Author's note: Borrowed a line or two of dialogue from "Cliffhanger" (season 1 episode 21) and also from "Sharknerdo" (season 3 episode 15).
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Monday, October 3, 2016, 5:05 PM
"I still think you two should get checked out at the hospital." Toby followed Walter and Happy into the garage. He'd been fussing over them the whole flight back to Los Angeles. Walter had just about reached his tolerance level of the shrink's badgering, which meant the mechanic was probably past hers.
She proved him right by slugging Toby on the shoulder. "I. Am. Fine." she ground out as he yelped. "I'm not itching. And the only thing irritating me right now is you." She gave him one of her 'if looks could kill' glares. "Just back off, numbnuts."
"Okay, okay," the behaviorist said, defensively holding up his hands. "I'm just. . ."
"Hey, you guys are back already?" asked Sylvester as he and a teenage girl Walter had never seen before came hustling through the door as Cabe was about to close it.
"Brilliant deduction there, Slylock Holmes," said Toby. "What else have you figured out? Water's wet? Cabe is as old as Methuselah?"
"Hey," the Homeland agent objected, "I'm not too old to kick your ass.".
"Try it," the psychiatrist dared as he danced out of the way, nearly bumping into the girl. "Who are you?" he asked instead of apologizing.
"Patty Logan. I'm. . ."
"She's a little young, even for you, Sylvester," said the shrink, a lascivious grin on his face..
"What are you talking about?" The younger man sounded indignant as Happy called Toby a perv. "She's the reporter from the West Altadenia Shopper who. . ."
"Where's Paige?" Walter asked, interrupting the others' bickering as he noticed her empty desk. "Sly?"
"I dunno, taking a nap," the human calculator replied, glancing upward.
"Still? She said she was going to over three hours ago. Where have you been?"
"Has it really been that long?" Sylvester checked his watch. "I'm sorry. After Kovelsky's, Patty wanted to see The Warlock's Chest, so we went there before we came back here so she could see where I worked. I guess I lost track of time." The younger genius shrugged
Walter strode over to the stairs, his anxiety growing with every step he climbed. Paige's extended nap was not his only worry. Like Happy, his skin didn't itch either but. . . But he was experiencing odd tingling sensations on both arms. Sensations he didn't know were caused by actual exposure to the sulfur mustard or by the power of suggestion caused by Toby's litany of symptoms.
Once he reached the loft, he headed toward his old bedroom. His old bed was empty and neatly made. Which told him nothing because she always tidied up after she used it.
The next logical place to search was the bathroom. No doubt she'd been awakened by the commotion downstairs and after straightening the bed, had headed to the place she frequented more and more each day. He knocked on its door, and after not receiving a reply, rapped again, this time calling out her name. His answer was silence.
Embarrassed despite his concern she must be in some kind of distress, he turned the knob. "Paige?" he said, giving her one last chance to some privacy before pushing the door ajar.
Empty. All the air seemed to be sucked from his lungs as he rubbed his chest. The lack of oxygen muddled his thoughts, his body twisting one way then the other, unsure of where to look next.
Pulling himself together, Walter searched the rest of the apartment, which took less than two minutes thanks to its open floor plan. There were only two ways in or out, the ramp or the stairs. . . Or the roof. Hope flared inside him. She'd been going out there to nap from time to time to get some fresh air and sunshine. Sprinting for that exit, he rushed out onto the rooftop only to be greeted by more emptiness.
Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit. He stroked the front of his shirt, absently noting his hand was shaking. He'd been so sure. . . Now he wasn't sure of anything. Where the hell could she be?
Knowing he'd find no answers upstairs, he ran down the ramp, stumbling to a halt at the bottom as he had no idea what to do next.
"Hey, Walter, what's wrong?" Toby asked, strolling out of the kitchen wearing an identical hat to the one Happy had tossed out of the truck in Oregon. Forgetting his dilemma for a moment, Walter wondered how the other man had found a new one so quickly. "Is Paige in labor?"
The question yanked him out of his frivolous musing. "I don't know," he ground out.
