Josiah's eyes snapped open, gasping for air, a cold sweat covering his body. His heart rate slowly began to return to normal as the nightmare images began to fade and his bedroom came into focus, the light from the street lamp barely illuminating his surroundings. Damn! Why now? It had been several months since the gruesome dreams had last invaded his sleep.
He glanced at the bedside clock. Four thirty. Knowing it was useless to try to sleep, he shoved the covers aside and made his way to the kitchen. Starting the coffeepot, he wandered to the bathroom and stripped. As he stood in the shower letting the hot water relax tense muscles he wondered again what had brought about the recurring nightmare. Would he never escape it?
It was always the same, he stood by watching helplessly as the madman mutilated the tiny bodies, unable to help. Unable to stop him. Unable to silence the echoing screams which filled his mind.
*******
Josiah Sanchez, son of a hellfire and brimstone missionary, had much to his father's disappointment, traded in his pulpit for an FBI badge, putting his psychology degree to use in profiling serial killers. Josiah knew his father thought he was wasting his talent and wasting his life. The older man made it perfectly clear in his many lectures to his son that he considered the boy's plans to be turning his back on God. He never once gave a hint of approval. And never once did he give credence to Josiah's argument that God had different plans for every person and those plans didn't necessarily mean following in one's father's foot steps.
In many ways, Josiah had much more faith than his father ever had. Unlike the elder Sanchez he didn't believe in frightening people into believing in God or shoving his religion down a person's throat. His father, on the other hand, saw his religion as the only true path to salvation while the younger Sanchez, saw God in all things, all people and all religions. His faith was evident in his actions. He never understood why his father wasn't able to accept the idea, his son didn't have to be preaching from a pulpit or sitting in the mud with some native tribe on the Amazon to help people discover God. With his work at the FBI he could hopefully save lives as well as souls.
Josiah sought God in all people yet fully understood that somewhere along the way, sometimes, many people’s lives went terribly awry and twisted their sick and delusional minds, making them capable of doing heinous acts against their fellow man. By discovering what made these people tick, he was able to better understand them and hopefully in his small way, help prevent the evil acts they perpetrated on others. With his skill and insight he had become the best profiler in the FBI and found a satisfaction in bringing to justice those ill of mind, whose warped souls found pleasure in the misery of others.
That is until Howard Baines.
The FBI was called into the case when the remains of several small girls were discovered in four states. Local law enforcement agencies were baffled and a task force had immediately been set up with Josiah heading the team doing the psychological profile. To Josiah and the team's dismay, as unusual as it was, nothing seemed to fit.
The girls had been tortured and then murdered, each killed in a different manner. Their autopsies revealed one had survived the torture for several days but the others only hours. Ranging in ages from three to ten, they had no resemblance to each other. They had no basic family situations in common and had all disappeared in various manners. The only factor they did have in common was each victim had large dark expressive eyes. Eyes which haunted Josiah morning and night. The more evidence they gathered, the fuzzier the picture became.
It had taken months and five more bodies before he finally found another common denominator. Each child's favorite toy was a Raggedy Ann doll, purchased from a J.C. Penney catalogue. Although it didn't help Josiah understand what might be driving the madman to perform such monsterous acts, it gave the others a starting place.
Against Josiah's advice, the head of the task force gave a press conference, assuring the public that they expected to make an arrest at any moment. As if that wasn't bad enough, the idiot eluded to the fact that this would come about because Josiah Sanchez had given them a profile that practically named the person responsible for the killings, when in fact as far as Sanchez was concerned, they knew next to nothing.
To his horror the killer seemed to take great pleasure in this information. The sick-minded man had turned his abhorrent undertakings into a nauseating game of Catch Me If You Can between him and Josiah. He began by sending letters to the agent, teasing, hinting at his next victim, challenging the profiler to stop him.
