his customers. Row after row of bottles of every kind of alcohol you could imagine lined the counter and the raised shelves; if you couldn’t find it here, it wasn’t distilled anywhere.

Mathew sat on a stool halfway down the length of the bar, too far for the players at the pool table to bother him and far enough away from the front door to give him time to glance in the direction of the door each and every time it swung open, admitting fresh new patrons to McGill’s.

The portion of the bar where Mathew was sitting was dimly lit compared with the glow coming from the red Tiffany-style island light with the word Billiards in red cut glass hanging over the pool table. That suited Special Agent Rossi just fine. Mathew’s mood tonight didn’t demand a spotlight, just peace and quiet. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone after the fruitless day he just had. All day long, he had put up with chatter in his mind and in the FBI bull pen from other agents. He longed to put his mind to rest for the night.

He had been coming to the bar every night for the past three months. He sat on the same stool, sipping the same brand of whiskey, feeling the same lonely ache in his heart, and staring into the bottom of his glass. He knew that at some point, the alcohol would allow him to weave his way home and sleep without dreaming, sleep without feeling the endless morose pain that had built a home in her heart. His condo was blisteringly loud with memories and voices from the past that he couldn’t seem to silence. When he slept, images of his mother invaded his mind, terrifying images of her screaming for help through a plexiglass-paneled wall, and he was unable to break in to save her from the monster that was stabbing her to death. He would wake bathed in sweat, gasping for any air his lungs would let him inhale, knowing that he could never save her no matter how many times the dream reoccurred; it would always end the same way.

Other nights he would dream of Amelia, wanting to save her from Otis and unable to help her either. He felt as if he had failed them both at a time when they needed him the most. He was able to find silence at the bottom of the glass of whiskey he was staring into now; neither woman spoke to him here. This was his ritual every night to drown the pain and at some point, let him sleep uninterrupted for a few hours.

He felt as if he was spinning his wheels with the case he was on. Every lead the BAU had led to a dead end; every piece of evidence wasn’t helping him get any kind of idea what the monster was going to do next. It was very frustrating! He had been exceptional when it came to living in the mind of the killer he was chasing. He could begin to think like they did, feel what they were feeling. He could look at the murder scene and almost look through the eyes of the killer as the murder was happening. It was profiling at its best, and he needed to find that sweet spot to enter into the killer’s psyche now to find the bastard they were chasing.

Mathew found some wit in the term given to the monsters that he chased. The term serial killer was less than twenty-five years old, and it was invented to describe a specific type of criminal. Mathew thought the definition should be clear-cut, but confusion surrounded the term; even the experts couldn’t agree with the label. The definition of serial killer stresses three elements: quantity, place and time:

1.  Quantity, meaning there has to be at least three murders

2.  Place, meaning the murders have to occur in different locations

3.  Time, meaning the killer has to have a cooling-off period between kills (this could be hours or years)

The last two characteristics of a serial killer are meant to differentiate this killer from a mass murderer. The mass murderer slaughters multiple people at once; a disgruntled employee, for example, shows up at his office and kills as many people as possible with the quickest weapon possible (usually a handgun or automatic weapon) before turning the gun on himself.

Mathew thought the term was much too broad, giving rise to several problems with the FBI definition since it could be applied to homicidal types who aren’t serial killers, like professional hit men or Western outlaws like William Billy the Kid Bonney who was said to have gunned down twenty-one men before he reached the age of twenty-one.

Mathew also recognized the term to be overly narrow since it specified that a serial killer has to commit his crime in three separate locations. He knew from his last case that certain serial killers range far and wide in their search of prey, preferring to do their dirty work in one location that was a safe hiding place to conceal their evil deeds.

The flaws in the FBI description of serial killers were rectified in another more flexible description formulated by the National Institute of Justice. Their description says:

Two or more murders, committed as separate events, usually, but not always by one offender acting alone. The murders may occur over a period of time, ranging from hours to years. Quite often the motive is psychological, and the murder’s behavior and the physical evidence observed at the crime scene will reflect sadistic, sexual overtones.

Mathew found that civilians confused the term serial killer and used it interchangeably with mass and spree murders. He wanted to explain to them that the psychopaths whom he chased had important differences. For the most part, a serial killer uses his murder as a cover-up for a sex crime. Their unspeakable acts are a source of supreme pleasure to the serial killer; by inflicting savage harm on another human, it gives them power, and they will do anything to hide what they have done so they won’t get caught. A serial killer is a predator whereas mass murders are described as human ticking time bombs.

If people only knew the truth behind a serial killer, they would look at their neighbors and wonder if this could be an evil entity living next to them. Technically, psychopaths aren’t legally insane; they know the difference between right and wrong. They are rational, often intelligent people who are capable of great charm. The scariest thing about them is how normal they appear to the outside world. Their pleasant personalities are a show, masked by profoundly disturbed individuals. Mathew found that their most disturbing feature was their utter lack of empathy. The killers are incapable of love, incapable of caring, incapable of feeling sorry for anyone but themselves. People are only objects to be manipulated for the killers’ own pleasure. Psychopaths feel no guilt or remorse and are able to maintain an uncanny cool in situations that would cause a normal person to break into a cold sweat. The psychopath commits the most unspeakable atrocities with cool, rational judgment.