"I could go take a peek," the shrink offered.
"You can't. . ."
"I am a licensed medical doctor." The psychiatrist sounded offended. "I've even delivered a baby before."
"I don't think that's it, Doc," Cabe said as he walked up to Walter. "What's wrong, son?"
"Paige. . . She. . . She's n-not. . . She's g-gone." The words stuck in his throat, choking him, making it difficult to swallow down the nausea roiling in his gut.
"Gone-gone like in. . ." Toby began but didn't finished as the mechanic whacked the back of his head.
"No, not. . .not that." That scenario hadn't even crossed his mind and he mentally cursed at the shrink for putting it there. Again resisting the urge to vomit, he added, "I mean she's not upstairs."
"Did you look. . ." He glanced up at Sylvester, who looked as ill as he felt.
"I searched everywhere, the roof. . . She's not. . ."
"I'll check the bathroom down here," Happy volunteered. "She usually hits it ten times a day."
"Maybe she went into labor" Toby said as the mechanic headed toward the downstairs restroom.
"No, she would have called me." At least Walter hoped she would, remembering how she'd omitted telling him about her Braxton Hicks contractions. Dismissing that memory, he reasoned even if she had gone into labor in the past three hours, it would have been too soon to go to the hospital.
"Maybe she went to get Ralph?" suggested Cabe.
"How? She can't drive because she doesn't fit behind the steering wheel anymore," Walter pointed out.
"Maybe she went to Kovelsky's to get the food for the party," Sly said before shaking his head. "Probably not, not if she can't drive."
"Maybe she went for a walk." Everyone looked at Patty. "What? I learned in my health class pregnant women get restless when they're close to giving birth."
"You're right." Toby slapped his forehead, nearly knocking off his fedora. "Maybe she's taking a stroll around the block. Hey, try calling her."
Walter pressed one hand to his chest as he pulled his cell from his pocket with the other. Only it wasn't his phone, it was Paige's. Glancing over at her desk, he saw his plugged into the charger. Oh, shit.
"Not in the bathroom," announced Happy as she joined the semi circle they'd formed in the middle of the room.
"Why aren't you calling her?" Sylvester asked Walter in a slightly strangled tone.
"Because this is her phone." He explained how they had switched cells that morning.
"We need to split up and look for her," declared Cabe. "There's six of us, we should be able to cover every direction."
"Good idea," Happy said. "Just let me put my gear away." She started off in the direction of her workbench, carrying her duffel which clinked and clunked with every step.
"Let me help." Toby took off after her.
A hand clamped down on Walter's shoulder. Startled, he turned to see Cabe's concerned face. "We'll find her, kid, don't worry. She couldn't have. . ."
The older man's reassurances were cut off when the shrink gave a shout. "Hey, what's this?" He waved a piece of white paper about the size of a postcard. "Found it on Happy's workbench."
Cold sweat covered Walter as he rushed over and snatched the paper from the behaviorist's fingers, a whiff of lemon pervading his nose. An eerie calm settled over him as all the puzzle pieces clicked into place.
Sprinting to his desk, he sifted through his inbox. "Get a Bunsen burner from my lab," he ordered no one in particular. "And bring me my cell." Footsteps told him his instructions were being followed.
"Hey, 197, want to clue us in on what's going on in that head of yours?" Toby asked with what probably was sarcasm as he handed Walter the requested phone.
"In a minute," Walter replied tersely, extracting the final postcard from the stack of unopened junk mail. Unlocking his cell, he scrolled through his messages until he found the one he was looking for.
"Here." Happy thrust the Bunsen burner in his face. Reaching out, he wrested it from her and set it on his desktop.
"Lighter." She handed hers to him.
He lit the burner and adjusted the flame. "Minute's up, Walt," snapped the shrink. "What the hell are you doing?"
With a sigh, Walter held up one of the blank cards. "I received this six weeks ago." He held up another one. "This one four weeks ago." He held up a third postcard. "And this one two weeks ago."
"That's nice but I don't know what the Postal Service and their snail mail delivery has to do with Paige's disappearance," Toby quipped.
