"Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence."
- William Blake
CHAPTER NINE
Word selection and elocution best informed your standing with Raymond Reddington. If he regarded one as an enemy, he or she knew. There were no more questions to ask. On the flip side of that coin, classifications concerned the degree of association and the respect incurred as a byproduct of all transactions.
Elizabeth considered herself fortunate. Studies and experiences generated one conclusion: She was no enemy of his.
Or was she?
Posture and non-verbal cues held significant value when drawing deductions as well, especially when the participating party's eyes were trained like hers. But in this case, proficiency was the source of the problem. While appearing familiar, the terrain as a whole was new in multiple respects. She studied Red as intensely as one could given Isabella whose eyes were unwavering in their appraisal of her, the space between them and Dembe, Morgan standing unusually close to Red, and above all there was the man himself.
He neither greeted her upon entry, nor did he move a fraction as she approached and settled in one of the chairs comprising the main seating area. He wasn't wearing a tie. His vest and the top buttons of his white dress shirt were unfastened. His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn't asleep. He looked tired – it had been a long day even by his standards – and improved from when she last saw him all at once. His breathing was controlled. Isabella's left hand covered his right which was clenched on the table surface.
The scene was strange, unsettling.
Rather than disturb the quiet, she took note of the space they were in. Immediately standing out was the piano positioned cat acorn in the far right corner. An image of Red occupying the bench appeared in her mind's eye. His eyes were closed, mirroring the present. The difference then was the relaxation filling the room as his fingers glided with deft precision across the keys.
Clair de Lune.
La Valse d'Amélie.
Nocturne in E-Flat Major.
The surrounding walls were paneled in a rich, dark wood with a combination of portraits, instruments, and carved masks of African origin arranged carefully. Tomes and LPs populated the built-in bookcases. Adorning the walnut coffee table top were glass vases, each with tall LED candles, hardback photography books, and a cache of manila folders. Most intriguing was the wood burning fireplace. Along the mantel were additional portraits in a range of sizes – she hadn't seen them before. The hickory as it crackled reminded her of Sam who delighted in walking the acreage behind the home he raised her in and setting up tents, prospects for the future, and intervals in between.
With a spark of clarity, she knew what sailors meant when they spoke of encountering more than water and wind because her sails were propelled by something else entirely.
Hope.
Hope for what, she hadn't quantified beyond the necessity to repair and rebuild the bridge she destroyed. There was always a chance because Red's regard for her was profound, so deep that those she knew or came to identify as his adversaries attempted to use that as leverage and failed thus far. She herself was guilty of implementing that tactic.
The way he looked at her...
Privately, she relished it. Publicly, the lie she told herself had taken on a life of its own, was accepted as truth, and developed into quite the wildfire.
Elizabeth was about to speak but stopped as his left hand entered her line of sight. Beneath his palm was a slim white sheet which he deliberately slid toward her and released. She failed to catalogue the article before. The tension in his jaw line increased as well.
Taking the sheet in her fingertips, she turned it over and gasped, horrified by the reality unfolding.
He knew.
How much did he know?
Better still, how long had he known?
"Care to explain this, Agent Keen? If that's even the proper address seeing as how I don't know who or what you're an agent of anymore."
No! This wasn't happening.
Blinking away the moisture, she looked up and recoiled against the storm of his eyes. They were so dark, almost cobalt.
"It may or perhaps may not surprise you to learn that I'm less concerned with why you lied to me." Red paused, lowering his eyes to the photograph. "What I can't figure out is why you would lie to Agnes."
"Katarina, whoever she was...She won't be coming back."
"And you're certain?"
Elizabeth nodded. "I told her what would happen if she did."
Red didn't seem convinced which truthfully she couldn't fault him for.
"She just...left?"
"Red, I know how this looks. But I'm asking you..." She trailed off, worrying the scar on her palm. "Trust me."
"Deception, concealment, surveillance, abduction, interrogation, torture, murder, attempted murder. Am I missing anything, or shall I go on?" Gesturing between them, he proceeded. "As dangerous as you believe my half-truths as you label them are, they are nothing compared to your recent – and, might I add, colorful – track record. From the onset, I advised you of her ultimate intention: pinpointing your blind spot and doing everything possible to exploit that. If only I knew at the time how entrenched you were in her charade."
"I made a mistake – "
"No, you made the same mistake again. It's the same one you've made for the past several years. There's a difference: the excessive collateral damage in service of this quest – if not, obsession – to unpack my identity all so that you can finish the dossier you're building. A terrible waste of time, energy, and resources since the one facet missing is my name from a prior life. But I digress."