Mathew knew from up close and personal dealings with serial killers that their intent was to cause emotional trauma, to terrorize the helpless, to prolong the victim’s suffering, and to derive satisfaction from it all. The only term that mattered to Mathew was that certain types of killers were monsters, more evil than the devil himself, more cunning and dangerous than any other living organism on the planet; and it was his job to hunt them down as they would never stop killing of their own free will.

Mathew leaned heavily against the bar and twirled his whiskey glass in front of him with all the thought of a lost soul. The ice clinked gently against the sides, and the amber liquid followed the motion. Mathew lifted his other hand and used it to support his chin as he stared aimlessly into the glass. He hadn’t decided if he was angry about the fruitless day that had just passed or an old anger that he couldn’t seem to shake from weeks ago. Life had not turned out the way he had hoped, and he didn’t like the idea of losing a woman to another man, even if that woman had never been his to begin with.

Supervisory Special Agent Mathew Rossi had been back in Boston for three months following his exit from Ellsworth, Maine. Mathew’s hiatus from the FBI after being shot seemed to have made his mind sharper, more in tune to the inner workings of killers. The break he had during the hiatus had done wonders for him too, considering he was ready to walk away from his job with the FBI and killers. Tonight a killer was not what was occupying his thoughts. The woman whom he left behind in Maine was on his mind, and it was taking every ounce of resolve he had to not pick up a phone and call Dr. Hammond for her phone number. God, he missed her!

A few weeks ago, he thought he would be starting a new life with her; but that had all slipped away from him in an instant when Amelia was forced to shoot her brother, a serial killer, to protect Mathew and herself from his final showdown with her. He had taunted her that they were just alike and that she possessed the will to kill just like him, and he was bound to make her understand that. They were family, and their bond of sickness was ingrained and unbreakable. Amelia did not deliver the mortal wound to Otis; Mathew had done that, but Amelia knew she was the one who had destroyed Otis as sure as if the fatal shot had been delivered by her. Mathew knew she could not give her life over to him and his job of catching killers. His world of dark and seedy murderers was more than she could endure after spending her life trying to outrun the demons that lived in her mind.

Otis had taken her as a child and brutalized her to the point that her mind had fractured into alternate personalities, leaving her the only survivor and witness who could possibly identify him as the killer of twelve children over a twelve-year time frame. Amelia had survived a life that was filled with torture and terror at the hands of her brother. She had survived what should have been a deadly blow to the head, and Otis had thought he had killed her just like her friend Jane. But Amelia lived, and this fact alone drove Otis out of his mind and into a fantasy world that she had escaped him, and no one ever escaped Otis Lane. He planned and plotted for years to gain control of her, her body and mind. He wanted her back to finish what he had started all those years ago.

Amelia had never made it easy for Otis to take her hostage again. Her life revolved around the emergence of alternate personalities, which enabled her to deal with what she had seen and endured for sixty-one days at his hands. Her mind had broken, splintered really, into different personalities that protected her from her environment. She tried to recover over the years that followed, but with every step forward, there would be five steps backward for her.

She had met Jacob Kent when she was thirteen, three years after she had escaped from Otis and his playpen of horrors. Amelia’s school class was going on a field trip to tour a paper mill in Bangor, and she had not been able to get her father to sign a release to let her stay in school and skip the tour. She hadn’t pushed the issue with him about the release; it would have led to her being punished, and she could only hope that he would be in a charitable mood and ground her instead of a physical punishment. She asked him once, in a timid voice, extending the release form in his direction; but she stood at the door of the house. This would give her an opportunity to run if she had to. Frank had instantly flared with anger at the very sound of her voice and threw his bourbon glass at her head for having the impudence to speak to him so early in the morning. Amelia had ducked in time, and the glass smashed against the wall next to the door she was now fleeing through.

Jacob was three years older than her, and he had begrudgingly agreed to help with the trip to the paper mill. His economics teacher had offered him extra credit as a bribe to entice him into helping with the group. Extra credit would make it worth putting up with a bunch of children for the day, he thought to himself as he had smiled sheepishly at his teacher; he’d have done it for the day away from school without the bribe. Amelia had caught his eye when she looked as terrified of being part of the class group as she did of being alone on the outside of the group. He watched her with curiosity as she tried to act like the other students; she tried to blend in to the group, but lagging behind the group was not Jacob’s idea of blending. He fell back to the end of the line of students, where Amelia followed like a haunting ghost.

Jacob walked beside her, and her arms crossed in front of her instinctively, closing off the world around her. He tried to have a conversation as they strolled through the mill, but she only nodded or grunted at him. Jacob thought she was an odd duck, quiet and withdrawn, and he was going to get her to talk to him; he’d already decided that was going to be his mission. He was taken by her pretty face, long black curls, and hazel eyes that seemed to pull him in like a magic potion. She reminded him of a lost child; and he knew, even at sixteen, that she needed to be protected and maybe even needed a friend and that he was going to be her guiding light.

