So I wanted to skip over this episode but then I watched it and well, there are some excellent badass Red moments that I think were a necessary reminder that he's still a dangerous criminal. There is also a bit of a like-father-like-daughter moment of badassery for Lizzie, as well. Oh... and I hope ya'll like the conclusion to a certain plot line :-D I can't promise he won't be back but it will NOT be in the way he keeps crawling back in the show.
Lizzie drew back the curtains of her kitchen and sighed when she saw the white surveillance van posted outside. They said it was for protection while they searched for the mole, but since everyone was suspect until that time, it felt more like they were there to surveille her rather than protect.
Checking her phone, Lizzie rolled her eyes, pressing the button to hear the latest voicemail and putting it to her ear as she grabbed some coffee.
"Listen Liz, I know that you've…we've had a rough time of it lately. And I think we really just need to get back to us, back to normal again. I don't understand why you've been ignoring me and haven't been home in days but I want to work on this. Which is why I have an interview in Nebraska."
Lizzie's face quirked into shocked confusion as she listened. What sort of crap logic is that?
"There are great schools, low crime, and an FBI field office there. We could just…go. Be normal. No hidden cameras, no fake passports. So uh, I'll be coming back tomorrow night. I'd really like it if you would meet me at the house so we could talk."
Lizzie hung up and deleted the message, placing her cell in her back pocket as she grabbed her jacket. She was going to have to deal with that whole situation, but right now, she was late for work.
Frowning, Lizzie took her phone back out of her pocket as she heard an e-mail notification.
Glancing at the screen, her mouth dropped open. "My God."
/\/\/\/\
"You're positive it's him?" Cooper questioned as he sat at his desk.
"Same surgical precision, same call to 911. This is the guy."
"Mobile psych can handle it." Cooper dismissed.
"I rode lead on this case. That's why they're requesting a liaison." Lizzie paced in the small area in front of Cooper's Desk.
"Our only job right now is finding Raymond Reddington."
"This case is important to me." Lizzie dug her index finger into the desk as she spoke. "It's personal. If it's personal to me, it's personal to Reddington. He may reach out, try to help make this his case."
/\/\/\/\
"In the last three weeks, have you had contact with Reddington?"
Lizzie's lips pursed as she sat on the wrong side of the table in one of the Post Office's interrogation rooms. "No."
"Tell me this, Agent Keen – is your husband cleared to know the location of this black site?"
"No."
"And yet you brought him here."
"As part of an investigation."
"What investigation?"
Lizzie repressed the urge to roll her eyes. Barely. "You can look into that. All the information is here."
"Are you refusing to answer?"
"Yes."
The OPR interrogator wrote something down in her notebook. "Where were you when the site was taken?"
Lizzie swallowed, know how this was going to sound. "I was on my way here. I was late."
"That was convenient."
/\/\/\/\
"Tell me, our guy – what do you got on the victims?" Ressler leaned heavily on his cane, clearly attempting to keep as little weight on his butchered leg as possible as they walked through the hospital's basement hallways. Lizzie was sure he probably shouldn't have been cleared to work so quickly. She had to admire the guy for his dedication.
"Seven so far. All different ages, incomes. He always acted unpredictably. We could never figure out his trigger, only that he's trying to make a statement."
"What kind of a statement?"
Lizzie combed her fingers through her hair, tugging slightly. "He never kills his victims. He always calls 911, allows first responders a chance to save their lives. That's why the papers call him The Good Samaritan."
/\/\/\/\
They stood awkwardly outside the morgue with the latest victim's husband and son after introducing themselves.
"What's happened? Are you sure it's my wife?"
"That's what we need you to confirm for us, sir. I'm sorry." Lizzie frowned, the corners of her eyes creasing with sympathy.
"What's your boy's name?" Ressler questioned gruffly, shifting his weight.
"Michael."
Ressler looked over at Lizzie. "Why don't you take Mr. Brodine inside here? And I'll hang out with Michael." He directed his gaze back to Mr. Brodine. "If that's okay with you."
