Five Years Later: Chapter Two

Gretchen and Detective Adams duck under the yellow tape that surrounds the bank, making their way towards it's revolving doors. On the sidewalk, the excitement over the robbery is waning. A few reporters linger, asking questions of the uniformed officers that guard the perimeter, but the reporters seem relaxed and quiet. Across the street, people go about their daily business, hardly taking notice of the yellow tape at all.

Inside the bank, it is also quiet. Only one officer remains. He takes a snapshot of a piece of evidence across the room and smiles up at them, nodding. They nod back, and he moves on to the next piece of evidence without a word.

As they approach the tellers station, Gretchen looks up at the camera that caught Claire smiling. She pauses for a moment, then turns to follow her partner.

"Well, here's the pool of blood Bennet left behind," Adams says, looking down at the floor. "Pretty nasty, huh?"

Gretchen looks down as well. Her stomach turns, and her knees get wobbly, but she manages to remain conscious.

"Holy Mother of ..." Gretchen starts to say.

"And, get this," he tells her quietly, "not a drop spilt on the way out. No matter what direction we took as her possible escape route, even right out the front door, we didn't find another drop of blood anywhere. Not one."

"Have someone collect a sample of this," Gretchen tells him.

He gives her a peculiar look.

She smiles nervously. "I realize we already know Bennet's identity, but perhaps there are genetic markers that would help us locate her."

"As in?" he questions, looking intrigued but doubtful.

"As in, whether she's diabetic or not. If she has any health problems at all, ones that would require constant attention, then we could track her to a hospital or a clinic. After all, we may know her identity, but they may not. She could be using an alias to receive treatment."

"What makes you think we haven't checked her medical history already? Seems like a pretty sensible thing for us to do."

"Did you?" she asks.

He smiles, cocking his head to one side. "Yes, except ... Claire Bennet doesn't have a medical history. As far as we can tell, she's never seen a doctor in her life."

"That seems odd," Gretchen remarks.

"Gretch ..." Adams says, looking her over skeptically. "Why am I getting the feeling you already knew Bennet didn't have a medical history?"

"Don't be ridiculous. How would I know that?"

"Why would you assume we hadn't checked already? That's standard on any investigation like this."

Gretchen shrugs. "Well," she says, "you're the one who admitted they didn't recruit me for my policing skills ... remember?"

Looking back at the floor, she spots an evidence marker and bends down for a closer inspection. It is the bullet that hit Claire in the chest. Gretchen puts on a glove and picks it up, turning it around in her hand. It is crushed, as if someone hit it with a sledge hammer.

"This is a .40 caliber bullet," Gretchen says, standing up to show him. "The same kind we use in our 22s."

"A lot of people use .40 caliber," he replies. "Nothing strange about that."

Gretchen pulls out a baggie and places the bullet inside, then stuffs it in her pocket.

"What other evidence is there?" she asks.

"Not much," he admits. "Some fingerprints, a chewing gum wrapper ... nothing that's going to lead us to Bennet."

"Do you really think we're going to catch Bennet?" she asks, giving him a doubtful smile. "She's never been caught, you know. Not even for jaywalking."

His cell phone rings in his pocket. The ringtone is the theme song from Hawaii 5-0. Gretchen tries not to laugh.

"If anyone can find us a new lead, I'm sure it's you, Gretch," he tells her, fishing for the phone. "Will you excuse me? I have to take this."

He turns and takes several steps away, speaking quietly to the person on the other end.

While his back is turned, Gretchen kneels beside the pool of blood. She quickly opens her purse and pulls out a toothpick and a glass slide. She looks over her shoulder to make sure he still isn't watching, then dips the toothpick in the blood. It is sticky from coagulation, but wet enough to stick to the slide. She covers the slide, sticks it in a baggie, and stuffs everything back in her purse.

When she stands back up, Detective Adams is still on the phone, paying no attention to her. She sighs in relief.

Then, she looks back at the pool of blood and tilts her head. Usually, the sight of this much blood would have made her faint, despite her academy training to do otherwise. But, knowing that it came from Claire ... she doesn't know whether to feel relieved ... or scared to death.


After having lunch alone, Gretchen returns to her office, locking the door behind her. She sits down at her desk and enters Claire's name into the computer again. This time, after waiting a few moments, a new message pops up on the screen. It reads: "Access denied." Her brow furrows in confusion, and she tries again, being careful to enter everything right. But she only comes up with the same result.

"Access denied?" she thinks aloud, rubbing her chin.