It took him months of coaxing before she spoke to him; even holding her gaze was impossible. Amelia didn’t allow anyone to touch her or to stand too close to her; she would move away, pulling her arms tight to her body as she backed away. She tore at his heartstrings to watch her struggle every day to fit in to her surroundings as if she was trying to become part of the atmosphere around her so that no one would be able to see her. Jacob understood what had happened to Amelia as a child; the newspapers had covered it all during her disappearance and subsequent discovery, but he never understood how damaged her mind was until he saw the personalities for himself. He was just a young boy when he saw the emergence of Celia, the child inside Amelia, and he was terrified and moved by her all at the same time. He knew that he had to help her, maybe be a friend whom she could count on to protect her. The two became inseparable, and Jacob found that he couldn’t walk away from her even if he had wanted to.

To Amelia, normal was lost spaces of time where she could recall nothing of what she had done during that time frame. Normal to her was enduring nightmares of reality from her past and then not remembering anything as soon as her eyes flew open from sleep. Jacob and Mathew had both seen through her dreams, what she and Jane had endured for sixty-one days – every beating, every rape, the cigar burns to represent each rape. The piercing screams of pain in the dark from a woman broken by torture. The two men had witnessed the alternate personalities – the good and the bad, the angry and the defiant, and the dangerous one named Claire. Neither man had fled when he got to know the real Amelia, when she didn’t hide her laughter or her love and gave all she had to both of them.

Claire was created by Amelia during her kidnapping for the second time by Otis. He had wanted to finish his little game of cat and mouse so many years ago and felt that he had been robbed of his finale. Claire had to be as tough and frozen in emotion as Otis to survive his cruel world as a psychopath. He had beaten her body and soul until she could only respond with a new personality to save her life. Claire had fought back in the basement, chained to a post like an animal, and she had learned quickly that to survive, she would have to kill to protect herself. Otis did not fear Claire, but he learned to be respectful of her every move when she was within range of a fierce attack against him. He had created a mirror image of himself, and all of it for the fulfillment of a mental game of chess. Claire feared no one – not Otis, not the FBI, not even Dr. Hammond. She would fight to the death if she felt she was in danger and, in so doing, had received an almost lethal stab wound when she attacked Otis with a hunting knife and, in the scuffle, had been stabbed.

Otis wanted Amelia to finish his mental game of terror and superiority. He was keeping her hostage in his basement, replicating her sixty-one days from years past, all except for the rape; she was much too old for his taste now. He had beaten her, mentally tortured her, and promised an escape for her at the end of her twenty-two days of captivity. She would have to run for her life when he let her go because he was promising to hunt her down like an animal and finish the kill he had missed years ago. Otis was a psychopath, a child murderer, a rapist, sodomist, an animal, and Amelia’s brother.

Otis had made a mistake when he dumped the girl’s body in the ditch on that cool September morning; Amelia lived to torment him in his mind with his failure. Nothing had ever lived through his attacks, but she had. Amelia was the prey that sprang to life and had disappeared into the midst of his mind, and Otis was the hunter that had let it happen because of a mistake. Otis was a psychopath, and in his mind of tangled reality, the game would not be complete until he had killed Amelia, draining every breath of life from her body. Otis loved Amelia in his psychotic episodes and believed he was protecting her from all the evil in their world of torture and sexual depravity. She was the only person whom he had an honest emotion for; whether it was love or hate, she belonged to him.

What was believed to be the full extent of the horror for Amelia was revealed at the trial of Otis for the world to learn the truth that Otis was her brother and not some random killing machine that she happened to fall victim to. Otis had raped his own sister, killed her friend, and tried to kill her. Amelia’s family was nothing but sick and twisted individuals who preyed upon one another and the children of Maine. Amelia’s father began the Francour reign of terror, years before Amelia was born. He had raped his own sister, producing a boy to carry on the family legacy of depravity. Amelia believed her whole family should have been hunted down and destroyed like a roving pack of rabid dogs, including herself, to save future generations from her kind. She had not escaped with her mind intact, any more than Otis had escaped with his mind intact. The world would be a safer place if they had all died years ago. Amelia didn’t only hate and fear Otis, she felt pity for him; even in her darkest hours, she knew he couldn’t be saved from what he was, and that made her sad. They were brother and sister, and if there was no good remaining in him, what did that mean for her? Her heart was too big to only hate him; she had to find a speck of redemption, or there was no room in her world to move forward.

Rossi had first seen Amelia in Oak Forest Mental Facility in Bangor Maine when he and his partner Gus had gone there to interview her about the identity of the serial killer from her childhood. She was unable to remember details that they needed to capture the killer before he killed another little girl. When Mathew saw her, he was stunned by her frailty. Yes, she was beautiful, but there was so much missing from her soul that he had the overwhelming need to protect her. He was sure that it was the same feeling Jacob had lived with since he and Amelia were children. Her very soul was torn and tattered, physically and emotionally, on the very edge of total mental failure, yet she could still love with undying devotion. She only cared that the people around her were safe from the horrors of her life; her heart was filled with little pockets of joy and happiness, and all she wanted to do was share that before she slipped into mental hell.