/\/\/\/\
Red stood quietly in front of Luli's coffin, wearing a hoodie, overlarge coat, and a beanie hat. Certainly not his usual fare but when needs must. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, too lost in his head, playing the scene of her death over and over again in his mind. When would it end? All the blood and death.
Not yet. That was for damn sure. He had a rat to sniff out. His chin jutted out as he rolled his tongue, his back straightening with new determination.
"Arrange transport of her ashes personally. I want it done properly." Red directed his assistant, Newton as he left the room.
/\/\/\/\
Red walked through the bowling alley and straight into the bathroom. Nodding in acknowledgement in the mirror at Dembe who stood at the sink, he walked up to the man standing with his pants unzipped in front of the urinal.
"The hell are you looking at?" In a flash, he had the man's arm twisted behind him, his head smushed against the bathroom wall.
"I want you to tell me about your friend – the man with the apple."
"I don't know." The man's voice took on a note of desperation as he realized what this was about. "We never met before the job. I swear. I didn't even know his name."
"How did you communicate?" red's voice darkened.
"By the phones. Everything was anonymous. Nobody knew anybody. We all had jobs.
"Tell me about these jobs."
/\/\/\/\
He sat in the back of an SUV, Dembe upfront and the Paramedic sitting beside him, wringing her hands as he maintained a lose grip on his pistol. "I've never worked with any of these people before. I was told to be on standby for a 48–hour window. They said I had under four minutes to pull a chip from your neck."
"Who told you you had four minutes?"
"The people who paid me."
"How were you paid?"
"Cash, at a drop."
"Where?"
"It was always a different place, different locations. They picked me up in an ambulance. I didn't even know where we were going!"
"How were you paid?"
"In cash at the site." Each time the Paramedic spoke, it was as if the words tumbled from her mouth before she could catch them.
"What denomination were the bills?"
"He paid in $5s and $10s. Nothing larger than a $20. I've told you everything, I promise." She pleaded.
"I know you have. You have such a pretty face. And a paramedic. What a shame." Red's eyes were dull, almost as if he were bored, as he shot her.
/\/\/\/\
Another SUV, another conspirator. This time it was the bastard Doc who kept injecting him with that serum in the church.
"So, you had no knowledge of either the location or a target?"
"No. I'm surprised it was you. I was just hired to supply the injections and monitor your vital signs."
/\/\/\/\
Lizzie walked into the safe house, setting her purse down by the door and flopped onto the couch, groaning as her phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Lizzie."
Lizzie sat up straight at the sound of his voice. "Where are you?"
Red ignored her question. "I read about that poor woman they found in Albany. Sounded awfully familiar. The Good Samaritan. Are you back on the case, I hope?"
Two could play this game. "They're going to find you."
"This one's important to you, isn't he? Why? What on Earth happened? I only ask on the chance that I may be able to help."
He was like a dog with a bone sometimes. Sitting back, Lizzie let out a shaky breath. "One of the earliest victims – she died in my arms. There was nothing I could do to stop it."
"You missed something, didn't you?"
"Serial killers escalate. This one doesn't." Lizzie shook her head, her brain was constantly trying to fit the pieces together but they just weren't lining up. They never had. "The victims and methods vary. I could never see the pattern the profile. Still can't."
"I don't know about serial killers, but I do know about torture, and there is no one–size–fits–all. If you really want to hurt someone, you need to tailor your attack specifically to that person. Perhaps the killer's methods, the injuries he inflicts tell you less about him and more about his victims." Red paused. "I got to go."
"Wait!" He had already hung up.
/\/\/\/\
She hadn't been able to rest after the phone call, which is why early morning found Lizzie at her desk, poring over case notes and x-rays of the victims before anyone else was at the Post Office.
Dialing Ressler, Lizzie put her phone to her ear.
"I think I've got something."
/\/\/\/\
"You've spoken with Reddington." Ressler gimped over to the table where Lizzie had all of the case files splayed open.
