Echoes
by CherryCoke282
URL: http://www.bluecatsgraphics.com/pean/fanfics/2/

Chapter One

The make-shift cell had all the illusions of luxury. It was a spacious room, and if Pendergast had not been shackled at his wrists and ankles, it would have seemed a lovely place.

He was chained to a handsome mahogany bed, wearing a black silk dressing robe. His body was clean, but he had no recollection of how it had gotten that way.

The last thing he remembered was finally losing consciousness after a long struggle in Fosco’s make-shift grave. Someone had saved him, only to imprison him again. It was all very perplexing.

Pendergast tested the strength of his shackles. All of his lock-picking instruments had been unsurprisingly removed from his person, and even his thin wrists were tightly bound by this pair.

On further inspection of his surroundings, the only thing he noticed about the room was how conspicuously bare it was. There were two doors, one presumably leading to a restroom and the other leading out. No paintings adorned the scarlet colored walls, and the gleaming wooden floor was empty except for his bed.

Suddenly, one of the doors opened. Two people stepped through into his room. Pendergast felt every muscle in his body clench with shock at the sight of them.

It was his brother. And his late wife.

**


“Aloysius,” his brother stepped forward, a cruel smile twisting his features, “Nice to see you awake. We didn’t know if you were going to pull through.”

Pendergast said nothing, unable, for once in his life, to formulate any kind of response to the situation he had just been presented with.

His eyes finally settled on Helen. Her tall, athletic body was corseted into a black dress, and she looked vastly uncomfortable. Her gleaming blond hair, now dark instead of bleached by the African sun, was twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck. A ridiculously gaudy black necklace hung around her thin, long neck. She stood subserviently at Diogenes’ side, looking down determinedly. She hadn’t acknowledged Pendergast.

Diogenes noticed his brother watching her.

“Oh, this is my assistant, Helen. Have you two met?” The sarcastic, mocking tone in his voice infuriated Pendergast just as much as it had when they were children.

Still he didn’t speak.

“Don’t you have something you need to tell me?” Diogenes crossed his arms, stepping closer.

When Pendergast still said nothing, Diogenes back-handed him hard enough to draw blood from his mouth. Helen winced, looking away.

“How about some appreciation, little brother? I saved your life!” Diogenes features contorted with anger for only a moment, and then he started laughing. A horrible, high laugh.

“Fine. I have something much larger than bad blood to deal with, Aloysius. That date I sent you... it’s coming nearer.”

Pendergast looked at him at last.

“You must be wondering why I saved your life.” Diogenes said, dabbing at the blood on Pendergast’s mouth with a handkerchief from his jacket.

“You saved my life so you could take care of me yourself. If someone else attempted to kill me, I could still escape. You think the closer I am, the safer you are. And the more assured your success.” Pendergast finally spoke, his voice weak and tired.

Diogenes clapped his hands together.

“Very good. But then, you always were the smart one.” That horrible mocking tone was back again.

“So you plan to kill me yourself?” Pendergast asked, almost wearily.

“Eventually. But as I said, there’s more pressing matters I must attend to first. Things will be kept relatively comfortable for you here. I don’t intend to torture you, just keep an eye on you.”

“How considerate.” Pendergast said, so softly it was almost inaudible.

“Yes. Well. Helen will be my conduit to you. If ever I need your invaluable assistance, she will procure it.”

“Why would you trust anything I tell you?” Pendergast asked.

Diogenes snapped his fingers. Helen withdrew a stack of photographs from behind her back.

“Put them on the bed so he can see.” Diogenes spoke to her patronizingly.

She did so, still not looking once at Pendergast.

“Recognize their faces, Aloysius?”

Of course he did.

“Constance Greene. Vincent D’Agosta. Margo Green. They really weren’t that difficult to track down. If you prove unhelpful, I will systematically have them eliminated. And believe me, Aloysius- these aren’t the only names on the list. I’ll keep killing your friends until you agree to join me.”

“Join you?” Pendergast asked.

“Yes. I was getting to that. I so desperately need a partner in all of this. Yours is the only intellect in this world I truly respect, even if it is a bit misguided at times. Assist me in my greatest undertaking, or they will all die.”

Pendergast looked away from the photographs. The photographs were making him slightly ill.

“I will, of course, give you a few days to consider the matter. But time is of the essence in this particular project, so I will need your answer soon. All right, well, that’s all for now. Helen will bring your dinner presently.” Diogenes shrugged, as if they had been chatting about the weather, and left the room.

Helen gathered the photographs, still not speaking or meeting his eyes. Her thin hands were shaking violently.

Pendergast watched her, taking in all the subtle differences since the last time they had been together. He remembered that trip like it was yesterday, yet it still seemed like a very distant part of his life. It felt as though he had been without her for a very long time, and he had long since accepted her death. Yet here she was.

Her hand brushed his leg as she picked up the photograph, and she froze.

Pendergast kept looking at her, and finally she met his eyes. Her green eyes were dark and unreadable.

“I think I’ve seen you in a dress one other time in my entire life.” Aloysius finally spoke, speaking the only coherent thought he could articulate.

“Well, your American traditions demanded it that time.” Helen replied, her French accent still heavy and deliciously melodic.

She looked at him for a long moment. Suddenly, her hand reached up to his pale cheek. She leaned towards him, her lips against his ear.

“There are so many things I need to say to you.” She said, her voice so quiet he could barely hear it.

Pendergast waited for her to continue, feeling the spark of her proximity echo through a part of him he thought long-forgotten.

“He wanted you to think I was dead.”

“Why?”

Helen paused, sighing heavily, her breath hot against his skin.

“I cannot tell you that. If I even have a chance of...” She stopped, jumping as if she had heard something and stepping away from him.

