Thoughts of Fire, Doors of Vegas [10]

A/N: I’d like to thank all the reviewers that have stuck with me so far, I appreciate it more than you’d ever know. I hope the ending of this chapter wasn’t too cheesy or stupid, it was really hard to write. And it’s the second last chapter, people!

Ryan Ross ran into the Las Vegas Crime Lab like he’d found the cure to growing older.

He didn’t find the cure to growing older, but he’d promptly crashed into Bob on his way to the evidence lab, who bumped into William, who dropped the files in his hands and tripped, falling into Patrick, who was walking the opposite direction, who fell flat on his behind.

And lucky Pete, who saw the whole thing.

Bob swore and got up angrily, “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my lab?”

Pete saw a group of interns look their way and quickly stepped in, “Let me take care of this Bob,” He grabbed William’s papers and shoved them in his hand, “Get away.” Pulling both Ryan and Patrick up at the same time, he dragged them into a spare lab room.

“What the fuck.” He hissed at Ryan, who backed away, blushing furiously underneath the brim of his hat, “What are you doing here?”

“The masked man!” He blurted out, almost stupidly.

Pete looked at Patrick, who was rubbing his tailbone uncomfortably, “The masked man?” He repeated, “I think you’ve been watching too many horror movies, kid.”

Ryan glared at him, “He was a man. And he wore a mask.”

Pete hummed, “That narrows it down a lot.”

Ryan’s little pixie-like face flashed anger, “I’m telling you, this guy was creepy. He looked at the teenage girls coming out after school in this weird kind of way.”

“And how would you know that, if his face is masked?” Pete asked, amused.

“Pete.” Patrick spoke up, his voice slightly raspy, “Don’t patronize the kid. Please.”

Pete sighed and rubbed his temples, “Okay, Ryan, let’s do this thing properly. There’s a man. He was masked. He stared at girls. That’s pretty creepy, isn’t it?”

“I swear it’s him,” Ryan argued, “It’s like a life, imitating art thing. Doesn’t that remind you of the movie Halloween?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s creepy.” Pete said dismissively. “This guy could be some pervert after little girls, it doesn’t mean he’s our serial killer. For all we know, the masked dude isn’t even the killer. He could just be a dude that wants to hide his butt-ugly face.”

Before Ryan could do anything, such as hit Pete, Patrick stepped in, “We’ll go check him out, okay Ryan?” He asked softly, “We’ll see what’s really going on.”

When Ryan left, Patrick turned to Pete. “We can go check that out.”

“Forget it,” Pete interrupted, “I’ll go with Bill. Stay here and try to find something from the evidence that we’ve gathered. Three victims should give us something.”

William was not very eager to go and take a look at the Masked Man.

“That sounds creepy,” he argued, “I don’t want to go after some guy who likes looking at teenage girls.”

“You’re only scared because you look like one,” Pete pointed out, slipping on his jacket. “Let’s go, dickhead.”

William sighed, and Pete knew he’d won the argument, “Bill?” He asked softly, mockingly, “If it makes you feel any better, we can dress you up real nice, a nice little boy.”

William thwacked him.

In the car, Pete clicked in his seatbelt and gave William a look, “Let’s go over to Ryan’s neighborhood. Ask around. Talk to people. Understand me?”

William nodded and swallowed. Pete noticed he was gripping the steering wheel very tightly.

It was going to be a long drive.

It turns out, William was really afraid of being mistaken for a girl, and every now and then, he’d run behind Pete like his life depended on it.

“For fuck’s sake,” Pete swore, when William knocked over a flower pot for the fourth time, “I’m shorter than you, Bill. You can’t hide behind me. You have a gun! The gun on your belt, not the one in your pants.”

A short, stocky woman swung the door open, “Can I help you gentlemen?” She asked warily.

“Good evening, ma’am,” Pete said politely, “I know it’s late.”

“It is.” She snapped, and slammed the door in their face. Through the door they could hear muffled yelling and what might have sounded like, “Bastards woke my children up!”

