Liz quickly found the box with the case number pertaining to the ballistics report of Tom's gun.
"Hey! You don't have clearance to be in here! Who's your supervisor?" She heard the clerk just as she was about to open the box. Memorizing the date and "Angel Station," Lizzie quietly made her way out of the archive.
/\/\/\/\
"Where are you on Keen?" Cooper didn't look up as he shuffled around some papers on his desk.
"She's still looking into this classified homicide. The file she has is redacted. No way she finds out what really happened." Ressler replied, his hands on his hips in typical Captain America fashion.
"We need to continue to keep an eye on her. She's testifying today in a case from her time in New York with Mobile Psych. A Mexican drug dealer, Hector Lorca. I want you at the courthouse." Cooper finally looked up to await Ressler's confirmation and gave a tight smile as Ressler nodded.
/\/\/\/\
Lizzie was in her office which she shared with Ressler, gathering her notes on the Lorca case and going over last minute details. She already had the entire case memorized backwards and forward but research was a nervous habit of hers. If you can't control it, research it.
"Hey."
Lizzie startled and looked towards the door where Ressler lingered. "Hey."
"What's going on?" Ressler moved further into their office, stopping to lean against his desk as he nodded towards the case files in Lizzie's hands.
"I've got court this afternoon. Just going over some notes."
"Mind if I come with you? Nothing would make me happier than seeing Hector Lorca being sent away for life."
Lizzie gazed at Ressler, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why do I get the feeling that you're less interested in watching Lorca than in watching me?" Seriously, what did she have to do to earn this guy's trust? It's not like Reddington was her father or something… oh wait.
"I don't know. Are you hiding something?"
Lizzie was beginning to understand her dad's dislike of this man. Though before she could reply, she turned at the sound of quiet knocking on the opened doorway.
Meera looked back and forth between Ressler and Lizzie, realizing that she had interrupted something. "Dembe made contact. Reddington wants to see you alone." Meera said, her gaze finally settling on Lizzie.
/\/\/\/\/\
Lizzie walked over to the park bench, giving Dembe a low wave and a small smile in greeting. Sitting on the bench next to Red, she gave him a small smile as well.
"You're due in Port Au Prince at noon if we're going to make your appointment." Dembe leaned over to speak to Red in hushed tones.
"This won't take long. Bring the car around." Red looked down at the newspaper in his hands and began to read the headline. 'It was only through the efforts of an FBI profiler that suspicion began to fall on Hector Lorca, leading to his arrest and indictment.' Well done, Lizzie. Very impressive." He looked up at Lizzie and gave her one of his lazy smiles though she knew there was true pride hidden behind his sunglasses.
"You are aware, then, that I'm due in court in three hours."
"Your case is about to go sideways."
Lizzie's brow furrowed in worry. "Why? What's happened?"
"Lorca's people have reached out to me. Normally, I wouldn't give him the time of day. He's a vicious little drug-lord thug. Certainly nothing there to hold my interest. But their request is of great interest because it concerns you." Red nonchalantly turned his body towards her and rested his arm against the back of the bench, his hand landing on her shoulder and she smiled at the slight pressure as he squeezed her shoulder in comfort.
She read his message loud and clear. He was always, first and foremost, her father.
"What's he asking for?"
"Transportation out of the country, new identity, passport, bank account, credit cards, as well as the proper introductions to reestablish his operations elsewhere. And he wants it by tomorrow night. For whatever reason, Lorca is under the impression he's about to be a free man."
"I've got a witness testifying today who's got him cold. Lorca's not going anywhere."
Red squeezed her shoulder once again before standing up. "Something is going to happen, Lizzie. I don't think you're going to have a very good day in court at all." Red adjusted the fedora that sat on his head and walked off.
/\/\/\/\/\
Red Leisurely sat on the steps of his private jet as his buyer surveyed the merchandise.
"The manufacturer has replicated the specs of the FIM–92 with a few small improvements. It's lighter, more consistent tracking. I'm confident your client will be thrilled."
Several chirps came from Red's SAT phone which Dembe held. After a moment's hesitation, Dembe answered the call.
