The 10

42

Hugging goodbye, Isabella walks to her car. Tossing her bag in the passenger seat, her phone starts to vibrate in her hand.

"Hello?" she draws out closing her door.
"Isabella?"
"Who's calling?"
"Michael."
"Oh." she scoffs. "You've got some nerve, you know that?"
"Yes I know, I was hoping we could talk? My place in about ten?"
"Sure. But you'll be lucky if I stay for two."

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Knocking on Michael's door, Isabella adjusts her purse strap as he opens the door.

"Thank you for coming."
She nods and walks to the couch.
Michael raises his brows as he closes the door and sits on the table in front of her.
"I take it you know."
"That you lied to me? You bet I know."
"I'm sorry," he pauses. "I had a job to do."
"What job was that? What job made you have to involve me?"
"The truth?"
"I think I deserve it at this point."
"My name really is Michael Welch, that wasn't a lie, but I was sent here from Maine Police Department. My partner and I, who pretended to be my father, were called here to help catch Christopher Samuels. Guess your small town has never had to deal with this before. But anyways, Lieutenant Drake, you're not familiar with her, I assume," Isabella shakes her head. "Anyways, she assigned me to go undercover, to go to your school, somehow get to Ms. Winters and get somewhere that would ensure that I could put Samuels behind bars again.
Unfortunately, you had to be my bait. I do apologize for that, but you also need to understand that I was doing my job. Now," he leans closer. "I need to know if you held anything back about Winters and Samuels. You're her best friend, so I know she's confided in you all her life."
Isabella's face twists in confusion. "No. She told me about what they said at the prison, showed me her essay asking if she should reword this or add that, and then we found out he had escaped, and she was scared to death. That's it."
    Isabella grabs her bag and storms out of the house. Before Michael even gets to the door, he watches Isabella speed off.
    Going back inside, Michael grabs his coat and briefcase, opening the front door, closing and locking it before heading to his car. Just as he digs his keys out, someone takes his briefcase and hits him in the face with it. Michael stumbles back and grabs his face, staring up at the person who just assaulted him. Blinking to clear his vision, he focuses on the face of Christopher Samuels himself.
"You have any idea who you're fucking with, Samuels?" he curses, trying to stand.
Christopher puts his foot on Michael's chest to halt his movements. "Yes, I do, Detective Welch," he smirks. "Which is why I'm here."
    Christopher eyes around, seeing no one in sight as he lifts Michael by his feet, dragging him around the back of the home and dropping him on the kitchen floor. Groaning, Michael tries to get up, but once more, Christopher stops him. Digging through a few drawers, Christopher finds a package of zip ties. Grabbing Michael's hands, he ties them together and then to the cabinets' handle.
"Well, Detective Welch," Christopher squats to Michael's height. "Why couldn't you just stay in Maine?"
"Work calls and I go where I'm told."
"Maybe you should learn how to say, "I'm sorry I can't, I have the stuff to do here. Thanks for the offer, though. Good luck with everything," don't ya think?"
"You changed your hair," Michael suddenly realizes. "How'd that happen without going to a salon? Hm? Kate, do that for you?"
Christopher laughs. "Why are you guys constantly harassing Kate? She had nothing to do with this."
"Had. Past tense. So she's involved now? Did I catch that correctly?"
"Fuck off. I meant throughout all of this. All I've done is sit outside her house. I've been watching you guys. Assigning deputies for supposedly twenty-four-seven, but they're gone the next morning. I've also noticed that Detective guy, what's his name? Oh yeah, Sherman. I've noticed him going in and out too."
"Because you've been killing everyone she knows." Michael spits.
"Whoa, whoa," Christopher holds his hands up in surrender. "Who said that?"
"This town has never seen so many murders until you escaped."
"Seems like a pretty big coincidence huh?"
"Admit it. Turn yourself in. Better yet," he wiggles his hands, motioning to the zip ties. "Cut me loose and let's go down there together."
Christopher laughs. "You only want that so you can be the hero." he leans down once more, whispering. "Picture it, our photos on the front page as the headline reads, "Maine Detective brings escaped inmate back to captivity," I believe you've probably been dreaming of the day that you make the paper. Get some tail, right?"
"I've been in the paper before."
"Oh? How many girls were you able to bed after that?"
"Several tried. I wasn't interested."
Christopher laughs. "Well, quite frankly, I'm done talking."
Michael breathes. "Going to let me go now?"
"Oh, no, not quite. See, I think I need to send a little message here. You tell Detective Sherman to leave Kate alone."
    Christopher stands and turns slightly before bringing his knee full force into Michael's face.
    His groans can be heard throughout the empty home.

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Hours later, Michael opens his eyes, the taste of iron in his mouth and one swollen handcuffed to his cabinet. Sinking his hand to the floor, he lifts himself, leaning on the cabinet, his face twisted from the pain. Groaning, Michael leans his head back to the cabinet, breathing rapidly as he lifts his hand, releasing his other from the restraint. Dropping both hands to the floor, Michael looks to the ceiling, a tear falling down his cheek. Rolling on to the floor, he lifts himself to all fours, screaming like all the pressure lands on his hand. Standing upright, Michael hisses as he grabs his right leg and limping to his car.
Stumbling into Sherman's office, Michael stumbles to a chair. Sherman rises and helps him into a chair.
"Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened to you?"
"Christopher. Fucking. Samuels," Michael hisses. "That's what fucking happened to me."
Sherman leans on his desk. "He did this? Are you sure?"
"He looked me in the fucking eyes." Michael winces. "He's dyed his hair. Cut it too. I said his name and he smirked before beating the shit out of me."
"So Christopher really is here." Sherman returns to his chair. "Son of a bitch just proved me right about everything."
"That too," Michael whispers.
"What?"
"I brought that up. I told him that we know he's behind all of these murders."
"And?"
"He wanted to know who said that about him," Michael swallows the blood still pooling in his mouth. "I told him to turn himself in, offered to do it together, but he made it all about me."
"How so?"
"Said I only wanted that so I could be seen as a hero."
Sherman leans his elbows on the table. "Did he mention the Winters girl?"
"Oh yeah," Michael scoffs. "Gave me the third degree about how we've failed protecting her or some shit. I can't really remember."
"I think you should've gone to a hospital before me."
"No." Michael groans. "I needed to tell you while it was fresh."
"Got it," Sherman stands, grabbing his coat before lifting Michael to the elevator. "But now we're going to the hospital."

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While Michael is being examined, and Sherman hears his groans, he makes a call to send a team out to Michael's home to collect fingerprints, blood, and everything else they can get.
"How's he doing?" Lillian asks.
"He's pretty banged up, but he'll live."
"Okay, well, I'm sending a few guys over."
"Keep me posted."
A doctor pulls the curtain back and Sherman turns to face him.
"He'll be fine. He has a broken rib, a few broken fingers, and his right leg is fractured. But," the doctor shrugs. "He will live." The doctor laughs.
Sherman pats the doctor's shoulder. "Thanks."
"You can take him home whenever he's ready."
"I'm fucking ready!" Michael screams.

Sherman nods before heading to Michael's bed.