Death borders upon our birth and our cradle stood in the grave ~ Joseph Hall
The Start of the EndSpecial Agent Kurt Hummel liked beat the odds; it's kind of his specialty. It's the reason why he's the head of the violent crimes unit for the FBI field office in Cleveland, Ohio. Who knew a kid who lived for fashion would find his place in law enforcement. Kurt liked to think it all goes back to his high school days and surviving the narrow-minded bullies that didn't understand him.
Of course having a unique ability to get into the heads of the people he hunts doesn't hurt either. Kurt felt grim pride for that particular accomplishment. It made days like today worth all the sleepless nights.
Special Agent Hummel leaned back in his desk chair, scrubbed his hands against his face, and rubbed at his temples where a headache was starting to build up behind his eyes making his scalp itch.
He looked up from his desk and saw one of his Agents still working on her report to add to his own Kurt's final report to submit to AD Schuester.
"Hey Lopez," Kurt called.
"Yeah," said the distracted agent across from the room as she squinted at the computer screen.
"Call it a night and pick up again Monday," he said.
Annoyed dark eyes met his, "No disrespect sir, but I would like to get this done before going home. It would just irritate me to have to pick back up on Monday."
Kurt gave Lopez a tired smile, "Just don't stay too late. I really don't need another panicked call from Brittney."
"That happened one time," she snarked at Kurt.
He pointed at her, "Don't stay too late."
She mocked saluted him and focused back on her screen.
Shaking his head, he grabbed his suit jacket and put it on. Reaching into his inner pocket he pulled out his iPod and put in his ear buds.
Setting his playlist for "home", he started past the bank of elevators and toward the stairwell that will take him down to the garage level. He always liked to clear his mind before going home, so as not to bring all the stress with him. As the heavy stairwell door clang shut, he felt the weight of the day settle on his shoulders.
He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. After a minute, he then opened his eyes and made his way down the stairwell toward the parking garage. He reached the bottom floor and exited the building.
The soft and ethereal voice of Amy Lee wafted through the ear bud speakers as she sang her soft haunting melody that always soothed him. Special Agent Kurt Hummel could identify with the feeling, as he walked through the deserted parking garage toward his silver SUV. The sticky air felt stale and static against his skin making the already tight feeling of his body feel tighter. He's glad of the music blurring out the empty echo of the parking garage. Despite being a Special Agent, Kurt always felt the oppressive emptiness when he left the building late at night.
All day he felt an insistent tickle at the back of his head, similar to the buzzing noise of a mosquito flying around the ears. His violent crimes unit had working on the damn case for over two months, and now that it finished all Kurt wanted was to sleep for a week. Even though they made an arrest earlier that day, Special Agent Kurt Hummel still couldn't get the image of the perpetrator's face out of Kurt's head. The cold dark eyes that seemed to look into Kurt and as much as Agent Hummel wished to never hear the man's voice, it slithered around his brain.
Rubbing his temple with his left hand as he continued to walk through the garage toward his vehicle, all Kurt could think about was going home to a hot shower and then some lazy beginning of weekend sex. A smile played at his lips as he thought about his partner at home, damn the day was just too long and Blaine was just the headache cure he needed desperately.
As he turned the corner toward his parking spot, a sudden sharp pain in Kurt's temple made him stumble, as his eyes suddenly began to lose focus. Leaning hard against the concrete pillar Kurt hunched over as the intense pain made his eyes burn.
"Jesus, fuck," He cursed as the Special Agent felt blood trickle from his nose. With shaky hands, he reached for his suit jacket pocket and snagged out the handkerchief he had stored there. Keeping his eyes closed he leaned his head back and pressed the handkerchief to his nose.
He rested his forehead against the cold concrete pillar waiting for the pain to either abate or make him pass out. It's been years since he had suffered from such an intense headache. The last time he remembered this much pain was when his mother had died when he was eight years old.
Suddenly like a camera flash behind his closed eyelids, he saw a familiar wall painted red. The smears like he'd witnessed on other walls for the last two months.