"Put him on." Lizzie didn't give him a chance to greet her.
"Mr. Reddington is not avai– "
"Now!"
"It seems to be urgent." Dembe addressed Red as he handed him the phone. The buyer apparently didn't like that he was taking calls in the middle of a deal and drew their weapons.
"Yes," Red laughed, pointing at their guns. "You also have a few dozen of those." He said as he walked off to another corner of the hangar.
"Sweetheart, not really the most convenient time for me." Red finally spoke into the phone once he judged that he was a safe distance away.
"I don't give a rat's ass. Where are you?"
"Haiti."
"Doing what?" He had literally been speaking to her on a park bench in D.C. three hours ago. Honestly, did the man never sit still?
"Keeping up appearances. I'm a criminal. The minute I stop being one, I become quite useless to you."
"My witness, Peña, is gone. Lorca's people contacted you. What did they say, exactly?"
"What I told you is what I know. Beyond that, I really can't help."
"A man's life is at stake!"
"A man's life is always at stake and tragically low stakes, at that. I shouldn't have to remind you I did not offer my services so that I could help you round up your run–of–the–mill drug lord or what have you. You all seem to be doing a perfectly mediocre job of that on your own. I'm after the big game, Lizzie, the ones that matter."
"This case matters to me, to the hundreds of families who deserve to know what happened to their loved ones. No bodies were ever recovered. They never got to say goodbye, to bury their dead." Lizzie hissed angrily. Sometimes she really hated how blasé he could be about the deaths of innocent people.
"Did you say hundreds? And no bodies have ever been found."
"What? What are you thinking?" She knew her dad was sniffing for a bone.
"Nothing. You should go home, Lizzie. Pour yourself a Chardonnay and move on. Your witness is most likely dead. I think you already know that. And if what you're telling me is true, you'll probably never find him, either."
/\/\/\/\
Lizzie stares at the legal pad where she had written "Angel Station" and "July 23, 2012," the only things she was able to take from the label of the box that contained the case files. Just as she was about to google Angel Station, she heard the front door open and close followed by Tom's footsteps in the hallway. Quickly scribbling out the words "Angel Station," Lizzie looks up and smiles at Tom as he enters the dining room.
"How you holding up?" Tom walked over, leaning his arms on the corner of the table and bumping his hip into her shoulder.
"Fine." Lizzie smiled tiredly.
"Nice try. But I always know when you're lying."
"Really?" Lizzie's heart rate jumped up a few beats per minute as she looked askance at him.
"Yeah." Tom gave her a boyish grin, one of the ones that were so wide, his dimples hit his glasses. "I know all your tells. Right now, you're telling me that you want to be alone. And that's okay, but I just wanted to say what happened today is just part of your job. You know, you deal with bad people, and sometimes bad things are gonna happen, and it's not your fault." He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder and Lizzie had to actively stop herself from shivering at his touch. She had a sudden desperate need for a shower.
She bit her lip as Tom looked down at the legal pad.
"What's this? Um- It's- I mean-, besides the best day ever, right?" He seemed to stumble for a moment before catching himself and throwing her another grin.
"Right." Lizzie dragged out the word, unsure of where he was going with that.
"Hey, I get it. Bad day at work. Come home. Don't want to talk to anybody. Especially someone whose stitches are officially oozing. Seriously, It's so gross." He laughed. "I know." Tom placed his fingers on the mousepad of Lizzie's laptop and quickly found and clicked on a folder of pictures from the weekend of July 23 2012. "And you park yourself in here and cheer yourself up with memories of better times."
Gazing at the pictures, Lizzie smiled faintly.
"We were in Boston that weekend. You had that job interview." Relief rushed through her at the realization. She was his alibi. He couldn't have been doing anything nefarious that weekend. He was with her in Boston.
"Yeah. It was a great trip."
"Yeah." Lizzie smiled, biting her lip.
"God, when was the last time that we did that, you know, that we just packed up the car and got the hell out of here? Because we need that. Like right now." Tom stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her.
"You have no idea." She groaned, resting her head on his shoulder.