"Yes. He called." Lizzie didn't look over as she held an x-ray up to the light to see it better.
"He called? When? Did you tell Cooper?" Meera questioned.
"Not yet." Lizzie stated distractedly. "We talked about the case." She didn't notice the shared look between Ressler and Meera.
"We're all under suspicion here. He called, and you didn't report it?" Ressler asked, leaning against the table.
"I will, but something he said about the case – We've been focused on the killer. We should be focused on the victims. The most recent victim's son, Michael, broke his collarbone."
"Yeah. He told me at the morgue." Ressler waved his hand dismissively, not seeing the importance.
"I looked through his medical records. He broke a lot more than that – broken ribs, collapsed lung, blunt trauma to the liver and kidneys. The boy was abused. These are the autopsy x–rays of the most recent victim. Every fracture, every injury the son had, the killer gave to the mother."
"We should bring the boy in."
/\/\/\/\
Red walked into the quiet nightclub with purpose in his stride. As soon as he rounded the corner, two bodyguards stood from the booth they were occupying to protect their man. Red quickly put them down, spinning on his heel to shoot the man coming around the corner he'd just come from and spun again to shoot his latest victim in the thigh.
"Hello, Fyodor."
"Ahh! Hey! Okay! Cool out!" One hand was outstretched in supplication while the other clutched his thigh. "I can make this right! Just talk to me!"
"Oh, yes, Fyodor. We're gonna talk, all right." Red smirked darkly.
/\/\/\/\
Red poured glugs from a bottle of vodka on Fyodor's wound and takes a swig from the bottle as Fyodor cries out in pain, struggling against his restraints.
"Honestly, I don't understand you, Fyodor. With all the business you do, and you're still funneling the money through your nightclubs, paying contracts in 5s and 10s 'cause you're too cheap to pay the commission for clean cash." Red shook his head. "Anyway, I get sidetracked. I've come for your banker. Who is the banker?" Within a split second, his tone of voice went from jaunty storyteller to murderous.
"I can't – " Red stood and dumped some of the vodka over Fyodor's face, causing the man to choke and splutter as he accidentally ingested some.
"The first time I ever smoked a cigar was with Marnie Petersen in fifth grade." Red muttered around the cigar he'd placed in his mouth and lit it. "Funny, little, bat–faced girl. I adored her." Red swiped the match close to Fyodor's now very flammable face. "The bank."
"Please." Fyodor pleaded, shaking his head yet never taking his eyes off Red and his cigar.
"How about I make this as simple as possible? There are five bankers on the East Coast who were capable of financing a mission like Garrick's. I run money through four of them. Which one?" Red took his cigar out of his mouth and brought it close to Fyodor's crotch.
"Okay! Oh, okay! The money was wired from Gestalten Landesbank, the New York office. We have a man there. I swear that's all I know!"
"Thank you." Red smiled pleasantly.
"Okay. So – so that's it? We're finished?" Fyodor's face turned slack with hope.
"Yes, we're finished." Red's smile turned feral as he dumped the rest of the vodka over Fyodor's head then put the burning cigar in Fyodor's mouth.
"Oh, my God!" Red shook his head, an enormous grin on his face, having watched the cigar burn down for a few moments. "The suspense is killing me." Red serenely grasped his pistol and shot Fyodor in the chest before walking away.
/\/\/\/\
Little Michael and his father, Mr. Brodine sat on a leather couch in one of the lounge areas of a local Police Department.
"I don't like to talk about that." The boy said, his eyes shifting away.
"I know, Mike. I know. We really need to, okay?" Ressler asked, his voice soft and reassuring.
Mr Brodine clapped his son on the shoulder, squeezing gently in comfort. "Hey. You're not in trouble. I promise."
"So, you broke your arm and your wrist?" Ressler questioned.
"I fell off my bike." Michael whispered.
"And last year, you broke your collarbone and, uh, broke your ankle?"
"They were accidents. That's all I'm supposed to say." Michael shifted in his seat in discomfort.
