Here we go! Finally (for me) here is the last part of doomed city. I hope you enjoy it! I'm sorry if it's a little long- if I should chop it up, let me know.
OH-HaleyDewit: yes, I do work in the medical field. Thanks for noticing. And in case you were wondering, all of this is actually possible.
Doomed City: part three
I jiggle my foot anxiously on my knee as I watch the door from my desk.
Where the hell is he?
Thirty minutes have gone by since I called Perry, but he still hasn't returned to his office. I check my phone, compulsively, and nearly growl at its continually blank face.
Soon after discovering the connection, I began wrestling with the implications, sinking slowly into my chair. I felt like an idiot for not having seen it earlier. Guilt overwhelmed me as the faces of the women stared up at me from the crime scene photos, each accusing me of their sick deaths due to my involvement with them. I turned the pictures over on my desk to avoid their sewn eyes, and wallowed in hate for a moment. Hate at the bastard doing this, at Joe Carroll for bringing the sicko's out of the woodwork, at myself for having caused the death of four innocent women, however inadvertent it might have been. It's not as if I had wished it on them, or actively participated in their deaths, I only knew them and just barely but I still felt acutely responsible.
Suddenly a thought had struck me. The man wasn't going to just stop now; he must have someone else in mind next. With a sinking feeling, I looked out at the bustling station, my eyes resting on each woman in turn as I wondered to myself: will it be her? Or her? I turned my face quickly away, ridiculously afraid to even make eye contact with any of them. I obsessively considered all the women I've ever known, wondering how on earth to warn them all.
For the first time since coming to Baltimore, I felt completely helpless. At least before I had merely felt incompetent, but now I was entirely at the mercy of some unknown threat, routinely killing off women I had barely the tiniest connection to. I hated that I had no way of figuring out where or who he would kill next. I remembered same feeling of helplessness at the hospital in New York, watching over Hardy and pretending to listen as the nurses and Johanna tried to reassure me with comforting, empty promises-
The thought of Johanna snapped me alert in an instant. Johanna! Of course! What better way to get at me, then the one link I have to Ryan, the only woman I actually trust?
With the pieces finally falling into place, I had snatched up my phone, calling Perry.
And thirty minutes later he has yet to get back to me.
For something to do other than stare at the door, I absently flip through the autopsy report lying on my desk. I scan quickly over the details I know will be there and go straight to the blood analysis, reading it for the millionth time. 'O positive victim filled with B positive blood,' it says, unchanged since the last time. I sigh, shoving the folder away from me. Johanna is O negative, I checked, the only blood type that would be adversely affected by the O positive blood the killer now has an abundance of. Another sick piece to fit into the sick puzzle.
Out of the corner of my eye I finally see Perry enter.
I slide into his office as he's settling down behind his desk. His clothes are still pristine and crisply ironed and I'm amazed that he can stay so together after the past thirty six hours. Not a hair seems out of place, and if anything his jaw seems even more chiseled than before. I wonder at how he seems to get younger as the corpses continue to pile up. Like Dracula, I grimly think to myself, my head swimming with Stoker references.
He's staring at me in the way he does, that makes me feel like I've overstayed my welcome before I've even entered.
"I assume you are feeling better after your behavior at the crime scene?" He asks in a condescending tone.
"Sir, I think I have a lead on the Sheppard case." I say, ignoring him and spreading out a series of papers onto his desk. "I looked back through the files, trying to find any connections between the four victims and I think I've found something. Okay, so Cecile Roberts was a witness in a case six months ago, and she was thinking about entering witness protection before the D.A. found a more substantial witness and the threat to her was removed." I pause to look at him, but he stares at me without encouragement. I forge on. "Taneesha Taylor used to be Taneesha Carlton-Springer before she got married, when we grew up together halfway across the country. Kate was a-" I pause again, and clear my throat before continuing, "Agent Sheppard was an up and coming agent, that I personally only knew briefly, but she worked the case before she became a victim herself. Lastly, Denise was a classical literature major who worked part time at a Starbucks not five hundred feet from this office." I pause for effect. "Well, don't you see the connection?"
Perry blinks his eyes slowly.
"It's me sir. They're all connected to me! I interviewed Roberts, I went to high school with Taylor, I dated Sheppard and I met Denise only hours before she died. Now I think Carroll is-" I start excitedly, but Perry sighs loudly, cutting me off.
"Are we on this again?" he asks, incredulous.