"I know." He kissed her cheek before walking into the kitchen.
"Do I really have tells?"
"Lizzie, you're an open book, which is one of the things I love about you. 'Cause I always know exactly what you're thinking."
Lizzie shivered. She may be happy that her husband didn't kill someone but she was on high alert and if he weren't her husband, her stranger danger radar would have been beeping like crazy.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her cell phone going off.
"Keen."
"We found out where they took Peña." Ressler greeted.
Seriously, they need to start teaching proper phone etiquette at Quantico. Though honestly, she wasn't much better.
/\/\/\/\
"An eyewitness saw a white van leaving the courthouse. They found it abandoned. Traffic camera picked up the swap car. APB got a hit on the plate from local P.D. The desk clerk said it was a large black duffel bag."
Lizzie stood in the parking lot of the sleazy motel with Ressler and Meera, updating each other on the latest intel on the case as red and blue lights bounced off the walls around them.
Eventually, the broke up so that Meera could show Lizzie around the crime scene.
"There's no sign of him, Liz. I'm sorry." Meera murmured regretfully as she led her into the motel room which was their apparent crime scene.
"Has forensics been through?"
"They're going through now. So far, they found a hair on the bed skirt, but we don't think it's human. The desk clerk said he saw the suspect with a dog. We found traces of adhesive on the walls. We think he maybe used tarps or plastic sheeting. It's a motel room. Should be latent prints all over, and there's nothing. He's wiped the place clean."
Lizzie's phone chirped again. She looked down to see the caller ID read "Nick's Pizza."
"What do you want?" Okay, so maybe she too needed to sign up for some of those phone etiquette classes at Quantico.
"I've been thinking about your case. What do you have so far?"
"I'm at the crime scene. Or what we think is the crime scene." Lizzie replied, looking around the room with a sigh.
"You didn't find anything."
"Not much."
"Tape residue on the walls?"
"How do you know that?" Lizzie didn't realize she'd been hunched over until she straightened in alert.
"Look in the tub. Run your fingers around the drain. What do you smell?"
Lizzie walked passed the moseying CSI's and climbed into the enormous tub, squatting down and running her fingers along the drain before bringing them underneath her nose and taking a whiff.
"Chemicals."
"You see, Lizzie. Now I'm interested."
"Why?"
"The Stewmaker is in town. You're going to need a plumber."
/\/\/\/\/\
They were all gathered in the war room back at the Post Office and Red had his hands in his pockets as he paced leisurely, in full Reddington monologue mode.
"The Stewmaker is a true blacklister. The only fellow to engage when one has a particular sort of disposal problem. He's a chemical expert who turns his victims into chemical stew, thus the nom de guerre. No DNA. No nothing. He makes corporeal problems literally disappear. But it's much more than the proficiency of his tradecraft that gets him on the list. He's a trophy collector. Remembrances of his victims. Memori morti." Red paused, his eyes seeming distant before he shook himself and continued. "Now, you've lost your witness and with him your case. But the Stewmaker is the key to so much more. He's served the needs of international syndicates, repressive regimes, anyone with a need and the means to pay. The Stewmaker knows where all the bodies are buried. He's got the answers to hundreds of unsolved murders."
"So, how do we get him?" Ressler asked gruffly.
"He's notoriously cautious. I don't even know who he is or where he bases his operation. And believe me, I've tried to find him."
"Lorca knows. If not his name, he knows how to make contact." Lizzie spoke up. Red turned to face her and smiled at her, his head cocked in a carefree way.
"Yes. I suggest you encourage Mr. Lorca to share that information. The Stewmaker is obviously here now, but he won't be for long. And if you let him slip away, he'll be as gone as his victims and you'll never see him again."
/\/\/\/\/\/\
Lizzie took an agent's hand as she climbed out of the armored vehicle, looking around at the motorcade of SUV's and glanced up as her hair whipped around her from the wind caused by the blades of the hovering helicopter.
Turning around, Lizzie addressed Lorca as he was assisted out of the armored truck.
"Once I turn you over to Homeland, it's beyond my ability to help you!" She yelled over the roar of the helicopter.