She clicks on an icon and pulls up the internet. She googles Claire's name. This time, she is greeted with a long list of options. But it is just everything she's heard before: speculation, theory, or just straight out gossip.

Thanks to her long list of successful bank robberies, her constant and miraculous ability to evade authorities, and, of course, her natural ability to charm the camera, Claire Bennet isn't just a media sensation. She is the media sensation.

And Gretchen has followed her story all along. Except, now she can't just follow out of her own curiosity. Now, she is a part of the machine that is out to stop Claire- for good.

She swallows hard and clicks on the fist link. She has already clicked on most of these links before. This time, however, she is determined to go through each and every one of them. She will not leave a stone unturned.


It is well past eight o'clock when Gretchen finally looks up from her searching and sees the time at the top of the computer screen. She blinks hard a few times, and shakes her head to regain focus.

Knowing that everyone else has probably already gone home, she takes the glass slide from her purse and places it in her pocket.

She exits her office and walks slowly down the corridor, checking around to see if anyone is still there. At the end of the corridor, she reaches a steel door. She scans her identification card on the panel next to it, and the lock clicks open. She turns the handle and goes inside.

She walks down another corridor, and enters a lab room through double, swinging doors. She turns on the lights and takes a white smock from one of the hangers.

Behind her, the doors swing open, letting in a breeze. She is startled for a moment, then hears the air conditioning unit kick on. She lets out a sigh of relief, laughing at herself, and puts on the smock.

Pulling up a stool to sit on, she places the slide under a microscope and peers in. She is astounded at what she sees.

"Wow ..." she says in awe.

"Pretty neat, huh?" comes a familiar voice in response, as if from right behind her.

Gretchen spins around on her stool. Claire Bennet stands in front of her, giving her a provocative grin.

Gretchen jumps back in surprise, but only manages to smack her back against the table.

"I am assuming that's my blood you're looking at?" Claire asks, nodding towards the microscope.

"H ... How did you get in here?" stutters Gretchen, suddenly remembering the cool breeze that had swept in just moments earlier.

Claire gives a short laugh and cocks her head, giving Gretchen a look that makes her even more queasy than seeing the pool of blood. "Now ... why would I want to tell you that?" she asks, taking one step closer. "It seems to me that you and I are standing on opposite sides ... for now."

"On opposite sides of what?" Gretchen begs to know.

"You should really be testing that bullet you picked up today, instead of obsessing over my blood sample," Claire tells her, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not obsess... Wait a minute. How do you know about the bullet I picked up?"

Claire shrugs. "Well, I was the one that got hit by it."

"It's already been through ballistics ... earlier today. There were no matches in the system," Gretchen tells her, speeding through the information as if it were insignificant.

"Claire ... what is going on? Someone was killed today in that robbery. An innocent person!"

"No matches in the system," Claire points out, ignoring the rest. "You aren't testing it against the right gun."

Gretchen shakes her head, confused, then waves off her remark entirely. "Okay, look ... can we just forget about all that right now? I haven't seen you in five years, Claire. Except for when you've been on the 6 o'clock news."

"That isn't my fault," says Claire, looking almost hurt beneath her steely exterior.

"I'm not saying it's anyone's fault," Gretchen explains. "I'm just saying ... Look, I'm a cop now ... I may not look like one, but ... I am ... technically. And, I'm giving you a chance here ... to tell me what the hell is going on with you. I should be cuffing you! But, I'm giving you a chance. Do you get that?"

"Yeah," answers Claire, "I get that, okay? But I don't have time for that right now. For now, you're just going to have to trust me."

"Trust you," laughs Gretchen, looking up at the ceiling. "Trust you? A known felon? A fugitive? You do know I'm leading the forensics team on your case, right? Of course you do! You know everything!"

Claire grabs her arm, which has been thrashing around wildly during her tirade. "That's not true," she says, slowly releasing it. "I don't know how you feel about me anymore."

"Well ... that should be obvious," says Gretchen with a nervous laugh. "I haven't cuffed you yet ... have I?"

Claire smiles and, this time, it is a warm smile. For a moment, Gretchen sees the old Claire shining out from underneath this new and colder version.

"Test the bullet against your partner's guns," she tells Gretchen.

"What?" asks Gretchen in surprise, blinking.

"I'll be in touch with you soon," Claire says. "And, we'll have a longer talk next time, I promise."

Before Gretchen can open her mouth to say more, Claire vanishes into thin air. The double doors swing open for a minute, then swing shut again.

Gretchen reaches down and pinches herself hard in the arm.

"Ouch! Damn it."

This is not a dream.

*to be continued*