"Nothing. At first, I thought they were advertisements for a new dish soap," Walter explained.
"Dish soap? Why would you. . .?" The behaviorist's question trailed off as Walter glared at him. "Never mind. Go on."
"But they're not." Taking the first card, he placed it over the flame of his Bunsen burner.
"Well, son of a bitch." Cabe's statement reflected the mood of the rest of the team as faint brown marks turned into letters which turned into words which became a sentence.
'I guess I can send you so much as a postcard' it read.
"What the hell does that mean?" asked Happy, angry confusion marring her face.
"Mark Collins." The name of his ex-friend burned like acid on his tongue.
"What about him?" growled the mechanic.
"I didn't have my phone with me today," Walter replied, holding up his cell, "so I missed the notification this morning that he escaped from the mental institution I had him committed to."
"Holy crap." "Not good." "Oh, no." Toby, Happy, and Sly all expressed their dismay at the news.
"When Paige and I went to visit him there five months ago about. . .about those, uh, those photos. . . It must have set him off."
Guilt coursed through him. If he hadn't kept a copy of the video of him and Paige. . . If Linda wouldn't have found it. If he hadn't suspected Mark of sending the pictures, Collins wouldn't have found out he and Paige were together, were going to have a child. . . He's unwittingly exposed a vulnerability for the ex-team member to exploit against him. This was all his fault.
"Invisible ink made with lemon juice? He resorted to a lame grade school science project to taunt you?" Toby shook his head. "I know he's crazy but this is truly nutty, even for him. Let's see what else our favorite lunatic has to say."
Walter waved the second card over the burner. 'What, no reply? Guess you're not the genius you think you are.'
Ignoring the insult, he moved onto the third postcard. 'I trusted you. You failed me. You will regret your choice.'
"What does that mean?" asked Cabe.
"It means he was getting ready to put his irrational scheme into motion," Toby said. "Three short concise sentences. Issue, application, conclusion. I've explained this before when the guy at that lab. . ."
"Shut up, numbnuts." Happy smacked his upper arm with her fist. "Do the last one," she urged.
Walter did as she asked, revealing the message on the fourth and final postcard. 'I have something you think is important. You'll find it down the rabbit hole. Come alone or else. I'll be expecting you.'
"The rabbit hole?" Everybody stared at Patty, forgetting she was still there. "What is that, like a bar or something?"
"No, it's a state of existential being where. . ." began Sylvester as he turned to her. "Maybe you should go, Patty. This isn't. . ."
"No way," the girl said, shaking her head. "This is exciting. Can you tell me how you're feeling right now? Do you think Paige is in danger? I hope not, she seemed really nice and. . ."
Walter ignored the teenager's barrage of questions as he analyzed the scant clues he'd been given. "Do you think the timing of the postcards was some kind of countdown?" asked Happy, disrupting his thoughts.
"A countdown to what though?" Toby picked up one of the cards. "How would Collins know Paige would be left here by herself today? We didn't even know until Cabe brought us our case."
"It was a legit case," the Homeland agent said defensively, "cleared through the DoD and. . ."
"I'm not accusing you of anything," reassured the shrink. "It was obviously not a wild goose chase, although I did see a wild goose when we. . . Ow!" He rubbed his upper arm where the mechanic had punched him. "But I digress. . ."
"The timing of the postcards is irrelevant," Walter stated as he placed his hand over the ache in the middle of his chest.
"So what does that mean?" asked Sylvester.
"In all probability, Collins has been listening in on us and overheard my conversation with Cabe this morning and the one I had with Paige this afternoon about how we wouldn't be taking any more out of town cases. He knew this was his last opportunity to. . .to. . ."
His resolve finally broke and he swayed as all the panic he'd been suppressing surged up to overwhelm him. Closing his eyes, he grasped the edge of his desk, pain knifing through him. Every nightmare he'd ever had could never compare to this terrifying reality. The woman he loved, their soon-to-be born son. . .
They were in the hands of the one person Walter feared most.