“Dinner is at seven. I’ll bring it to you.” She said, her tone now oddly businesslike and at normal volume.

Pendergast watched her go.

Chapter Two

Pendergast looked up at the ceiling of his room, his mind far too busy to even consider sleep. He estimated night had fallen, but had no way of verifying this claim. The room had no windows. He heard a light rain falling against the roof, and tree branches scratched his window incessantly.

But the activity outside of his room had fallen silent. The staff had probably been sent home.

Helen had brought his dinner earlier that evening, but had not spoken to him again in the manner she had earlier. Pendergast assumed they were being watched very closely.

How had she ended up here? What purpose could Diogenes possibly have for her? If it was merely to torment his brother, why had she been taken so many years ago? Pendergast could never fathom his brother’s way of thinking, and was finding it even more difficult where his wife was concerned.

His first instinct was the thought that they could escape. Helen knew this place, and Pendergast had seen her in action. She was tough as nails when she needed to be, and he certainly trusted her more than the fellow FBI agents he was often paired with for far more perilous situations.

But then this begged the question... what if Diogenes already had Vincent, Constance, and Margo held as hostages? He could not risk their lives in that manner.

Pendergast closed his eyes, feeling a headache born of fatigue and stress creeping over him. His body was still weak from the intense trauma of oxygen deprivation, starvation, and dehydration he had been subject to under Count Fosco.

He should allow himself to rest. He began shutting his senses off to their current surroundings, forcing thoughts of his brother, thoughts of his friends, thoughts of Helen far from his mind. Sleep. That’s what he needed. Then he could sort this problem out.

Suddenly, his door creaked open.

Pendergast shot up, his chains clanking together, his eyes wide open.

It was her.

Helen was wearing the same dress from earlier, but her hair was pulled out of the knot and fell long and loose around her shoulders. The gaudy jewelry was also missing.

She closed the door silently behind her.

“What is it?” He finally asked, when she said nothing.

Helen crossed to him, kneeling beside his bed.

“He’s asleep. He rarely reviews the security tapes himself, but just in case, I set them on a delay. It’s showing a looped image of you... alone, of course.” She was speaking in soft, hushed tones, her small, cold hand resting on top of his shackled wrist.

“How long do we have?”

“Ten minutes, at most. Ask me anything you want to know. This may be my only chance to tell you anything. If I keep looping the tapes, the security guards are bound to notice.”

“Why did he want me to think you were dead?”

“He loves causing pain, Aloysius. In any way possible. You told me of his proclivity to hurting animals as a child. As he grew older, this lust for sadism grew to more substantial targets. More specifically, the only person he’d ever considered a threat. Once he learned of your marriage, he decided you would disgrace the family with an unsuitable heir. Apparently, I wasn’t quite up to your family’s standards. He tried to track us down for some time, but we moved around often, and made things rather difficult for him. He grew frustrated and more and more vengeful towards us. When he finally did track us down in Tanzania, he arranged everything to imply that I had merely disappeared into the jungle, and been left to its mercy. He knew if he tried to plant a body, you’d know it was a fake. I thought he was going to kill me. But he had much grander plans than that. He wanted to teach me a lesson, show me what I’d done by disgracing his family. So, I’ve been his servant since my disappearance, biding time until he found the right moment to reveal his 'brilliant' plan to you.”

Pendergast looked away, feeling his throat uncomfortably tight. The more life he lived, the more he discovered guilt to the most troublesome of all emotions.

“I should never have stopped searching for you.” He said quietly.

“You can’t blame yourself for any of this. We didn’t do anything wrong... he’s the lunatic, Aloysius. I know you try to make everything your fault—”

“If something happened to you that I could have prevented, it is my fault.” Pendergast said, shaking his head bitterly.

“Aloysius—”

“Is he holding the people in the photographs hostage?”

“No. Not yet.”

Pendergast exhaled heavily.

“Thank God.”

The rain outside seemed to worsen as they fell into silence.

“Does he ever hurt you?” Pendergast asked, dreading the answer but needing desperately to know.

“You honestly think I would stand for that?” Helen smiled, a smile that he remembered so vividly it was like a shock to his system.

“Of course not. Not the woman I married.” Pendergast laughed slightly, and realized that he hadn’t laughed in a very long time.

“Have you ever tried to escape?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“It was unsuccessful, obviously.” She said, her tone a little too light for this situation. Forced.

“Why didn’t you escape?” He said, his hand tightening around hers slightly.

In lieu of a reply, she looked at a watch around her other wrist.

“Two minutes.”

Pendergast realized she wasn’t going to discuss this particular topic any further.

She swallowed hard, her throat catching slightly. She looked as if she was preparing herself for something.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“I just—there’s something you have to understand—I didn’t want to leave. No matter what he tries to make you believe about me...” She was speaking fast, her words rushed with emotion.

“Helen—”

“Please, let me finish. No matter what happens, to either of us... I love you. No amount of time or distance could ever change that.”

Pendergast was taken aback. His wife had never been much for expressing her feelings. She was looking down at her hands, still speaking fervently.

“I’ll do everything I can to get you out of this place, but it may not be enough. We could both be dead tomorrow, I have no idea. And this was just something... something I had to say.”

Helen finally looked up at him. His silvery eyes met hers with an intensity that made her shiver.

He didn’t need to say anything back. She knew what that look meant. What it had always meant.

She leaned towards him, almost imperceptibly, her hand sliding up the silky material over his chest.

Their lips met, gently, their first kiss in years sending a shower of sparks through both of their nerves. His hands tangled in her hair as the kiss deepened, the cold metal of his chains pressing against her bare shoulders.

They broke apart for only a moment, and she saw the watch on her wrist. Ten more seconds. For a moment, she didn’t care. But Pendergast saw it too. He closed his eyes at the sight of it, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it fervently. Her pulse thudded wildly under his fingertips.

