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Danny started awake, his heart racing madly inside his chest and a rush of adrenaline running through his body. For a second he sat on his bed, feeling light-headed and clueless about what had awoken him so suddenly.
Then he heard it again. Someone was pounding at his door.
He reached for his glasses on the night stand and looked at the watch.
05:05. He'd barely slept for an hour.
Three more hard knocks on his door. Whoever it was, it was beating his door in such way that he could hear the metal hinges tingling, one step away from falling off.
"Hold your freakin' horses!" He shouted, even though he knew the person at the door on the other end of his apartment wouldn't be able to hear him.
Opening his eyes over-wide, to stop them from gluing back together, Danny finally rose from his bed, adjusting the waist of his pajama bottoms. He closed his eyes and clicked the bedroom's ceiling lamp on, slowly opening them to adjust to the light.
The person at the door had finally taken a rest. Now more alert, Danny wondered who would have the nerve to come to his house at five in the morning. Aiden and Flack would die a painful death if this was their idea of a social call.
On his way to the front door, clicking on lights as he went by, his eyes fell on one of his kitchen's drawers. The one next to the fridge, top drawer.
His service gun had stayed at the lab, as he was officially on stand down and would have no need for it. If the need presented itself, Mac knew that he had a personal weapon, which he kept home.
Danny stopped on his way to open the door and went in to the kitchen instead. He opened the drawer and look at the gun.
He always kept it with the safety on and loaded. He lived alone; there was little risk of it going off in the wrong hands.
For a moment he considered taking it with him, just in case. But, as his hand reached for the weapon, Minhas' face came to haunt him once again, dead eyes unblinking, staring at him in accusation. A man shot by his trigger-happy finger.
He dropped the piece like it had burned him and looked at his hand. It was shaking.
Danny closed the drawer and took a deep breath. This had to stop soon.
It was always worst during the night, when the brain went in to recess and replayed all the stored memories. His brain seemed particularly sadistic, as it seemed only to focus on the memories he whished to forget.
The banging on the door resumed, propelling him in to action.
"Who ever you are, you'd better have a very good reason to be pounding on my door at this freakin' hour!" He complained as he looked out the peep hole.
On the other side of the door, looking slightly distraught, was that agent the FBI had sent to help them.
He tried to remember his name. Donauh… something.
Danny wondered what the man could possibly want with him that early in the morning.
"Daniel Messer, open up, please," he asked, looking directly at the peep hole. "There's been an accident."
The FBI agent heard the door's lock turning and seconds later he was facing the worried face of the young man.
"What happened?" Danny asked, inviting the other man inside. The small part of his brain that never left work, noticed that the man had a ketchup stain on his coat and that he was carrying a black knapsack.
When he turned to close the door, the only warning he had that something was not right was that odd chill at the back of his neck. Then there was the intense pain inside his head and nothing else.
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