“Nice job, Pete,” William said, sarcastically, turning around and walking towards the car in the dark, “Waking up little kids in the middle of the night. Giving them nightmares.”

“Shut up, you girl,” Pete retorted, “Let’s just get the fuck back.”

But William was still chattering away, happily, “OF COURSE you bring me out here in the middle of the night, probably hoping I get killed so you get Patrick all to yourself-“ He froze, suddenly, his milky skin turning whiter than before in the dim streetlights.

Ignoring the Patrick comment, Pete bounded up to William, “What’s up?” He asked, wondering for a moment if William was faking, “What are you looking at?”

William made a strangled sound in his throat and reached for his gun.

“Bill, NO!” Pete hissed, “What do you see?”

A shaking finger pointed across the street.

Pete squinted, “I can’t see anything Bill. What are you-“ He broke off  abruptly, “Oh.”

He paused, his mind spinning, “Oh.”

In the light of the moon, standing tall and strong was the figure of a man standing in front of a house. Suddenly, the unexplainable fear that plowed into his body nearly left Pete on the ground. The cold rush of air nearly knocked the oxygen out of his lungs. This was it, this was the man Ryan was talking about. He suddenly felt a strong sense of sympathy for the three victims, it was easy to see they could’ve been terrified to death. Pete realized in a detached sort of way that he was looking at them both. But before he could do anything, the man walked into the house.

Pete made a move to follow him when William grabbed his arm, “Don’t.” He said, his voice shaking. “Please don’t.”

Pete understood William’s fear. He looked like a girl. He almost sounded like a girl. He smelled like a girl. In the dark, it’d be easy to mistaken him for a girl.

“Jesus,” Pete muttered, “I can’t lose him, Bill. You know I can’t lose him.”

William was still shaking, his hand gripping Pete’s bicep, the other grabbing his hand.

“Listen to me,” Pete said urgently, “What did we learn in science class?”

“A lot of things,” William whispered.

“What about numbers? What did we learn about that?”

“I don’t know. What did we learn?”

“We outnumber him, Bill.” Pete said, “He’s just a guy, even though he creeps me out. He’s still a guy, and we’ve got guns and we outnumber him.”

“He’s scary!” William hissed viciously.

“Just because he’s scary doesn’t mean he’s got superpowers and he can destroy you.” Pete whispered, “Let’s go.”

William started moving, but not before Pete nudged him.

“Let go of my hand, you wuss.”

Pete hesitated before he knocked on the door. Should he knock or just barge in?

William seemed to read his mind, a slender finger reached up and rang the doorbell.

The sound reverberated around the inside of the house. And. Silence.

Pete sighed, and looked at his phone. 11:35.

“What do we do now?” William whispered his hand nervously coming up to brush back his brown hair.

Pete thought for a moment, “What Ryan said to us,” He said slowly, the gears in his mind shifting, “It counts as a tip right? We can break in.”

“Not without the police department present!”

“Are you nuts?” Pete scowled, “It doesn’t matter-“

But whether it mattered or not, Pete never got to say, because at that moment the door had swung open.

“Can I help you?” The man growled at them.

Pete felt William shrivel behind him. That wuss.

“Good evening sir,” Pete said, “We’re from the Las Vegas Crime lab.”

The man surveyed him. In the dim light of the room Pete can see a tough, hard face, one that looked like it had been through a lot of rough times in his day.

“And?” He grunted.

“We would like to talk to you.” William spoke up bravely, though Pete could hear the slight tremor in his voice. Jesus. Grow some balls, pretty boy.

“About?” The man grunted again.

“About Jennifer Sumnerk, Natasha Anders and Jillian Haines.”

Pete looked closely for a sign on the man’s face of fear, betrayal or any melodramatic shit.

He found nothing.

“Who?” The man grunted, on cue.

“They were murdered.” Pete said bluntly.

“Shame,” The man shrugged, “What do you want me to say?”

“Do you know anything about it?”

“Heard it on the news, yeah,” The man said gruffly.

“Jennifer Sumner lived near you, did you know that?” Pete asked, peering closely into the man’s eyes.

