Hello, this is Alison. I missed your call, so leave a message if it's important.
At the sound of the beep, Kurt cleared his throat. "Hey, Alison… It's me, Kurt." He grimaced at the sound of his own voice. "I was wondering if you could come over tonight. Or tomorrow? You're probably already sleeping now, but… Um… Call me back when you can. It's Kurt." Hastily, he snapped his phone shut and let out a loud groan. That had been awful. He sighed through his nose as his hand reached up to rub his temple. He shoved his cell phone into the pocket of his pants, and then resumed his task of leaving work. His shift had ended about twenty minutes ago. He had spent ten of those minutes pacing back and forth, working up the nerve to call. He hadn't been that nervous since the very first time he had called her.
Honestly, he wasn't used to this. This type of bundle of nerves—he had never been accustomed to it. He had been with women before. Not in this sense, though. The after had always eluded him. In his previous encounters, either they all had left him or he had left them. This foreign, intimate relationship that he now had with Alison was appealing. And he couldn't wait for more.
It had suddenly dawned on him that all this was real. The jitters of having a girlfriend—someone for himself—was incredible. As immature as it sounded, the thought had sent his mind and stomach reeling. In a pleasant type of way. As he had packed up for the day, he couldn't stopped himself from grinning. He was a man that had never experienced the blushing and the butterflies and the Christ, I need to see her again that came with having someone special. It was good.
Huffing in slight amusement, Kurt lifted his duffle bag onto his shoulder. He shut his locker, and then turned to head out. The Sheriff had come in, only to leave again with the Mayor's daughter. That had been shocking, but Kurt hadn't questioned Hood's order. Billy would be disappointed that his arrest had been taken so lightly, though. His fellow deputy would probably mope about it for hours, out of hearing from the Sheriff, of course. Shaking his head at what would come, Kurt pushed open the door to the CADI.
Despite the moon lighting up the otherwise darkened sky, it was still hot out. He couldn't wait for a cooler season. Kurt never complained, but honestly, he hated the summer months. He hated being sweaty. He hated wearing long sleeves during this time, but… What could he do? The sleeves covered most of his tattoos. The sleeves made things less uncomfortable. The people of Banshee had gotten used to him now. They weren't generally friendly, no. That would always be expected, but having the sleeves made dealing with people easier. Having Billy as his partner also helped. So he could and would endure the heat and the cautious stares. At the end of the day—or shift, rather—none of it mattered. As long as he could go home and escape for a few hours, he was satisfied. More than content now that he and Alison were…
Kurt opened the passenger side door to this truck. He set his bag on the floor, and then shut the door again. Christ, he and Alison were together. Him and her. Almost complete opposites. Years ago, he wouldn't have fathomed such a thing. Months ago, he had thought about it—dreamt about it—but never really believed something like this had been for him. Less than twenty four hours ago, it had become reality. An impossible friendship had developed into an impossible romance. After all the shit he had done in his life, he had been given a second chance. He couldn't mess this up.
Going around the back of his truck, Kurt glanced in the direction of the diner across the parking lot. It was a habit he had picked up from his new hire training. The 'Buddy System' had been drilled in his head for the first couple of days on the job, though clearly it had been for the benefit of Miles' more so than the CADI. Kurt had surveyed the little restaurant after every one of his shifts. It wasn't a twenty-four hour type of business, but usually, this time at night, there were two people working. The chef and one waitress. Or two waitresses. In about an hour, both of them would head home. Tonight would be no different.
But as his eyes scanned the diner, he had to do a double take. Squinting, Kurt focused pass the opened blinds and took a step towards the diner. Inside, it was bright enough to recognize the lone customer, sitting in a booth next to a window. "Alison…?" he murmured as his feet led him to the side entrance of the diner. It was a surprise, considering she had admitted to him that she wouldn't step within a five-mile radius of the CADI again. Still, he felt himself smiling as he opened the door. The bell chimed, signaling his arrival.
The waitress, Daria, barely glanced in his direction. "Sorry, Deputy, kitchen's closed," she told him from behind the register. "Chef's gone for the night, and I'm about to leave, too." The brunette gave a pleasant smile, a stark contrast from the first time she had laid eyes on him. If he recalled correctly, she had sneered in disgust. "My girl will be here a bit longer. Best I can offer is coffee."
"Uh…" He hadn't expected to find himself here this late at night. His eyes made a subtle scan of the diner. Besides Alison, there was no one else. "A coffee would be great—thank you," Kurt replied, politely. The waitress nodded, and then headed towards the back. He waited a moment before turning, attention focused solely on Alison. She hadn't looked his way. Even as he approached her table, she didn't move. Barely blinked. Kurt opened his mouth, prepared to say her name, but thought better of it. "DA Medding," he eventually spoke as formal as he could. Just in case.