"You've helped me enough, Agent Keen. You've disrupted my business, my life. You've embarrassed me, my family. You think you know me, with your profiles? You have no idea."
Lizzie pursed her lips and was about to reply before everything exploded. She felt weightless as her body was lifted from the ground before she plummeted back down painfully. Groaning, she could vaguely hear the sounds of gunfire over the ringing in her ears before she felt a quick pinch in her neck and the entire world went dark.
/\/\/\/\/\
"We just got the surveillance footage from the airport." Cooper stated and began playing the footage of the explosion and subsequent events.
Red had to turn his head away at the sight of her lifeless body being heaped into the back of a black van, a sack placed over her head.
"What did you know about the transport attack? How did he know where to strike? I swear to God, if you had anything to do with –"
Red had never wanted to smack the shit out of Agent Ressler more than he did in that moment. "What you're forgetting is we want the same thing, Agent Ressler." In his barely suppressed rage, Red didn't care what the FBI inferred from that. But Lorca had taken his daughter and he was going to enjoy every moment of his revenge.
If he were honest with himself, the last 20 years had been about revenge. Keeping Lizzie safe… but also revenge. No one could hold a grudge like Red.
"Why would he kidnap Agent Keen? What's his play here?" Cooper questioned Red.
Red ground his teeth, wanting nothing more than to get out of the Post Office and actually do something. "I have a contract with Lorca to personally hand him a new identity."
"That's never gonna happen." Ressler snorted.
Red's eyes blazed as he looked over at Agent Ressler. "Your witness is dead, you lost Lorca, and he took Agent Keen. I'd say my meeting with Lorca might be the equivalent of you falling on your ass and landing in a pile of Christmas."
"We'll need time to set up a sting." Cooper said to Red, subtly standing between him and Ressler in an attempt to stave off Ressler's impending doom.
"He's been evading capture for years. He'll be more on guard than ever. Any change of plans, and we'll lose him. I meet with Lorca alone."
"An FBI agent's life is in jeopardy." Ressler interjected.
"There's no bargaining here!" Red shouted before taking a deep breath. "When confronting complex equations, the simplest solution is most often the correct one. You lost her. I can find her. It's that simple."
"I'm coming with you."
Red stared at Ressler for a moment, imagining a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. "Then understand I take no responsibility for your safety. And the FBI backs off. No surveillance, no wires, or you can find what's left of Agent Keen yourselves." His rage was a simmering pool and he felt physically sick at his own last words but appearances must be kept …if they weren't completely obliterated by his obvious rage. Apparently his poker face failed where Lizzie was involved. That could be a problem.
/\/\/\/\
"As soon as you have information on Agent Keen, I'll get backup, and we'll take him." Ressler attempted to order Red as they sat in the car on the way to their meeting with Lorca.
"No. I'm going to make him feel safe. Lorca's going to walk, and you're going to have to just trust me."
"Lorca's not going anywhere. And I'll never trust you."
"You know why? Because after tracking me for years, you've come up with one undeniable truth. I only do what's good for me. And that is a person you can trust, Donald. Now let's go. Lorca will have questions about you. You'll need breviloquent answers."
/\/\/\/\
They were escorted to the back room of the restaurant which appeared almost bear except for Lorca and his men. Lorca sat at a small table eating a steak as he watched them come in.
"Mr. Lorca, I'm Raymond Reddington."
"I didn't expect two of you." Lorca stated, his eyes moving between both Red and Ressler.
"Oh, this is Special Agent Donald Ressler of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Lorca's man immediately jumps Ressler and wrestles him to his knees, placing a knife at his throat as he held Ressler's arms at an odd angle behind him.
"Whoa, whoa, what it must be open season on the FBI. I like it." Lorca laughed.
"He insisted, dying to meet you." Red put on his best charm as he laughed, gazing at the scene before him as if it were a nativity Christmas play put on by adorable children.
Lorca spoke to one of his men in Spanish.
"What's he saying?" Ressler grunted as he tried to free himself from his captor's hold.
"He's telling his man to be ready to cut off your head."
