"Half a truth is often a great lie." ~ Benjamin Franklin
By Any Other NameNothing pisses Santana off more than not knowing what the hell was going on. It made her skin itch, when the answers didn't come together. Santana and Mike entered into the Violent Crimes unit with a lot to think about and right now Santana was entertaining the idea of going down to the sparing level and beating the shit out of someone. She rounded to her desk, dropped down into her seat, and reached over to flip on her computer. Thanks to her new boss, she had to type up her notes instead of following up with the Cohen-Chang regarding the test results.
"Bastard," she mutters half under her breath.
She watched as Mike logged into the system and started his share of the report. She pounded her key board in frustration, as she added her observations of the Anderson-Hummel crime scene. And as she wrote she couldn't help but reflect back at the man that Blaine Anderson was, because she is beginning to think she never knew him at all.
How many times had she gone out for drinks with Him and Hummel with Brittney? Hell Brittney knew him for years and not once had she even hinted that he was more than a fun loving, theater acting, singing goof ball. Her fingers stutter across the keyboard as her thoughts drift toward Brittney. She removed her hands from the keyboard and sat back in her chair. Her eyes flit toward the photo of Brittney on her desk.
"Mike," Santana called quietly.
"Yeah," he said as he continued to type on his computer.
"Do you think you can keep Puckerman busy?" she asked.
Mike looked up from his work and then over to Santana, "Why?"
Blowing out a breath she looked at Mike and stared at him squarely in the eyes, "I need to go talk to Brittney."
He didn't ask her why she needed to talk to Brittney, he just nodded his head and went back to work, while Santana stood up from her desk and headed back out to chase down another lead that hurt even thinking about questioning Brittney concerning Blaine, would be a bitch. She walked to the elevators, pulled out her phone, and dialed her number to Brittney's phone.
"Hey San, are you coming home for lunch?" Asked Brittney.
"Yeah babe, I just wanted to make sure you were available," said Santana, as she tried not to let anything slip in her tone.
"Sure, my schedule is free." Brittney said, with a smile in her voice.
"I'll see you soon," Santana ended the call and stepped into the elevator.
8888
Agent David Karofsky walked out of the elevator and strode toward the reception desk in the lobby. He smiled sweetly at the elderly woman operating the volunteer information desk. He pulled out his badge and asked, "I was wondering if you could point me to Doctor Fabray's office, I was told she keeps one on this floor?"
The woman looked at the ID, "Doctor Fabray seemed to be very popular with the FBI today," she said. Then she hands the badge back and pointed down the hall, "Her office is down there to the right."
"Thank you ma'am," he said and put his badge away. He didn't ask about any other agent, thinking Lopez or Chang had tried to talk to the doctor today before he got the drop in with the new boss. He ambled down the corridor and turned right; he noted the name of the doctor on the door, and that the door was wide open. David looked in and then took a step, then another step. He knew she was gone, but it didn't mean he couldn't just take a quick look before checking to see if she was still at the hospital. He looked up her home address just in case.
He stopped and looked at her degrees on the wall, and noted no real personal pictures, even when he moved around to the desk. Like most doctors, she most likely had a permanent office elsewhere. He was walking around her desk when he spotted something on the floor. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and put them on before gently lifting up what looked like a photo. He frowned in confusion before he heard a shout then a scream.
He rushed out of the office and watched, as people seemed to be talking over each other as they looked out of the west-facing window. He hurried over, grabbed what looked like a nurse, and flashed her, his badge, "What had everyone one all riled up?"
The nurse looked pale and shaken as she tried to clear her head, "Someone jumped off the roof."
David reacted instantly, "Call the police," he yelled as he ran toward the elevators. He pressed the down call button and waited before looking around for the stairwell. Just as he was to turn and hunt down another way to the outside a door in the elevator bank opened, he sprinted in, hit the close door button and waited until he was on the bottom floor. Two long minutes later, he was out running for the doors leading out to the parking lot beyond the hospital and into the drenching rain.
"Shit, fuck, god damn, son of a . . ." he cursed under his breath.
He noticed some of the hospital staff swarming around the person on the ground, and fuck, they were totally ruining the damn crime scene, if it was a crime scene, but he had that gut feeling. He pushed his way past idle bystanders as he heard one of the people said there was no pulse, David pulled out his badge, "Everyone move away from the body. FBI, move away, this is now an active crime scene."
As he reached the body on the ground, he stopped, "Holy shit," as he noticed it was Doctor Quinn Fabray. He also noticed not far from the body was what looked like a photo, with his still gloved hands he reached down to pick it up and almost reeled back in shock. It was the face of Rachel Berry, the daughter of the two most powerful crime bosses on the east coast. The woman who disappeared fifteen years ago in one of the most violent cases that had hit the United States had seen in decades. Finding her alive is worth 50 million dollars, finding her dead was an act for the Berry's to seek out revenge on whomever killed her.