Alison blinked once, and then flinched. He almost hadn't noticed it. She looked up from the glass bowl of liquid. At one point, it might have been rainbow ice cream, but it had melted, seemingly undisturbed. She hadn't eaten a sweet treat in front of her. Kurt immediately knew something was not right. Even before she shifted empty eyes towards him. He had never known her expression to be completely blank. Something was wrong. Christ, had he already fucked this up somehow? A soft sigh left her as she blinked again, recognition showing in her gaze.
"Deputy Bunker," Alison replied just as formal. Although he realized that they were in public, and certain airs had to be placed, a part of him was disappointed by her reserved tone. She turned her attention back to the puddle of ice cream. "Is that why I…" she trailed off, not finishing her soft-spoken sentence. Now that he heard it, though, her voice sounded different. Strained and raspy like she had been overexerting it.
Before he could begin asking questions, he heard footsteps approaching, snapping him back to reality. A reality that he couldn't even show concern for someone he cared about because they weren't in the privacy of their homes. Breathing in through his nose, Kurt quickly stepped away, moving pass the booth that Alison sat in. He couldn't help himself from sitting in the adjacent booth. With only the backs of their seats separating them, he realized that this would probably be the closest that they could ever get in public. The sudden revelation was hard to swallow.
Seemingly not noticing, the waitress stood at the side of the table, placing a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. She gave her customer service smile, that didn't quite reach her eyes, and began speaking. "After you're done, just leave the money on the table. My coworker will be out to get it, so you can leave right after," she stated. Kurt had to give her credit for the discreet 'hurry up and leave.' "You have a good evening, Deputy."
"You, too, ma'am," Kurt returned, fingers moving to grip the handle of the ceramic mug. She left his table and turned her attention on Alison.
"I'm leaving now, Ms. Medding, but my girl is still in the back," she told her. "You can move tables if you want." Kurt frowned, understanding exactly what the waitress had said. Shout if you need help and no one will judge you if you move away from the big scary Nazi. He lowered his gaze to his coffee. Despite the months he had spent back home, doing his job as a police officer, normal people just didn't trust him. Never completely. "Take care—I hope you feel better."
"Thank you," Alison said. "Good night."
Kurt furrowed his brow, hearing the waitress take her leave. He waited until the door shut before speaking up. "Feel better…?" he repeated like a question. Turning his head to the right, he saw her reflection in the glass window. Alison reached up and massaged her neck. Then she clasped her hands together in front of her on the table.
"Don't worry about it," she told him, softly. "Just… I just used my voice more than expected today. It was an unusual type of day. I thought ice cream would make it better…" He had noticed that she still wore her business attire. A dark grey suit, tailored-made, with a teal shirt underneath the jacket. Still wore her heels, too. That told him that she hadn't gone home after working. Had she been here all night?
"You want to come over tonight?" he asked. "I could make you some soup. That'll definitely help your voice."
"… No, not tonight."
The response was both surprising and alarming. Alison had never turned down food before. Kurt narrowed his eyes as he brought the rim of his mug to his lips. The dark bitter liquid mildly burned his mouth, but he drank until the glass became half-full. With a deep breath through his nose, he set the mug back down on the table. "Are you… Are you okay?" he questioned in a whisper.
Her answer came equipped with a sigh. "Don't worry about it," she repeated. Kurt pressed his lips into a thin line. Her words had been familiar, but he hadn't heard them in quite some time. He had gotten used to her telling him pretty much everything. He had assumed that after last night, pretty much would turn into just everything. But he understood her unwillingness to talk. They weren't exactly in the right setting to. In the back of the store, there lurked another person who could easily listen in on their conversation. He probably should have thought of that before offering soup. Or maybe he should stop assuming things just because.
Still, at this moment, she obviously wasn't in the mood to talk. He would respect her wishes to be alone. No matter how disappointed he had become by her aloof response to his presence. Swallowing, Kurt slid across his seat, preparing to leave. He would leave enough money behind for his coffee and her bowl of… cream. It would be the least he could do for her for now, at least.
"Kurt," her voice stopped him from standing. "Have you ever… thought about how your life could be different if certain things hadn't happened?" The question had thrown him a little. Alison wasn't a 'what if' type of person. She wasn't one to look back. Her eyes were always focused on the now and the future. So to have her suddenly thinking about the past—thinking of altering it—seemed odd.
Of course, he, himself, had had those type of thoughts. For years, he had been the epitome of regret. Since coming back home, the regrets no longer overwhelmed him. Still there, yes, but manageable now. But there had been times where he had drowned himself in alcohol and if onlys. If only he hadn't been approached by Tank. If only he hadn't tried to go home by himself that night after the rally. If only he had never met the Millers. If only he had known what that little shit Hondo had planned. If only he had been able to stop it. If only he had saved Naomi and her grandfather. If only the people he had come to love hadn't rejected him for that fire.
