DARK ROADS & OPEN DOORS
CHAPTER 7
Liz awoke to find the other side of the bed empty, the sheets cool beneath her seeking fingertips. She figured that Red had likely risen early to continue his conversation with Carl downstairs, however when she reached the top of the stairs she heard no activity coming from the ground floor at all. Unnerved at the silence of the house, she shrugged into Red's robe – more hers than his now – and padded quietly down the stairs. The FBI agent in her surfaced as she methodically moved through the house, checking all of the rooms for any negative signs, not that he wasn't adept at defending himself if the need arose; however as she came to the kitchen she found a note posted on the refrigerator door, which immediately put her at ease:
'Claire,
Carl leaving town today – taking him for breakfast. Will be home by midday.
David'
She noticed a second page stuck underneath the first:
'P.S. He didn't sleep a wink. Good show! R'
Liz smirked at the second scribbled note and disposed of it – just in case – before returning upstairs to shower and dress for the day. As she sat at the vanity table brushing her hair she considered that, if Red had gotten the information he needed from Carl, she would be going home to Tom and the FBI and Red would be back to his plush hotel rooms surrounded by many beautiful things that weren't his own. Idly she wondered to herself if he'd keep the rent up on the place since he'd already moved so many things in; then she realised that attempting to predict Red was a pointless endeavour, as he had seemed to make some choices based entirely on his prediction of other people's reactions.
Dressed in black slacks and a wide-necked t-shirt, Liz dropped into the chair in front of her laptop in the sitting room and switched the machine on. She sullenly composed a message to Cooper regarding the developments with Carl, however she found herself hesitating with the cursor on the 'Send' button; did she want to go back? Her time with Red had been so far removed from her reality and she had come to treasure the conversations they'd had, the laughs they'd shared, and the conspiratorial looks they would shoot each other when out together; their physical relationship aside, she had developed what she would call a friendship with Red, and the true weight of what their return to real life meant for that was the cause of the hitch in her breath when she clicked the button and the message was sent. She fought with herself as her eyesight became blurred from tears of frustration; her life had become so complicated since Red had come into it, however she found herself blaming him less and less as the days wore on. Rubbing at her eyes, she made for the kitchen to get herself a strong coffee; once this was made she headed back upstairs, through her bedroom and out on to the balcony. A small bistro set of chairs flanked a table and she sat with her hands wrapped around the mug, watching the wisps of steam disappear as they rose from the hot black liquid. Eventually she looked up from the coffee and enjoyed the view from the balcony, thankful the house was on the edge of the small township.
She was soon accosted by anxiety at her impending return to her house, to Tom, and that she wouldn't be able to hide the fact her relationship had changed from him or from Ressler who was already looking for cracks in her story; she couldn't really remember exactly what her relationship with Red had been like prior to their departure for Edison. She'd never wear his red robe again; she didn't even have one of her own to replace it with. She would feel more alone in the house she had bought with her husband than she did in the little home she had with Red; she wondered if he would feel the same way, leaving the house behind.
She would need to send another message to Cooper once Carl had departed... perhaps she would put it off until the morning.
Red arrived back at the house just after midday, checking the rooms to find no trace of Liz; as he moved upstairs he saw the bathroom door open and her bedroom door closed. He listened at the closed door and on hearing no sound of movement, carefully turned the handle and opened the door; he was surprised to find she wasn't in her room, and momentarily worried as she hadn't left a note to say she wouldn't be home, however he caught a glimpse of movement through her door to the balcony and relaxed instantly. He moved through her room and opened the door, startling her from her reverie; she looked burdened by her thoughts, but he decided to say nothing and simply sat himself elegantly in the second chair. They sat like that, both staring at the landscape behind the house – sparse from the winter – and it was Liz who eventually broke the silence stretching between them.
"How was breakfast?" she queried.
"I believe I have enough information for Harold to agree to bring out the big guns."
"So, this Number Nine, you haven't even briefed the Bureau on who he is yet."
"That's because I'm not sure who he is yet."
"What?" she asked incredulously. "What do you mean you don't know who he is?"
"Well, he could be one of three. I've narrowed it down from around twenty names, so we're getting there."
"Three?"
"All three have worked together previously, so it may even be the case of it being all three of them rather than just one."
"So what did Carl have to say?"
"He helped me bring the number down from eight to the three we're now left with, along with a little information on each of them."
"So we could be dealing with a cell?"
Red shrugged. "It's a theory." They lapsed into silence once more, Red practically able to hear the cogs turning in Liz's head as she processed what little information he had imparted. "Come," he beckoned as he stood from his seat, "it's getting chilly. Let's head into the kitchen."
"Why?" she asked, stepping back into her bedroom as he held the door for her.
"I don't know about you, but I have a craving for hot chocolate." He locked the door, turned, and headed for the stairs; Liz snorted at his words and he stopped, turned back to face her, and cocked his head to the side in silent query.
"I was expecting you to say we could brainstorm the two theories you have – of a single perpetrator or a cell – and that you would tell me more about the suspects," she supplied.
"Soon," was all he said as he led her down the stairs.
Liz sat slumped at one end of the sofa in the sitting room, feet resting on a footstool, laptop perched on her knees as she drafted up another update for Cooper.
"Don't mention the cell," Red ordered softly. "We'll keep that between the two of us for now. I don't want the FBI leaping into action at the insinuation that we're looking at a cell; and don't look at me like that, you know Harold would be chomping at the bit with that information." Liz held her finger on the backspace key and removed the sentence about the cell that she had just typed. Red marked his place in the book he was reading and scooted along the sofa to peer at the screen, critical eyes scanning the message she had composed. "That'll be fine," he confirmed and she hit the 'Send' button before shutting the machine down. "You're not going to wait for a response?"
"I'll check in the morning," she confirmed, stifling a yawn. "I think I need to go to bed."
"We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow; you should go and get some sleep," he recommended. "I'll stay down here until the fire has burned down." She nodded, stifling another yawn, and rose from the sofa; she moved over to the door, but stopped in the frame, turning back to face him.
"Red?"
He looked up from his book. "Yes, Lizzie?"
"What are we going to do?"
"We are going to go back to our roles of FBI Agent and Most Wanted," he responded, "and our performances will need to be Oscar-worthy to avoid sustained scrutiny from Ressler and Cooper."
"Sustained?"
"They're already suspicious, Lizzie," he pointed out dryly; "you need to expect questions to be asked on our return."
"Of course."
"Lizzie?" She sighed and came back to the doorway. "Are you alright?"
"I don't think I am," she replied softly. "Goodnight, Red," she bade him before ascending the stairs and going into her own bedroom; she would stay in there for their last night. It wouldn't do for her to share his bed again, not when they would never be able to do so again under the watchful gaze of her employer, and not while she had her husband to deal with. The decisions she knew she would eventually have to make weighed heavy on her mind, and once she had her pyjamas on she threw herself on to the bed and wrapped herself in the duvet – hiding from the world for the last time.
Liz was vaguely aware of the other side of the mattress dipping under the weight of another, and of being wrapped in warmth and a light musk; she half-woke at the movement behind her and at the feeling of the duvet being rearranged, but at the soft shushing sound he uttered was reassured of her bedmate's identity and soon fell headlong into a deep sleep.