Later it would be those very letters which provided the information needed to catch him but at the time with each letter, he received, Sanchez found himself being drawn deeper and deeper into the man's sick world, no longer able to remain detached and impersonal. It was as if this perverted son of a bitch was crawling around inside his mind, attempting to take control of his life. When graphic pictures taken during the little girls' torture began to accompany the letters, catching the bastard became an obsession with the agent.
Josiah wasn't sleeping, for his dreams were haunted by the pictures and imagined screams of the dying children. He ate only when his body wouldn't be ignored any longer and found himself turning to the spirits, the kind found in bottles. The alcohol helped him sleep, but the case was destroying him from the inside. His faith in a loving and benevolent God began to waver.
How could a loving deity allow his children to suffer the terror and agony he'd seen captured on film of the little girl's faces? How could he stand by and let these innocents be ripped from the arms of loved ones to become the playthings of a vicious murderer? How many more would die before Josiah found the sick perverted person and put him away?
Even with all his years of study, even with the terrible things he'd witnessed both during his career and traveling with his father on missionary assignments, Josiah didn't think he'd ever understand how a person's mind could become so convoluted as to take pleasure in finding ways to torture another human being.
Three more little girls lost their precious lives after the press conference before Howard Baines was apprehended....A capture that unfortunately, Sanchez could take no credit for. A small town police officer had spotted Baines dumping the remains of his last victim, Carlena Martinez. She had been a three-year-old with large dark eyes and a head full of soft black curls. At least that's what her family photos had shown. Josiah would never have known from the pictures he had received from Baines.
Sanchez had found no satisfaction in knowing the profile he'd finally been able to compile on Howard Baines had been completely accurate. The only satisfaction he received was knowing the sick bastard would not be able to harm another child.
Sick at heart and sick to his soul, Josiah had resigned the next day and went in search of the faith Baines had stolen while trying to keep alive that part of him which still believed God would show him the path he needed to follow to find peace in his own life.
*******
Josiah was never really sure how he ended up as a probation officer in Denver. Maybe God had directed him. Maybe not. When offered the job he'd simply said yes without thinking. He hadn't been able to save Carlena or the other little girls from Baines but maybe with this job he could return someone's lost child to the path of righteousness. Maybe by helping them get their lives back on track, he could discover his own way back.
Although he had no urge to follow his father back to the pulpit, he did volunteer at one of the street missions and helped every chance he could with local chapter of the BB organization. Maybe it was his way of atoning for having abandoned his faith for awhile or maybe it was just his need to make up for the mistakes he thought he'd made with the Howard Baines case. He didn't look deeply into his reasons. It was enough to know he was helping those in need.
His mind wandered to John Daniel Dunne. Wilton, his fellow P.O. had talked to him many times about the young hacker. The man always seemed frustrated he couldn't keep the boy from this penchant he had for digging into computer business that didn't concern him.
In his spare time, as a favor to Wilton, Sanchez had studied Dunne's file and quickly realized and tried to make Wilton understand, Dunne's actions were simply the young man's way of dealing with the anger, grief and loneliness he had buried inside after his mother's death.
At least, he had pointed out to Wilton, the boy had turned to a fairly harmless activity. While it was true, he had illegally hacked into computer files and classified documents, he never disturbed or stole anything. He just seemed to enjoy looking around, as if knowing he could accomplish the illegal act with ease was enough.
Josiah couldn't help but wonder how easily it would have been to lose this boy to the other side? There were so many gangs on the streets. There were too many people who walked the shady side of the law who would happily hire someone with the boy's talent to do their illegal work. It would be such a shame to lose the youth when it was apparent he was simply searching for someplace to belong.
Now, after the events of the previous day, he silently said a small prayer of thanks for giving Judge Travis the wisdom to recognize John Daniel's potential and the possible reasons behind his actions. Another couple of prayers went up for Chris Larabee. A prayer of thanksgiving for having the courage to take Dunne in hand and a prayer for patience and guidance in dealing with the youth.