If only…
If only…
If only…
Kurt lowered his gaze to the table. He wanted to answer her, but the more urgent want had to do with the why. Of all people, why had she asked that type of question? Clearly, it hadn't been to know more about him. Something had happened on this unusual type of day. Something that might have shook her belief in some way. Why else would she bother to scrutinize and wish for a different past? "Why are you asking? Did something happen?" he questioned. For a long moment, Alison did not answer. Kurt turned his head to the right. Since he had moved, he was now able to see the right side of her face. Her jaw was rigid with tension.
"I've been-" She bit her lower lip and shut her eyes. "-I've been thinking recently. They say we have free will—that we have the power to choose our own fate—but that's wrong, isn't it? When it comes down to it, having free will is something we tell ourselves. It's comforting to think you have some semblance of control. But that's all it is—semblance."
"Alison-"
"Our lives aren't our own—not really," she continued. "Every action we take, every word we say—those things are shaped by someone else. Someone who thinks they know what's best. Our decisions are taught to us well before we have to make them. All this time, I thought I knew the cause. I thought I was satisfied with the effect. But I don't know anything, and that makes me question whether or not I'm where I'm supposed to be. If I had known, would I still be who I am? Would I still want to be who I am?"
Kurt knew what she was doing. She had come to the point in her life that she was questioning her very existence. Christ. No matter how much time he spent with this woman, he still occasionally forgot how alike they truly were. He had been lost with thoughts like that constantly on his mind with no outlet. The difference was that he had been alone. Hadn't had anyone to vent to. Those thoughts would have killed him had it not been for the random act of kindness from the Sheriff in Dade County. As Alison's kindred, he couldn't let her wallow in self-pity. He wouldn't.
"Alison…" Kurt tried. She merely dipped her chin. "Alison, look at me, please."
Slowly, and reluctantly, she turned her head to face him. Her eyes welled with unshed tears, and it came as a shock. He had seen it before when he had accidently triggered her awful memory. When she had screamed for him to stay away. That scared, vulnerable look had forever been seared into his brain. He hadn't wanted to see it again. This time, though, he had a chance to change that look. Kurt swallowed as he glanced outside. Beyond the blinds, the parking lot was empty. It was too late for casual strolls, too. Satisfied, he leaned closer to her, returning his focus back to her sad eyes.
"I don't know what happened today, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Kurt began. "But who you are isn't tied down by your past or who taught you. Your life, and the choices you make, are yours." Alison inhaled sharply and averted her gaze. "Hey-" He had wanted to reach for her, but he refrained. Still, his voice had been enough to catch her attention. Her dark brown eyes shifted to him again. "You're right—we are shaped by what we're taught. But that doesn't mean we have to stick to those teachings. I didn't, and now, who I am doesn't have to try so hard to convince myself that I'm a better person. Now, I know I'm better than I was. I know I made the choice to break free from those teachings. I chose this despite all the shit my upbringing taught me."
"It's not…" Alison visibly swallowed. She blinked, releasing one tear. The motion of it sliding down her cheek yanked at his chest. "It's not that simple, Bunker… I—my entire life has been based on a misconception. Who I'm supposed to be depended on that."
"I don't think that's true," Kurt replied. She furrowed her brow in confusion. "Whatever this misconception is, it didn't make you become who you are today. Who you're supposed to be doesn't depend on any one thing—misconception or not. You're the District Attorney of Banshee. Despite the odds, you became the youngest and best prosecutor this town or any town has to offer. You're the person who saved my life, despite how you had every reason to let me die. You're not the sum of a misconception or teachings from someone else. You're a hero, and a role model. You're dangerous and magnificent. You're Alison Medding, radiant and amazing… with an unhealthy obsession with the Marvel franchise."
She looked away, smile on her lips and chuckle on her breath. She seemed surprised, but a laugh had been what Kurt had hoped for. Christ, she was beautiful. "This coming from a Will Smith fanatic?" Alison sarcastically asked as she wiped underneath her eyes with her knuckles.
"We all have our quirks," Kurt retorted.
She chuckled again, turning her eyes to him. Her smile lingered even as she opened her mouth. "That we do," she murmured. A thoughtful expression crossed her face. With her brow furrowed, she looked a bit confused. She bit her lower lip again. Then her lips parted again, forming an 'o' shape. Those expressions passed in a second, and Kurt couldn't understand her thoughts at all. Then her expression relaxed, smile remaining. "Thank you, Kurt," Alison whispered. He almost couldn't believe that hearing his name made him so happy. "I think…" She cleared her throat and turned away. "Thank you."