"Red, please! Let me – "
"What? Justify your actions? The half-truths you committed to resulted in the abduction and torture of a man who I regard as family, a brother, the executions of agents comprising your security detail which Harold arranged because he deemed the move necessary, and a secondary abduction as well as interrogation of Dembe's Imam Asmal. You feigned no awareness or participation in any of these endeavors, and yet none could have transpired without your direct involvement. You provided intel where needed. Phone and electronic records show communication between you and her at regular intervals. My favorite aspect of all is the timeline connecting her evading capture by the authorities, the pre-arranged shooting in the middle of an open intersection which I bore witness to, and a call you received immediately after I came in to sit with Dom for the evening. I also enjoyed reviewing a video feed obtained from equipment installed in your apartment, showing her associate rendering you unconscious and dragging you to the unit directly across from yours after you had your service weapon trained on her. What could she have possibly said that would cause you to forfeit position? How were you none the wiser to your every move being watched?"
"When we first met, she cited my neighbor – "
"Whose body was discovered not long after that initial encounter, correct? Shouldn't that have struck you as odd rather than enticing? The correlation between dots couldn't have been clearer, more transparent, but again you weren't looking. You were distracted."
She failed to satisfy the criterion for being a friend, an associate, or an enemy. He was neither in favor of, against, or indifferent towards her. Instead, she became something else entirely.
She was foreign.
Unknown.
"You care for who I am, not for who I was. Did you not say that to me?"
"I did."
"Did you mean it?"
"Yes, I meant it. I still do."
"Is this your way of showing someone – anyone – you love them, or is this pattern for lack of a better descriptive reserved for me?" Noting her quizzical expression, Red clarified. "They know of our conversation, what we talked about minutes before the state was set to kill me."
He made it a point to enunciate each syllable.
The degree in which the tables shifted warranted a classification of seismic. However terrifying the prospect in front of her was, she met his eyes and sought to re-establish a foothold.
"Tell me. What happens the next time some stranger works his or her way into your life, claims an association with me, or accuses me of committing some ill deed? Are you going to open the door and put Agnes in the line of fire again as well? If I'm such a danger to her, how could you permit someone you know nothing about to bond with and get close to her? What does that say about you?"
"Like you've been completely honest! Why didn't you tell me?" Elizabeth fired back. "You're sick! Maybe dying! Do you know who my source was? Ressler. Of all people, he knew before I did. Do you know how insulting that was for me, learning from him?"
Red scoffed. "No more than being asked to trust you."
Touché.
"I knew. I knew that something was going on. Why else would you hand over your empire, everything that you built, to me? Why would you trust me on a professional level when you clearly didn't – or don't – on a personal one?"
I'm not sure I'll ever believe you again.
It was the one declaration that continued to sting.
"To your earlier point about my allegiance, where it lies, I'm an agent only of what's right, what or who yields the most good in this world. Your name, whatever it was before, has nothing to do with who you are. The damaged but fundamentally good man that I know you to be."
"Sounds like Dom." He countered.
"Of course, Dr. Clemons told you." It was her turn to scoff. "Funny how you didn't show him the same courtesy before disappearing for a number of hours."
"I'd think twice before using that tone again." Isabella warned.
The silence stretched as she processed and examined all dimensions.
Suddenly, it clicked.
"The surveillance photo, the records. It was you." Elizabeth regarded Isabella before looking to Red again.
"Where did I go wrong with you?"
His voice was so low, she almost didn't hear him.
"Maybe things were supposed to work out this way. I don't know." He shrugged. "Of two things, I'm confident."
"What are they?"
"First, there's an imbalance to this relationship of ours that apparently I'm powerless to do anything about. The day I surrendered to the FBI and requested you were the beginning phases of a journey, one that I intended for us to navigate together, because there were and still are answers that will remain out of my reach unless you're with me…" Red trailed off, looking to Isabella who held his hand as he drew in a prolonged breath.
Where is he going with this?
"Second, once you construct and then cross lines on the battlefield, there's no recovery. There's no turning back. You have no concept of or appreciation for consequences, what they are, because I've rationalized based on my heart rather than more than 30 years of experience and survival. And you won't understand until – "
"Until what? Look, I messed up – that's my defense. I can't fix everything with just one conversation, but I'd like to try. I hope you will give me a chance to."
"To what end?"