“You should go.” He said, still not opening his eyes.

She nodded, distancing herself from him with slightly shaking steps. Without another word from either of them, she left. Leaning against the door frame, she tried to slow her thudding heartbeat with several deep breaths. She had almost forgotten the debilitating effect he had on her.

The watch around her wrist sounded a soft, beeping alarm. Their time was up. The cameras were back on line. She walked down the hall, back to her room, as if she had just been wandering to escape a bout of insomnia.

Pendergast lay in bed, listening to the rain. His mind flew unbidden to a scrawling quotation Helen had posted on their mirror, so many years ago, before one of his very long business trips. He could almost hear her voice in his head, her accent rolling over the words with the intoxicating effect it had always had on him.

L'absence sera oblige' a` aimer quel vent sera-t-il oblige' a` vider, il e'teint le petit, il enflamme le grand.

“Absence is to love what wind is to fire,” He said softly, “It extinguishes the small; it enkindles the great.”

The storm grew as he lay in silence.

Chapter Three

The next morning, Helen brought Pendergast his breakfast. He was being fed quite well here—sizzling bacon, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit—not quite up to his unusual culinary standards, but much better than one would expect when being imprisoned.

She said nothing as she placed the tray in his arm’s reach on a tray, but her green eyes never left his. The tension was almost unbearable.

Suddenly, Diogenes entered the room, a brisk smile on his face. The sexual tension instantly vanished as they both looked at him with equal levels of hatred.

“Well, good morning to you, as well.” Diogenes said, chuckling at their expressions.

He crossed to Helen, who was wearing a dark green dress with intricate black beading.

Diogenes grabbed her tightly around the waist, pulling her uncomfortably close to him.

“My God, you’re looking radiant this morning, Helen! Isn’t she beautiful, Aloysius?” He spun Helen around in his arms, holding her tightly against him.

Pendergast said nothing.

“I mean, her breeding is less than stellar, her manners took some work, and her taste in men is a bit questionable, but—as far as help goes, she’s not too hard on the eyes.” Diogenes hand slid up to Helen’s chest as he watched Pendergast with a slight smirk.

Pendergast fought down any reaction. He wasn’t going to play this particular game.

“Come on, Aloysius... you can’t tell me you’re not still attracted to the Mrs.”

“Is there any point to this lovely visit, Diogenes?” Pendergast finally spoke.

“Yes, actually,” He practically threw Helen off to one side, and she regained her balance against the edge of the bed, “I just thought I’d drop in to say how much I enjoyed the lovely little scene between you two last night. A real tearjerker. I was terribly moved.”

Diogenes watched their reactions carefully.

“Oh, I know, it’s so tragic. Is nothing sacred any longer? Helen, my dear, I’m sure you thought you were being awfully clever with that tape maneuver. But as I taught you so clearly a few years ago, someone’s always watching you. Always.”

Helen looked determinedly at the ground, her cheeks slightly flushed. Pendergast stared straight at his brother, his expression, per usual, completely neutral.

“Bravo, Aloysius. Though you always did get along with the fairer sex better than I. You and your dashing good looks. Oh well, no matter. Don’t look so worried, my dear Mrs. Pendergast,” Diogenes made this sound almost like an insult, “There are no punishments in store for you. I honestly couldn’t care less what you two do, as long as it doesn’t involve some half-baked escape scheme. Rekindle the old flame all you like. I shan’t be bothered with such personal matters.” And with a slight bow, he turned and left, still laughing slightly.

Helen left behind him, her cheeks still burning slightly.

“You’re disgusting.” She muttered to Diogenes as they exited the room.

“Looking at it from the viewpoint of an inferior mind, I can see how one would arrive at such a conclusion.”

She shook her head, walking away from him quickly.

“Don’t you have some weepy reunion to attend?” Diogenes asked after her.

She spun around, eyes flashing.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? No woman would ever want to sleep with you, so why not live vicariously through your brother?”

“Harsh words, my dear.”

“You’re pathetic.” She spat, turning on her heel and walking into her room as quickly as possible.

**


Pendergast finished his breakfast, listening to his brother and wife’s conversation in the hallway with a slightly furrowed brow. True, last night had been an oversight. But he found that he really didn’t care.

He unfolded his napkin after swallowing a long sip of iced tea. It wouldn’t be poisoned—Diogenes still needed him for whatever it was he was planning.

Suddenly, he looked down at the napkin with surprise. Very familiar handwriting was scrawled across it, and a small pencil was enclosed within it.

It read, simply: Tell me how to find D’Agosta.

For the sake of the cameras, Pendergast did not react, merely wiped his mouth, and with a practiced magician’s hand, hid the napkin underneath his pillow.

**


Lieutenant Vincent D’Agosta was sleeping soundly in a crappy New York apartment when his cell phone rang. He moaned, rolling over.

“Who the hell—” He sleepily picked up the phone from the bedside charger.

He looked at the number. In his sleep-induced daze, he didn’t recognize that it was an international call. He merely knew the numbers looked unfamiliar, and he promptly replaced it on the charger, rolling back over.

“Who called?” Laura’s voice, raspy from sleep, asked from beside him.

“Unknown number.” He replied, bunching up the pillow beneath his head.

“Oh. Good night, then. Or I guess, good morning.” She said, laughing groggily.

“Just go back to sleep, babe.”

**


The next morning, while Laura was showering, D’Agosta picked up his phone to put in his briefcase. He had a new voice message. And a text message. Hell, he didn’t even know his phone could get those. Much less, how the hell you were supposed to use that particular feature.

He looked at it curiously, seeing it was the same crazy long number that had called last night. He pushed the code for his voice box, and held the phone to his ear.