"You want to tell me why I shouldn't?" Lorca asked with unrestrained anger. "One chance. Make it a good one."
"Better start talking, Donald." Red laughed.
"Red!" Ressler shouted.
"Kill him." Lorca ordered his man.
Within moments, Ressler had freed one of his arms, elbowing the man who held him in the kidney to wind him before twisting his own body as he held onto the guy's arm, causing him to fly over his shoulder into a heap on the floor. Standing up with a huff, Ressler glared at Red.
"Aah! He's also a wonderful dancer." Red acted as though he were watching an uproarious comedy hour.
"How do you think Red got you a new ID? New passports? Established Interpol data background? New history, false prints? That's all me." Ressler pointed at his own chest. "I'm not the guy you kill, Hector. I'm the guy you pay. And if I don't show up for dinner tonight, you're dead by morning."
"Is this true?" Lorca directed his question at Red.
Red had to admit, Ressler was rather good at this sort of thing. He still didn't have to like him though. "It is indeed. Crooked as a Corsican highway. He's an asset. So if you're gonna kill my inside man, the least you could do is thank him first." Red then unzipped the leather folio he'd brought in with him containing all of Lorca's necessary documents. "Your new life. I hope it's an interesting one. I've also arranged a flight to take you to Venezuela. You just need to sit tight for at least 12 hours."
"No. I'm leaving now, tonight."
"Not with my assistance, you're not. You're bad for business. You've made a mess. You've abducted an FBI agent. I presume she's dead." Red tried not to bore holes into Lorca's head with his stare. Honest, he did.
"I don't know."
"In any event, the city's locked down. I can't have you getting busted with my fingerprints all over you. When I arrange transport, it's flawless. I won't compromise my people."
"Every sat tracking system, every surveillance camera, every law–enforcement officer in this town is looking for you. No way you're getting out of here anytime soon." Ressler agreed with Red, trying to drive the point home.
"So just sit tight. Take your new identity, catch a ride on my plane, and let me clean up your mess."
Lorca huffed out a laugh. "Full–service provider, huh?"
"Yes. So, where is the man holding the agent?"
"You have a problem with me disposing of this bitch? Agent Keen will soon disappear. That is the price for taking everything I have."
He was going to have to die. Even if it meant he lost his favorite favorite jet and pilot. Hector Lorca was never going to reach his intended destination.
"See, that's the problem right there. You let your emotions get the best of you, which is how people wind up in jail, Hector. Stupid people. I need the name and location of the man holding Elizabeth Keen."
"Are you sure it is not you who's acting on emotion? It sounds personal." Lorca taunted.
Red laughed as he looked from Lorca to Ressler then back again. "You got me. It is personal. I want your man. So let me spell it out for you. You get away. Agent Ressler here saves Agent Keen. He looks good. And everyone feels better about themselves. I need a name. Now." Red stared at Lorca, his eyes unflinching and his lips pursed.
"I don't have a name. And I have no idea where he took her."
"Then good luck to you, Mr. Lorca." Red zipped up the folio and began to walk away, Ressler following after.
"I have a contact. That is all." Lorca called out, just as they reached the door.
/\/\/\/\
Red was standing in the war room of the Post Office, his eyes grazing over the clear boards which were plastered with all of the relevant evidence for the Stewmaker case. He tried not to think of his Lizzie as being just another piece of evidence.
Thankfully, one of the phones rang, cutting off his dark thoughts.
"Tell me about the suspect." Cooper answered the call, putting the phone on speaker.
"Got a contact from Lorca, but it's through a mailbox rental place in G–Town." Ressler's voice echoed through out the war room.
"Name of the mailbox renter was an alias Bill Conners. We found his driver's license at the DMV and matched his fingerprints to chemical purchases in Maryland. The Stewmaker has a name Stanley R. Kornish. Runs a dental practice in Kitzmiller Maryland. Not 100%, but Kornish is definitely person of interest number one." Meera's voice picked up right where Ressler had left off.
"I hope you're on your way to Kitzmiller." Cooper ordered/ questioned.
"We are."
