AN: This story is a direct follow-up to "Patrol Logs" chapter 28, which itself followed up on events in "Europe" chapter 16, "Patrol Logs" chapter 19, and "SLD: safe-T-lite," with hints elsewhere. This subplot has been running for a while now…
To yellow 14: Sabrina is indeed the therapist he has in mind! De-escalation is another option for dealing with dangerous criminals while surrounded by civilians, though some criminals aren't going to de-escalate for anything (Fire-Fly is definitely one of those!).
To Butterfly: Time dilation is a real thing!
Ring!
Élodie groaned and rolled over in bed, clenching her eyes shut in irritation. Her bed was so warm, and the rest of the apartment so cold – why should she have to disrupt her warmth, and at this hour? She could tell it was still pitch-black outside – there was absolutely no reason for someone to be calling her so early. Her nightstand thrummed deeply as her cell phone vibrated again.
Ring!
"Hon, can you get that?" Julien mumbled, squeezing her shoulder.
"Ugh…" Finally she sat up in bed and checked the alarm clock on her nightstand: 3:00 AM. Her alarm wouldn't go off for another two hours. The phone rang again, more insistently this time. The screen lit up with a variation of the Paris Police Prefecture's logo: white fleur-de-lis against a black field above a red triangle with a blue sailboat. Above the shield was a single word: "Prefect." Élodie sighed and wiped the sleep from her eyes, rubbing her temples to force herself to concentrate. The phone rang yet again and she let out a breath: if Prefect Raincomprix was calling her in the middle of the night shift, it had to be important. Finally she answered the phone. "Carré."
"I apologize for waking you at this hour," Raincomprix began awkwardly. "I need you to come in."
She furrowed her brows. "Matthieu has this shift, doesn't he?" she asked. Julien looked up at her in concern, pushing himself up on one elbow to watch her. "Has something happened?"
"Yes and yes," Raincomprix answered. "I don't need you for dispatch, though. Everything is fine on this end. This is something different: there's been a break in the missing girls case."
"Oh?"
"We – that is to say, the Heroes of Paris – found them."
"I'll be right there."
Julien frowned and placed his hand on her shoulder, which she covered with her own as she disconnected the call. Giving her shoulder a squeeze, he threw the covers back and stood up, pressing a kiss to her temple and sliding his feet into his slippers before stumbling down to the kitchen. With a sigh Élodie stood up as well and dressed as quickly as she could, running a brush through her hair to work out the tangles. No more than five minutes later, while Élodie was tying her shoes, he returned with two mugs of tea, handing her a commuter mug. "I thought dispatchers weren't supposed to get middle-of-the-night calls," he pointed out.
She shrugged. "Neither did I," she agreed, drinking taking her first sip and shaking her head to work some more of the cobwebs out. "But it's not like I can really say 'no'."
"Is everything okay?" he asked, sitting down next to her on the bed.
"I'm not sure," she admitted. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes momentarily. "But I'm sure I'll find out soon enough."
Only a few minutes later, having pulled on a sweatshirt bearing the PPP logo to stave off the chill winter air, Élodie stepped outside their apartment to find a patrol car idling at the curb, the cab light on, waiting for her. The passenger seat was empty, and she got in. Girardot peeled away as soon as the door had shut. "What's going on, Sergeant?" Élodie asked, buckling her seatbelt and grabbing the handle to brace herself when the car took a sharp turn.
Girardot pursed her lips, a firm set to her mouth. "We received a call from Turing… four hours ago? Five?" she reported, her eyes straying to the dashboard clock. "Anansi and Rena Rouge had found a girl acting suspiciously. She was abducted, and the Heroes followed her to a location along the river. Once they took care of the suspect, Mansart and I secured the crime scene – that's when we found about a dozen kidnapped girls in a shipping container. EMS transported them to Saint-Antoine for evaluation. Mansart is there now to keep an eye on them – perp isn't talking yet, so we don't know who he might be working for or whether they might come after the victims again. Vernant is running some tests to figure out how his powers work – it's some sort of mind control, but that's all we know right now."
Élodie sat back, sighing heavily. "Thank God we found them. But how are the victims?"
"Physically they seem to be okay, though malnourished," Girardot replied. "Mentally and emotionally?" She shrugged. "It's anyone's guess. They were pretty out of it when we arrived. Prefect met us at the hospital. When I left he was trying to figure out if it's time to call in one of the Heroes to help deal with the emotional side of this."
"Well, I'm glad they solved this." Élodie frowned, staring out the window at the city blocks they passed, most of the buildings still with darkened windows at this hour of the night. How many of those buildings housed parents who had slept poorly for months, not knowing about their daughters? How soon would the girls be able to return home? Girardot pulled up to the hospital entrance behind another police car and let Élodie out before going to find a parking spot. Élodie walked inside to find the entryway crowded with people. No less than four regular officers stood to one side speaking with a small group of adults; she recognized at least one as a parent who had reported her daughter missing last month. That woman – Odette Calment, she remembered – had called every week since then for an update. Prefect Raincomprix stood at the main desk across from a harried-looking nurse; Sergeant de Gouges leaned against the wall nearby with Officers Mansart and Luron, watching the room carefully.
Raincomprix glanced up as Élodie approached. "I'm sorry for waking you up so early," he apologized, grimacing. "Thank you for coming down so quickly."
