(A missing scene from "Shadow of Angels".)
LET IT BURN THROUGH YOU
Bailey stepped out of the viewing room at the men's penitentiary and noticed that Nathan had stayed behind to wait for him. Sam nor Coop were nowhere to be seen. She must be crushed.
"What a damn mess," Nathan muttered and ran his hands over his face. "You think Koslowsky will come to his senses?"
Bailey sighed, thinking of the US attorney who'd refused to concede that Keller wasn't Jack. "He will. He may be ignorant, but he isn't stupid. Let's get out of here."
They walked through the cell blocks of the prison in silence, both too defeated to make small talk. Tomorrow, they'd have to start figuring out Jack's latest stunt. They arrived to the dimly lit parking lot beside the penitentiary. The cars of the correctional officers on duty were littered through the lot. Having arrived in three separate cars, they had parked their cars at spaces apart from one another. Bailey said good night to Nathan and made his way to his car in the center of the parking lot.
He slowed down his pace for a second when he spied a shadowy figure leaning against his car. Sam.
She stood still, staring at the ground, her hands tucked underneath one another. Her form belied her tension to his trained eye.
When he reached her, she looked up at him and said in a flat voice: "I need a ride."
"I'm your man."
She kept quiet during the ride from the pen to Atlanta. Just stared out of the window, not really seeing anything, he guessed. He wondered when her edge would abate, how she would deal with her devastation at this latest turn of events.
He hadn't been too surprised when she requested that he drive her to Olivo's, her favourite bar.
Ben, the bartender he'd met the last time he'd been here, wasn't working. A man in his mid-forties was serving the few customers spread about the spacious premises. No one was waiting for their drinks at the bar.
Sam didn't waste one moment. "Give me two fingers of your stiffest Scotch and a big glass of water," she shot off and sat down on a bar stool. She looked at him, checking if he wanted anything to drink. She would foot the bill. He shook his head and sat down beside him. "My friend will have a water, too," she ordered for him.
Their drinks were in front of them in two minutes. The bartender put down the glass containing the hard liquor, and she picked it up immediately and downed it all in one go. Her face twisted, her fingers spread out and a shudder ran through her body at the sensation of the Scotch hitting her system. "Disgusting stuff. I'll have another one," she said to the bartender, who'd been rendered speechless by the sight of her quaffing the expensive drink. A pointed look from her had him snapping to and serving his customer.
Sam took a big gulp of her water, and he sipped his, too, waiting for Sam's armour to chip a little.
The bartender poured another shot into her glass. "You know, if you want to get drunk, there are cheaper ways to do it," he couldn't refrain from commenting.
"Not looking to get drunk," she countered, keeping her eyes intent on the glass she was turning around in her hands. Bailey realised that she was hoping that the burning Scotch would snap her to face reality, bring her out of her nervous numbness.
"Thank you," Bailey said to the bartender, dismissing him from their presence.
She took a sip of her water, then began fiddling with some coasters previous customers had used. He gave her her space, looking about the bar but not really paying attention. All of it was focused on his friend sitting next to him.
She picked up her Scotch, this time taking a small taste of it. Her expression soured a little again.
"So, the joke's on me, huh?"
He snapped his head to look at her. "No, it's on us." His insistance didn't affect her. She was still a coil of tension, barely hidden beneath her form. She took another sip of her drink.
"Remember after we found out about him using Doctor Nelson's finger prints at the train station, I said to you that he's winning? Well, that was nothing compared to this. Boy, is he winning now!" she finished with a bitter chuckle.
He had to cut through her pity party, re-awaken her fighting spirit. "He's winning for the time being. Are you going to cry uncle or are you going to fight back?" he challenged her.
His words hit home and she turned to him, leveling a pissed-off look at him. She was about to retort when her eyes landed on his glass of water. She regarded it for a moment. Her anger simmered down.
"Touché," she acknowledged his reproach. He could see that her tension had been released. She was now in the present, letting herself to feel her devastation.
"I allowed myself to believe that it was all over," she sighed. "Should've known better," she shook her head and smiled sadly.
He put his left hand on her back. "It will be over, Sam. Not tonight, but someday."
She looked at him, studied his face. Finally, she accepted his words. "Yeah. Someday." They shared a small smile and clinked their glasses of water, toasting to the promise of the final end.