As Cooper ended the phone call, Red stopped in front of a board and gazed at a small evidence bag. K-9 hair. Snatching the baggie from the board and placing it in the inside pocket of his coat as he walked over to Dembe.
"Time to go." He murmured darkly as he walked passed him, knowing Dembe would follow.
/\/\/\/\/\
Red sat in the backseat of his car with Luli as Dembe drove, speeding down the highway.
"Dogs are not our whole life, but they do make some lives whole. Dembe, would you dial the Maryland State Office of Animal Control, please?"
Red's leg bounced nervously, a habit he had thought he'd broken himself of years ago. "Come on." He whispered anxiously.
"Maryland Animal Control. This is Diana. Can I help you?" A voice came over the car's speaker system.
"Yes. H–Hello, Diana. This is Stanley Kornish. I'm in a bit of a panic." Red made his voice go slightly higher and nasally. "My dog has gotten out, and I've lost my cellphone with the tracking code. I was wondering if I might bother you for the code and if you could reboot the application for this mobile device. He's an emotional support dog. Please hurry. My heart, it's pounding, and I'm having trouble breathing." Red clutched his chest as though the woman on the other line could see him.
/\/\/\/\/\
"My name is Elizabeth. I have a name. I'm a person. I have a husband. I want you to know who I am." Lizzie tried to humanize herself to her captor. She was blindfolded and being led through, what she imagined were the woods – judging by the amount of debris she was tripping over and the hushed animal sounds around them.
/\/\/\/\
"Who are you? I deserve that at least, since you're going to kill me. I mean, you understand decency, don't you? At the very least, I should know the name of the person who's going to take my life. I know the name they call you out there. It's disparaging, disrespectful. But it's not who you are, is it? It's not how you feel about yourself." Lizzie turned her head uselessly, her vision still obstructed by the satin blindfold. She now sat in a chair of some sort, her arms tied behind her with thick zip ties.
"What name are you referring to?" The man finally spoke.
"You don't know?"
The man finally lowered her blindfold and Lizzie finally got a view of him. Man. Late 50's maybe early 60's. Bald.
"What name?"
"They call you the Stewmaker because of the chemicals you use to dissolve human bodies."
/\/\/\/\/\
"What about family? You seem like a father. You have kids? A son?" His steps faltered as he headed towards the back room which contained fluorescent lights and a huge metal tub which didn't look unlike a trough. "A son, then. How old is he? How old is your son?"
"He's 11. My son. He's 11." He clutched his hand to his chest, as if he were any average, doting father. "I married late. She's a n–nice woman."
"I knew it. A caring father."
"What about you? Are you a mother?"
"...No."
"That's good." He seemed relieved. "I was- I was asked to make you suffer. I'm I'm sorry. It's my job." He takes a long needle from a tray in the fluorescent room and walks back towards Lizzie.
"It's my job to read people. And you're not a killer. You're glad I'm not a mother so that you don't have to live with the guilt of taking a mother away from her child."
"I'm a lot of things, Liz. There's a nerve cluster just under the shoulder muscle. Just wait. The pain should be quite intense."
Lizzie screamed in agony as her entire arm was set on fire as he inserted the needle.
/\/\/\/\
"We're getting very close, Dembe. Pull in at the next shop. We're gonna need meat."
/\/\/\/\/\
He was walking around the cabin naked, walking in and out of the fluorescent room as he started making his…cocktail in the metal tub. Lizzie couldn't help but notice the chemical burns all over his body.
"Tell me, how does it work? How do you make them disappear so perfectly?"
"It is perfect, isn't it?" He smiled proudly before injecting her in the neck.
"What did you give me?" Lizzie asked, trying to swallow down her panic at the remembrance of pain that he'd caused with a needle.
"A sedative. It'll eventually cause paralysis, yet maintain your sensitivity to pain." He then looked over at the dog who laid underneath the table. "Hey, you don't have to watch this. Go on. Why don't you go play? Go."
"Why are you doing this?! You don't take life. You clean up death."
"Everything changes. Everything evolves. This is my evolution."