"It's all true, anyway," he told her. Alison sighed, barely audible. "Are you going to be okay?" She didn't answer right away. Her chin tilted downward, and for a moment, she seemingly stared down at the table in front of her. Finally, she sucked in a long breath and released it slowly. Again, her eyes shifted in his direction.
"I will be," she admitted. Kurt nodded, accepting that answer. Her world had been shaken. No one could just bounce back right away—not even her. It would take time, but hopefully she would be willing to vent to him, get it out in order to clear her mind. Alison cleared her throat and pressed her lips together. "Anyway, I guess I should head home now…"
"Right," Kurt agreed. He turned and slid out of the booth. Standing, he reached in his pocket for his wallet. "I'll take care of your bill, too."
"Thanks," she replied. "… Hey?" He faced her after dropping a ten dollar bill on the table. That should cover her ice cream and his coffee, right? "I… I think I could go for some soup after all."
"Yeah?" Kurt asked, eagerness sneaking into his stomach and causing flutters in his chest. "Are you sure?"
"Just give me an hour at most," Alison answered.
"Alright," he responded. He felt himself smiling, already thinking of what type of soup he could make… and how he would be able to hold her in bed again. Not sex. Not tonight. Just cuddling. He couldn't wait. "Alright—I'll see you in another hour." Kurt walked away—because honestly, he had an intense urge to lean forward and kiss her forehead, and there were cameras, so no—and his mind began imagining all the ways they could sleep together. Would she lie a little on top of him? Would she let him wrap his arms around her tightly? Would he be able to give her light kisses to her shoulders? His smile stretched wide as he pushed the door open. He couldn't wait.
Only… She hadn't shown up.
0-0
Alison watched Kurt as he made his way to his truck. She could barely contain the smile. His dorky-ass grin hadn't changed at all. She scoffed lightly as he pulled out of the parking lot. To think she had felt so numb after leaving Savoy. She hadn't even realized she had come here until a waitress had asked for her order. That had been hours ago. And only after Kurt had come in had warmth spread in her body. She felt better because of him. Had he been the reason her body had gravitated to this place—on the off chance he would see her and bring his comforting presence? Also, he made her realize how utterly exhausted she was. She couldn't wait to fill her belly with warm soup, and then curl up on his bed to sleep. She was ready for this day to be over.
Alison pushed away the bowl of untouched ice cream. With a heavy sigh, she began to gather her things. Her teal wallet and her cell phone had been placed on the seat next to her. She blinked once, seeing that Kurt had called her and left a voicemail? Oh well. She would listen to it later. For now, she would go home, take a shower, and then head out again. If it came up later, she would ask about the call then. She slipped her phone inside of her jacket pocket and slid her wallet between her side and arm, and then stood up from the booth. Just as she was heading towards the door, Carrie Hopewell came from the back area of the diner.
The two women stared at one another, both surprised by the other's presence. Alison hadn't known that she had been the last person here. Hell, she hadn't known her friend's wife had still been employed at the diner at all. "Oh, I thought everyone had left," Carrie muttered, coming out of the stupor first.
"Was about to," Alison told her. She gestured to the previously occupied booths. "Last guy offered to pay for my… ice cream. You can keep the change."
"Got it." Carrie moved over to the tables and began picking up dishes left behind. Well, just Kurt's mug and her bowl, really. "Have a good evening."
"You, too," Alison replied, turning towards the door. She had been about to open it when a thought struck her. Slowly, her gaze turned to the waitress. For more than a decade, she had fooled her family, and the town about her past—who she had been. She was a liar. A damn good one. Before, Alison hadn't cared much for the shocking reveal of an assumed identity. But now… Clenching her jaw, brown eyes watched the former daughter of a gangster wipe down tables. "Hey, I have a question," Alison began.
Carrie halted the vigorous wipe down. With her eyebrows scrunched close, she appeared taken aback by the continued conversation. No surprise really. Despite them having Gordon in common, the two of them had never been cordial. Not even polite small talk had been exchanged, so to have Alison suddenly attempt to initiate discussion probably perplexed the waitress. "You have a question…?" Carrie asked slowly as she lifted her torso and faced her.
"A curiosity, really," Alison retorted. "I know we have never been on speaking terms, but… I've recently acquire some information that has me wondering about who you were—about Anastasia." The other woman went completely stiff at the mention of her former name. She practically threw the rag on top of the table and leveled her with a hard glare.
"I don't think that's any of your business," Carrie said through clenched teeth. Alison stared back, knowing she had crossed a line, but… she couldn't back down. She wasn't known to do that in court, and she certainly wouldn't do it outside of court either. Breathing in deeply through her nose, she clasped her hands in front of her.
"It's not," she agreed. "But right now, you're the only one that could possibly give me a little insight."
"Insight to what?"