He now had cause to believe that Doctor Fabray knew what happened to Rachel Berry, but now that she was dead, no one could ever be sure. Far off in the distance the sound of sirens, he pulled out his phone and dialed the FBI office, when the reception answered he said abruptly, "Patch me through to Special Agent Puckerman's office. Sir, we have a situation. . . Yeah sir, it looked like Doctor Fabray," he said as he looked to the parking garage in the rain, "took a header off the roof of the hospital."
8888
Agent Santana Lopez looked up at her apartment building, she sucked in a lungful of air and then up the stairs. She let herself into the apartment, walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle of water. She took a large gulp before making her way to the kitchen table, sat down, and waited for Brittney.
Brittney S. Pierce walked through the door about five minutes later; she smiled brightly at Santana before moving past her to the kitchen, "I see you didn't make anything for lunch?"
"No, I was waiting for you," Santana said as she took sip of water.
"I'll make us a couple of sandwiches do that sound good?" She asked.
"Yeah that sounds great Brit," Santana said.
Brittney opened the refrigerator and started pulling out items to make their lunch. "Are you ready to share what had you all upset?"
Santana smiled sadly before she said, "It's about Blaine and Kurt."
Brittney's hands stop and she breathed in and asked, "How bad?"
"Blaine's dead Brit," Santana said holding her head in her hands while looking down at the table, "And Kurt's missing, possibly dead."
Brittney leaned heavily against the counter, "How?" She sat the food down and rushed to Santana.
"It looked like our case got personal, and the perp got to Blaine before we could get Cahill arrested," Santana said.
Brittney abandoned the sandwiches and shakily sat down in a chair across from Santana, "And Kurt?"
"I can't tell you Brit, it's under investigation." She braced herself for what she had to ask next "What did Blaine really do Brittney? I know he wasn't just into doing the theater and that he was researching something before his murder."
Brittney sat really still, "I told Blaine to let it go," she said, "That digging into that particular case was playing with dragons."
Santana reached across the table and grabbed Brittney's hands, "Brit, I need to know."
"I can't tell you what Blaine really did," Brittney squeezed Santana's hands, "That information wasn't important anyway. What Blaine was working on had nothing to do with his job, I . . .," Brittney paused, "It had to do with Kurt and his brother Finn's past. Finn asked him to look into a case that happened when they were a year out of high school; Kurt was in New York at the time."
"We found a DVD at their home," Santana said, "Blaine already had Artie look at it."
"Then you know some of it," she said as tears started to streaked down her face.
"Why did you not tell me?" Santana questioned.
Slipping her hand out of Santana grasp, she wiped her tears, "There are cases you work on and you come home that tear you up inside, and you know you are not allowed to share the details, no matter what. You do that, and I do that San, with my patient's cases. Blaine was more than my friend."
"Whoa wait, are you telling me that Blaine was one of your patients?" Santana asked.
Brittney looked at the table not meeting Santana's eyes, "He worked in a high stress job, San, and he was assigned to my case load by his employers. I talked him into joining the theater to relax, because Blaine loved to sing. He met Kurt one night while performing; they hit it off right away. I guess the rest you could say is history, kismet or whatever." She looked up at Santana, "Blaine trusted me, and I trusted him. Blaine came to me about Finn; he was worried for Finn and Kurt. He asked me for advice."
Brittney stood up from the table and walked out the room toward her home office. When she returned, she had a small file in her hands. She seemed in a daze, with her tear stained face, her mascara running down in a ghoulish mask, as she sat down again across from Santana, "Three days ago Blaine came to see me." She slid the folder across to Santana, "Saying he found her."
Santana opened the folder, inside was a photo of a woman, she had dark hair, and very sad brown eyes. She was sitting in a park, but Santana didn't know where the park was, it didn't look familiar "Who is this?"
"I don't want to know this information San because it scares the hell out of me. I don't want you to follow Blaine's clues; I don't want you involved at all." Brittney pleaded, "It involves the mob, it involves an unsolved crime that should just remain that way. " Brittney tapped the picture with her finger, "Blaine told me that this is Rachel Berry."
8888
Agent Mike Chang was finishing up on the last of his notes when the door to what used to be Special Agent Kurt Hummel's office opened, and the new Agent in Charge came out. He took note of the fact the Special Agent Puckerman surveyed the bullpen and noticed that Chang was the only other person in the room. He slowly walked over to Chang's desk and stood there until Chang looked up.
"If you are finished, I would like a word with you in my office," he said.
Chang saved his file, sent it off to be copied on the FBI server to Hummel's computer, and then up to AD Schuester's office server. He stood up and went to Kurt's office. No matter that, another agent occupied the office now; it would always be Kurt's office. He followed Puckerman to the office, stood before Kurt's desk, and waited. Puckerman moved around the desk, sat in the chair, and motioned for Chang to do the same. Mike sat and waited for him to start his questions. He wondered if he had the answers that Puckerman wanted.
Puckerman pulled out a file and set it in front of Chang, "I received a tox report and I want you to look at it. Tell me what you think?"
Chang looked down at the report and frowned. He picked it up and read further realizing this was the results of the testing on all the bagging and tagging they did that day. "Tina got the results fast," Chang said to himself.