I stare at him. "What?"
"Agent Weston, have you spent any time looking for the actual murderer?" He asks, staring evenly at me and I shift uncomfortably. "Do you have even one suspect? Or anything better than a vague description?"
"Not yet, but-"
"What about the search for Carroll, or how he appears to have risen from the dead? Or the hunt for agent Hardy's attacker?"
The mention of Ryan throws me, and I struggle to stay on track.
"Sir this is a solid connection. And I'm worried-"
"What I'm worried about is that you are more focused on making yourself the center of attention than trying to stop this man from adding another victim to the board out there."
"That's not what this is about!" I clench my fists and attempt to calm myself. "Sir, there's this nurse at Hardy's hospital up in New York-"
"New York?" he interrupts me, "Are you telling me that you want to leave town, in the middle of an investigation that you begged me to give you lead on, to go way outside of the known range of this case, so that you can chase down a threat perceived only by you?" He keeps his voice even and quiet like always, but I sense the tiniest tremor beneath his icy exterior. I sit back, and bite the inside of my cheek, not knowing what to say.
"The answer is no, Agent. You'll stay here and try to actually find the killer."
"But-!" I stand up so fast that I knock my chair over.
"No, Agent Weston. I refuse to allow you to railroad this investigation in some vain attempt to gain publicity or have a mental break down, or whatever it is you're trying to do. And if you can't handle my decision, then perhaps I should find someone else to run this case."
I say nothing, angrily staring anywhere but at Perry.
"Is that clear?" He asks, and I continue to glare at the ceiling as my blood boils. Finally he nods his head, still calm. "Alright. Good. Now get back to work." He points to the door.
I'm still seething as I storm out of his office. I cannot believe the arrogance of Perry. He's been second guessing me every step of the way, putting lives on the line because of his snap, and completely wrong, judgment of me. My teeth clench as I fume, stalking back to my desk. I need to concentrate, I need to get in touch with Johanna and at least warn her, if I can't leave the city.
Ignoring the looks other agents are giving me I snap open my laptop and fire up the internet. It takes me only a second to track down the number I need, and I nearly smack my phone off the desk as I pick it up and dial. It rings several times before I hear a pleasant voice pick up on the other side.
"Sixth floor, how can I help you?"
"I'm looking for a nurse that works on your floor. Her name is Johanna?" There is a pause on the other side. I have to check my phone twice to make sure the call is still connected. Right as I'm about to hang up, I hear someone come back.
"She's not on the floor tonight, can I take a message?" She offers sweetly, and I absently wonder which of the nurses she is. I try to focus.
"No, no. Do you know when she'll be working again?" I close my eyes and berate myself for even following up on this. Of course Perry is right, although maybe not about why. I haven't found any leads, and was obviously just clutching at the first semi-decent theory I came across. I can't believe I let myself become so easily distracted on such an important case. Just like me, I think, I finally get a chance to prove myself and I go flying off the deep end. I've almost forgotten I'm on the phone when the cheery voice comes back.
"Actually, I don't know when she'll be back. She left kinda fast about halfway through her shift last night, and called to say she was sick. She didn't show up tonight." She pauses, "Was that helpful?"
/\/\/\/\/\
I shift my weight, shaking my leg that has fallen asleep and try not to think about how I am probably flushing my career down the toilet. The car is enveloped suddenly in darkness as I enter the Holland Tunnel, the lights strobing and I make the slow ascent into New York City.
I had tried to get Johanna's address from the polite nurse on the phone, but even after I told her multiple times that I was a federal agent, she had refused to tell me. Frustrated, I turned to the FBI database and was eventually able to track her down through the hospital's employment files, finding an address for an apartment building in Queen's. I sneaked past Perry's open door and bolted before he, my brain, or anything else could catch up to me.
After staring at the same endless, empty highway for four and a half hours, I'm starting to lose energy so I finish the last of my cold coffee. I ordered it as I left Baltimore, from a Starbucks that was well out of my way. I couldn't stop at the one close to the station, couldn't bear to look at the faces of the friends and coworkers of the girl who, I'm starting to believe, might still be alive if I hadn't stopped to boost my ego after Perry had deflated it.