Ressler and Lizzie shared a look. "Who told you to say that?"
Michael's eyes widened as he realized he made a mistake.
"It's okay, Michael. Tell him what you told me. No one's gonna hurt you anymore." Mr. Brodine whispered in his ear.
"My mom." Lizzie's heart broke at the little boy's scared whisper. The woman was dead yet her child still feared her.
/\/\/\/\
"Michael's mother was abusing him for years, and now she ends up dead." Meera stated as she gazed at the various x-rays and case notes that were now displayed on the evidence boards.
"The same injuries she inflicted on Michael." Ressler agreed, admitting defeat as he sat on a stool, rubbing his aching leg.
"Normally, the father would be the prime suspect, but that doesn't fit. I mean, even if he wanted to hurt her for abusing their son, what about the other victims?" Lizzie's face froze before she walked up to the evidence board, the pieces finally beginning to fall into place. "Unless it's the same motive."
"Our unsub's somebody who targets the abusers." Ressler voiced their shared conclusion.
"Like a vigilante killer." Meera stated.
"Let's run background checks. We need to know what other victims have loved ones with identical injuries." Ressler hopped off the stool and balanced on his good leg before hobbling off to get to work.
/\/\/\/\
"Henry." Red stepped out of the shadows and walked up to the man on the sidewalk as he exited his home.
"What the hell are you … My wife will be down here any minute." Henry looked behind him, checking to make sure his wife was not already outside.
"Great. I'd love to meet the wife." Red said jovially.
"Mr. Reddington, we have a dinner engagement. Don't you think it's best you and I make an appointment for another time?"
The smile cleared off of Red's face and his tone turned brusque. "There's been a nasty bit of business – blood spilled, lives lost. A modicum of torture words don't fully describe. I know who's responsible. I know who carried it out."
Red watched with disinterest as the half of Henry's face which was illuminated by the streetlamp became ashen. "Mr. Reddington, I have no idea –"
"I've tied up all the loose ends but one. To finish the job, I'll need all your wire and transfer records pertaining to the operation."
"Mr. Reddington, I have no idea who –"
"Please, Henry. Stop." Red shook his head in agitation. "You were the bank. Henry. You were the bank."
Henry sighed, licking his lips. "This puts me in a real situation. Listen. I'll do anything I can to help. I'll need time to –"
"You'll hear from me tomorrow." Red stated before walking away and blending into the shadows just as Henry's wife opened the front door to exit.
/\/\/\/\
Meera pulled Cooper into a hallway at the Post Office. "You need to see this. One of the offshore accounts was used to launder money from Gestalten Landesbank into this dummy account in Manhattan." Meera's voice had an air of urgency as she handed the file over to Cooper who immediately opened it and began to review the contents.
"Louis Coogan. That's our mole?"
"Well, that's his alias. Turn the page."
Cooper did as instructed and he immediately did a double take at the photo of Aram Mojtabai staring up at him.
"Bring him in." Cooper ordered gruffly.
/\/\/\/\
Unfortunately for Cooper and Meera, Red had gotten to Aram first.
Red sat at a rickety wooden table in a dirt basement, Aram on the other side. Dembe pulled the black hood from over Aram's head and the man blinked at the sudden light.
"Hello, Aram." Red greeted.
"What – what is this? Where am I?" Aram looked around him, trying to figure out what was happening. Noticing the laptop sat open beside him and the pistol laying on the table in front of Red, he swallowed noisily.
"You're going to do something for me. Account numbers, routing information. You're going to steal $5 million from that account and place it into one of mine. I expect the transaction to be untraceable."
"What? I can't."
Red picked up the weapon. "Aram this is a Colt .45 1911. I can strip and reassemble this weapon – in well under two minutes."
Aram shook his head vehemently. "Mr. Reddington, please."
"Once I have it reassembled, I'm gonna reload the mag, and if at that time, your task remains incomplete, I'm gonna empty that mag into your head."