"I'm glad to help," she assured him, nodding firmly. "I only wish I knew what I was doing here."
"Well, you see," he began awkwardly, "after everything these victims have been through…" He trailed off.
"Sergeant Girardot said you might bring in one of the Heroes to deal with the emotional trauma?" she prompted.
"I'm considering it," he confirmed. "Although I would rather not do that unless it is necessary."
Élodie nodded. "I understand: that's why we're here. So what can I do?"
Raincomprix cleared his throat. Sergeant de Gouges pushed away from the wall and approached them. "I need the two of you to interview the victims. After all of this, they may be more willing to open up to a woman than to a man." De Gouges arched an eyebrow at him dubiously. He ignored her. "Determine their mental state, any connection to the perpetrator, anything they might know. At this stage, any information they can provide will be useful."
"Where should we start?" asked Élodie.
Raincomprix glanced down at the nurse, who consulted her computer. "Room 113," she answered, writing the number on a slip of paper and placing it on the desk between them. "She was the first one the doctors examined; as of now, she is the only one cleared to receive visitors." She paused. "Please avoid upsetting them. They need time to rest and recuperate."
De Gouges nodded.
"We will be gentle," Élodie assured her, patting her hand. "These girls have been through more than enough already. They are the victims in all of this."
Room 113 was down the hallway on the left, just past the nurse's station. Inside the room, a girl with short brown hair sat in bed, IVs attached to her arms. Looking closely, Élodie could almost recognize her from the picture collage she had placed on the wall beside her desk at headquarters. However, between the bags under her eyes and gauntness in her features, this girl appeared far from the vivacious, smiling girl in the gymnastics photo. She looked up at them as they entered, but without showing much reaction.
"Hello, Oréane," Élodie greeted her softly, pulling a chair across to sit next to the bed while de Gouges hung back near the door. "How are you feeling?"
Oréane's shoulders slumped. "I… I'm not sure," she admitted, stifling a yawn and blinking. "I'm still trying to figure out what happened – is it really January?"
De Gouges nodded sympathetically. "You were gone for a while."
Élodie placed her hand on the bed next to Oréane's hand. "I can't imagine how difficult this has been for you."
"I missed my gymnastics tournament…" she whispered, staring at the bed.
"This must all be so confusing," Élodie consoled her.
"My–my papa," she began, staring at Élodie with worry in her eyes. "How is my papa?"
"Worried about you," Élodie answered. "He has been calling to ask about you ever since you disappeared. He will be glad to know you're safe."
Oréane nodded, looking down at her hands, clenching and unclenching them.
"What can you tell us about it?" de Gouges asked her.
Oréane shrugged helplessly. "I don't remember much," she admitted, clenching her eyes shut. "They kept us in that box all the time – they barely let us out to use the bathroom."
"You poor thing," cooed Élodie. "Did they – did they hurt you at all?"
Oréane pulled her knees up to her chest, but shook her head. "N–no," she answered, sniffling. "–Not like that, I mean… I'm just so confused."
"That's okay," Élodie assured her. "Take your time."
"Do you think you can identify any of the people who were there?" asked de Gouges.
"I–I think so?" De Gouges placed a tablet in Oréane's hands, and the girl carefully swiped through it. "Umm… him, maybe?" She turned it around to show them a picture of a heavyset man with dark hair. "I think he was there… he brought me to the bathroom once. And… him." She slowly scrolled through the photos, pausing on a couple more before shaking her head and moving on. She turned to one and froze in place, gasping in terror.
"Oréane?" Élodie put her hand on the girl's forearm. Her knuckles had turned white, clenched tightly on the sides of the tablet. "Can you hear me?" Élodie looked closer at the picture on the screen: a tall, sallow man with jet-black hair and sunken eyes.
De Gouges knelt next to the bed, pried the tablet out of the girl's hands, and met her gaze. "You recognize this man, don't you?" Oréane nodded rigidly. Her hands shook. De Gouges slid her hand into the Oréane's, and the girl clenched down on it. "He is never going to hurt you again," de Gouges promised her. "And if you can tell us who he is and what he did, we will make sure that he never hurts anyone else again."
"The–the eyes," gasped Oréane, squeezing her eyes shut. "I saw them all the time… Whenever he–he controlled me, that's all I knew was those eyes. I didn't know what was happening around me, what I was doing – all I knew were the eyes."
"That must have been so terrifying! But you're safe now," Élodie soothed, rubbing the girl's back gently. "It's over."
Oréane nodded.
"Can you remember if you ever saw him before you were taken?" asked de Gouges.
Oréane frowned, her brows furrowed in concentration. "I… think so… But I can't be sure. I think I saw him on the street on my way home from school. Someone bumped into me on the street, but I didn't get a really good look at his face."
"Good," Élodie encouraged her gently. "You're doing great! Is there anything else you can remember?" Oréane shook her head, her shoulders slumping. "That's fine. If you remember anything else, let us know. Is there anything I can get for you?"
"Could I have a pain au chocolat?" she asked. "They barely fed us."
"I will see what I can do," Élodie promised, nodding. "But in the meantime, you rest up, okay?" Oréane nodded. "If you need anything, the officers in the waiting room will help you out."
"Okay… thank you."