As I enter New York, I glance up at the tall buildings, fighting off the creeping fingers of doubt clawing at my brain. I think about how ironically close Ryan is, and I achingly wish I could call him up. If I could just talk to him and have him confirm that I'm not completely insane, that I'm doing the right thing even if it feels absolutely stupid. I drive silently for a second, before shaking my head and clearing my thoughts. No point in wishing, I think, and if I didn't at least physically check on Johanna I would go crazy wondering, I attempt to convince myself.
I pull into the 103rd precinct in Queens, practically bounding up the steps. The Lieutenant brusquely welcomes me as I enter his office. He's an older guy, stout with a large bald head and thick neck, and watches me curiously from underneath drooping eyelids.
"I was surprised to get your call Agent Weston," he starts in a low gruff voice, groaning as he lowers himself into his chair.
"I appreciate you helping me out, sir. I could use a little local backup."
"Anything to help the bureau," he responds, waving to a worn bench behind me. I sit. "So, you guys have been trying to find this nurse?"
"She may be vital to a current investigation." I answer noncommittally.
"Does the FBI believe she is a suspect?"
"We believe she may be in danger." I try to keep my voice steady, telling myself it's not completely a lie. He stares for a second before nodding, pulling a file out from under a huge messy pile and I breathe a little easier.
"Well you didn't give us a hell of a lot of time, but we did get a couple of things done you asked for. We did a preliminary search of Ms. Johanna's apartment; mo one appears to be at home, but we couldn't get much else without a warrant. But that shouldn't be a problem for you, huh?" He chuckles to himself, and I look away, trying to appear bored.
"As for the hospital; security cameras captured a car leaving the parking lot twenty minutes after it entered, around 4 am yesterday," he continues, coughing loudly and glancing outside his window to the busy precinct floor beyond. "The nurse's phone call to her job was made ten minutes after that. We traced the plate from the footage to a vehicle that was reported as stolen in Maryland four days ago." I relish the small triumph. "And we got this picture off the camera." He slides me a blurry photograph of a worn blue Cadillac, the driver in grainy profile. "We don't know much, except that the driver is black and between the ages of nineteen and fifty." I glance up at him quickly.
"Black?" I ask, thinking of the witness back in Baltimore. Could it be the same man? But how could he be in Maryland to string up Denise this evening but also in New York over twenty four hours ago to snatch Johanna? "Are you sure?"
"Yes, but a large majority of the hospital staff is African-American, as well as the nurse herself. It could be a coincidence, or a kidnapping or maybe just a friend of hers." He sighs, "Hell, it might even be her driving," he adds discouragingly. I toss the photo aside.
"Is that all you have?" I ask.
"Well son, technically we aren't even sure there has been a crime committed, except for the stolen car." He says and I lean back, rubbing my eyes. "She might be off visiting a relative and didn't tell anyone."
"Sure. That's obviously the best case scenario." I try to keep sarcasm out of my voice and anxiously check my phone. 1:08 AM. I tap my hand nervously on the edge of the lieutenant's desk. Perry will hopefully not have noticed my absence yet, but I can't be too sure, and once he does it will only be a matter of time before he tracks down where I've gone to. All it would take was one phone call and my investigation into Johanna's disappearance would be stalled.
I look up as an officer puts his head through the door.
"They found the car, sir. It's in Brooklyn: Sunset Park near the warehouses." He reports, "the officers on the scene did a quick sweep. No one is in it, but there is blood on the seat." I ignore the tightening in my stomach. "We believe that if she is on the scene she would be inside one of the buildings, sir."
"That'll do, thank you." The lieutenant says, nodding and dismissing the man. He turns back to me. "It's not far from here. It could be this has nothing to do with her though. Whoever stole the car might just have ditched it." He pauses, "So? What's our next move?"
It takes me a second to realize he's addressing me. I try to cover my surprise by standing and examining the map he has on the wall. I can feel him looking at me and my mind goes momentarily blank. I can't think, and I wrack my brain for an official sounding answer.
"I think we should check it out." I respond, cringing at the uncertainty in my voice. He looks at me, puzzled. I have a moment of fear, and think hysterically what Ryan would do. Nothing, I think, he wouldn't respond. Although, he would also already have a crazy plan. But he wouldn't take any crap from anyone.
So I turn slowly and stare him down, trying to look as bored and intimidating and incredulous as possible and pray it doesn't come out looking like I need to take a crap.
He stares back at me, and then sighs. "It'll take thirty minutes to get a thermal scanner set up, but we don't really have time. We'll need to send a team into the warehouses, if you care to lead them."