Aram's eyes widened. "That's really messed up."
Red smiled benignly. "Don't look so stricken. The first shot will kill you."
Red began disassembling the gun and Aram quickly sprang to action, hunching over the keyboard. A strange symphony of sounds – the clicks and metallic snick of a gun being taken apart smoothly accentuated by the incessant tapping of keys.
Just as Red added the last bullet, loaded the mag into place and cocked the weapon, Aram put his hands in the air, sitting back in his seat.
"Wait. … Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! … I did it. It's done. Look. It's untraceable, like you asked." Aram spun the laptop around so that Red could see it.
"How? Explain."
"I used a ripple exchange to have the Flat currency converted to e–cash and then into coin. I ran the whole transaction through a randomized cryptographic extension at the protocol level, then through a two–tiered secure laundry service I know I can trust. No one's gonna catch you. I promise."
Red smiled at Aram and unloaded the bullet that he'd cocked into the barrel, holding it out to Aram.
"A souvenir. You're innocent."
"I am? I mean, I am!" Aram hesitantly reached forward and took the bullet. "Wait. Of what?"
"The team that broke into the black site was paid through Gestalten Landesbank. My contact there traced a $250,000 payment to a covert account belonging to Louis Coogan."
"Louis who?"
"It's an alias, for you. Someone is attempting to implicate you as a mole by creating a money trail that leads directly to you. You're obviously far too clever to have accepted payment that was so easily traceable."
"You're not gonna kill me." Aram said, his shoulders slouching in relief.
"No. I'm going to find somebody else, and I'm going to kill them."
/\/\/\/\
"Henry? I'm so glad you're home. We have company. You never told me you rowed crew for Dartmouth." Henry's wife yelled from the kitchen at the sound of the front door closing. Henry walked into the dining room to see Red sitting at the table, smiling up at him with his head cocked to the side.
"Don't worry, Henry. I haven't told her all our war stories. Well, a few. You have a lovely wife. We've been getting to know each other. Come here, you old such and such." Red stood and walkved over to Henry, giving the shocked man a giant bear hug as he whispered darkly in his ear. "I know what you've done."
Henry's eyes widened but he tried to recover quickly as his wife entered the room.
"I invited Bernard to stay for dinner. I have a Stroganoff on the burner." Red smiled at Henry's wife, Janice then looked to Henry.
"I hope you don't mind if I stay. I do love Stroganoff."
Henry smiled shakily. "Let me wash up." He murmured before leaving.
Red walked over to Janice and put his arm around her waist. "You're fun." He stated, making the woman give out a peel of giggles.
/\/\/\/\
"Would you like rice or noodles, Bernard?" Janice questioned Red as she brought in a hot dish, setting it on the table near where Red and Henry sat.
"Whichever is quicker." He smiled at her, smiling. The moment she left the room, he looked over at Henry, his face suddenly thunderous.
"I gave you what you asked for." Henry whispered, a tinge of desperation in his voice.
"No, Henry. You gave me the bank transfers pointing to a patsy."
"What's he talking about?" Janice questioned as she walked in from the kitchen.
"Janice, shh." Henry sighed, looking back at Red. "You should never have come here into my home. They're on their way."
Red shook his head, having already figured that Henry had made a call while 'washing up.' "Nearly everyone has been accounted for, except one. Who else got paid?"
"Red, please. They will kill me if I say a word about any of –"
Losing patience, Red shot Henry in the knee. Which immediately sent Janice into hysterics.
"God! What on Earth?! –" Red winced at the sheer shrillness in her voice. She had a falsetto that would make Queen proud.
"Who else got paid?" Red questioned Henry, pointing his gun at the man's head as he wreathed on the ground, holding his leg.
"Henry!? You monster! What have you done?!" Janice looked up at Red from where she kneeled next to her husband, fluttering her arms in panic.
"Please, Janice. Stop with the yelling. It's just a flesh wound." Red tried to reason with the woman.
"He shot you!" The woman moaned, clutching at her husband's leg, causing the man to groan in increased agony.