An unfamiliar, heavily accented voice came over the line. He could hear a shower running full blast, and could barely make out what the woman was saying.

“Lieutenant D’Agosta, this is Helen Pendergast. My husband is being held captive. I’ve sent you a location where you can meet me. Any help would be greatly appreciated. Aloysius seems to find you trustworthy. I hope this belief is not unfounded.”

And that was it. No further information or explanations. Just this brief, insanely outlandish message claiming that not only was Pendergast not dead, but his wife was also alive. This had to be a trap.

But could he possibly ignore something like this?

Chapter Four

Helen stood silently, the blast of fresh air shockingly cold against her mostly bare skin. Of all of the clothes Diogenes had given to her, a white silk chemise was the only one that was not completely binding. His perverted sense of style had led him to give her mostly corseted, dominatrix-like evening gowns. Freak.

Well, no matter. She was free of him now. Free of that horrible place at last. She had planning her escape for so long that it seemed surreal to actually have pulled it off. But Aloysius’ reappearance had been enough of a catalyst to finally shock her into action.

She felt as if she’d been living in a trance for so long, controlled utterly by Diogenes. Her one escape attempt five years ago had been badly planned and thoroughly punished. She hadn’t been allowed to eat or sleep for a week and a half, as penance.

But Helen rarely made the same mistake twice. And so this attempt had been meticulously and obsessively planned. The last time she had tried to escape, Diogenes had sworn if she tried it again, he would kill Aloysius. And this fear had been enough to stop her from trying again. But now she knew he was bluffing. He didn’t have the guts to kill his brother. His brother was the one thing he clung to for any kind of purpose.

The idea had originated from her discovery that Diogenes momentarily shut down his security system at the end of each month from 9:00 to 9:30. He did this to allow a visitor entry to his sprawling mansion. Helen had never seen exactly who this person was, and didn’t really care. It gave her the window she needed. Whenever this person came, Diogenes locked himself, and presumably this person, in the western wing of the mansion. He always left the wing, alone, the following day.

At night, while he slept, she often wandered the house. He of course had security tapes running at all times, but apparently her activities were not suspicious enough for his security guards to report. Plus, Helen thought the Head of Security, a tall, burly black man named Rookwood, had a soft spot for her, and didn’t always report her more suspicious activities to Diogenes.

One night, she had discovered a long-abandoned cellar in the eastern wing of the mansion. The cellar was locked tight with a computer system. But Helen had discovered that when the security system was shut down each month, the locks automatically rebooted. The door was opened for a split second. After many months of hesitation, she had tried forcing entry during the reboot. And it had worked.

The cell was completely shrouded in darkness. Helen felt her way along the wall, and had found cabinets strong enough to support her. She climbed up then to the rotting wooden ceiling, and found it weak against pressure. She had been able to make a small hole in the wood, large enough to fit through. It led to one of the many libraries in the mansion, and came up underneath a reading table in the far corner. It seemed too perfect to be true. The hole was easily covered with one of the priceless rugs Diogenes had carelessly placed in the library. The library security camera was on constant rotation, and could be avoided if her timing was right. Helen had thanked God, and started formulating a plan.

She had visited there every night, and allowed her vision longer and longer to adjust to the surroundings. Finally, she could somewhat find her way around. Nothing was down there except old boxes of family memorabilia from Diogenes’ childhood. Helen had found this rather odd, and had begun to explore farther.

Finally, she had discovered a door to the outside world. She could only access it during the security reboot each month, and tried it every month. It led to an underground cave. Helen had dared to explore farther and farther each month, and finally found that it came out in the vast Italian countryside.

Even with this knowledge, it had taken her quite awhile to work up the courage to actually try to escape. But now she had to save Pendergast. She had a reason to try now. And nothing was going to stop her.

With this galvanizing thought, she took off at a run across the open countryside, praying D’Agosta had gotten her message and would take it seriously.

**


Laura looked at D’Agosta skeptically.

“You have to go back?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. You remember how I told you about Viola Maskelene?”

“The woman you gave the violin to.”

“Yeah. Well. She called and said she had further information for me that was pertinent to the case.”

“Vinnie... what case?”

“Pendergast’s disappearance.”

Laura sighed, looking away.

“That case is closed, Vincent. You told me yourself that Fosco did it.”

“But we still haven’t found Pendergast.”

Laura swallowed, stepping closer to him.

“Vinnie...”

“Don’t say it. He’s not dead. Until I see the body myself—”

“He sacrificed himself to free you of all of this!”

“You didn’t know him. You never bothered to get to know him. So don’t talk to me like you do.” D’Agosta said, going into their room to pack his suitcase.

Laura followed him.

“Look... you barely survived your last little vacation. How do you know this isn’t a set-up? Fosco has a lot of powerful friends. They might know what you did, and be using this woman as a smoke screen.”

“Thanks, Laura, but I had thought of that.”

“Oh, really? And what do you plan on doing if that’s the case?”

“You know me. I’m the master of improvisation.” D’Agosta said, throwing clothes into the suitcase.

“Vincent, you may not care what happens to you, but... a lot of people here do.”

D’Agosta grinned slightly at her. Laura had never been much for weepy goodbyes.

“I’ll be back on Monday. I don’t even start work with the force for two weeks... this is just something I have to see all the way through. I know you can understand that.”

“How do you plan on paying for all of this?” She asked.

“Constance took care of the plane tickets. Apparently, Viola contacted her about the information. Must’ve gotten Pendergast’s number somehow.”

Laura ran a hand through her slightly damp hair.

“Call me when you get there.” She said, more as an order than a request.

“Of course.” He zipped up his suitcase after putting in his toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, and razor.

She watched him for a moment.

“I have to get ready for work.” She said, motioning slightly awkwardly towards the bathroom.