Tone aggressive, Carrie crossed her arms. Her body language was taut with incredulity and barely concealed indignation. "Insight as to how you so seamlessly transitioned from a gangster's daughter—a dangerous criminal—to a self-effacing housewife. Married with two children. No one would have suspected a thing. Until your father found you." Carrie showed her teeth in a snarl. Probably shouldn't have mentioned her kids. But she wouldn't falter even under her acidic stare. "You know when Gordon first told me about all that, I honestly couldn't understand his reaction. What gave him the right to be so devastated about the truth—a truth that did not concern him at all? No one would reveal such a colorful background if they could help it, especially if they're running from it."
As she had continued speaking, Carrie's tense form had gradually softened. Perhaps she had believed that Alison had sympathized with her. It hadn't been sympathy. It had been a legit failure to comprehend why covering up her past had been so wrong. It changes everything, Gordon had told her. Bullshit, she had replied. That had pretty much ended the conversation because he had no longer wanted to discuss it with her, unless it involved the case.
"But…" Alison squeezed her hands tighter, nails digging into her skin. "Now, after going through the same thing, I see that it wasn't about you hiding your past. It was… him thinking he knew everything about his world, only to realize his world was never his to begin with. He was devastated because the woman he loves and trusts was someone completely different. He not only questioned your life and motivations, but he questioned himself, too. You turned his world upside down and confused the life you shared to the point of breakdown. I get it now—how is he supposed to continue living in his world when his world was only an illusion?"
Carrie scoffed, a sarcastic chuckle bouncing off her lips. "Look—I don't know who hurt you, and frankly I don't give a damn at this point," she said. "But don't come crying to me—a stranger—about how fucked up you think your life got just because of some hidden truth." Alison sucked in a sharp breath, but Carrie didn't give her time to become offended. "You want insight—fine. I was a bad girl. I was a notorious jewel thief. Not because I liked it. Not because I was good at it. But because I was conditioned for it. With a father like mine—you kinda don't have a choice."
"I understand that, but-"
"You don't understand shit," she calmly interrupted. Alison snapped her mouth shut. "My life before Gordon was hell. I pretended for most of it because of who my father was—how insane he was. But I broke free from him. When I finally reached the point where I was forced to flee, I realized that I was pregnant," Carrie continued, somberly. "You want to talk about worlds? Try carrying around one for nine months first. You want to talk to me about devastation? Try loving someone, unconditionally, for over fifteen years, and then have something about your ugly past come to light. Try staying up all night because you realized that the same unconditional love wasn't returned. Just because the bad girl didn't fit into the box your loved ones put you in. That… is devastation, Alison. That is the moment you find out your world never belonged to you. Not some obtuse reason of knowing and not knowing some goddamn truth that should have stayed buried."
Alison lowered her gaze to the floor. She felt… like a child being scolded. Not to mention, the whips of guilt lashing at her chest. She hadn't stopped to think about the other side. Hadn't stopped to consider unconditional. The love she had for her mother—could it be changed just because of a contradicting trait? Just because being a criminal hadn't fit the image she had had of her mother? The guilt swelled and her chest began hurting. She felt incredible shallow and so very selfish.
"I'm sorry," she found herself mumbling. Not only to Carrie, but the apology went out to her mother, too. How frustrating it must be to watch your daughter's love for you change. "I… I wasn't trying to accuse or attack you. I just wanted… to understand. I think I have."
Carrie sighed heavily, drawing Alison's attention again. "… I'm sorry, too," she muttered. The other woman rubbed at her forehead, appearing tired. "I didn't mean to get so defensive. I'm just-" She sighed again, lowering her hand from her forehead. "I've been thinking about divorce papers all day."
"… Oh," Alison replied, awkwardly. "They came then?"
"Yeah," Carrie said, just as awkward.
Alison shifted uneasily. She had been so focused on her own issues that she neglected to think about anyone other than herself. Jesus Christ, what could Gordon be feeling at this moment? He hadn't mentioned divorce papers to her. Well, she hadn't exactly been her approachable self for the past week, had she? "Last I heard, you two were going to work things out."
"They came this morning," Carrie supplied, furrowing her brow. "Honestly, I forgot about them. I think we both did."
"… Not that it's any of my business, but I don't think you have anything to worry about," Alison responded. "He has said that you're the love of his life more times than I can remember, and that was during his not so good phase. He still loves you." Carrie gave a strained chuckle and averted her gaze elsewhere. Alison cleared her throat. She wasn't used to comforting strangers… Speaking of which- "Why is it that we never became friends?" she asked. On one hand, the question had been meant to change the subject. But on another hand, she had wanted to end the conversation on a lighter note before departing.
"I…" Carrie appeared startled by the question. Then she chuckled, more relaxed than before. "You want my honest answer? I thought you had a crush on my husband."
"Sure, if I were into incest," Alison said, frowning.
"Oh, so he's like your brother…?"