"I know you," he said, "I know you as much as you know me. We're brothers now Agent Hummel, were bound at the soul."
"We are nothing alike, Mr. Cahill." Said Agent Hummel
Gus Cahill lips twisted into a mockery of a smile, "Oh, you'll see. My greatest work had yet to be uncovered."
"What work Mr. Cahill? What will we find?" Agent Hummel questioned.
"It's glorious and beautiful and I am so happy that I will get to share it with you."
Inhaling painfully there was sharp tang of blood on his tongue that made Kurt want to gag as the pain vibrated in his head. The words on the wall were blurred, but the scene playing behind his eyes was so similar and foreign at the same time. In his head, he had seen this all before repeatedly, like a sound track stuck on repeat.
As Agent Hummel's eyes scanned behind his eye lids the rooms swept by him, moving down the hall where Blaine was and a whimper escaped Kurt's lips. With as much will as Kurt possessed the Special Agent made his eyes open and moaned at the too bright florescent lights above his head.
Through eyes wet with tears Kurt examined the garage and everything looked normal, but at the corners of his vision overlaid was the view of another place. Flickering in his peripheral vision Kurt could make out his living room. His hands slipped along with the concrete as he tried to get his bearings, and a wave of nausea and dizziness hit him as he saw his hall overlaid the open space the of garage. Narrow and wide competed with his mind and he slumped down again as he shook all over.
He fumbled with pulling his phone out of his pocket and hit speed dial. He yanked out the ear bud and pressed the phone tightly to his ear.
"Yes Hummel, I am closing up my computer now, no need to nag," said the amused female voice of Agent Lopez.
"Lopez," he mumbled out his hand trembling so hard he could barely hold onto his phone.
"Kurt?" Agent Santana Lopez asked.
"Parking garage," he gasped out. "Blaine."
"Are you alone, do you need back-up? Kurt?" Lopez asked briskly.
"No, no just," he breathed out painfully, "I need to go home . . . can't . . . take myself."
"Don't move Kurt, I'm coming down to you. And don't you fuckin' hang up the phone stay with me you got it?" Lopez said.
He heard her curse of the line; he leaned heavier against the pillar and tried the keep himself coherent while waiting for Agent Lopez. "Oh fucking hell," he grunted as his vision took a red haze the pain decided it could get angrier.
"Kurt?" He heard Lopez, "you still with me?"
"It's so red, San," he mumbled, "Oh, oh Blaine, No. No. No." He chanted under his breath.
He couldn't control the tears as the movie seemed to play out in all the pain. All around the bedroom Kurt had shared with the one person he loved most, the room destroyed and in the middle of the bed was Blaine Anderson. Kurt gasped out again as he was sure that Blaine was dead. Unwillingly his brain recorded over and over again what could only be the death of his lover.
And all through it he heard whispering darkly in his head, "We're brothers now Agent Hummel, were bound at the soul."
8888
Agent Santana Lopez understood pain and desperation very well. It's part of what spurred her into becoming an FBI agent. It's also, what made her very, very good at her job. People were less to mess with her now that she had credibility. She knew she was damn lucky to have her position on the Violent Crimes Unit.
It took her a long time to understand her boss, because Special Agent Kurt Hummel is a very complicated man. He had a way of looking at you that seemed to look right into the very heart of you and it was unnerving until you got used to it. Santana worked at not getting defensive every time her boss talked to her. Now that she knew him, there wasn't a damn thing she wouldn't do for him. And hearing his pained breathing had her as close to panicked as she had ever got.
Running to the elevators she slapped the button hard waiting for the damn car to reach her floor. "God damn it," she swore as she turned and ran for the stair well. Keeping one hand on her phone the other pushing against the heavy steel door she crashed through it and ran down the metal stepped toward the parking garage.
Her feet landed with loud clang, clang as she raced around the landing until she crashed through the garage level door. She stood and worked on controlling her breathing and trying to get her heart to stop pounding so hard in her chest.