"Me?" I ask, and then remember I'm supposed to be intimidating. "Hell yes I would." I respond and ignore the sinking feeling in my gut.
/\/\/\/\/\
All I can hear is my own heart beat as I move silently deeper and deeper into the warehouse. The walls are made of metal, old and rusted, offering no insulation from the cold air outside. Flakes of ancient paint crunch on the cement floor beneath my shoes, and I pause to listen before continuing on, carefully avoiding them. The warehouse is huge; a maze of different sized rooms and endless corridors, each as empty as the last, and I think discouragingly of how many places there must be to hide a captive.
Or a body, the happy thought crosses my mind before I can wave it away. My hand is slick on my gun, my palms sweaty, and I realize I'm grasping it so tightly my fingers have gone numb. I relax slightly, but keep a firm grip. At least my aim is steady, the nerves that are twisted and vibrating inside me not showing in my stance. I enter room after room, sweeping the gun from side to side, trying to clear my head and focus.
I enter a large room, filled with old broken construction equipment and tall ceilings that disappear up into the gloom. A network of complicated cat walks cross back and forth through the air above me, and I'm momentarily distracted when my flashlight bounces of them. They seem to be falling, gaining on me, and I duck and roll to the corner, but when I look back up they are perfectly still, solid and unmovable.
Pull it together, I think, as I wipe my brow with my arm, trying to keep my arm pointed straight and covering the room. I quietly radio in before crossing the massive space, my eyes darting at every shadow. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck raise as I sense something looming behind me, but when I turn, the room is empty. I point my flashlight behind me, scanning, but it's no help. Whenever I pass the light over anything, it only doubles the shadows surrounding it, making them jump wildly as I become more and more nervous. Everywhere I turn I feel like there's something just out of eyesight moving, creeping. Finally I click it off.
I'm staring up at the catwalks again when my foot accidentally kicks an abandoned beer can. It clatters like thunder across the floor and I freeze, crouching and cursing silently. I sit for a solid minute, and force my heart beat to return to normal. Too loud, too loud, I berate myself. The building creaks around me, the wind howling through its deserted corridors as wait.
My legs begin to cramp beneath me, and I listen to the reports over the radio as section after section is given the all clear. I shiver as the cold air rushes up the sleeves of my jacket, and allow myself to finally consider the situation I've dragged myself into.
I am an absolute idiot.
I'm sitting; alone, freezing and stiff in a huge warehouse, hundreds of miles away from the active investigation, against orders- probably completely destroying my career- and for what? A hunch. A wild, implausible hunch. How incredibly stupid was I, how desperate? Who the hell did I think I was?
The bullet proof vest I'm wearing starts digging in to my shoulder, and I pull on it impatiently. I'm just deciding that I should try and find the others and simultaneously drafting my letter of resignation in my head, when I hear a clatter.
I freeze, holding my breath as I listen for the sound again, half certain I imagined it. I pull my ear piece out, straining to concentrate on the silence around me. It comes again, off to my left, followed by a quiet string of curses. I scan the gloom, but I can't see anything, and I don't want to risk turning my flashlight back on.
I sit perfectly still, and after a few minutes my eyes begin to adjust and I see a faint light coming from the other end of the room. I take in my options before quickly making my way to the nearest ladder and climbing up to the walkway above.
I can dimly make out the floor thirty feet below as I stealthily make my way across the room. The light becomes less and less faint as I come closer, and appears to be coming from behind a large piece of equipment. My steps don't make a sound on the narrow walkway but it's made of thin, criss-crossed metal and I sometimes catch a glimpse of the distant ground. I avoid looking down, vertigo overcoming me. I can tell that the light is flickering now, like from a fire, and I wonder if I might be sneaking up on a hobo or car thief or a group of teenagers. The large amount of empty beer cans and bottles that littered the floor of nearly every room are leaning me towards the kids.
I'm almost to the light source and halfway to convincing myself that I can add endangering minors by threatening them with a loaded gun to my long list of mistakes when I finally pass over a large crane and into the dim light.
And find Johanna.
She's on a long metal table that has been covered in blankets, her head rolled to the side and with a sickening feeling I see blood in her hair. A man is bending over her, fussing with her legs, and when he stands back I see that they are tied to the table. She groans when he pulls on the cables holding her down, but her eyes remain closed. As he shifts a large black duffle bag, I take advantage of the loud clinking noise it makes and quietly radio for back up. I train my gun on him, settling to wait for the rest of the team to arrive, and watch.