They were still in that strange relationship phase where they hadn’t exchanged “I love you” yet, but had been living with each other for a few months. D’Agosta had wanted to say it, but Laura was so damn closed off sometimes—it was hard to tell where her head was at, and he didn’t want to scare her off. Mostly because he’d miss her. But also because that would currently make him homeless.

“So... see you Monday.” He said, kissing her cheek.

She held onto his arm.

“See you.” She said quietly, kissing him on the mouth.

D’Agosta broke the kiss after a moment.

“You trying to make me not want to go?” He said, grinning.

She smiled, still very close to him.

“Maybe.”

D’Agosta shook his head.

“Well, hold that thought until I get back. We’ll go get a nice dinner, and you’ll have my undivided attention.” He kissed her briefly, grabbed his suitcase, and headed out the door with a smile and a small wave.

**


Helen finally reached the crowded Roman market. She knew she must cut a pretty ridiculous figure—covered in dirt and scratches, wearing nothing but a nightgown, her bare feet freezing as they walked down the paved road.

A gleaming black car drove up beside her. Helen jumped, turning toward the car in alarm. The front window rolled down.

She saw a familiar long mass of dark curls that she knew belonged to one of the few women she had ever called her friend.

Viola’s face broke into a wide, shocked smile.

“You look a fright, darling.” She said, nodding her head toward the passenger seat.

Helen smiled back, getting in the car.

Viola leaned over, hugging her tightly. She looked at her friend for a long moment, still unable to believe this. Helen had belonged to a very distant part of her past, one that she had long ago closed the book on. The fact that her friend was still alive after such a long disappearance seemed surreal.

“You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“How’d you even know how to contact me?” Viola asked, putting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb.

“That’s actually why I need your help. Aloysius told me how I could contact you.”

Viola’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

“Helen... Aloysius is dead. I just got the news myself.”

“No, he’s all right. Well, more or less. His brother, Diogenes, rescued him for purposes of his own. He’s being held captive by him now. Vi, I have to help him.”

Viola inhaled slightly.

“Thank God.”

“Who told you he was dead?”

“His partner... Vincent D’Agosta. I received a visit from them late last year. It was the first time I’d seen Aloysius since... ages ago. Your funeral.”

Helen looked away.

“Another brilliant scheme of his brother’s. My “death.”

“I’m so sorry. You’ve been his prisoner all of these years?”

“I’d rather not discuss all of that. The important thing right now is helping my husband.”

Viola nodded, feeling her jaw clench slightly with something else she thought she’d long moved past. Jealousy.

“Of course.”

“I’ve contacted D’Agosta, and told him to meet us at your most current address. Hopefully, he’s coming.” Helen said, looking out the window, still unable to fully believe she was no longer in that horrible house.

She was reunited with her oldest and dearest friend. If only Aloysius was here, it would feel like school all over again.

“Good thinking.” Viola said, turning the car sharply into an alley.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking the scenic route. I don’t want us to be followed.”

Helen looked over at her.

“I really can’t thank you enough for this.”

Viola shrugged.

“What are friends for if not saving their long-dead roommate from the clutches of a long-dead brother who’s holding his presumed dead brother hostage?”

Helen laughed for the first time in ages.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of espionage. When he said Quantico, I should’ve run in the other direction.”

“Why didn’t you?” Viola looked over at her, her voice suddenly serious.

Helen blinked.

“Why didn’t I what?”

“Leave him then.”

“I loved him.” Helen said, confused at such an out-of-nowhere question.

“And now?” Viola kept her eyes stubbornly on the road as she asked.

“Are you all right, Vi?”

“Of course,” Viola turned the car sharply again, sending Helen slamming into the door interior, “You might want to buckle your seatbelt. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

Chapter Five

Pendergast was rudely awakened the following morning when his brother slammed the door with impressive force.

“WHERE IS SHE?” Diogenes roared, grabbing Pendergast by the collar of his robe.

Aloysius looked at him with mild interest.

“Compose yourself, and then tell me what you’re talking about.” He said.

Diogenes shook his head, the vein in his forehead bulging slightly.

“Where... is... she?” He said through gritted teeth.

“Are you referring to Helen?”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue. The last time I saw her was when you were boasting of your superior intelligence yesterday,” A faint smile crossed Pendergast’s features, “Apparently a miscalculation on your part.”

Diogenes looked as if he was about to rip him to pieces.

“You helped her escape. Don’t even try to deny it. Tell me where she is, or I kill all your friends with a smile on my face.”

Aloysius met his eyes, steely blue against his brother’s mismatched pair.

“You’re bluffing.” He said softly.

“You’ve always underestimated me, Aloysius.”

“Apparently, you’ve always underestimated my wife. I didn’t help her. Watch the tapes if you don’t believe me.” Pendergast replied evenly.

Diogenes studied him for some time. Finally, he spoke.

“You’re telling the truth.” He sighed despondently.

“Don’t I always?”

“Which makes her escape even more maddening.” Diogenes paused, staring off into space for a moment as if in a sudden lapse of deep thought.

He finally spoke again, a light of disturbingly manic pleasure in his eyes.

“No matter. I will find her. I hope, for the dear girl’s sake, that she died in her escape attempt. Because the end I will plan for her will leave her begging for the release of death. But don’t worry... you’ll get to see it all for yourself. Oh, yes. I’m liking this plan more and more.” He smiled, a horrible smile on his strangely attractive face.

Pendergast watched him, feeling his stomach twist with revulsion. His brother’s pleasure in pain had always sickened him.

“Hope you’re adept at entertaining yourself, Aloysius. I shan’t be visiting for quite some time.” Diogenes left the room, seemingly lost in thought.

**


“This place is beautiful.” Helen looked around Viola’s vast home.