"Alright Hummel where's your position?" she asked trying to adopt a more business like tone.
"Can't," said the breathless voice over the line. "I . . . home . . . Blaine."
"I gotcha boss, you want Blaine. But let me find you first than we can concentrate on getting Blaine to you."
"NO," said her boss, "Dead."
She moved the phone from her ear and worked on listening to the noise of the garage around her. Not far from her right came the pained groan of what she feared was her boss. She took the time to take her service weapon out of her side holster and slowly but methodically made her way to where she heard the noise.
A parking garage is a terrible place for a single agent to keep her back covered, but she crouched down as she side stepped to the pillar closest to where she knew Kurt parked, in order to make herself smaller target. She saw the legs out first before getting around the corner and seeing for the first time the state of her boss.
"Oh, fuck," she breathed and slowly came closer to him.
"Hummel?" she called as she scanned the parking garage trying to see any hidden threats, then she looked back at the Special Agent as her gut tensed with a possible threat in the parking garage, "Did someone do this to you?"
"Noooo," he moaned, "Headache."
She re-holstered her weapon and scooted closer to Kurt, she touched his wrist gently and he violently moved away from her, "Hey easy, I'm just trying to see how bad it is okay."
When he didn't answer her, she tried again to reach out and touch him gently. When he didn't move, she used her fingertips to check his heartbeat, which was racing under her fingers. Then she looked at the blood soaked handkerchief. There was so much there, "Can you open your eyes?" she asked.
"They . . . are . . . open," He replied.
So not a good sign, Santana thought as she said, "I'm going to call an ambulance Kurt, do you understand? You need to go to the hospital."
He started to pant hard and was shaking his head, and Santana reached forward to try to stop him from hurting himself further. "Can't . . . home," he whispered.
She gripped his shoulders and easily kept him from moving more, "I am not going to argue with you. I am going to call an ambulance and you are going to try not to die on me." She said forcefully. Picking up her phone Santana dialed dispatch and when the dispatcher came on the line, "This is Lopez, Agent Santana; I need an ambulance at the parking garage on East 5th Ave."
"This is dispatch, what is the situation?" Asked the operator.
"Received call from Hummel, Special Agent Kurt from the East 5th Ave parking garage. He seemed to be suffering from a bloody nose, his heart rate is racing and he seemed to be incoherent, he is incoherent," she corrected.
"Dispatch acknowledges request, eta on arrival ten minutes." Said the operator.
Santana felt herself relax marginally, but her focus was again on the man before her. She settled herself beside him and moved him carefully so he was leaning against her.
"Help is on its way, and then we'll get you to the hospital and I promise I will personally bring Blaine to you." She said.
"Don't go alone," he mumbled to her.
Kurt's behavior worried her more than going to check on Blaine, so again she dialed a number on her iPhone and waited for the other person to pick up the line.
"Come on Blaine," she mumbled and she couldn't help the uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. She looked again to her boss and couldn't stop herself from wondering what he knew.
Off in the distance she heard the distinct sound of ambulance sirens. Reflectively she held onto Kurt harder trying to reassure herself that yes help was on its way. And all the while no one answered the phone at Kurt's home.
8888
Agent Mike Chang loved his weekend, it was times like this that he was able to relax and indulge in his hobby. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him and then slid his left leg out and moved with focused energy as he pivoted back and forth to the beat. As he moved to the next step, he felt his phone vibrate on his hip.
Slowing his movements down Mike checked the phone and frowned, blowing out an annoyed breath he answered, "San I'm not on call this weekend, what's the deal?"
"Boss was taken to the emergency room," she said without pause.
Mike stood up straighter, "What?"
"I need you to go to the boss's house and get Blaine; he's not answering his phone and man, Hummel is not in a good shape." She said.
"What the hell happened?" Mike asked as he made is way out of his home dance studio and into the main area of his house. He picked up a towel and started rubbing the sweat away from his face.
Santana breathed out harshly over the phone, "I don't know, and it's pissing me off."