Puckerman leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on the desk, and crossed his hands, "I know you and Lopez don't know me, but I know Kurt." Making a split decision he stood up and walked over to the shelf with Kurt's personal photos, he picked up the one with Him and Finn and Kurt. He hands the photo to Chang and pointed to the mohawked teenager, "That's me."
Chang looked up from the photo, "Why are you telling me this?"
Puckerman took the picture back and looked at it again, "Sometimes family is more than just about being related by blood, Kurt and Finn are my brothers and there wasn't a damn thing I wouldn't do for either of them. I want to trust you and Lopez on this, but I need to know if there is anything else you and Lopez suspect?"
Chang sat back in his chair and just looked at Puckerman, "We have some ideas, but nothing solid. We have more questions than any clear lead?"
Puckerman hangs his head and carefully setting the photo on the desk behind him said, "Does the name God's Hammer mean anything to you."
"Yeah, the nut job group who bombed the churches all over the Midwest for not being godly enough," Said Chang.
"Not just churches," Puckerman said quietly. "I lost my sister and mother in a bombing in Lima Ohio, because they went to temple." He waved off any comments from Chang. "What I am saying is that they destroyed a lot of families but not just in the Midwest."
"How does this relate to Kurt?" Chang asked.
"Finn, Kurt's brother had a girl he loved more than anything, they met in New York while Finn was visiting Kurt. She was the light of his life, and Kurt's roommate. They were going to take Broadway by storm." Puckerman sighed heavily, "It was during this time that God's Hammer's cult was gaining strength and lighting a fire under everyone in the United States. They took a shine to Finn, I still don't know why. The point is God's Hammer moved their operations to New York for a bit."
"The Trinity Church bombing?" Chang guessed.
Puckerman pointed at Chang, "You got it, plus a few others. My point is that it's possible that they are looking again."
Chang shook his head, "Not possible. Didn't the FBI take down their cult?"
Puckerman moved away from the desk and just seemed to hold very still, "Maybe they didn't get everyone." The phone on the desk rang and he picked it up, "Puckerman." He listened on the line and said, "What's the situation . . . you secure the scene, we'll be there in ten."
Puckerman looked at Chang and said, "Looked like someone is cleaning up, Doctor Fabray is no longer available for questioning."
8888
The giggling seemed to carry on the wind, and the little girl was singing a song that seemed to drift away. She was whirling in a circle with her arms out her head facing the sky.
Tommy's tears and Mary's fears
Will make them old before their years.
She stopped spinning and then looked forward her brown eyes suddenly sad and her dark hair flying in the wind. Tears started falling from her eyes and she seemed to be reaching out. Find me Kurt; I'm tired of being alone.
8888
"Rachel," Kurt gasped out as he sat up in the hospital bed. He rubbed his sore chest and remembered again that he wasn't home. He rubbed the after image of the dream from his mind as he moved his legs restlessly. He hated not knowing what time it was or again where he was, and he hated even more that he really can't do much about it.
It's been years since he thought about Rachel, time and distance and an aching pain that never went away. He smiled bitterly to himself as he thought about the fact that he now had another ache to add to the pile. Kurt took the oxygen monitor off his finger, and slowly scooted himself to the edge of the bed. He slid his feet down and just hovered over the concrete floor.
He carefully sat his first foot down, not wincing at the biting cold that hit his feet or the numbness that seemed to attached itself to his legs. He carefully put pressure down and smiled that his footing is solid. He put his other foot down and then braced himself on the bed stood up and just swayed slightly and his heads seemed to want to spin now that he was vertical. Reaching back, he used the bed to push himself forward and moved toward the door.
The slow shuffle across the floor made his belly burn with anger. Nothing made him angrier than being weak. Kurt had spent many years working on being strong and agile in mind and body. If his captors are smart they know to keep, the door locked and if they managed to poison him and remove him from the hospital, then he knew they're smart. However, it still didn't stop him from trying to open the door. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted, nothing happened. He laughed at his own sense of drama, before shaking his head and being the FBI agent he knew he was, because the alternative made him want to break things. He surveyed the wall for any wires or easy holes that a hidden camera could be located. Hmm it's possible his captures were trusting.
He carefully bent down to look at the lock and smiled, because it was a simple door lock. Also there wasn't a dead bolt in place. Kurt tried to remember if he had heard a slide bolt since he'd been here, but he can't. He looked at the door and nearly laughed aloud as he noticed that the door hinges were inside and not out. He moved to the pins on the door and carefully bent down; he looked at the pin holding the bottom hinge. "I will get out of here," he said to himself.
Kurt is also a realist, as much as he wanted to breakdown the door and run like hell, he wouldn't get far because; one he's not dressed for it, two, and his lungs would give out before he got far. He looked at the door shrewdly and knew that he would get out come hell or high water one way or another.
He carefully made his way back to the bed and looked at everything that way around the hospital bed, then made his way over to the bathroom and opens the door. He noted there was no window in here either. He noticed for the first time clean scrubbed sitting on the counter of the small bathroom and slippers on the floor. This is good; he removed his clothes and got in the shower. The hot water made him feel more human and solid than he had since he woke up in this place.
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