“Beautiful and dull.” Viola shrugged, taking off her coat.

“Well, that’s the reason I called you. To make your life more interesting.” Helen said, smiling sarcastically.

“I know.” Viola smiled back.

Helen sat down at the kitchen table, sun spilling through the windows. The warm sensation made her drowsy and comfortable. She realized she hadn’t slept peacefully in years. But it was not the time for sleeping. Not yet. She still had to save him. Then, peaceful nights together would finally be theirs again. Helen smiled to herself. Even the thought of sleeping beside him again made her shiver with a kind of happiness she thought she’d lost forever.

“Do you want tea? Sandwiches, anything?” Viola asked, getting herself a mug.

“A shower would be nice.” Helen said.

Viola looked at her greasy hair and scratched skin.

“Yes, I would say so.” Viola conceded.

“Snob.” Helen snorted.

“Second floor. Third door on the left.” Viola grinned.

“Thanks.” Helen got up, her bare feet padding silently against the heavily carpeted stairs.

Viola watched her go, preparing a pot of tea. Her feelings about Helen’s reappearance were so incredibly muddled that she didn’t dare try to sort through it. She was happy Pendergast was alive. That’s what she needed to focus on right now. Saving him. Helping her friends. Helen was her friend. Aloysius was her friend. That’s all he was, or ever would be to her.

You’re the outsider, Viola. Just like you always have been with them. You were foolish to think things could ever change.

She shut the voice out of her head, feeling the hot sting of tears against her eyes. He had felt it too. She knew he had. The last time they had seen each other had been... electric. How many times had she replayed that meeting in her head? It really was pathetic.

The kettle shrieked, and she was snapped out of her thoughts. Viola wiped impatiently at her eyes.

“This isn’t about you.” She muttered angrily to yourself, shakily pouring herself a cup of tea.

**


D’Agosta approached Viola’s imposing residence, feeling the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten. Hayward was probably right, as always. This was a trap. His hand tightened on his piece, and he slowly approached the door, his eyes darting around the exterior.

Slowly, he raised his hand to knock. Once, twice.

He heard footsteps approaching. D’Agosta felt his jaw tense as he waited impatiently. Someone was fumbling with the locks.

The door opened to reveal Viola Maskelene, looking slightly flustered. Her dark brown eyes were glassy, but other than that, her appearance was almost flawless. She looked much more high-society than the last time they’d met, her long auburn hair blown straight and her admittedly nice figure clothed in a low-cut black shirt and a silk skirt.

“Come in, Vincent.” She said, in that distinguished British accent that sounded, in his opinion, a little snobbish.

“Thanks.” He said, still checking around them nervously.

“It’s not a trap. She’s here. Pendergast is alive.” She said, looking at him with a slight smile.

“You’ve seen him?” D’Agosta finally stepped inside

“I trust Helen.”

“That’s Pendergast’s wife?”

“Yes.”

“The dead one?”

“I think he only had the one marriage, Mr. D’Agosta. But yes, that’s what Diogenes wanted us all to believe.”

D’Agosta followed her to the kitchen, and she poured him a cup of tea.

“Uh... thanks.” He took it.

“Of course. Thank you for coming. I hope it wasn’t too troublesome.”

“No, it was nothing. Anything for my partner.” D’Agosta shrugged.

“A refreshing attitude.” Viola sat down across from him.

“Yeah. So... where’s Helen?”

“Taking a shower. She had a rather messy escape this morning, and needed to clean up.”

“Understandable.”

“Yes.”

They sat there in awkward silence for a moment.

“So... did you know Pendergast and Helen?” D’Agosta asked curiously.

“Yes. We all attended school together. Helen and I were roommates.”

“I can’t picture Pendergast as a college student.” D’Agosta laughed slightly.

“He wasn’t very different then. He was definitely regarded as somewhat strange, but I found him fascinating. I had a class with him... Art History, I believe. He was something of the star student, so I asked him to help me with my studies. He agreed, and during one of our study sessions, Helen came by the room. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Pendergast trying a pick-up line. Huh.” D’Agosta said, still smiling.

“It was nothing that mundane. Surely you’ve seen him in action. He can be quite charming when he wants to be.” Viola said.

“I guess.” D’Agosta said, starting to laugh again.

“Helen thought he was totally bizarre the first time she met him. Or at least, that’s what she said. I always suspected she was protesting a little too strongly, if you know what I mean. It wasn't until they ended up studying abroad together that she finally realized how she felt.”

“Yeah.” D’Agosta replied, finding himself uncomfortable with suddenly knowing so much about his friend’s personal life, a previously unvisited territory with the two of them.

Thankfully, he heard someone close a door upstairs.

“She must be done showering.” He said, getting up.

“Yes. I’ll just go show her where to dress.” Viola got up.

She walked to the door, then turned back around.

“Sorry to ramble on so.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m really glad you came, Mr. D’Agosta.”

“I’m glad to be here... Lady Maskelene.”

“Viola. Please.”

**


A few moments later, the two women returned back downstairs. D’Agosta looked at Pendergast’s wife, and found her almost exactly as he would have imagined.

She was tall, almost as tall as him, with long, lithe arms and legs. Her long blond hair spilled down her back, and she had an exotically featured face, pale skin contrasted by green eyes with dark black lashes and a mole in the middle of her left cheek.

“Lieutenant D’Agosta. I’m so glad you came.” Helen spoke with a thick French accent.

She crossed to him, extending a hand.

“Of course. It’s nice to meet you.” He shook it, finding her grip surprisingly strong.

“My husband trusts you. And I need your expertise if we’re going to get him out safely.”

“You know the location where he’s being held?”

She smiled bitterly.

“Yes. Very well.”

“Then let’s start working on a way to get him out.” D’Agosta motioned that she should sit with him at the table.