Instead of harassing Lopez, he headed for his room to put on different clothes, "Alright I'll get Blaine, what hospital are you at?"
"Saint Marks," she said, "And Mike, something hinky is up. My radar is buzzing."
Mike stopped getting into his jeans and frowned, "Really?"
"I don't know but the boss was mumbling some shit while I was waiting for the ambulance and well, Blaine had never missed one of our calls, so yeah, hinky."
One thing Agent Mike Chang had learned to depend on over the years is Agent Lopez's gut. She rarely was ever wrong. "Should I call someone else in?" Mike asked.
"No," she said seriously, "Let's keep this on the down low until something requires back-up."
"Hell, alright." Mike said as he finished getting dressed, grabbing his piece and holster. "I'm going to let you go and I'll phone you when I get to the house."
"I'll keep you posted if I hear anything on my end, and Mike? Thanks." Mike put down the phone and reached over to his night stand and pulled out his wallet and badge.
Cleveland, Ohio was not what Mike Chang wanted when he joined the FBI, but seeing how tight his unit worked, he re-thought his estimation of being stuck in the middle of the country. He grabbed his jacket and threw it on as he made his way out the door.
The stale chilled November air threatened to get colder and the weather did little to help Agent Chang relax. He unlocked and climbed into his car, docking his iPhone. He turned on soft background music as he made his way through the quiet streets to Special Agent Kurt Hummel's house.
As he drove past South Main, he kept superstitiously looking at his phone hoping for a call from Lopez to give him an update on what had happened to their boss. Mike hated going into a situation without all the facts first, and just going on something being 'hinky' was a little unsettling.
He turned left on 6th then made a sharp right onto Maple Street. Driving down the older neighborhood always felt eerie especially now that Mike had a rather unsettling feeling take root in his gut. The large street trees made the already dark night seem all the darker obscuring the few streetlights in the area.
He ticked off the number of housed until he drove up to the familiar house on the block. How many times had he and the team come together for drinks or the hang out in the back yard and enjoy a BBQ together. Every time that Mike had been here in the past, the house always felt alive and lived in. Pulling into the driveway, he couldn't shook the feeling of something being off. He turned off his car, pulled his phone off the docking station, and slipped it into his pocket.
When he got out of the car, the feeling of wrongness increased. He carefully approached the front door and noticed straight off that the front door looked unlatched. Deciding to go back to his car, he grabbed his flashlight and headed back to the house. Pulling his gun from the holster, he carefully nudged the door open with his knee and entered the house.
He used his flashlight to sweep the room before going further and what he saw made him pause. The living room wall, the one with the very tasteful and decorative pictures covered in red paint. Agent Chang had seen this before. "Holy fuck," he swore as he made his way into the hallway. Again red paint on the walls, he came to the master bedroom and knew, god did he ever know, what he was going to find.
Carefully nudging the door open, he panned his light across the room. The bed in a snow-white sheet and in the middle was Blaine Anderson laid out in rest, with scattered rose petals littering the bedding. "God damn it!" Mike flipped on the light and carefully walked across the room, trying not to contaminate the crime scene any more than necessary. He knew it was too late, but he had to check, because he could be wrong, because things like this just did not happen to people he knew. Reaching forward Agent Mike Change checked for a pulse of the person lying prone on the bed. He didn't find one.
8888
Pacing the waiting room with barely controlled patience, Agent Santana Lopez kept checking the time on her watch. She hated hospitals, they made her skin itch just being there waiting. How long did it take to control a nosebleed and headache anyway? She was on round twenty of her pacing when her phone vibrated. She pulled it out and noticed that it was Chang calling. She moved to the cell phone appropriate room of the hospital and picked up the call.
"What's your eta, Chang?" she asked.
"I'm not coming San," he said wearily, "I'm now working an active crime scene."
Santana focused on the wall in front of her, in order to keep her emotions contained, "Blaine?"
"Yeah," he whispered.
Her hands started to tremble as she closed her eyes against the sudden moisture in them, "Did you call it in?"