He had watched her alter into Celia, a child she had developed when she was brutalized by Otis. Celia had witnessed the horrors of sixty-one days of hell for Jane and Amelia in the basement. Mathew was privileged to meet so many of Amelia’s alternates, and he could piece them all together in a way that Amelia could not. All of them together made up the woman whom he had come to love. She was able to see the pain and devastation that Mathew was going through from losing his mother to a serial killer in Boston. Amelia was able to touch Mathew’s heart in a way that no one had been able to crack before her. Love like that only comes along once in a lifetime! Mathew’s father had felt it for Siobhan, Mathew’s mother. Jacob felt it for Amelia, and it was the best and the worst kind of love. When that love is ripped from your life, it leaves behind a gaping hole in your chest that nothing else is ever going to completely fill. Letting go of a love like that is like letting go of the air in your lungs; it rips and tears and burns until you think you’re going to die; and every time you inhale and exhale, the hole never closes, not completely. You can learn to live with it, but it is always there.

Mathew left Maine and left Amelia to return to her husband. She was recovering slowly from the ordeal of the trial and the second kidnapping she endured. He wished things had turned out differently for him, but they hadn’t, and he had to move on with his life now. It wasn’t so bad, was it? Mathew had let women come and go from his life for a long time, and it never occurred to him that he would not be able to let go of Amelia Kent until he watched her from the window of the SUV as he drove away from her three months ago. She had grabbed his heart like a fishing barb and pulled him in without him even realizing that he was drowning in love with her. What was it that drew him to her? Could it have been that she saw into his soul? Saw into his frozen heart, letting it begin to melt ever so slowly?

He had felt a deep connection to her, and it confused him where that connection had come from. He felt it almost instantaneously when she looked into his eyes for the first time, when they were in the library at the hospital. It was as if someone had turned on a light switch in his heart, illuminating what possibilities could lie ahead for him. He never imagined that it would be this painful to walk away from something that was never his to begin with. Amelia would always love Jacob more than she could love Mathew and the sad part about that was that Mathew knew this from the very beginning and he let himself fall in love with her anyway. She was not to blame for his weakness, yet he was unable to stop himself from being angry with her; it was easier than looking into his own heart to see where the blame really needed to be placed.

Mathew was forced back from the past by a familiar voice over his right shoulder. He didn’t need to turn to see the face attached to the voice; he knew it as well as he knew his own.

I’ll take whatever he’s swillin’ down! Gus said to the Riley as he settled onto the stool next to Mathew at the bar. Matt turned slightly and tried to grin at his partner, but it was only a gesture, and Gus snorted a laugh as he moved his raincoat to the stool beside him.

Your place getting debugged or something? Gus said in a gentle voice. Mathew smiled and shook his head no. Gus could always find humor in a situation to rock Mathew off his game. The humor in their job eased the stress and tension on a case and allowed them to evaluate the scene without taking too much of the horror to heart. It is what made them good agents.

It’s too quiet there, I can’t think straight! Matt said, glancing at Gus as the bartender put the whiskey shot in front of him. Riley slipped away from them, almost unnoticed. Gus picked up the glass and sniffed the alcohol, turning back to Matt with another smile.

This should be strong enough to quiet your thoughts! Gus gulped the shot and placed the glass on the bar. He inhaled as the fire shot down his throat, and he glanced around the empty bar before turning his attention to his partner.

What are you doing here at this time of night? Gus asked quietly.

"What are you doing here at this time of night?" Mathew threw back, and Gus knew he needed to tread lightly on the path he was headed down. There were some areas of Mathew’s life that were off-limits to everyone, even him.

I called your apartment, and when there was no answer, I thought I’d try your other haunt, and here you are! The humor fell flat as he thought it might.

No hot date tonight? Must be slow in Gusville! Mathew felt as if he was trying to bait Gus into an argument, and he didn’t even know why. Gus had been his best friend since the academy, and he felt as if he could tell Gus anything, but not when it came to looking like some half-witted lovesick puppy. Gus had tried to express his concern for the road that Mathew had chosen when they were in Maine. He could see the pitfall that Mathew was headed for, but he also knew that Mathew was as stubborn as a mule, and no words were going to slow the train wreck that was headed in his friend’s direction. Gus hesitated before he answered, turning slightly on the stool toward Matt.

What’s going on with you, man? You hardly sleep, you always trying to get someone into an argument. Poor Jason can’t seem to say anything around you without you jumpin’ down his throat… Is it this case? Gus asked, already knowing that most of Mathew’s problem most assuredly wasn’t the serial killer case they were working on right now. Mathew didn’t answer; he put the whiskey glass to his lips and took a sip. Gus could already see that big wall going up, and they had only started the conversation. Gus had to get through to Mathew; life like this was not life at all.

C’mon, talk to me! Gus said as he let his eyes scan the room again.

There’s nothin’ to talk about. I’ve just got a lot on my mind is all, Mathew said as he returned the glass to the bar. Gus took a deep breath and forged into troubled water. He felt as if he had to ask the obvious question.

Have you called her since we’ve been back? Gus asked, and Matt turned slightly, furrowing his brow before he answered.

There’s nothin’ left to call her for. Amelia made her decision, and that’s final. The words burned his throat just like the whiskey he was drinking.

How ’bout just seeing if she’s doing okay? There was a long pause before Mathew looked Gus in the eye, and Gus could see a visible coolness in them.

Is she? I’m sure you know! Mathew said, turning back to his glass, waving for Riley to refill it. Gus waited for Riley to finish and move away before he answered the question.

She’d love to hear from you…

Really? Mathew said, soured, shaking his head. I doubt that! He finished with a sigh. Gus watched him for a moment, trying to judge how far to push the issue. Mathew’s walls were steadily getting higher.