“Yes, of course. Viola, could you bring us some paper and pencil? I might need to sketch the interior and exterior of Diogenes’ home.”

Viola nodded, going to get them.

D’Agosta looked at her for a moment.

“So you’ve seen him? You know he’s alive?” He finally asked.

“Yes,” She smiled softly, “I’ve seen him.”

“This must be horrible for you.” He said, feeling his heart twist slightly with sympathy. He instantly felt a kinship with this woman - finally someone seemed just as worried about Pendergast as he was. And not only that, someone was finally willing to do something about it.

“It is difficult. But I know... I know we can do this. We must be able to do this. I just... I can’t lose him. Not again.” She said quietly.

“And you won’t.” D’Agosta said, hoping he sounded reassuring.

“I believe you.” She smiled at him.

Viola came back in with paper and a pencil.

“Here you are.” She placed them in front of Helen.

D’Agosta and Viola watched as Helen began to draw the place of her captivity.

“I only know of one way to enter without being watched...”

Chapter Six

Helen finished her sketch, looking up at D’Agosta and Viola.

“The only time of the month the security is down is 28 days off. We can either wait for that, or make a far more...daring attempt.”

“What’s our best chance of getting in with the security system?” D’Agosta asked, nervously looking at the “X”s that denoted guards.

“Well, we could enter through the cave, we shoot the lock off the door- it’s an old and decrepit system on the outside- Diogenes probably never counted on someone trying to enter from there. Once you shoot the lock off and the door opens, the security system will be triggered. I’m the only one who knows the house well enough to get to Pendergast, so if you two—”

“I’m not going!” Viola said, looking surprised.

Helen blinked.

“Oh. Don’t you want to help him?”

“Well, yes, of course, but seeing as I’m neither a police officer or a woman who spent years cavorting around Africa hunting game with her husband, I don’t think I’d do much good. I’m just a poor, helpless heiress, Helen. I was never good enough for your many adventures.” Viola’s voice was suddenly and cruelly sarcastic.

“Vi, I’m not saying you should come—that’s perfectly fine, of course I understand.” Helen said quickly.

D’Agosta shifted awkwardly in his seat. These two definitely had a history, and he sure didn’t want to get involved.

Viola swallowed hard, composing herself with a practiced air.

“I will drive you there and wait so the four of us can escape with as little trouble as possible.”

“Thank you. That would be very helpful,” Helen cleared her throat, “As I was saying, D’Agosta, you will have to make a pretty impressive smoke screen for me. I’m hoping you brought weaponry?”

“Yeah...I mean, not much. But I’m a pretty good shot.”

“As am I.” Helen smiled at him.

And despite her rather elegant demeanor, he believed her.

“So, if you can create a large enough distraction, I will go to the room, get my husband free, and we will meet back in the downstairs library,” she pointed on the map, “You will have to hold out pretty much single-handedly for two minutes at the very most. Then Aloysius and I will join you downstairs and hopefully, our three firepower combined, we’ll make a safe escape.”

“And I’ll be waiting right outside.” Viola added.

“Yes. Well...I’m willing to risk this if you are, D’Agosta.” Helen held out her hand.

He shook it without a second thought.

**


Helen held her small pistol, wondering at how long it had been since she’d a weapon. Far too long. D’Agosta close behind her in the long tunnel leading to the wooden door.

“You remember the plan?” She whispered.

“For the millionth time, yes.” D’Agosta said, taking careful aim at the lock.

“If this goes wrong...if you were to get hurt, is there anyone—”

“Mrs. Pendergast, let’s just focus.” D’Agosta said irritably, not wanting to waste bullets.

He shot the lock cleanly off, and it crumbled and fell to the ground with a pathetic clank.

“Ready?” Helen looked at him, her slender fingers on the handle.

“When you are.” D’Agosta recocked his weapon.

She took a deep breath, and opened the door.

**


Diogenes was in his private study, far from the center of the house, when he heard it. The sickening wail of the security sirens.

He jumped to his feet, muttering obscenities and streaking off down the hall.

His security guards were already racing towards the offending section, the downstairs library. Diogenes watched from above, not eager to jump into the fray should it become a gun battle. That had always been more of his brother’s territory.

A huge explosion of smoke burst out from the library, temporarily blinding the security guards. As they stumbled forward, a rain of bullets came out of the smoke, knocking many of them flat.

Diogenes saw a figure streak from the smoke, long blond hair flying behind her.

Helen.

That bitch.

He saw her head up the nearest staircase. Good. He’d meet her in the middle. Just in time to break her pretty little neck.

**


Helen nearly slipped as she turned the corner, her feet pounding the wooden floors. She hadn’t run this fast in years, she’d hardly been active in years, and she could feel her lungs protesting.

She was moving too fast to stop in time. She collided with Diogenes, stumbling, and hitting her head on the floor hard.

She struggled to her feet, her head swimming. She couldn’t get his face into focus, but saw enough to see its fury.

He pinned her up against the wall, with a paralyzingly strong grip.

She didn’t have time for this—she could hear D’Agosta shooting off round after round, and knew she had to help him.

“I’ve been waiting far too long to kill you, my dear Mrs. Pendergast.” Diogenes said softly, his skin flushed red.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Wait a little longer then.” She grinned, kneeing him hard right where it hurt, and speeding off.

Diogenes tackled her from behind, his full weight on top of her. She writhed beneath him, but it was no good. He ripped the gun from her hands, taking out the extra one in her jacket she’d brought for Pendergast as well.

They slid across the floor away from her.

“My brother always enjoyed killing with those infernal weapons...I always preferred killing with my bare hands.” Diogenes put his large hands on either side of her neck, and began to squeeze.