"The next bullet goes in your stomach if you don't start talking. I want a name."
"I have to call an ambulance. He needs a doctor!"
"Janice, if you don't stop, – I'm gonna put you in the closet."
"Red, please." Henry pleaded.
"I need to call Dr. Wright. He will come to the house!"
"No doctor" Red murmured as he walked over and grabbed Janice by the arm, hauling her to her feet.
" – What are you doing?! Stop it! Aah! No! Aah! Her voice became muffled as Red shoved her into the closet and closed the door before spinning back towards Henry.
"Henry, give me the name."
"Let me out of here!"
Red spun on his heel and face the closet. "Janice if you don't stop your yammering, I'm gonna have to shoot through this door, which will be a shame, because I won't have any idea what I'm shooting at." Red paused, nodding his head in satisfaction when only the slightest sound of a whimper passed through the door. Walking back over to Henry, Red cocked his gun. "Give me a name, Henry, or I'm gonna drag you out, throw you in the trunk, fly you to Papua New Guinea, and have your head stuck on a pole."
"Newton Phillips." Henry moaned.
Red's lips pursed in anger before he turned back to the closet. "Janice, my sincerest apologies. I'll take a rain check on the Stroganoff. It smells delicious." He yelled through the door before quickly leaving the house.
/\/\/\/\
Lizzie, Ressler, and Meera stood in the war room of the Post Office, with Cooper, presenting their case to him as it stood. "Every one of The Good Samaritan's victims had a family member with identical injuries – fractured skulls, broken bones, torn retinas. All of them either the victim's spouse or child. All of them classic signs of physical abuse." Lizzie explained.
"You think your serial killer only targets people who hurt others?" Cooper asked, skeptical.
"How else do you explain this?" Lizzie gestured her hand in a broad sweep at the evidence boards.
"Every one of these family members was at a different hospital, different insurance, different doctors. There's nothing that ties them together." Ressler stated, clearly frustrated, though that may have been because his usual Captain America stance was severely diminished by his cane. He was only able to place one hand on his hip. It just didn't have the same effect.
Her eyes running quickly over the board, Lizzie stepped towards it and pointed to several pieces of paper, each with the same name on it. "Yes, there is. Nurse Karl Hoffman. He was on call every time one of the family members was brought into the ER. He's a locum tenens. He fills in for short–staffed hospitals, like a substitute teacher."
/\/\/\/\
"We're getting warrants for his home address and the last hospital he reported to." Ressler updated Cooper.
"Good. Get moving."
/\/\/\/\
Lizzie and Ressler rounded the corner of the hospital and walked up a nurse's station. "Okay. So, you wanted a list of all the patients Hoffman saw today?" The nurse at the station asked, flicking through some files.
"Yeah, specifically ones who came in with broken bones." Lizzie answered.
"Right." The nurse nodded her head. "Well, there's only one patient that fit that description – Melissa Wilkinson. She had a fractured wrist. I think she came in with her husband." The nurse handed Lizzie the patient file.
/\/\/\/\
Lizzie stood at the door of Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson's apartment as the woman leaned against the door jam, wrapping her overlarge sweater around her and crossing her arms over her chest.
"Is George in some kind of trouble?" Her voice was so soft, Lizzie strained to hear her.
"Melissa, I need to ask you a difficult question. Has your husband been abusing you?"
"No. Of course not." Lizzie pursed her lips at the immediate jump to deny the abuse.
"I'm aware of your visit to the ER. You've been interviewed by a caseworker in the past."
Mrs Wilkinson worried her bottom lip. "We've had some problems. Every marriage does. But he's getting help. He's been going to group classes at the church twice a week. In fact, he went today."
/\/\/\/\
"Okay. Let's see. What's next? A concussion." Hoffman turned around from the backlit x-ray viewing screen and walked over to where he had Mr. Wilkinson restrained to a medical bed. "Do you know what a concussion technically is, George? It is a blow with significant enough blunt force that it literally causes the brain to rattle around inside of your skull. This won't do, 'cause there was also a vertical laceration along with the concussion. What did you do, George? Huh? What did you throw at her? Huh? A bottle! Huh?"