She’s still at Oak Forest. She hasn’t gone home yet. It sounds like she is trying to find a quiet place too! Gus tilted his head as he watched the pain wash across Matt’s face. "Some things just aren’t going to go away that easy, know what I mean?" Mathew nodded his head but didn’t look at Gus.

She made her choice! Matt said with a touch of annoyance.

"The only choice she made was to not live in a world with serial killers. She already has enough of that in her head. There’s a part of her that belongs to you, and you can’t just write that off. You can’t not care about her just because you want to or because it would be less painful!"

I care… I care too much. I can’t help her now. That’s Jake’s job, not mine! Mathew said and took another swig of the whiskey. He motioned the bartender to refill the glasses, and Gus waited until Matt’s anger subsided as Riley filled both glasses and started to move away from them again. Mathew grabbed the bottle, and Riley stopped, staring at him with surprise.

Just leave the damn bottle! Mathew yanked it from the bartender’s hand and set it on the bar in front of him. Mathew wanted to know the truth, to hear that Amelia was moving on and focusing on a new life without Otis in it. He wanted her to be happy and healthy for the first time in her life and stop putting all her effort into the comfort and caring of the people around her. She had to focus on herself now – find the Amelia whom he had seen glimpses of, the Amelia who laughed openly, let her guard down long enough to let someone touch her without recoiling in pain. Mathew wanted all of these things for her, but it just wasn’t in his power to give her any of that.

How is she? Mathew couldn’t help himself; the words came out of his mouth before he had a chance to rein them in. Gus’s lips tipped up into an easy smile, but he didn’t miss the wince of pain on Matt’s face when the question was asked.

She sounds strong, eager to move forward anyway, she says. She is so good at hiding her emotions, to be honest. I really couldn’t tell for sure how she was. She only lets you in so far, and then she slams that door shut on ya. Gus hesitated just long enough to take a breath. Just like you’re doing right now! Gus thought to himself. He started slowly again, wondering how long it would take before Mathew’s anger rose to the surface and the subject would be closed. Jake said she’s hanging on to the past like it’s a life preserver… Mathew turned to look at Gus as he spoke, surprised and angry that people would think she could just recover from this that easily. Hamm works with her every day, but Jake said she just seems… stuck, like she can’t or won’t let go of her family’s past. Gus eased off the sentence and leaned in a little to get a better look at his friend’s face.

I don’t know how she can get through finding out your father, aunt, cousin slash brother were the biggest monsters in the United States. America’s most hated people. That is a pretty heavy burden to live with. I can understand how moving on from that would take a little extra effort. Maybe she’ll never be able to move on, to be anything more than what she is now, Mathew said quietly and took a sip of whiskey.

You don’t really believe that, I know you don’t, Gus said.

Mathew considered the statement, but his hurt and anger were hindering his will to sympathize with her.

Is that what Jake said, or is that what you think? Mathew asked, and Gus heard the tone of resentment at the mention of Jake’s name.

He didn’t come right out and say it, but that’s what he meant. Maybe you can get through to her… you know, tell her it’s okay to move on with her life. Gus wrinkled his nose as the words filled the air around them. How selfish to want to inflict more pain on Matt, just to help Amelia.

It’s not healthy for you to stay locked away like this… It’s not healthy for her either. You’ve got to find a way to move past this. At least try! Gus said in a gentle voice, glancing at the nearness of Riley at the end of the bar. There was a long moment of silence between them before Mathew smiled slightly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

That ship has sailed, Gus! Gus heard Mathew say the words, but he knew the ship was moored in the harbor, unable to sail because of the storm that whirled around it. Mathew was no more able to put the past behind him than Amelia was able to let go of her demons.

Yeah, okay! Gus said, knowing he didn’t dare push the subject any further. He knew Matt would call her someday, when the burn of rejection wasn’t the driving feeling he had for her.

Gus reached inside his raincoat and pulled out a piece of paper, laying it on the bar and sliding it to Matt. Matt looked at him but didn’t reach for it.

What’s this?

Phone number to the hospital, just in case! Gus moved his hand back and picked up the whiskey glass, hesitating as he watched Mathew debate in his mind whether to pick up the paper. Gus smiled as Matt took the paper from the bar and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

This doesn’t mean I’m calling Maine! Matt said with annoyance.

I know. Gus let his lip curl into a smile. It sure the hell did mean that Matt would be calling Maine. Maybe not tonight, but he’d call her.

Got somethin’ else for ya! Gus pulled out a folded piece of paper and slid it to Mathew.

What’s this? Mathew asked as he picked the paper up and opened it, turning it into the glow from the pool table light, staring at it as he read, his brow furrowing again.

DNA results from Lisa Bright’s town house, Gus said, picking up the whiskey and sipping it.

Only her DNA? How is that possible? She never had any company while she lived there? Mathew asked, sarcasm filtering into his tone.

Apparently not! Gus sipped his whiskey, waiting for Matt to finish the report.