Although a great believer in first impressions, Sanchez did accept the fact that circumstances didn't always permit that initial impression to be favorable but his instincts were screaming the men he met at Larabee's ranch were exactly the type John Daniel Dunne needed in his young life. The three men were distinct individuals yet for all of Buck's teasing and complaining, Larabee's gruff attitude and Tanner's quiet irony, Josiah believed he had seen and felt an honor and caring among them that would engulf the impressionable boy while letting him grow into the man he was meant to be.
If he'd taken time to think about it, he might have had second thoughts about letting John Daniel leave with Wilmington. After all he was responsible for the young man at that moment but he knew Judge Travis had arranged the interview with Larabee and he was thrilled at the prospect the young man would be staying with Wilmington. Not only would he have someone watching over him but he would no longer be living in that dilapidated rat hole he called an apartment.
Rinsing the coffee cup, Josiah sat it in the sink and went to get dressed. He might as well go to work. The office would be quiet for another couple of hours so he could use the time to go over the files of his own probationers. Too bad they couldn't all come under the influence of Mr. Larabee and his friends.
*******
Chris pressed the elevator button, waiting patiently, listening to the creaking device make it's way to the bottom floor, suddenly wondering if taking the stairs was not only healthier but safer as well.
He'd been impressed with the giant of a man who had delivered JD Dunne to his interview. The large man had finished sipping his beer watching his charge leave with Wilmington before turning his full attention to the two remaining men. He had thanked Larabee for offering the youth a chance to rebuild his life and unasked Sanchez had offered information about Dunne he'd gotten from Wilton, as well as his own impressions of the boy. Most of the facts weren't to be found in any file and he even included a vivid description of the slum the boy presently called home.
Although curious about Dunne, Chris managed to turn their conversation to Josiah, himself, and the bear of a man had offered snippets from his past, discussing his short career with the Marines, his years with the FBI but uncomfortable with talking about himself he turned to expounding on the attributes and efforts of many of his probationers, using only their first names in respect of their privacy.
Chris chuckled to himself as he remembered JD and Buck's reaction when he'd stopped by the townhouse that evening with JD's first assignment. The kid's dark eyes had widened as he had seen the name Chris handed him, along with the request to dig up all the information available on one Josiah Sanchez.
Larabee had known it would have been easier to call but he wanted to check on the kid. Make sure by imposing his rules so quickly and without the chance of a reprieve they hadn't gotten off on the wrong foot. He also wanted to make sure Buck hadn't strangled the kid yet or scared him off completely.
Chris was more than a little surprised to find Vin seated at the table munching a hamburger and home made French Fries, several slices of dill pickles on the plate in front of him.
"Hey Chris! Grab a chair! Kid here makes great hamburgers!" Seeing who was at the door, Buck had returned to the dining room, leaving Larabee to follow.
Strolling through the apartment, Chris had noted it was neater than he remembered seeing it since Buck moved in. Obviously, since leaving the Navy the pilot had decided if he wasn't facing inspection he wasn't cleaning up unless the mood struck him. and it hadn't seemed to strike him often these past weeks. However, despite his searching gaze roaming over the area, Chris saw no evidence of the one item he sought.
"Get the computer out of the closet." His softly spoken order fell like a bomb on the apartment dwellers as he calmly prepared himself a plate. He didn't have to look at either of the townhouse's residents to know JD's eyes had widened with alarm and Buck's face was beginning to flush red.
"Chris-"
"Finish your dinner first." He had offered good-naturedly trying to ignore the fear he saw on young Dunne's face and the agitation on Wilmington's.
"Chris!" Buck jumped to his feet. Jerking the half-full plate from Larabee's fingers, he pitched it on the table and gripping his friend's arm began dragging him toward the patio door, tossing JD a look of reassurance before closing the door behind them. "Chris-" he began and was cut off again.
"You heard what I said Buck."
"I heard what you said and now you're gonna hear what I got to say." The pilot crossed his arms over his chest in a stance of defiance. "That computer means everything to that boy yet he's willing to toss it out the window if that's what you want but that's not going to happen. Damnit Chris! It's the only thing of value the kid has! His mother wanted him to have it, he, bought it with part of the insurance money and by damn, he's going to keep it! I don't care what you or the Judge says!"