He's Chinese, early twenties, and incredibly pale with long black hair pulled into a pony tail and a large black trench coat that flaps as he hastily moves around. He's wearing black beneath that too, and I realize with a smile that he is trying to dress like a vampire. I'm about to roll my eyes, when he pulls out a long, thin tube and I see a flash of metal in the dim light. As he carefully brings a long, thick needle up to her neck, my arms tighten and I cock my gun.
The small click echoes and I see him stiffen. We both freeze.
The seconds tick by as my heart thumps painfully in my chest. Every inch of me seems to be vibrating as my eyes follow him. I'm momentarily relieved when he moves away from Johanna's still form and I can see the needle resting on the sheet beside her. He takes several steps back, moving his head slowly from side to side.
I shift my position, and the metal creaks beneath my weight. His head darts in my direction, but he's still looking at his level instead of up and he doesn't see me. He takes a few more steps forward around to the side of the massive crane he's shielded himself behind, but not finding anyone there, he returns to Johanna.
I see confusion and frustration cross his face. His eyes dart back and forth.
"I know you're there," he says in a high strained voice, "come out where I can see you right now."
I stay as still as humanly possible, training my aim on him and praying he won't get the idea to just look up. I have absolutely no cover, and he would see me in an instant.
He cocks his head to the side, listening. More seconds tick by. He's becoming more and more frustrated as I continue to watch, holding my breath.
"Come on, come on. Where are you?" He mutters, twisting around. "Huh? You fucking coward, where are you?"
He darts his hand down to the duffle back and pulls out a pocket knife. Ripping the blade out, he thrusts it towards Johanna, poising it above her throat. My stomach tightens.
"Not the way I like to do things, but I will if you don't fucking come out!" he screams, his hand shaking. My eyes widen and I wonder hysterically where the hell everyone else is. He shakes his head in anger, starting to bring the knife down, when I run out of patience and bolt upright.
"I'm here, I'm here." I yell, as his head whips around to me and I point my gun at him. "Federal Agent, step away from the woman." I'm thrilled at how evenly it comes out, until he grins widely at me.
"Sweet. Michael Weston." He nods enthusiastically and I tighten the grip on my gun. "Ah, ah!" He keeps his hand poised, "You think my hand wouldn't move at all if you shoot me?"
Growling, I lower my gun as he waves me down. I move slowly to the nearest ladder, my eyes never leaving the blade at Johanna's throat until we're twenty feet away.
Up close I can see he's sweating under his Goth costume, and he continually flexes and unflexes his hand, shifting the blade. Johanna is still mercifully unconscious, and I watch her chest rise and fall with alert eyes, praying she won't move in her sleep.
I place my gun down on the ground as he instructs me to do, kicking it towards him and taking a few steps back. My eyes sweep the area as I weigh my options. There isn't much to work with. The space is lit by a low fire burning in a small barrel, and it distorts my vision. The table with Johanna on it is between us, the duffle bag beneath it. He sees me eyeing it and shuffles it behind him, and I hear glass rattling within. He keeps himself between me and the bag, guarding it with his body. I can hear his breathing, heavy and quick as he glances back and forth between me and the gun that is still too far for him to reach, unsure of what to do. I try to look as relaxed as possible.
"So, what happens now?" I ask, in my most nonchalant voice.
"Shut up." He says, his eyes darting.
"You don't know what to do, do you?" I pick at my fingernails, and he runs a shaky hand across his forehead.
"Shut up."
"You don't. Where's your precious Carroll to tell you what to do now?"
"I said shut the fuck up!" he screams. "You think I need him to tell me what to do? I decide what happens next. This is MY show!" he shakes the blade at me. "I've done this before; you've seen what I can do. You want me to show you? I can show you!"
He's shaking with anger, a wild smile crossing his face that sends shivers up my spine. He begins to fiddle one handed with a thin plastic chord, an IV chord, connecting it to the needle lying next to Johanna. I follow it as it snakes off the table to the ground.
"I can make your life hell. I already have, Michael." My name slithers out of his mouth, and his eyes take on a fanatical gleam. "'For even if he be not harmed, his heart may fail him from so many horrors;'" his voice takes on a deeper, rhythmic tone, "'and hereafter he may suffer-both in waking, from his nerves, and in sleep, from his dreams.'" He laughs. "Of course, that's a bastardized quote, but I doubt you care. I said DON'T MOVE!"