2

Nightmare

MATHEW AND THE FBI team of Behavioral Analysis Unit were already ensconced in a serial killer’s case in Boston. This one was just as personal to Mathew as the last case had been. This killer preyed on women in upscale neighborhoods with all the security in the world provided to them, and yet the unsub was able to penetrate their safe havens to rape and murder them, evaporating into the darkness without leaving a single forensic clue. The unsub was nice enough to leave a calling card at each scene, baiting the police with diatribes about how useless they were to catch him. He even labeled each murder so that the press could keep them all straight. It was as if the killer flew in on a broom and flew out again, incased in a bubble during the murders; not even an epithelia had been found so far.

Mathew’s mother had been the first victim of the killer, later to be known as the Boston Harbor Killer, and it would take two more murders before the killings could be classified as serial killings. The press had dubbed the monster as the Boston Harbor Killer after the third murder, giving the killer power with the label. At the time of Siobhan Rossi’s murder, the police did not know they had the makings of a serial killer on the loose. The rape and brutal murder of Mathew’s mother wasn’t classified at that time as it looked like a single random killing. It would take two more similar killings to make the Boston PD extend an invitation for the BAU to become involved in the case. Special Agent in Charge Liam Fess and his team were in Maine when the call went out for help from the Boston PD, and Mathew wanted to extricate himself from Maine to join in the hunt for the Boston killer.

The killer was elusive and smart and had intimate details of Siobhan Rossi that the police department had not linked to any suspect at the time. The killer knew Siobhan Rossi was the mother of Special Agent Mathew Rossi; he had made the case personal from the very first kill, and Mathew was left out of the loop until he returned from Maine and found that the killer was speaking to him. Mathew understood the dangers of his profession; killers would always blame the FBI unit of ruining their lives when they were caught, threatening retaliation if they ever got the chance, so Mathew was confused because all the killers whom he had helped to put away were still safely in maximum security prisons. What could have set off this killer to make a career out of devastating Mathew and his family? The link was there; the evidence was there, but Mathew couldn’t connect the dots to make the puzzle work. The inner monster in Mathew’s head kept silent, refusing to come forward to direct Mathew in feeling this killer, in seeing the clues that were right in front of their faces, and Mathew wondered why this was. Why was his mind staying quiet? Why was his mind hiding from the truth of the hidden source of the killings?

Liam Fess had been the unlucky recipient of the call from the Boston police lieutenant who informed him that there had been a murder at Sean Rossi’s town house. Liam pulled Mathew and Gus into his office and shut the door behind them. He perched on the edge of his desk facing the two agents, clearing his throat to find his voice; this was going to be the most difficult discussion that he would have in his career. Mathew and Gus both leaned forward in their chairs like expectant children, waiting for the next big profiling case to be tossed into their laps. What they received was the most devastating news two men could receive.

I’ve got some bad news for you, and it’s going to be very painful… Liam felt uncertain how to proceed, stumbling along as he searched for the right words to a situation that was not right at all. Mathew, I just spoke to Lieutenant Bob Jordan from the Boston PD homicide division, and you need to go home to your father’s residence… A body had been discovered and – 

Body? What body? Mathew slurred the words.

Gus, take Matt and go. The lieutenant will meet you there. Go now! Liam said, and Mathew held up his hand to stop them.

Wait a damn minute. What body, Liam?

I don’t know the details. Lieutenant Jordan was in the early stage of the investigation – 

Is it the housekeeper? My father? Who? Mathew said, standing and towering over Liam. Gus was at Mathew’s shoulder, pulling him away.

Now, Matty, we’ve got to go now. C’mon, man! Mathew let Gus lead him from the room as he tried to absorb why a body would be found in his father’s brownstone. His mother was out of town at a conference, and his father had called him this morning, asking Mathew to join him for dinner tonight for a guy’s night out. The story was not registering in his mind. On the wild drive to Chelsea, Mathew’s inner monster began to stir, filtering thoughts through Mathew’s mind, inserting images that should not be there, and Mathew was beginning to sweat as the monster taunted him. Mathew couldn’t put a reason as to why he was seeing the monster; he hadn’t even been to the town house yet; why would the feelings be flying around his brain now?

Mathew and Gus arrived with screaming sirens and lights flashing on the black SUV to his mother and father’s town house the night the body was discovered; they were stopped by a Boston PD officer from entering the residence as they sprinted up the stairs. The officer had his hand on the gun at his hip as he tried to gain control of the two men charging at him. Mathew flew into a rage as Gus was restraining him from pummeling the officer who was blocking the entrance and yelling orders at the two men, bringing more patrol officers to the location to assist with the chaos. Gus was holding Mathew at the same time he was flipping his badge open for the officer to see, but the atmosphere was quickly escalating out of control. The argument that ensued was loud, drawing the attention of the lieutenant in charge of the crime scene. A tall man met Mathew and Gus at the front door, blocking their entrance like a brick wall. Gus flashed his FBI badge at the lieutenant, expecting professional courtesy from him to enter the building; and in the fray, Lieutenant Jordan did not realize that one of the men was here for personal reasons and not representing the FBI.

Agents, this is not your crime scene. You’re not getting in here. the lieutenant said flatly.

Is my father in there? Mathew screamed and Lieutenant Jordan was stunned by the information in Mathew’s question and fumbled for a response. Is my father in there? Is he alive? Mathew asked again as he advanced on the tall man as Gus pulled him back. Lieutenant Jordan regained his composure and sighed as he looked into the agent’s terrified eyes.

