Author's Note: So, third Benedict story on the go. Feel free to read Losing Grace and Chasing Cara first if you want, but at the moment it isn't really necessary (not since they aren't finished yet). I'm not giving spoilers away for the others, so don't worry about that! ;) But I hope you like this, because it's going to be a side-side project (if you understand that!). Please review because it's just like Christmas when I check my inbox.
Well, not quite, but you get what I mean.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Benedict series, but Losing Grace, Chasing Cara and Clearing Chase are definitely mine and all characters that don't belong to Joss Stirling belong to me.
The cell I had been put into almost a year ago was just as small as always, with the two bunks bolted to the wall and the small toilet in the corner. My cellmate, Rose, and I shared a small shelf on the opposite wall to our beds, and I was sitting on the top bunk staring at the photo that looked up at me. It was the photograph that the guards had allowed us to take only a month ago when my family had come to visit. I stood in the centre, a woman of skin and bones with my home cut (with a razor) wavy red hair that ended just below my chin. I looked at the scratches on my face that I had told I'd got when I'd scratched my face because of my long nails. It was a lie. I'd got them in a fight the day before. My arm was round my little sister who looked so much more mature than when I had last seen her - she shared my red hair, though hers was long and shiny, and was held in place by a pair of sunglasses. Surrounding me were my five brothers, though they had darker, browner, hair.
My analysis of the photograph was cut short by the guards pounding on the door for me, so it was with a reluctant heart that I jumped down, smiled sadly at Rose, and stepped through the open door. "Why am I leaving my cell?" I asked politely, deciding that the best way to figure out what I was curious about would be to ask. This guard, Farrin, was the only one who spoke English well. Since my imprisonment in this Afghan prison, they had tried all manners of ways to communicate with me, and eventually I found that I could talk to Farrin. He'd become not quite a friend, but a companion and the closest thing I had to one, and he sympathized with me - but then again, he believed me to have committed the murder that I had been accused of.
"You have visitor." His heavily accented voice drifted back towards me, and I realised that I'd let him get too far ahead again. Walking faster to catch up with him, I looked through the metal bars at the women. They were all vicious, though they had accepted me into the ranks after a few months, but I had got to know them. All you could do here was talk.
"But my family visited yesterday. They won't be back for another week." I was confused. My family could only visit once a week, and here I was, heading towards them now? It wasn't a bad thing. I missed them with every fibre of my being, and I cherished every moment I had with them.
"No. Not family." He shook his head, and lifted his gun a bit higher to warn off the women who were being escorted back from the visiting room. "He wants just you in room." Farrin said in way of explanation, and I shrugged. I didn't know who else would visit me, everyone had wanted nothing to do with me when I had been shoved in here.
The visitor's room was plain, and the door was locked behind me. It was literally just me and the visitor. They must have trusted him to look after himself - officially, I was a criminal. The man was looking through a file at the centre table, not looking up at me just yet. That was fine with me, it meant I could look at him without being rude. He was tall, dark hair in a pony tail, and looked sort of Hispanic. Must have come from someone in the family then. He didn't look like he was from Afghanistan if I was perfectly honest. Eventually, not bearing the silence, I cleared my throat, causing him to jump and look at me. "Who are you?" I stated the question to him, crossing my arms and staying standing up.
"Please, take a seat." He offered, but when I shook my head, he took to his feet too and offered his hand. "I'm Agent Victor Benedict, F-"
"FBI. I guessed." I interrupted him. American. Of course. I wasn't an American citizen - I'd been born there, but it had been almost immediately that we'd moved to India. I hadn't been on American soil in over two and a half decades. Agent Benedict looked embarrassed, shoving his hand into his pocket when I didn't shake it. "What's an American agent doing over in little ol' Afghanistan, talking to a criminal?" I smirked, before I finally took a seat.
Again, embarrassment crossed his face. I wondered whether he got embarrassed often, or whether it was just having a conversation with someone who was dominating it and not leading it himself. "Like I said, I'm Agent Benedict. Your name is Maria Chase Morgan?"
Snorting, I said, "Chase. Chase Morgan. I legally changed my name when I turned sixteen. Maria's the one on my birth certificate." I leaned forward across the table. "My birth certificate in America. My, my, the boy's done his homework." Smirking again, I relaxed into the chair, crossing my legs to watch him.
"Fine. Chase." He started, though I interrupted again.
"Do I call you Agent Benedict or Victor? Cos personally, I think using first names are a bit personal when I don't know you." Yeah, I was deliberately being rude - but it was either that or be terrified. I didn't know why I was here. All I knew was that the Americans put criminals in the electric chair, and I didn't want to be deported back to the states.
Victor looked thoroughly confused, before he got a hold of his emotions and cleared his face. "Victor is fine."
"You still haven't told me why I'm here." I accused, crossing my arms again.
"If you give me a chance, I will." He snapped, and I threw my head back to laugh. I really was getting to him. Pausing for a while, he was very matter of fact about what he said next. "Chase, I have reason to believe you're my soulfinder."
Freezing, I stammered, "What? No... That's impossible!" I was trying to convince myself that it couldn't be true. "I'm not even a proper Savant." I finally ended up saying to his grim face.
"Look, I didn't want a criminal for a soulfinder." Standing up, he spoke down to me, as if he actually believed it.
Fury simmering, I stood too, and placed my hands on the table. "A criminal. That's all you see me." I managed to say calmly, though I shook my head and turned away. "Get your facts straight before you come back to talk to me, Benedict." While I had talked, I walked to the door and banged on it, signifying that I was done with the conversation. "I thought soulfinders went off with a bang when you spoke to each other. I thought that they didn't judge each other on what others had told you." I spoke sadly, before the door slid open and I stepped through, cutting off our two worlds.