I've been inching closer to the gun during his tirade, but I stop short. He grins, pulling a large glass bottle filled with a dark, red liquid out of the bag. He shakes it, smiling at me while the liquid sloshes within. He connects the IV to it and I belatedly realize it is filled Denise's blood.
"Have you enjoyed watching every bitch you touch turn into a corpse?" He mocks, pulling another bottle out.
I narrow my eyes at him and stay silent. He laughs again.
"That girl from the coffee shop was my favorite. She screamed and screamed when I stitched up her eyes." He pauses, smiling in reflection before snapping his eyes back on me. "I always start with the eyes, you see. I hate when they fucking stare at me. But she had kinda nice ones, didn't she? Nice rack too, I had a good time getting her in the gown." He makes a nasty gesture with his hands, snickering. "She was sort of spur of the moment thing, you know, I had someone else picked out. But when you walked in there, it inspired me. You killed her, Michael."
"You killed her, you son-of-a-bitch." I blurt out before I can stop myself, but my face is hot with anger and I feel sick listening to him. He rolls his eyes.
"You are so fucking easy to get to. Hardy was so much tougher; I don't know why Joe wants us-"
He stops mid sentence and we hear a crash in the distance. He glances momentarily behind him, taking a few steps away from Johanna.
I only hesitate for a second.
I'm flying across the room and picking up my gun as he turns around. He sees me and screams with rage, running towards Johanna with his knife clutched in his hand like a dagger and aimed at her heart.
I don't even blink. I pull the trigger twice.
His body hits the ground with a loud, wet thump; his head crashing into the cement floor.
I stand completely still, my arm still stiffly outstretched. It seems unbearably silent, the only sound coming from my own ragged breathing. The fire crackles and pops, startling me and I swivel my gun hastily at it. The body on the floor is still, and I try to make my legs move but they won't listen. Finally I stagger over to him, keeping my gun trained and turning him with my foot. Glassy eyes sightlessly look up at me, and for a freak second I can't think about anything but him complaining about his victim's eyes staring at him.
I wrench the pocket knife out of his hand and hastily saw at the chords tying Johanna to the table. Summoning strength I'm not entirely sure I have, I heave her off the make-shift bed and carry her several feet away. I sit her up against a machine, radioing instantly for the backup that still hasn't arrived. As I listen to their frantic reply, I try to wake her gently.
Her eyelids flutter after a minute, and I let out a giant sigh of relief.
"Agen' weson?" she asks, confused.
Her eyes try to focus on me, but her head seems too heavy for her to lift. She glances to the side and we both look at nightmare scene beside us. It's silent now, and the place looks ironically like someone's living area. Disturbingly domestic with its rough bed, scattered belongings and makeshift fire; except for the pool of blood widening around the crumpled body, you would never know that an innocent life was almost lost here, and a not so innocent one ended.
She's still staring, and brings her hands sluggishly to her face. "I thing I've been ki' nabbed." She says, he voice slurring. I'm trying to keep myself calm, but I'm delirious that she's alright.
"Yeah, you were. But you're okay now. Hey easy!" I have to literally hold her down as she tries to push herself to her feet. "Chill out. You've had a rough night."
Tears are threatening to fill her eyes, but she keeps herself together.
"Well, wha' doesn' kill you..." she says weakly.
I laugh out loud and give her a full, winning smile as the back-up team finally arrives.
/\/\/\/\/\
Perry looks the same as ever when he arrives by helicopter a few hours later. I tear myself free of the paramedics and make my way over to him. He looks down at me for a long second before squinting up at the bright lights illuminating the warehouse.
"Want to tell me why didn't you wait for back up Weston?" His voice is quiet. I force my stance to be rigidly professional.
"I called it in, but I didn't have time to wait. He was threatening the victim."
"She doesn't recall that."
"She was unconscious sir." I pause. "Is there a problem?"
"There are just a few… inconsistencies. For instance, she never actually saw her kidnapper. He stayed in the shadows and the back seat of the car as he gave her instructions. She only heard his voice, and now we can't use that as an ID." I shrug. "We also ran a check on the dead young man in there, Thomas Lee, and he has a history. A mental health history. He dropped out of medical school about a year ago after having a breakdown. He's local, and is known to the local police. He's homeless, Weston, and he's been seen squatting in buildings in the area."