"I wanted to give you the update before I did. It looked like Cahill's work. Hell, the packaging for the sheets and the paint are neatly tucked away in the fucking kitchen." He ground out. "The god damned sick fuck left a love letter for Kurt."
"Call it in Mike and walk away." Santana ordered.
"No way, no way are you asking me to walk away from this," he said.
"You can and you will, do you understand me. You and I both are way too close to this to even think clearly. Shit, Mike he knew. He knew." Santana slumped down into the hard waiting room chair. Her whole body wanted to give into grief, because, who, didn't love Blaine? He was full life, he was, oh god he was. Then another dark and terrifying thought raced through her mind. "Brittney," she breathed.
"San don't go there, you have no idea for sure if everyone was a target or not." Mike reasoned.
"I gotta call Brit," she said barely listening to Mike now.
"SANTANA!" yelled Mike, "I will contact her, I need you to focus on what the hell happened to the boss, do you understand?"
She rubbed her eyes, "Yeah, alright fuck." She felt deflated.
"I'm going to call this in, and I promise you I will contact Brittney and I will get back you." He said.
"Okay, okay, I got this, and hey Mike?"
"Yes," he said.
"I needed that, but if you ever mention this to anyone. I will kick your ass." She said.
Mike was silent on the other end for a short while, "It's what we do."
"Yeah," she said quietly, "When you hand it over, come to Saint Marks. I could use the company."
Mike sighed, "Sure."
Lopez slipped her phone back into her pocket and worked on getting her frayed nerves together. Standing up and squaring her shoulders she went back out to the main waiting room. Her mind refused to think about what lay in the house on Maple Street. She needed to be here, she needed . . . she needed to find the words to tell her boss that his lover was gone.
"Agent Lopez?" called a perky blond woman in medical scrubbed.
Santana made her way over to the woman, "I'm Lopez."
"I'm Doctor Fabray, I looked at Special Agent Hummel when he was brought into the ER," she paused as she looked at her notes, "I have him sent down for a CAT Scan, he is exhibiting signs of a possible brain aneurism."
"Wouldn't have that killed him by now?" Santana asked.
"Not all aneurisms burst; he could have a slow bleeder that is building up pressure, which would account for the intense headache. The bloody nose could also be caused from stress to the system and not necessarily be associated with an aneurism. I will know more after the CAT scan."
"Is he, is he still in pain?" Santana asked.
The doctor pursed her lips, "I hesitate to treat the pain until I know more. Giving him pain medications will make his responses sluggish and with an unknown, I would like to keep him a coherent as possible."
Santana reframed from commenting on her boss's ability to be coherent. "Do you know how much longer before I can see him?"
"I wouldn't know until his test results come back. I will have a nurse keep you appraised of his condition as necessary." Doctor Fabray said as she started away from the Agent, dismissing her from her mind as she walked behind the swinging doors to the inner part of the hospital.
Doctors like Fabray are the reason why she hated hospitals so damn much, as she went to go find some bad coffee, her phone vibrated in her pocket. "Lopez," she answered.
"San?" said a sweet female voice over the cell.
Santana Lopez ducked back into the phone room and instantly fell into a chair, "Baby are you okay?"
"Mike said you were at the hospital, are you hurt?" asked Brittney.
"No, no its Kurt, he needed to see the doctor." Santana said.
"Oh," Brittney said, "Do you need me to be there with you."
Santana closed her eyes and tried not to think the dark thoughts that were going through her head now. Blaine was Brittney's best friend. Hell, he introduced her to Brittney two years ago. "No, Mike's going to be here with me. Its official business now."
That was so wrong, to think of your friend as official business. "San, when you're done come home. And when you're ready tell me what happened."
"You know I will. Get some sleep, no need for both of us to be up." She said.
"Night San," Brittney said.
"Night baby, I love you." Santana felt compelled to say.
"Love you too." And the connection ended.
Santana pressed the phone to her forehead and wished the night was over already.
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