Chris swallowed the laughter threatening to bubble up from his stomach watching his old friend. It seemed young John Daniel Dunne had found himself a champion, friend, brother and mother all rolled into one large womanizing ex-Navy pilot. He fleetingly wondered if the kid realized what he was in for.
When Larabee didn't respond, Buck pressed on. "Besides, it's my computer now....at least for a while. He leased it to me." He smiled smugly seeing Chris' raised eyebrows. "Well ya gotta admit Chris all you said was that he couldn't use a computer without supervision and I figure since I really don't know jack shit about computers, he can teach me."
"Did you forget who you're talking to ol' buddy?" Chris attempted to appear stern. "Ya think I don't remember you using computers to file all those damn flight reports. Calculating fuel, wind velocity, shit like that! Not to mention finding the numbers of every available female on every base you were stationed on. Now you've had your say and since I want to try one of those burgers before they get too cold, get your ass in there and finish your dinner then get the damn computer out of the closet!"
He turned away effectively putting an end to the discussion adding as he reached for the door, "I don't care how much of a whiz kid he is, he can't do his job if the equipment's boxed up in the closet." He didn't look back, knowing when the meaning of his last words soaked through that thick skull, Buck's jaw would drop low enough to hit the concrete.
The opening of the elevator doors brought Chris back to the present and oblivious to the admiring stares from several secretaries as he stepped onto the elevator his mind once again began evaluating the information JD had provided on Josiah Sanchez.
After hearing Josiah talk about serving in 'Nam with the Marines, reading the files, Chris had been surprised to find out the older man was not only the son of a missionary but an ordained minister himself. He would have thought the man would have served either as a chaplain or claimed status as a conscientious objector, instead the man had served on the front lines, winning several medals and numerous commendations.
Once out of the service, the man's career with the FBI had been exemplary. Skimming the records, Chris had noted the man had been instrumental in identifying and apprehending several career criminals. Vin, knowing the incident from his rookie days, had filled him in on the Howard Baines case and Chris had read the article containing the press conference given by the head of the task force.
Before resigning from the FBI, Sanchez was a much sought after lecturer and had published dozens of articles dealing with the criminal mind. But it appeared once he quit the FBI, he dropped out of the academic world all together.
Well, Chris reasoned, Sanchez didn't have to return to the world he'd left behind but he intended to find out if he'd be interested in putting his talents to use once again.
*****
In his small cramped office, Josiah wearily rubbed at his eyes and tossed the file aside. His elbows on the worn desktop he rested his head in his large hands suddenly feeling twice his years. Damnation! Another child he couldn't save. Another soul lost to the senseless violence of the streets.
"Mr. Sanchez?"
Josiah wearily raised his head, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. "Mr. Larabee?"
He was surprised to see the blond man standing in his office doorway. Oh God! Not John Daniel! What the hell had the kid done? What ever it was Wilton could handle it. After all he was the kid's P.O and Josiah knew he, himself, couldn't stand any more bad news today, especially if it concerned Dunne.
"You alright?" Chris took the seat in front of the desk without waiting to be asked. There was a look of devastation in the probation officer's eyes that chilled him to the bone.
"Lost a kid today," Sanchez's voice was low as his red-rimmed eyes moved briefly to the file.
Damn! Chris swore to himself at the utter hopelessness on the older man's face. How the hell did this man survive his job if he got this upset every time he had to revoke someone's probation? Of course being a caring man is what had made him human and kept him from becoming a bureaucratic robot.
Pulling himself together, Josiah eyed the blond man. "What can I do for you Mr. Larabee?"
"I came by to invite ya ta lunch. Something I wanna talk to ya about but looks like ya could use some time away from here right now....If ya don't have an appointment."