"A bottle of beer!" The man screamed, blood seeping down the side of his face where Hoffman had detached his retina.
"What's that, George?"
"A bottle of beer!"
"A bottle of beer!" Hoffman nodded with satisfaction as if a puzzle had just been solved. "Of course it was. Keep an eye on him, mother." Hoffman directed at the old woman who sat in a wheel chair, tears running down her miserable face as she looked on, forced to watch. "I need to run to the kitchen. I'm afraid we've run out of time, mother. We're going to have to expedite the procedure."
Lizzie burst through the door before he could exit the garage and trained her gun on Hoffman.
"Step away from him!" She ordered
"Why should I? Do you have any idea what this man has done?" Hoffman's face contorted grotesquely. "This man is a monster!"
"That may be, but killing him isn't gonna solve anything."
"Tell that to his wife. We don't have the luxury of your simple morality. Talk to me when you've been a victim." Hoffman raised his hand as if to strike Mr. Wilkinson.
"Drop the hammer! One more body isn't gonna make a difference."
"I think it will especially if it's the right body." He spins and runs at his mother. Lizzie doesn't hesitate. She takes the shot.
/\/\/\/\
"Agent Keen." Mrs. Wilkinson greeted, appearing shocked to see Lizzie in the hospital.
"Mrs. Wilkinson, I'm gonna need to speak with your husband alone for a moment." Lizzie pointed to Mr. Wilkinson where he lay on a hospital bed, his injured eye covered with a patch of gauze.
"Of course." Mrs. Wilkinson hesitated before taking a couple steps away.
"Actually, wait." Mrs. Wilkinson turned back around and walked back over slowly. Once Lizzie was sure she was back in hearing distance, she looked back at Mr. Wilkinson. "Metro PD is looking into charges against you, but without Melissa's cooperation, I don't know what will stick. What I do know is this – if you ever touch her again, if you so much as look at her sideways, I will find you." Lizzie gazed steadily at the man as he swallowed uncomfortably. "And I will do to you myself what I probably should have let Karl Hoffman do to you in that garage. Do you understand?"
Lizzie was beginning to wonder if she was spending too much time with her father. Either way, she couldn't bring herself to care as she exited the hospital.
/\/\/\/\
Red crouched on a small cliff and upturned the urn holding Luli's ashes, slowly scattering her ashes into the water below. Standing there in silence for a moment, Red sighs before turning around.
"Newton." Red calls, indicating with his hand for Newton to come over as he walks closer, meeting the man half way before placing the urn on the ground beside him.
"So it's finished?" Newton asked softly, gazing out at the water. Red stood behind him, his gaze firmly on the side of Newton's face.
"If you had come to me, I could have helped you. We could have avoided all of this. But now we can't." Red stated gravely.
Newton looked over at Red. "They threatened my family."
"Of course they did. Newton, I'll take care of your family, whatever they need."
Newton looked down at the ground the back up at Red. "My wife she has no idea. If you could make it look like an accident, for her."
"Look out at the water." Newton looked at Red, confusion marring his features. "Just look out at the water."
Red grabbed the plastic lining from Luli's urn and shoved it over Newton's head. Wrapping his arm around Newton's neck, he ignored Newton's attempts to struggle and pound on his arms with his fists until the man fell still.
/\/\/\/\
Lizzie walked warily into her house, unsure if she had beat Tom here.
"Tom?"
Walking into the living room, she was momentarily startled as the lamp clicked on, revealing Red.
"Tom's at the airport."
"What the hell are you doing here?" She asked, though a smile slowly crawled across her face as she pointed at the couch in clear invitation. It had been weeks since she'd seen her dad and she missed him.
"You shouldn't have agreed to meet with him alone, Lizzie."