I’m sorry for your loss, Agent Rossi… No, your father is not the victim… It’s your mother. The words took the wind from Mathew’s lungs, stealing it like a gremlin in the dark, and his knees immediately buckled under his weight. Gus was not restraining Mathew now; he was keeping him from collapsing on the steps.

M-my mother? Mathew stammered. No, it can’t be my mother. She’s out of town. It’s got to be Hilda, our housekeeper… Please, God, not my mother… Gus… can’t be… He couldn’t seem to make his brain work the words correctly. He allowed Gus to hold him up, and he tried to catch his breath as his lungs felt as if they were collapsing in his chest.

Your mother’s housekeeper is the one that found the body, Agent Rossi. I’m very sorry to inform you. Bob Jordan watched the two agents for a split second as Gus was propping Mathew up.

I got ya, partner… C’mon, let’s just hang on… Mathew jerked his arms free of Gus’s hold and dashed past the lieutenant, slamming into walls as he staggered down the hallway. The lieutenant motioned for Gus to follow, and they took off in a sprint to catch Mathew before he entered the crime scene.

Lieutenant Robert Jordan was not a small man by any means; his frame was well-defined in his blue jacket and tailored slacks. His badge hung around his neck from a silver chain, and his holster for his gun was snug on his belt. He had a distinctively handsome and strong jawline and deep brown (almost black) eyes and jet-black hair that set him apart from other officers in the police department. He had been a part of an elite Delta unit in the army and had moved up the chain of command in the Boston Police department quickly to the command of lieutenant in the homicide division. He had a long jacket of commendations along with being at a top black belt level of karate. Bob was well liked by his fellow officers for having a quick wit, but what set him apart was his ability to command fairness and his strict compliance with procedures and the law. Agent Rossi was not part of the police department, but he was a fellow officer, and Bob was going to help him in any way that he could to make tonight go as smooth as he could. Right now, the man who ran past him was not FBI; he was a man who was going to see his mother as a murder victim, and Bob couldn’t make that part any better for Mathew.

Wait! Matt, wait! Gus yelled at Mathew, grabbing him and spinning him against the wall. Mathew’s eyes burned with rage and anguish as Gus pinned him to the wall outside the town house door.

Let me go! Get the hell off me! Mathew screamed and pushed as hard as he could, but Gus pressed him backward. Bob stood beside Gus, anxious to keep the situation from escalating into an arrest; the last thing he wanted to do was arrest an FBI agent at the door of his mother’s murder.

You don’t want to do this. Don’t go in there, please. Gus begged as his voice danced with pain. They had been at too many crime scenes, and he didn’t want Mathew to have this one stuck in his head for the rest of his life.

My mom, my mom’s in there! Mathew sounded terrified, his eyes boiling up with tears.

You don’t need to see her like this. Listen to me… , Gus said as Mathew stopped struggling under his hold, not yielding but running out of strength to fight.

I’m going in there, with you or without you… Let go of me. Mathew was to the point of murderous rage, and Gus knew he had lost. He released his grip on his friend, and Mathew stared at him, wondering if he had as much strength to go in the room as he thought he did. Jordan backed up a step when he could see that Gus had Mathew under control.

C’mon, I’ll go with you if you want, Gus said, leaving his hand on Mathew’s shoulder. Mathew didn’t have any words; he could only nod his acceptance.

The three men entered the room slowly with Lieutenant Jordan leading the way as Mathew wobbled on his shaking legs. It felt as if he was walking in on any given Sunday for dinner with his parents, but it was a world far from this one now.

The town house was immaculate; nothing was out of place, and Mathew thought for a moment that he was in a bad dream; this couldn’t be a crime scene, his mother’s death scene. The crime scene technicians told him otherwise as they stopped to stare at the trio moving through the room. The men and woman in their white coveralls moved out of Mathew and Gus’s way as the two men walked in halted motion to the back bedroom, and Mathew felt as if his body was not connected to his mind. His inner monster scrambled to the front of his mind, watching and digesting all that his eyes could see; it was like looking down a dark tunnel, waiting for the burning light at the end.

Lieutenant Jordan held up his hand to stop any protest from his CSI crew working the scene as he pushed past Mathew to block his advance down the hall.

Get out of my way! Mathew spewed his rage.

Think about this, friend… The lieutenant stopped in midsentence when he saw the killer rage in Mathew’s eyes, knowing that this hulking individual was not going to be denied entry into the killing room.

Okay… okay! Stand at the door, no entry into the room. Can you do that? he asked in a more gentle voice, and Mathew couldn’t find the strength to nod in agreement.

We’ll stay at the door. I’ve got this, Lieutenant, Gus said, steadying Mathew, and they waited for what seemed like hours for the lieutenant to move out of the way.

I’m sorry for your loss, Agent Rossi, Jordan said as he took a small step backward and out of their way. What did he mean by loss? Mathew let the question fly through his mind, still positive the victim had to be their housekeeper; it just couldn’t be his mother.

Gus reached around Mathew, pushing the door open to the bedroom, half-blocking the door so that he could control Mathew’s advance into the room. Mathew scanned the area that he could see as the door opened; it was surreal to him. He had seen this madness before, but it felt like stepping into another realm of his life, something from a nightmare. He couldn’t bring his legs to move even if he had wanted to enter the room, but his eyes never stopped moving, focusing on every detail of the scene. He let his eyes settle on the victim, his mother, as he waited for someone to tell him this was all a horrible mistake, but the only thing he heard was the inner turmoil in his brain as the monster froze and then vanished as quickly as he had arrived.