Josiah automatically scanned his schedule although he knew he had time since Manuel wouldn't be coming in and David, his next appointment was always chronically late. He pulled his jacket from the back of his chair as he gained his feet. "Let's get the hell outta here."
*******
They sat in a diner a few blocks away, their plates practically untouched, neither of them having much of an appetite. Chris sipped at his coffee and listened to Sanchez talk about Manuel a good kid trying to work past his mistakes, killed that morning, hit by a drunk driver while walking to school.
The young man had lived in poverty, trying to be the man of the house to his widowed mother and younger siblings. Overwhelmed by circumstances, he had given in to the need to belong and joined a local street gang. Not really a bad group of kids yet, they could barely be considered a gang in street terms. They hung out, painted some graffiti, spent Saturday nights drinking stolen liquor and making big plans for their little group.
Three months earlier, Manuel had been busted for shoplifting. Not cigarettes or booze or even something that could be pawned. He'd stolen a doll for his sister's birthday.
Josiah had been moved by the boy's actions and in spending time with the young man, discovered he had a talent for music. He'd gotten him interested in working with a volunteer at a neighborhood youth center, helping with their music program. The instructor was able to encourage and help him develop his own talent while Manuel helped the younger participants.
"Like Brother Dunne, the damn kid had so much potential, he just....." A slow grin came to the man's face as he suddenly became embarrassed. "I thank you for listening to the senseless ramblings of an old man Brother Larabee but I realize you didn't stop by to listen to me grieve for a lost child. Tell me now, has young Brother Dunne given you reason to regret your decision already."
"You needed to talk and I don't mind listening." Chris assured him. "And JD is working out just fine so far." Larabee smiled as the waitress refilled their coffee mugs waiting until she moved on before continuing. "I'm sure the system could use more P.O's who care as much as you do," the blond man had the grace to suddenly appear down right embarrassed, "but I actually stopped by to try and lure you away from your current position."
Josiah leaned back and stared at the younger man. Even with the heartbreak he'd suffered since accepting the position with the Denver justice system he hadn't considered leaving but for some reason, found his curiosity getting the better of him.
"I'm listening."
*******
The sound muted, Sanchez stared at the television not really seeing the vague images which flickered across the screen. The local news channels had all ran a piece on the accident which had killed Manuel but none of them had given it more than thirty seconds. Thirty seconds to describe the life and death of a promising young man who left behind siblings who would probably head down the same road. If only they had the right encouragement and direction, they could set the world on its ear or at least change it for the better. Josiah knew it was an endless circle.....and he couldn't save them all, even though he tried.
His mind turned to his conversation with Larabee and once more he felt a rush of excitement surge through him. It was like the day he'd graduated from the FBI academy and accepted his first assignment. A fervor he hadn't experienced in years and yet he hesitated.
Could he really go back to that life? Dealing with the lower elements of society? Did he dare take a chance on one of them taking control of his soul as Baines almost had? From what Larabee had said, his team would be working to bring down criminals other agencies couldn't as well as taking on other assignments. Neither man had discussed what those assignments might be but both had an idea, considering they would be answerable to only two men, one of which was the most powerful in the world but Josiah somehow got the feeling with men like Larabee, Tanner and Wilmington beside him, the other element had best start packing. From the impressions he'd gotten at Larabee's ranch, those men would be hell on wheels.
Josiah glanced at the television again. They were covering the story of a church fire. He watched as the cameras panned the area as firefighters worked frantically to stop the spreading flames. His weary blue-gray eyes locked on the cross attached to the building's steeple.
He flipped off the set and turning out lights knelt by the bed, praying for Manuel and the family he had left behind and asking for guidance in his own life, before crawling wearily beneath the blankets.
*******
Josiah Sanchez greeted the morning sun with a lighter heart and clearer perspective than he had in months. His haunting dreams had been filled with a new addition....a somber faced blond man wearing dark clothes, helping him bring justice to the tiny victims.
Starting the coffeepot he dug on his desk for the card with Chris Larabee's number and with a small self-satisfied smile, he reached for the phone.
THE END