Five Years Later: Chapter Three

All night long, while the rest of the people who worked in her building were at home sleeping, Gretchen fired guns. Detective Adams, the partner she assumed Claire had been referring to, only kept two guns that shot .40 caliber ammo: A Smith and Wesson, and a glock 22 like her own, which was standard police issue. But, just for comparison, she fired her own as well, and a few others she could get her hands on.

Her gut said to trust Claire. But, at the same time, her gut felt twisted into a million knots at the moment.

She had run out of guns to fire at about 2 a.m. Now, she is sitting back in the lab, comparing fired bullets. She checks each one carefully by sight, wearing a magnifying eyepiece. After going through several bullets, she stops at one in particular. The markings are very similar. Similar enough to make chills go up her spine. But, she needs to be sure.

She places both the bullet that hit Claire and the bullet in her hand into a comparison macroscope, and looks through the lens. The markings appear identical. But, even with the deep-seeded trust she holds for Claire, she cannot believe it. She gets up from the table and grabs her thermos of coffee. She pours some in the lid and sips at it, pacing the floor in shock.

After a moment, she goes back to the macroscope and peers into the lens again. Nothing has changed. The bullet that hit Claire was fired from her own partner's glock. But ... why?

Gretchen's head is spinning. Suddenly, the whole weight of the day hits her, and she realizes she's been up since 6 a.m. Fatigue grabs at her like a phantom and threatens to pull her under. She grabs both of the bullets and stuffs them in her pocket.

This will have to wait until Monday. She hangs up the smock and grabs her trench coat, yawning. Perhaps, in the morning, after she's had time to rest, things will look a little clearer.

Putting it all out of her mind, as much as is possible, she exits the room, exits the building, and hails a cab home.


The next morning, when Gretchen awakes, she opens her eyes to find that she is not in the same bed she laid down in the night before. She is groggy, and her vision is blurry, but it looks like she is in a hotel room. She sits up, but a wave of dizziness stops her from standing. She looks around and sees an old television, a writing desk, and an end-table. Other than that, the small room is bare.

Just as she tries to stand again, the doorknob jiggles. She freezes in motion and holds her breath, anticipating any number of horrible fates in her mind.

She has no idea how she got here.

The door opens, and Claire Bennet enters, wearing an apologetic grin and carrying a tray of breakfast food. Gretchen relaxes, but only a little. Her stomach growls as the smell of the food wafts through the room, and she doesn't know whether to be extremely angry for the displacement and confusion, or grateful for the chance to eat.

"Sorry," says Claire, setting the tray on the desk for the moment. "Please don't hate me ... I promise this is all for a good reason."

Gretchen tries to focus her eyes as Claire sits down at the end of the bed. Claire crosses her legs, bouncing one nervously up and down, and gives Gretchen a look of concern.

"We had to give you a mild sedative," she explains, seeing Gretchen squint at her. "It should wear off soon."

"Where am I?" Gretchen finally asks.

"Someplace safe," says Claire. "You weren't safe in your apartment anymore. We had to get you out."

"We?"

"My friends and I," replies Claire, as if this should clear up all confusion.

"What made you think I wasn't safe in my apartment?" asks Gretchen. "And ... why couldn't you just tell me that?"

Claire shrugs. "Wasn't sure you'd believe me," she says, "And, I didn't have time to convince you."

Claire pulls a cell phone from her pocket and searches it for the proper video.

"Watch this," she says, handing the phone to Gretchen.

Gretchen takes the phone, her hand shaking, and watches the tiny screen. A street level view of her apartment appears. In a moment, the apartment explodes from the side of the building, sending glass and other material flying in a rain of fire. People on the street scream in terror, running for cover, then the video shuts off.

"We got you out just minutes earlier," Claire tells her. "We were lucky. We were told the explosion would happen an hour later than it did."

"You were told my apartment was going to explode?" Gretchen exclaims, her eyesight finally improving. "By who?"

"Gretchen ..." Claire says, obviously not ready to speak on that subject just yet, "Did you test your partner's guns last night?"

Gretchen nods. "It was a match. Which reminds me ... you still haven't told me what the hell is going on! Claire, why did my partner not tell me he was in that bank? How did he know you would be there? And, where the fuck am I ... pardon my language!"

Claire smiles at the last comment Gretchen makes, seeing the sincerity in it, even put, as it was, at the end of an angry tirade.

"Okay, okay," Claire says, putting up her hands in defeat. "I'm sorry. Listen, there is a lot to tell. And I mean, a lot. For now, can I just ... show you around?"

"Show me around what?" asks Gretchen, more curious now than afraid.

"Our home," Claire says with a proud grin. "I can fill you in on the details while we walk."

"What about breakfast?" Gretchen says, looking over at the food once more.

Claire looks back at the food too, as if she's forgotten it. "Oh!" she says, "Well, I guess that sedative is finally wearing off. Can you see better yet?"

Gretchen looks at Claire. Her green eyes are twinkling, and her face is framed by luscious blonde curls, causing it to appear heart-shaped. Her smile is warm, but flirtatious, and the tiny t-shirt and shorts she is wearing hug her in all the right places.

The past five years have been kind to Claire, who doesn't appear to have aged at all.

"Yeah," Gretchen finally says. "I can see just fine."

"Good," chirps Claire, uncrossing her legs to stand. "So, I'll leave you to your breakfast and come back in a few minutes."

She hops up from the bed and moves to the door, ready to exit.

"Wait!" says Gretchen suddenly, standing as well.

Claire turns, her hand still on the doorknob.

"Stay," invites Gretchen, biting down on her bottom lip nervously. "I mean ... if you want to. We don't have to talk."

Claire smiles and nods, taking her hand off the door. "I thought you'd never ask."