"More like a sister." Carrie's laugh burst from her mouth, surprising the both of them, it appeared. Watching her, Alison joined in. An image of Kurt laughing like a dork entered her mind. Suddenly, she had a more active desire to see him. "Well, I should head out," she stated once their giggling subsided. Carrie nodded her head. "I'll see you around." The other woman told her to have a good night as Alison turned towards the door.
Before she reached for the handle, the bell jingled for the other door. "Sorry, kitchen's clo-" Carrie's words caught in her throat, and a sharp gasp escaped instead. Blinking, Alison shifted her attention towards the other door, wondering what had caused that reaction. A man stepped in. Dressed in full military garb—a dark green camouflage uniform—his crystal blue eyes sharpened on Carrie. She stood frozen, body rock hard with tension. "Y-You…" she whispered, obviously recognizing him, and obviously not wanting to see him. The name on his jacket read 'Stowe.'
"Sorry. Got a little impatient." The dark-haired man gave a half-smile, but his enthusiasm was fake. "You should go, civilian." Without looking away from Carrie, he had directed his words to Alison. Her eyes merely narrowed at his form. Despite feeling her skin crawl in warning, she remained where she was. Upon noticing that she had remained rooted to the spot, his eyes focused on her. Flight or fight. Flight or fight. Flight or fight. Her instincts were loud now. Who was this man to invoke such a response with just a stare?
"If you didn't actually catch that, my friend said that kitchen is closed," Alison stated.
"Alison, no…!" Carrie urged. "It's okay. You can leave."
"I'm not going anywhere," she retorted, stepping to Carrie's side. In hindsight, it had probably been the worst thing she could have said. A flash of green caught her eye, causing her to glance down. Neon green dotted her upper body. A glance in Carrie's direction showed her the same thing. Shit. The lasers weren't red, but clearly they were from snipers. This wasn't just some sleaze with a penchant for harassing women. He hadn't been alone. This was an operation. Carrie threw up her hands in a sign of surrender. Alison grit her teeth and slowly copied her movements. "Jesus Christ, what the fuck did you do now?" she grumbled. And why the hell had she chosen to get involved?
0-0
That goddamn Sheriff.
With an aggravated huff, Gordon Hopewell grip the straps of his large duffel bag before tossing it in the passenger side of his vehicle. Probably should be more careful, considering the contents, but his annoyance had turned to panic—and his panic to anger—the longer he stayed out searching. He had been up all last night, hoping to hear something. When morning had come, with no sign from his wife, he had begun to aggressively search the town. Still nothing, and that had been two hours ago.
No matter how far his search extended, he couldn't find Carrie. He had looked at all her favorite places, the places she frequented, and her hotel room. Nothing. Sighing, Gordon climbed in the driver's seat and slammed the door shut. He had to accept that Carrie missing and those military issued bullets at the bar were connected. He breathed sharply through his nose, just knowing Lucas Hood must have been the reason for it. The Sheriff hadn't been too forthcoming with the details, but he had stated that he would find 'them.' Gordon scoff and shook his head. 'Them,' meaning more than just Carrie had been manipulated into doing something against the military.
Knowing this, Gordon came to the conclusion that he would not be going into work today. Hell, he might not ever go back to work, depending on how the rest of the day went. So the only thing he could do now was to wait to hear back from the Sheriff. While he waited, he decided to 'get his house in order.' He had already said goodbye to his children. Deva had noticed his awkward behavior this morning, but she had remained silent. Obviously, she had still been angry with him for leaving her behind bars. Max had energetically returned the hug, and had him contemplating going down to the basement to get his equipment.
In the end, he had still gotten his sniper rifle. God forbid if something happened to him, but he would make damn sure that his two children still had at least one parent. He had become resolute in his decision, so that was the reason he was off to see Alison Medding. His protégé would see through him—would know something was amiss and demand answers. However, he had internally practiced how the conversation would go. She might take offense, but he couldn't let her get a word in edgewise. He would say what he needed to say—a suggestion to strive for his position—and then abruptly leave. Better that than wasting time arguing with her. It would most definitely be an argument, so best to avoid that altogether.
All too soon, Gordon pulled up outside the attorney's office. He got out of his car and made his way to the front entrance. Walking briskly, his approach was met by the receptionist. The younger man stood up from his chair immediately. "Mayor Hopewell," he greeted with a customer service smile.
"Hey, Devin—just here to see Alison," Gordon stated, veering to the right.
"But she's not in today!" he said, cutting off Gordon's trip to Alison's office. He turned slowly, expression twisting into confusion. "I tried to reach her several times, per protocol, but the only thing I got was her voicemail. It didn't even ring."