"Assurance. To assure you that it was me who did wrong by you, not the other way around, and the depth of my care because you're a part of me. Finding or never finding out your name originally, there's no changing that or what I want for us. What I want from us. Like you, I'm tired. I'm tired of the denial, of standing in my own way, and being scared to acknowledge how dominant the part of me that cares about you is."
Red's eyes never averted from her face which she interpreted as a sign.
Her words were sinking in.
"Are you sure you were a psychology major and not a patient?" Isabella interjected.
"Excuse me. What gives you the right to weigh in?"
"I don't have to explain myself to you, but since you asked...Papa's concerns are mine as well, and you're speaking to him as a guest in my house, pleasant or unpleasant."
"Isa."
Dembe was silent until then.
Elizabeth hadn't seen either Isabella or her daughter since the debacle with Kate. Concern and fear were the takeaways at the time. The woman sitting across from her now was very different. A trait deeper than loyalty alone coursed through her. There was love, a devotion to Red that prior to now she had only witnessed first-hand from Dembe.
She was fully informed without being actually nearby.
How had they managed to accomplish that?
"I can't sit here and listen to her lecture anymore, not until she knows."
Knows what?
She and Red exchanged another look, a request for permission which he granted. Soon after, Isabella turned to her again. "Has it ever occurred to you who looked after Agnes while you were comatose?"
It was another period she dwelled on from a singular prism which further complicated an already complex equation.
"Security, consistency, and structure are vital to a child. When Papa wasn't sitting at your bedside reading to you, he saw to Agnes's needs. Preceding that, he checked to see which rehabilitation centers were within an easy distance of suitable park grounds so that he could take her out for a walk, an ice cream. You and Agnes were his priorities, in that exact order. He delegated all affairs pertaining to his business to my father. He only took part in consults that demanded his presence. I know because I was there. I watched him play with her, read to her, teach her how to count, recite the alphabet, navigate syllables, and construct full sentences. He celebrated as she achieved. When your daughter laughed, he laughed with her. When she smiled, he smiled back. When she had questions, he answered them. When she cried, he was there to hold and comfort her. All of the things he did first for his daughter, then me, and again with my Elle, he did for your daughter. And what did you do once you woke up? You sent Agnes away. You sent her to live with a stranger."
"Scottie was Tom's mother – "
"A woman you knew nothing about but appealed to anyway! Don't you see? How is she supposed to form a sense of identity? How can Agnes understand or embrace who she is if you ship her off to the next random person that surfaces?"
"She knows who she is."
"Does she? Does she know who he is?" Isabella gestured to Red.
There were times to either speak up or remain quiet.
Now, saying nothing was the best option. Looking at Isabella was akin to studying an image reflected in the glass except she was a force to be reckoned. By contrast, her strengths were expended on the wrong cause.
"Once you become a parent, you lose the luxury of being carefree because the ramifications of what you decide have greater reach. What's in the best interests of your child – that should be the barometer, the litmus test. That isn't the lens you perceive your periphery through. Why else would you trade a system where Agnes thrived for one where she may not have? Why take refuge on a fantasy island and put down roots there, in the process leaving your child in a situation that was so unpalatable that you sought escape by causing so much grief? While I'm familiar with the concept of not appreciating something until it's gone, I'm less familiar with gift-wrapping a death sentence so that one can continue living in denial. There's something wrong with you. Until you work on and fix yourself, how do you expect to repair or sustain relationships with anyone? Agnes deserves more consideration from you, and she isn't the only person who does either. While he's a convenience to you, to me he's my world – mine and my daughter's. Next time you have the inclination to wage war out of entitlement, know this – the path separating you from him begins and ends with me. Do we understand each other?"
Swallowing thickly, Elizabeth nodded.
Arguing was pointless. Everything she said was true.
Still, her points were difficult to hear.
To the effect of replying, all she could do was brace herself for what came next.
"If this repeat exercise has reinforced anything, it's that there are people other than you that I'm responsible for – that need me." Red paused, working his jaw. "In order to be present for them, I have to take care of myself. I can't do that and worry about you at the same time, so I'm doing what you have never been able to. I'm sparing you the pain of asking me to go and myself the pain of hearing you ask."
Walk away?
He can't!
"How does your leaving help what's broken? What do I tell the task force?"
"To your first question, distance is all the trying I have energy for. As for what you tell the task force, that's entirely up to you."
"But you only speak with me." Her reply was weak, and she knew it. The sense of loss, the dread, penetrating her synapses was crippling. "What happens to us?"
"Things change."