Lizzie simply shrugged sheepishly in answer. A part of her knew that it was a bad idea. But she felt that this was her mess, her marriage. Even if her dad had played a role at the beginning, it was her job to finish it.
"How did things go with your case? Congratulations. I'm proud of you."
Lizzie smile brightened as she sat on the sofa beside him. "Does this mean you're back?"
Red sighed, grinding his teeth slightly. "I don't know. My house is clean. But yours is not."
"What does that mean?" Lizzie's brow furrowed as she tossed her hair over her shoulder.
"The deficit that I found in my organization could not have supplied all the knowledge required for the incursion to take place. That would have been supplied by someone with far greater access."
"Someone on the inside."
Red nodded, a small frown marring his features. "It would seem so." He stated wearily.
"Therefore, we're back where we began."
"Me speaking with you.
Lizzie smirked at him, taking his hand in hers and squeezing gently. "Well, then. Welcome back. Where have you been, anyway?"
Red finally smiled back at her, shifting to get more comfortable. "Out and about."
"Did you bring me anything?" She asked smartly.
Red threw his head back and laughed, which had been her goal. She didn't like seeing him so serious and forlorn.
They were quiet for a few moments, just enjoying each other's company.
"I'm sorry about Luli." Lizzie murmured and squeezed Red's hand once more in comfort, smiling sadly as he squeezed back, looking back over at her with such a deep sadness in his eyes.
"Thank you, Sweetheart."
/\/\/\/\
They had waited. When they heard the front door open, Both Red and Lizzie stood up from the couch. They heard Tom calling Lizzie's name but neither replied. They knew he'd walk into the living room eventually.
And he did, stopping short in the doorway at the sight of both Lizzie and Red standing in front of the couch.
"Lizzie? Who…who's this?" Tom questioned, apparently confused as he gestured vaguely at Red.
Red chuckled darkly before moving towards Tom, "The jig is up Tom. No need to pretend anymore."
"Liz, what the hell is this? Who is this guy?" Tom's voice grew steadily louder.
"Don't act like you don't know who he is Tom." Lizzie spoke softly. She was just so damn tired of the entire charade.
"I literally have no idea what you're talking about."
"Shut up! Just… shut up! I'm sick of this. Did you really think that I would ever trust you again after I found that box? Did you really think you could weasel your way out of that?"
Tom moved towards Lizzie with his arms outstretched, but Red quickly blocked his path, stepping in front of Lizzie.
"Step back, Tom."
"What the hell is this?" Tom yelled, stopping short from getting too close to Red. "Lizzie, some strange guy – a criminal – comes to you telling tales and you just believe him over your own husband?!"
Lizzie laughed bitterly. "You were hired by him. You then betrayed him and spent three years as my husband yet you still didn't figure it out?"
"Lizzie – " Red cut in. "Don't."
Lizzie took a deep breath, biting her bottom lip as she realized what she'd almost revealed before straightening her spine and gazing at Tom steadily. "I want a divorce." Her words were clipped with anger for all the crap this man had put her through, all the wasted years, all the wasted love.
Tom's large doe eyes hardened as he went to walk around the coffee table, hoping to side step Red.
"Here's how it's going to go, Thomas." Red stepped towards Tom who immediately took a step back, backing away from the table. "You're going to leave. You will not communicate with Lizzie in any fashion. You will never step within 50 feet of her. Try anything and there will be no hole deep enough to hide you. You know who I am. You know what I do. I am giving you an out, Tom. I suggest you take it. There will not be another one." Red's grave voice teemed with danger.
There was silence as Tom adjusted his glasses nervously.
"Lizzie, please, we can figure this out. Let me expl -"
"Leave Tom." She was rather proud of how steady her voice sounded because she was pretty sure she was going to lose it in about 2.3 seconds.
Tom stared at her for a moment longer before spinning on his heel and walking away, his fists clenched.
"Oh and Thomas?"
Tom paused at the sound of Red's voice but didn't turn around.
"Tell your employer that we're ready, whenever he decides to show himself."