“No idea,” The figure stuck out his hand, “I’m Brett Johnson. Nice to meet you two.”

Pete ignored the hand, “Can we come inside and take a look around?” He asked, ignoring the whimpering sounds coming from William.

Brett’s face tightened, but then gradually relaxed, “Why not? Come on in.”

Walking into the house, with William closely behind him, Pete headed straight for the basement. He’d seen enough horror films and experienced enough murderer houses to know where to look. The basement might be cliché, but it was reliable.

Sure enough, the dark basement was soon illuminated by Pete’s flashlight to show what looked like a studio of some sort. Hanging on the walls were a countless number of masks. One was big and painted silver, it’s hollow eyes taunting him, daring him to come closer.

“Creepy,” William whispered. “What do you think?”

“Creepy,” Pete agreed. “Kind of eerie, don’t you think?”

When Pete approached one of the masks, he heard a creak behind him. That wasn’t William.

Brett Johnson had followed them downstairs, “How’s it going, gentlemen?”

“What are these masks for?” Pete asked.

Brett shrugged, “Halloween.”

“You make masks for Halloween?” William asked incredulously, “There’s got to be a hundred of them.”

Pete walked over to Brett. “Do you mind if we take a sample of your DNA?” He asked, pulling a swab out. He was that good. He could generate Q-tips from thin air.

“I don’t mind,” Brett shrugged, and opened his mouth. After Pete swabbed his mouth, he spoke up again, “It’s depressing to be me, you know.”

“Hmm?” Pete made a noise in the back of his throat.

“It sucks to be me,” Brett decided, “I live alone, I don’t have a girlfriend, and, when you finally see a girl, who’s willing to give you the time of day, it makes you feel pretty happy…” He trailed off.

William gave Pete a look. “Thanks for your help, we’re going to leave now.”

At the car, William exhaled. Pete could just make his thin figure out in the dark. “Was that a confession?”

“Erm,” Pete fumbled around for his keys, “Maybe. It could have been.”

“But we won’t know,” William said wisely, “Until the results come back.”

“For a guy who was shaking in his shoes before, you show know how to get cocky.” Pete observed.

William flipped him off.

At the lab, William sent the DNA sample off to Mikey, and took a nap in Bob’s office. Bob came back, put a blanket over William so he wouldn’t get cold, turned off the lights, and left.

Pete went into the office, set up a glow in the dark skull, and left.

“How’s it going?” He asked Patrick, walking into the evidence lab. Patrick was leaning over sheets of paper and looked considerably tired.

“Hair samples and fingernail scrapings from Jillian Haines came back positive for male. Don’t know who, though.”

“We can cross out fingers and hope that it’s Brett Johnson.” Pete told him, a hand coming up to rub Patrick soothingly on the back. “You’re tired, aren’t you baby?”

“Don’t call me baby, asshole.” Patrick said, lightly smacking Pete on the arm. “And yes, I am plenty tired.”

“Is your ass sore?” Pete murmured, leaning in a bit.

Patrick flushed furiously, “Not really,” He muttered, tipping his head down, “It’s not like we did anything.”

“You call that not doing anything?” Pete rasped seductively, leaning in to lick at a spot underneath Patrick’s ear. Patrick quivered. “I blew you, and I fingerfucked you. I think your ass should be at least a little sore.”

“I don’t think-“

“Patrick! Pete! What are you two doing?” Bob stood in the doorway, his arms crossed and frowning.

“Nothing, Bob.” Patrick said quickly, glancing at Pete, “Let me fill you in on what’s going on.”

He left the room quickly.

Pete sat down on a chair and flipped through the coroner’s photographs. He stopped at the most recent victim, Jillian Haines. It was such a shame. She was an extremely beautiful girl, with an unlucky fate.

Pete leaned in closer and saw something on her neck. Silver. Silver paint.

Pete called a familiar number quickly.

“Yes, Pete?” He was never happier to hear the soft voice of Dr. Hurley.

“Silver paint.” He demanded.