"You… you didn't find that odd?" Gordon asked. Alison never shut off her phone. A person might get her voicemail, but she either sent a text back or called within, at least, fifteen minutes. Unless, of course, that person happened to be the Assistant District Attorney. She mostly ignored him. With good reason, honestly. "And she hasn't gotten back in touch?"
"Well, sir, yesterday was her first day back after a week of missing work," Devin stated. "I just assumed she took more vacation after I called for the fourth time. This is the most time she's ever taken off since she got to this office. I say: good for her."
If it had been any other person, Gordon would agree. However, since it was Alison in question, he couldn't help but think how weird this situation was. Since he had known her, she had always put work first. She had to be forced to take vacation and sick time. Not to mention, she would normally become disgruntled at the thought of not finishing things for the day. Mostly because she would refuse to take work home with her.
Last week had been an anomaly, but she had, at least, called to let him know she wouldn't be in. She was too professional not to. After he had shown up at her house, and had seen the state she had been in, he had told her to take a few more days. The point was: he knew about those days because Alison would never just not show up.
Gordon cleared his throat. "Thank you, Devin," he said. "If anyone calls looking for her, direct them to the ADA… even if they don't want to speak to him."
"Yes, sir."
Clenching his jaw, Gordon turned and headed back the way he had come from. Maybe he was overthinking. Maybe Alison just hadn't wanted to talk with anyone. The last time he had seen her, she had been numb, barely acknowledging his presence, barely even speaking. He had been surprised when she had called to inform him that she would return to work. He had wanted to ask, but she had used her professional voice—no room for personal things.
Gordon breathed deeply through his nose as he sat in his car. Still, the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. Alison would have called. She wouldn't have shut her phone off. And more importantly, she wouldn't have willingly taken another day off when she had just missed several days in a row. Twice, he tapped the steering wheel with his right index finger. Then he twisted in his seat, hand moving towards the armrest between the two seats. He lifted the latch and pulled out his cell phone.
Sorting through his recent calls, he quickly found Alison's number. He tapped the skin and his phone began connecting. Just like Devin had mentioned, the call went straight to voicemail. Gordon hummed, and then placed his phone back into the compartment. It seemed all calls were being forward, not just from work. Her phone was definitely off. "What could've happened?" he muttered to himself. He sighed again.
Alison had been behaving differently ever since… the anniversary of her tragedy. Of course, changes would occur when that time of year came around. However, it normally took her a day to bounce back—not an entire week. No, something had been particularly different about this year. Yes, he had revealed that he had known the secret, but her reaction to him knowing—even while drunk—had been mild in comparison to seeing her again after that night.
Then a thought abruptly struck him. Hurriedly, he reached for his GPS and began tapping the screen. Seconds later, the history appeared. Gordon knew one thing that had been different from last year. This 'more a friend' hadn't been mentioned in the previous year. Not Lena. Not her partner, Jenna either. Alison had a select few as friends. Quality over quantity. In her drunken state, she had mentioned the 'more a friend,' and had demanded to be taken to their address. She had never mentioned another friend before, so this person probably hadn't been in her life last year.
Gordon pulled his fingers away from the screen. The address was about twenty minutes away. Out of the way. However, it was a bit closer to her actual residence. Still out of the way, though. Frowning, the Mayor stuck his keys into the ignition and started his vehicle. Maybe it wasn't his business, but he decided to go. Truthfully, he hadn't needed to talk to Alison in regards to getting his house in order. However, his curious mind demanded that he investigate the strange happenings that had popped up over the last few weeks. With that thought in mind, Gordon pulled out of the parking lot and sped down the road.
Arriving as quickly as possible, Gordon pulled right in front of the building. The apartment building looked differently in the light of the sun, but he was positive the green door had been the one Alison had pushed her way in on the night she had gotten drunk. Wasting no time, he got out of his car and headed for the door. As he moved, he surveyed the rest of the area. Like before, elsewhere seemed deserted.
He came to a stop in front of the door. Gordon knocked several times, and then waited. Either Alison would be here or he could potentially find out where she was. He heard the click of a lock sliding out of place before the door swung open. The person that stood before him caused Gordon to stare in mute horror. Not only was this person was male, but with the white t-shirt and jeans, the tattoos spread across his arms and hands were clearly visible. Two things that caused Gordon to gape like a fish. Like the many men Alison had put away, this man had ink that blatantly showed off ignorance and hatred. Not only on his arms and hands, but on his face, his neck—the shirt probably hid more. This man was a neo-Nazi. Scum stood before him.
"I must…" Gordon awkwardly began. He shifted uncomfortably, and then turned away. "I must have the wrong door."
"Mayor Hopewell…!" he spoke up. Surprisingly polite, the man's voice caused Gordon to face him again. Then he realized that he actually recognized him. The man was the newest deputy of BSD—had been for a few months, actually. Gordon could remember feeling perplexed by his presence, but with all that had happened because of Chayton, he hadn't the time to comment aloud. The new hire had been pushed to the make of his mind, having been filed under another ridiculous, and probably hasty, decision the Sheriff had made.