"You know what I think? I think this idea of you vanishing people to aid nature is a lie. I think you're trying to dissolve something else. Your past, maybe?" Lizzie had finally broken out of the zip ties. "Whatever the horrible thing was that twisted you up inside and made you into the freak that you are!" She threw her body against his, knocking him over and sending him head first into the wall and ran for it.
Scrambling through the woods, Lizzie kept looking behind her, expecting him to catch up to her at any moment. It gradually became harder for her to keep her footing as she ran until she finally tripped over a branch and fell, rolling down a hill, unable to gather the coordination to stop herself as the paralytic began to take effect. She finally came to a stop underneath a tree. Groaning, she pushed herself in an army crawl until her back leaned against the tree, listening for any sounds, any signs that he had followed her.
Then she heard the dog barking behind her.
/\/\/\/\
She was back in that damn wheelchair. Her head throbbed where he'd clobbered her in the woods to haul her back here. She could feel the sting of scratches all over her back and arms. He must have dragged her. She ignored his annoyed grumblings as he finished making his chemical concoction.
"You know, I was wrong about you. You're not perfect." She murmured, looking over at his shoulder, unable to stop the smile at the sight of her father sneaking up behind the Stewmaker. He must have noticed her distraction as he began to turn around. But just as he did, Red clocked him across the head with a metal pipe. Lizzie promptly allowed herself to finally pass out, knowing everything was going to be okay.
/\/\/\/\/\
When she awoke, blinking her eyes repeatedly to try to make things come into focus, she saw her dad crouched before her, his left hand holding her own as the right caressed the side of her head, running his fingers through her hair gently. "Hello, Lizzie. The effects will dissipate soon. You're gonna be fine." Red stood and kissed the crown of her head before turning the wheelchair around so that her back was to the fluorescent room where the Stewmaker was tied up, balanced on the edge of the tub. Lizzie tried to move, dread filling her as her dad began to speak to the Stewmaker.
"Okay. Shall we get started? A farmer comes home one day to find that almost everything that gives meaning to his life is gone. Crops are burned, animals slaughtered, bodies and broken pieces of his life strewn about. Everything that he loved, taken from him. His children. One can only imagine the pit of despair, the hours of Job–like lamentations, the burden of existence. He makes a promise to himself in those dark hours. A life's work erupts from his knotted mind. Years go by. His suffering becomes complicated. One day he stops. The farmer, who is no longer a farmer sees the wreckage he's left in his wake. It is now he who burns. It is he who slaughters. And he knows, in his heart, he must pay. Doesn't he, Stanley?"
"No dad. He couldn't help it." Lizzie murmured as she continually fought the effects of the drugs.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe he could change. Maybe he's not damaged beyond repair. Maybe he could make amends to all those that he's hurt so terribly. Or maybe not."
The next thing Lizzie could hear was a great splash and the unmistakable sizzle of a body being liquefied. Her eyes growing in horror at the sounds of what her father had just done.
Red was flipping through a book of photos while Lizzie sat silently, flexing her fingers slowly and noting her progress with detached interest as the drugs wore off. Red slyly removed one of the photos, it was of a young woman, dated December 1990. Just as he placed the photo in the inner pocket of his jacket, the door to the cabin slams open and Ressler walks in with several nameless agents.
"Where's Kornish?" Ressler asked, putting his gun down as he deemed that there was no threat.
"We've had a little incident." He replied jovially. "Agent Keen needs medical attention."
"How did you get in here?" Meera questioned from the doorway.
Red merely smiled benignly at her. "That's a pretty blouse."
Ressler crouched down in front of Lizzie and took her pulse, looked at her eyes to check their dilation. "Get a medic in here now!"
/\/\/\/\
Ressler held Lizzie close to him as he tried to help her to the waiting ambulance – the trail being too rough for a wheelchair to be of any use. As the ambulance came into sight, everything became too much for Lizzie. Ressler had to act fast to catch her as her legs fell out from beneath her. Great wracking sobs took over Lizzie's body as the events played repeatedly in her head. The unbearable pain the Stewmaker had inflicted upon her over and over. The sizzle of his body disintegrating. Her father, the farmer. Lizzie's arms wrapped tighter around Ressler's shoulders as she continued to sob.