His mother was lying across the bed, hanging over the edge, her face turned to greet the first people to enter the room. She was beautiful even in death was the thought that ran through Gus’s mind. Siobhan Rossi had been stabbed multiple times from the amount of blood that pooled around her, soaking into the mattress and sheets. The room was eerily silent; Mathew could hear his own breathing filling his ears, raspy, heavy breaths that couldn’t be coming just from him. There were dust smears littering the room from the investigators dusting for prints. The fine particles from the powder floating like fairy dust in the air, swirling in little tornados from the door opening into the room in front of them. A glass on the nightstand beside the bed was covered with lycopodium dust, and the glass caught his eye for a split second as he moved his attention back to his mother’s face, and he noticed she appeared to be staring at a painting that was leaning against the wall next to the door. The painting was of nothing in particular, and he found it to be an odd item that felt out of place in the bedroom.

He glanced at his mother’s face again and then, one more time, around the room. It seemed as if he had been standing at the opening to the room for days, unable and unwilling to be moved away from the most traumatic sight in his life – his mother’s murder. Mathew wanted to go to her, hold her, and make this nightmare go back to the dark place it started from; but his body couldn’t move in any direction, and finally, nothingness settled over his mind, stealing the pain away for another time.

Mathew didn’t remember much of the details after that. He allowed people to move him around the sphere he was in, giving them access to his motor skills, pulling the strings of his essence as if he was a puppet. He couldn’t form words, and he felt no devastating pain like he thought he should; he felt nothing but cold and distant from everything around him. He thought he should be crying, but his eyes remained dry as his lids were sandpaper scraping across his eyeballs when he blinked; nothing around him seemed to be registering in his brain. He couldn’t remember what his mother looked like in the death room when he tried to pull her image forward; the inner animal seized her blurred aura and pulled it back into the recesses of his mind, not allowing him access. The scene that played over and over in his mind like an old phonograph was the details of the room; he could pull all the detail into focus, and there was one item that was out of place, a solitary piece of a puzzle that haunted his subconscious, but he couldn’t put a finger on what it was. It was very strange to be present in his life but so far outside the reality of what was spinning out of control around him. It crossed his mind at one point as he watched Gus try to offer him a glass of whiskey as they sat on the couch that when the pain hit, he would probably die as his heart would rip from his body.

He had not thought about his father until Liam escorted Sean to the door and Mathew’s and Sean’s eyes met in shattered silence. People were talking around them, at least their lips were moving in slow motion, but no sound was touching them as if their world was suddenly incased in a bubble. Sean had been in denial until he saw the scared little boy staring back at him from the couch, and at that point, Sean’s world came crashing down around him too.

Mathew and his father made it through the next few weeks, barely holding on and clinging to each other so they didn’t fall off the edge of the earth into oblivion. Siobhan had been their center, their true north; how were they going to navigate through their lives without her? The abyss they found themselves hovering above almost felt inviting, as if they could both let go and free-fall.

The funeral had come and gone, and then there were endless people calling to check on how the two men were coping. How do you cope with the brutal murder of a woman who was central to your very existence? Mathew was grappling with the edge of madness, fighting to keep his inner monster from consuming him and taking him to the one place he most desperately wanted to go – inside the mind of the animal that killed his mother.

Mathew and the team had been removed from a serial killer case they were assisting Rhode Island FBI on and transferred to the child killer in Maine; it was a move that Liam had hoped would give Mathew distance from the pain he was so obviously working to control so he didn’t lose control. Gus and Mathew needed distance from Boston, but Liam was unconvinced that taking Mathew away from his father right now may not have been the perfect solution. Liam had to make a difficult decision, but it was one that would save Mathew from self-destruction. Mathew had refused at first to leave for Maine, threatening to resign from the FBI if they insisted that he move to another case. Gus and Sean had talked to him, convincing him to go to Maine and be productive. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if the case was dismissed due to conflict of interest with Mathew meddling in the Boston Police department case; he had to back away and let others take the lead.

When he was in Maine, he kept a constant vigil on his mother’s case, trying to help the police department with suggestions, and the police kept shutting him out. Liam Fess had finally come to the end of his patience with Mathew’s insistence of interfering with the investigation and had a sit-down with the young agent. It was difficult for Liam to be hard on Mathew; they were talking about Mathew’s mother, but Mathew was walking a fine line and was teetering on crossing that line.

Mathew, I’m going to put you on desk duty if this continues, Liam said with a stern voice.

I can work both, Liam – , Mathew started to protest, knowing he had stepped over the line.

You’re not listening to me. You don’t have an option here. You are not working the Boston case. The Boston PD is working it. Do I make myself clear? I don’t want to bench you, but dammit… I will if you keep pushing this. I can’t take the chance of you screwing up their case. Fess could see that Mathew had never considered his involvement was jeopardizing the murder case.

"When you wrap up this child killer, you can go back to Boston with an open mind. I don’t think you can separate the two cases and give us the help we need to find the bastard that is murdering these kids. I need you to focus… Can you give me