"Deputy… Bunker, is it?" Gordon attempted to compose himself.
"Yes, sir," he answered with a slight nod. He sucked in a breath and visibly swallowed. "Is there… Is there something wrong, sir?"
"No," Gordon muttered. He cleared his throat. "No, like I said, I have the wrong door. I… uh… dropped my friend off here last week. Thought maybe she was around, but maybe she's a couple doors down. Sorry for disturbing you."
"Wait!" Bunker raised his voice, halting Gordon's efforts to walk away. "Is… I…" He seemed hesitant. His hands clenched into fists. "Are you referring to the District Attorney?" Gordon narrowed his eyes, almost immediately suspicious. Granted, Bunker could have easily seen Alison come and go as she visited her friend, but a guy like him taking note of someone like her—it didn't sit well. There was no telling what sort of vile thoughts had entered Bunker's head as he watched his friend visit her 'more a friend?'
"As a matter of fact, I am," Gordon answered. He felt himself frown. "You wouldn't happened to have seen her recently, have you?"
"… Yes, sir," he stated, apparently ignoring the bite in Gordon's words. "After I left work. The District Attorney didn't seem… to be in a good mood."
"And what do you care what type of mood she's in?"
Bunker lowered his gaze to the ground. It seemed to take him a moment to gather up words. When he found them, his eyes sharpened on Gordon. The Mayor was surprised by the jolt he felt from the stare. "She's the District Attorney of Banshee. I am a Deputy of Banshee. We're on the same side… sir." Those words came out of his mouth, but there was something else—something deeper—something he wouldn't say. "Since last night, I've had a gut feeling that I should've… that something was wrong. And now that you're here, questioning her whereabouts, that feeling has gotten worse. As a cop, I can't ignore it."
"She's black, you realize? Don't pretend that it doesn't bother you." Gordon had to stop himself from sneering. "Don't pretend you're worried about a black woman in a seat of power. Don't pretend to care about her whereabouts."
"… I understand that my physical appearance may be unsettling, but I can assure you that my ties to the movement were severed long ago. Unfortunately, the removal of my tattoos has taken longer than anticipated." Bunker didn't look away once as he spoke. Eyes were clear and sincere, but his voice—his words—had been automatic. Scripted. How often had needed to use that disclaimer? "With all due respect, sir, the color of her skin is irrelevant. She is a person that might be missing. I will not ignore that."
Gordon didn't want to admit it, but he felt… chastised. Just a bit. Enough to where there was slight guilt for judging Bunker by the way he looked. Was it irony rearing its ugly head? "Alright, so…" Gordon sighed. "Where exactly did you see her last night?"
"At Miles' Diner, sir," Bunker replied. "After my shift was over, I went in for a coffee. I saw her then."
Gordon felt his insides clench. Of course, Carrie's workplace had been the first place he checked. Her vehicle had still been parked at the side of the building. He had assumed that whatever happened had taken place at the restaurant. Daria, her coworker, had told him this morning that Carrie had been tasked to lockup for the night. The place had been locked, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Except for the cold cup of coffee left at one of the tables, and a bowl of melted ice cream. The waitress had made an offhanded comment about how Carrie would normally make sure to wipe down everything.
"And… you left before her? Before Alison?" Gordon questioned.
"Yes, sir."
"Damn it…"
If his earlier assumptions were to be believed, a rogue branch of the military had taken Carrie, supposedly from the diner. If Alison had been there with her… It seemed to be a case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Somehow, Alison had gotten caught up in whatever vendetta had been put into place. "Sir…?" Bunker's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Gordon roughly rubbed his jaw as his mind drifted back to the bullets. "Sir, if there's anything you know… Tell me."
"The Sheriff and I believe that my wife, Carrie, along with a few others, have been taken for some reason or another," Gordon vaguely explained. "These men are dangerous, former commandos, who, apparently, aren't above kidnapping." As he spoke, he noticed how rigid Bunker became. He was drawing his own conclusions before Gordon could explicitly state it. "Alison could have been taken at the same time as Carrie."
"You say the Sheriff knows?" Bunker asked, voice taken on a slight growl. "What's he doing to get them back?"
"I don't know, but it won't be good if he's thinking of going by himself," Gordon said. "I'm going to get my wife and friend back."
"I'm coming, too."
"Listen, Deputy, this isn't something members of the Sheriff's department can handle. Laws will be broken. People will die. I shouldn't be telling you any of this. No one has sanctioned this rescue mission. Reinforcements will not come. Whatever happens can't be written in a report."
"With all due respect, sir… I'm off-duty."
0-0
In the end, I decided to split this chapter up.