She wasn't sure how long it took her to calm down but eventually the things that Ressler was saying finally came into focus.
"It's all over now. It's over now. It's okay. Everything's okay." Ressler was gently running his fingers through her hair. "You're okay now."
/\/\/\/\
Lizzie sat in the ambulance, knowing in some sort of detached way that she probably looked like a zombie but couldn't bring herself to care. She was in shock, damn it.
"Here." Lizzie looked up to see Red holding out the photo album to her. "It's horrifying. But at least you can give peace of mind to some of the families."
Lizzie lifted up her arms weakly and took it from him before fumbling her way through climbing fully into the ambulance and sitting on the bench.
"You're no better than him." She murmured. "You're a monster."
Red was grinding his jaw so hard, she was sure his teeth were turning to dust. "Yes."
"How do you deal with that?"
"By saving your life."
Lizzie stared at him as tears began to stream down her face once more.
"The book I just gave agent Keen should help to put Lorca or many of his kind away for a nice long time." Red spoke to Ressler whose head had just popped around the ambulance door.
"Yeah, but Lorca got away." Ressler replied gruffly.
"Cost of doing business." Red shrugged.
"No, you're not just gonna let him go. He was offensive. You didn't like that."
Red smiled, his head cocked to one side as he nodded in acknowledgement. "He is on my jet."
Ressler nodded, the two coming to a shaky accord, and walked away. As Red began to close the ambulance doors, Lizzie finally spoke up.
"Please come."
"I'm sorry?" Red paused, his hand still on the door.
Lizzie licked her lips, taking a breath, then another to try and fortify herself enough to speak despite the fact that she was so damn tired and everything just hurt.
"Please – after all the times I had to go to the ER as a kid… falling from the tree, that time when I got food poisoning – please, just once, I need you there. I need you to come with me."
Red stared at her for some time. She could understand why he'd be a little shocked that she'd still want him to comfort her right after calling him a monster. But to Lizzie, it was just voicing what she already knew. He was a monster. But he was also her dad. And tonight he saved her. She wasn't sure what that meant about her state of mind. But she could deal with that later.
"I was there after—"
"Please."
She smiled as he hoisted himself into the ambulance, coming to sit next to her on the bench. Lizzie quickly put her feet up on the bench beside her as she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. As his arm came to rest on her shoulder, drawing her in closer to him, Lizzie finally closed her eyes to sleep.
/\/\/\/\
Thankfully, Lizzie had been let out of the ER rather quickly, only keeping her long enough to give her a …fairly clean bill of health and to ensure all of the drugs were flushed out of her system with the aid of an IV drip. Red never left her side the entire time, holding her hand as he sat in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs, telling her stories of his travels as she dozed restlessly.
/\/\/\/\
Much later that evening, Lizzie was home, running a bath. As she balanced on the edge of the tub in her favorite silk robe, she stared at the rapidly filling tub. She didn't want to take a bath. The thought made her seize up with fear, her mind flashing back to the cabin. But that's why she knew she needed to do it. Tom was downstairs, believing that she just needed a quiet soak to relax when in reality she was upstairs having a mild panic attack at the prospect of facing her fears. Then she heard a knock at the door just before the door opened, admitting Tom into the room. So much for the "quiet soak" pretense.
"I–I know things have been a little weird between us lately. I think what we were taking about, getting out of town for a few days I think we could really use it." Tom said, scratching the back of his head as he sat next to her on the edge of the tub. "So I booked it. It's just three nights back at that place we loved, the, uh, Tellamy Cove Inn. You know, it has that restaurant that you like and it might be fun." Tom handed Lizzie a pamphlet and Lizzie took it, unable to stop the smile from spreading on his face. Dammit. He was being so sweet right now. She couldn't stand it.
"Yeah?" She murmured simply as she leafed through the brochure.
"You're gonna get through this. I promise." He whispered, placing a kiss on the top of her head.
Lizzie turned a page and saw a photo of the front of a lovely looking hotel. The Angel Station Hotel.