“I saw that on Jillian Haines, I sent it to tox. Hopefully Joe will come back with something.”

“There was a silver mask hanging on the wall of our newest suspect.”

“Brett Johnson?” Pete could hear him nodding, “I heard about that.”

“If Mikey’s results come back positive, I can go test that out.”

“Congratulations Pete,” Dr. Hurley said, his voice warm, “I think you’re close to solving this.”

Pete was about to hang up, “Hey Doc?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry about your girlfriend.”

There was a silence on the other end. Then, “It’s okay Pete.” Pete heard him take a breath, “It’s okay.”

Pete sat in the break room, nursing a cup of coffee, his fingers tapping on the table. Patrick walked inside and looked around.

“Where’s everybody?”

“Doing something productive,” Pete replied, sticking out his tongue.

Patrick rolled his eyes, “Well, I’m sorry we’re all acting our age.”

“What’s my age again?” Pete replied mockingly.

“Hopefully we can wrap this case up,” Patrick intoned, looking at the TV. “Did that family case get solved yet or is Bill still running around?”

“Bill was running around with me tonight,” Pete said, barely looking at him. On TV were photographs of the three victims, with the news reporter talking about the ‘Masked Killer’. “Masked killer. Leave it to the media to make it sound like we’re chasing after some deranged weird-ass Hollywood-type murderer.”

“There’s a lot of press coverage on this case,” Patrick commented, pouring Pete a cup of coffee. Pete stored in the back of his mind that Patrick makes an excellent boyfriend.

“Pete.” Mikey stood in the doorway, Joe yawning beside him, biting his lip, “I have your results.”

Pete stood up quickly, “What are they?”

“Your suspicions are confirmed,” Mikey told him, “The DNA from fingernail samples off of Jillian Haines matches Johnson. The hair samples off of the victim’s matche[ Johnson. I think we have the killer.”

Pete stood up, grabbing Patrick with him. “Call Victoria,” He said to Joe, “Tell her to meet me outside Johnson’s house with a group of officers. Bill knows where he lives.”

“This is it?” Patrick asked. Pete noticed his emerald eyes were sparkling.

“This is it,” Pete repeated, and grinned, “You’re going to solve your first case here.”

It was 3:00 AM when Pete, Patrick, Victoria, Mike, and a group of officers arrived outside Johnson’s house. The dim lights cast a shadow over them tauntingly.

“Pete, Patrick, stay out here please.” Victoria said urgently, “You can come in once we’ve cleared the scene.”

For once, Pete didn’t refuse, he leaned against the car casually and nodded, “Do your thing, Asher.”

Patrick stepped out of the car, and in lighting of the moon, Pete could see that he was terrified.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” He taunted playfully, “Nothing to hurt you out here. Not when you’re with me.”

Patrick snorted, “Yeah, you’re just a big man.”

Before Pete could reply, his phone rang. “Hold that thought,” He said, and picked it up. “Hello?”

“Nice of you to show up so late.”

Pete’s blood ran cold, “Who is this?” He said carefully, looking at Brett Johnson’s house.

“You’ll learn that all in time. How did you find me?”

“That’s none of your business,” Pete replied firmly.

“Isn’t it?” A chuckle went over the line, “My mistake, but this is my house.”

Silence.

“We play by my rules here.”

“What do you mean?” Pete demanded.

A sharp inhale. “My name is Brett Johnson.” Exhale. “I am thirty three years old.” Inhale. “I murdered Jennifer Sumner and I raped and killed Natasha Anders and Jillian Haines.” Exhale. Inhale. “Don’t ask me why I did it. Finally, a girl pays attention to me, and she just-“ He broke off, abruptly. Inhale. “She decides to leave me. I couldn’t let her leave.” Pete could hear something like sobbing. “I took their clothes. To remind me of the bad things I’ve done. But tonight I’m going to end it all.” No breath.

Silence.

Pete was about to say something, when he got cut off, “It’s not really a goodbye, Pete Wentz. Just a sick form of hello.”

A crisp gunshot rang through the darkness of the night, swallowing them whole.

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