"In the past two weeks?" I ask.
His stare is even. "No one can confirm that."
"So he could have been in Baltimore. And the stolen car was from Maryland and ended up here." I add helpfully, and Perry nods.
"Yes, yes. The timeline could fit, if he had help. But they seem to believe he wasn't really in touch with anyone on this planet, let alone outside the city." He pauses. "And the duffle bag you mentioned is missing." I shrug again, yawning, but when I look up at Perry he's looking intently at me again. The other shoe finally drops.
"Wait, are you saying you're not sure that man was the kidnapper?" I ask cautiously. "That maybe I got confused and just shot some crazy homeless guy?"
"We have to be sure of the specifics whenever there is an OIS, you know that." He responds, surprisingly soothingly, but I feel my face heating up.
"Are you fucking kidding me? He had her tied to a table and was threatening her with a knife. He-" I cut myself off, anger overwhelming me. "You seriously don't believe me?" I ask.
"I believe you saw a threat and handled it as you've been trained." He responds, noncommittally.
"Not a ringing endorsement, sir."
"Weston, I will stand behind you," He says curtly, "but I have to be sure of the facts. You have to understand how it looks." He pauses, but all I can do is glare straight ahead of me. "I just want to make sure all dots are connected."
I remain silent. seething.
"Alright. In retrospect, you were on point about a lot things and I'm prepared to give you credit for that. And even if you deliberately disobeyed orders and we disagree on why, that woman was kidnapped by someone and is alive, thanks to you."
Perry watches me for a second and through the red that's conquering my vision I swear I see compassion in his eyes. But it's gone in a second, and he nods. "Alright, alright. That's enough for now." He says dismissively, "Go get yourself checked out and get some sleep. You've earned it."
I turn and snappishly leave him. I circle around, away from the ambulances and walk straight to the nearest agent and bark at him to drive me to a hotel. I try to stay angry, to be pissed at Perry and Thomas whatshisname and the whole nasty world in general, but as we drive off the events of the day crash on top of me like a tsunami and exhaustion gets the best of me. I'm asleep before we get two blocks away.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/
A phone rings out in the middle of the night, jarring me from sleep. I'm twisted up in the covers of a bed, the sheets having twined around me as I tossed and turned. I stare at my surroundings, momentarily confused, until I remember: New York. Bad guy- Thomas something. Johanna. Argument with Perry. Hotel- I'm in a hotel room. The phone rings again and I snatch up my cell, staring confused at the blank screen. As the phone rings a third time, I toss my damn cell aside, realizing it's the room phone and hurriedly answer it.
"Mm-Weston," I murmur, groggily studying the clock and finding the hour more than depressing. I flop back against the pillows and fight the heaviness of my eye lids. I lose. I think I might have drifted off when the voice on the phone replies.
"I am terribly sorry about the way things turned out tonight." Carroll drawls, and I bolt upright, my eyes snapping open.
"Carroll?" I ask stupidly, but my mind is racing. I struggle with the sheets, trying to find my cell to record the conversation or track the call.
"Obviously things did not work out for in the best interest of either of us," he continues, "but, 'we learn from failure, not from success,' dear Michael."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"That's Bram Stoker of course. Did you enjoy learning something new?" He seems genuinely interested and it sends shivers down my spine. "Did you learn from your failure?"
"If you think I see shooting your guy as a failure-"
I'm interrupted by a loud, earsplitting, unearthly screech. It takes me by surprise and I drop both phones, clutching my ringing ear. A few seconds pass before I pick the receiver back up and bring it gingerly to the other ear.
"What the fuck was that?" I demand. There is an awkward pause.
"'I'm going to smile,'" He continues, as if nothing happened, "'and my smile will sink down into your pupils, and heaven knows what it will become.'"
"What?" The randomness throws me. He could be speaking French for all the sense he's making.
"Just a little teaser." He chuckles. "Brace yourself. It's going to be a bumpy road ahead. And Michael?" There is a thrill in his voice, that stops me cold. I answer warily.
"Yes?"
"I can't promise a happy ending this time."
/\/\/\/\/\/\
Thanks everyone for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! The next series (tenatively titled Never Bet the Devil Your Head) will begin soon. Please feel free to review, including any criticism you have. I know the chapters were a little lengthy and I hope the medical stuff wasn't overwhelming (I get a little excited).
See you all soon, and I hope everyone enjoys the season 2 premiere this sunday!