Helen continued to struggle, but the world began to grow darker and darker. She hit her fists against the ground uselessly.

This was it. She was going to die right here, in this hallway of her former prison.

**


D’Agosta stepped out from behind the bookshelf. The smoke had not lifted. But he saw no more guards.

No way. He’d actually disabled at least eight men?

Laura was never going to believe this.

But then he heard it. A soft clicking.

They weren’t all dead. Merely reloading.

As he should’ve been doing as well.

Fuck.

**


A gunshot rang out across the hallway. Helen felt blood splatter on her skin and the floor around her.

Diogenes’ grip loosened and his hands fell slack. His body landed with a sickening thud next to her. Helen got to her feet, stunned, looking out across the hall.

Pendergast stood there with one of the discarded weapons, smiling at his wife.

“Your gun, my dear? I believe Vincent needs our assistance.”

She didn’t ask questions, just raced to his side, taking the weapon.

**


D’Agosta couldn’t hold them off anymore. At least four had him surrounded. It was like a fuck firing squad now. And he knew he only had two bullets left.

He sent up a little prayer, and started shooting.

They returned fire, and it wasn’t long before he felt the searing pain of a bullet entering and tearing out the back of his left shoulder. He fell to the ground with a grunt, but they didn’t hit him again.

They had turned to face two approaching figures...in D’Agosta’s pain-induced haze, Pendergast and Helen cut two very impressive figures as they emerged through the smoke, firing off shots with near-perfect aim.

The four remaining guards hit the ground, and even over the whirr of the security sirens, D’Agosta could heard Pendergast shout, “Vincent!” He sounded frightened. D’Agosta tried to say he was all right, but he felt himself beginning to black out. Apparently, it was worse than he thought.

The last thing he remembered was being lifted to his feet, his arms slung over their shoulders.

**


Viola started the car as she saw Helen, Pendergast, and a clearly-injured D’Agosta making their hurried way across the open field.

They reached the door, all three piling into the back, careful to lay D’Agosta out, who was bleeding profusely. Viola strangely felt her mind going to her new leather interior, a thought she quickly banished as she sped away.

“To the hospital, immediately.” Pendergast said, sounding hoarse with worry.

“Is there anyone following us?” Helen asked, craning to look behind them.

Viola looked in the rearview mirror.

“No,” Pendergast said, laying his hand over his wife’s, “A clean escape.”

“Thanks to you.” Helen said, absently rubbing the quickly-forming bruises on her neck.

“His restraints took a little more maneuvering than usual, but I found a way when I heard you two coming for me.”

“Do you think he’s dead?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Pendergast said quietly.

“We’ll stop him.”

Pendergast nodded.

“I cannot thank you enough for this.”

Viola fought not to roll her eyes, until she realized he was talking to her.

“Oh, of course. Anything for an old friend.” She said, looking in the rearview mirror again, back at his disarmingly intense stare.

D’Agosta let out an incoherent grumble, and Pendergast looked away from Viola.

**


Helen, Pendergat and Viola sat in the waiting room of the Italian hospital.

It was very odd, sitting there, the three of them. Together again after all of this time—and yet no one had any idea of what to say.

“Do either of you have a cell phone?” Pendergast asked.

“I’ve been in captivity for some time, darling. Mine would be hopelessly out of style.” Helen said, grinning sardonically.

Viola produced one from her purse.

“I’ll just be a minute.” He said, stepping out through the automatic doors.

A slightly awkward silence fell.

“I’m starved.” Helen said, looking at a plate of pastries on the table in front of them.

Viola nodded noncommittally.

“Do you want one?”

“I don’t eat carbohydrates.” Viola sniffed.

Helen sighed. She’d forgotten her friend’s annoying habit of very finicky eating. Something Viola and her husband had in common, Helen grinned to herself.

“Well, I do.” Helen said, taking a massive bite.

**


Pendergast heard the phone ring three times. And then a deep but distinctively feminine voice answered.

“Captain Hayward.”

“Hello, Captain.”

There was a long silence on the other end.

“So. Vinnie was right. You’re alive.”

“Apparently.”

“And the fact that I’m talking to you implies his rescue mission was successful.” She said, all business but clearly concerned.

“Not so successful for Vincent himself.”

Another long silence.

“He’s dead.” Laura said, her tone flat.

Those who show the least often feel the most, in his experience. Pendergast knew she was close to tears, and hurried to correct her.

“No, no, Captain Hayward. He was shot in the shoulder, and is having it taken care of presently.”

“Serious?”

“He’ll make it.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Pendergast. Is it serious?”

“He’ll be all right. But the bullet went straight through, and he’s lost quite a bit of blood. He may need a transfusion, and significant recovery time.”

“I see.”

“I’m terribly sorry about this, Captain.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Laura said angrily.

Pendergast didn’t reply. He heard her sigh heavily.

“Call me back as soon as he’s awake. I want to talk to him as soon as possible.”

“Of course.”

Click.

She had hung up.

Pendergast, who considered that very bad manners, excused it due to the circumstances.

**


Laura hung up the phone, feeling the unpleasant sting of tears.

Damn it. DAMN it, she couldn’t do this at work. All the feminine stereotypes would be confirmed. She pinched her hand hard, deflecting the pain to somewhere else. Taking several deep breaths, she tried to focus back on her paperwork.

This desk. The desk where they’d first made love. She could’ve lost him forever today- might still lose him. Laura shook her head, forcing herself to push those thoughts away. He’d be all right. He was the toughest cop she knew.

Suddenly, there was a knock on her door. Lieutenant Braskie, with more paperwork on a recent case.

“You all right, Captain?” He looked at her, seeing her glassy eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Of course. It’s just a little warm in here. Thank you, Lieutenant.” She took the papers, taking another deep breath, and compartmentalizing as best she could.