August 18, 2010

Gaining What is Lost

"All right, Jack," Dr. Macer said as she looked at the results of the tests she'd run on her patient. Jack sat on the side of the hospital bed stoically, as if he was waiting to hear, not for the first time, that he was dying. In fact, he was so focused on remaining calm that he barely heard Dr. Macer say, "So call me when you get back to New York, okay?"

Jack blinked. "I'm sorry," he said, shifting a little as he tried to ignore the vibrations of his cell phone. "Could you repeat that?"

"The opportunistic infection you had last week appears to have cleared up, and your doctor at your treatment facility should be able to help you deal with any other problems that may come up. You're not completely out of the woods yet, but you're on your way."

"And this isn't going to come back?"

"You're a strong man, Jack," she said confidently. "I'm sure you'll be fine, but I'm always here if you need anything."

Jack mumbled a quick "Thank you," shook her hand, bolted out of the building and hopped inside his rental car. As he turned on the ignition, he took out his cell phone, pressed 3 on his speed dial and listened to the ringing, tapping impatiently on the dashboard.

"O'Brian," a bored voice said, a midst of typing in the background.

"Chloe, it's me," he said by way of greeting. "I received a phone call while I was in with Dr. Macer not ten minutes ago. The area code was from around here, but I don't have any contacts in the area."

Well, not except for one unwilling participant, he thought to himself, and that was going nowhere.

Being the brilliant analyst she was, Chloe immediately picked up on that. "Jack, what about Renee? She owns an apartment in Arlington, it's completely possible that…"

"Look, she didn't call me," Jack said, clenching his teeth. "She's made it very clear that she wants nothing to do with me."

"And you're okay with that?" Chloe asked skeptically. "I saw more than a few looks pass between you that day, something was going on there."

Jack stayed silent except for his deep breathing, an exercise he often used whenever Chloe got a little hard to handle. "Chloe, nothing happened. Can you just get me that trace?"

"Hold on one second," she replied. Something beeped on her end, and then she said reluctantly, "Okay, Jack, I've got an address. It's 233 Palm Drive, Apartment 3B. Registered to Renee Annabeth Walker."

Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Damn it," he breathed, "I missed her call."

"What?"

"Nothing," he said hurriedly. "Look up any recent activity coming from her apartment."

After a few moments, Chloe was back on the line, and she wasn't happy. "Jack, first emergency responders received a 911 call from Renee's apartment."

Jack's heart nearly stopped, but he brushed away the feeling of dread. "Can you tell what kind of call it was?"

Chloe didn't break her silence.

"Chloe, what the hell happened?"

"I don't know," she said, exasperated. "Jack, Renee was fired from the FBI for torturing Alan Wilson. You know that, I know that, everyone with access to her file knows that. Pardon me if I think it's possible she got a little unhinged."

"Chloe, please tell me you're not saying…"

"That she did something crazy? I don't know, Jack," the analyst said, miffed. "Contrary to what you think, I don't have all the answers, and I can't get all of the answers. I can obtain most of them through various means, but you can't expect me to know everything that's going on. The paramedics plan on arriving at the scene in about ten minutes. They're still assessing everything."

"What's my ETA for her apartment, Chloe?"

"About…three minutes?" she estimated. "Look, Jack, the likelihood of you making it to the scene in time to prevent any sort of long-term damage from being a possibility is pretty slim…"

"Damn it, we're running out of time, Chloe! Stay on this and find out anything you can."

"Hastings is going to have my ass for this, Jack."

"Chloe, if you don't do this, Renee Walker could be lying on a metal table in a hospital morgue. Look up those records and get back to me."

"But…"

Jack pressed the END button on his phone, cutting off the conversation with Chloe before the inevitable dragging on of the conversation. As he stomped on the gas pedal and sped off to Renee's apartment, Jack tried to keep a clear mind, knowing that there was a very good chance that the woman he'd known for only a day was dead or dying, and knowing that he felt an incessant tugging, a need to stop whatever pain she was feeling. Only one word could really sum up what he felt in that moment.

"Damnit!"

Jack slammed the car door in a blind rage and stormed across the parking lot, eventually breaking into a run as his mind went haywire. All he could hear was Chloe's words echoing in his head: 911 call… torturing Alan Wilson… a little unhinged… Renee Walker's apartment… crazy… fired… dying.

As he kept thinking about what she said, her sentiments slowly grew into his panic. He opened the door to the lobby with a bang and, without bothering to let the receptionist know what the hell was going on, hopped in the closest elevator and aggressively pressed the button for floor seven. Then, his mind started to worry. Damn it, should have used the stairs, this elevator is too slow, I'm being lazy while my… while she's dying…

Right before Jack could potentially be dosed as clinically insane, the elevator doors opened on the seventh floor, and he ran as fast as he could, his licensed Glock at his side in case of an intruder situation. When he arrived at room 707, he pressed his ear against the door. All he heard was silence. When he looked through the peephole, he could see a general kitchen and living room. All particularly normal…except for the dark red puddle on the wood floor.

Jack burst in the door, gun in front of him, and proceeded to carefully clear the den and the foyer. When he reached the kitchen, he almost crumpled to the floor. There lay former FBI Agent Renee Walker, in shock, blood coming out of two precisely drawn slits on her forearms. He didn't care about dirtying himself as he knelt down next to her and shook her shoulders, almost as if it was a joke she was playing on him. "Renee, it's Jack," he whispered. "Wake up."

Nothing.

"Come on, Renee, open your eyes!"

He laid his head on her chest and searched for a heartbeat. When he found one, he released a breath that, up until now, he hadn't realized he was holding.

Okay, best option is probably to wait…

Suddenly, a confused moan strangled its way out of a throat, and it wasn't his.

"J-J-Jack?"