A few hours later, Rosita had returned to the Andersons' neighborhood, this time with a SWAT unit as back up.
She almost felt bad for disturbing the sleepy suburb with the late night raid, but it couldn't be helped. With Jesse's testimony, they had enough to secure overnight warrants for Blake and Mamet's arrests along with a property search of the Anderson residence.
So it was time to divide and conquer.
Rosita insisted Carol make the arrests, knowing it was a full circle moment for her partner. While she did that, Rosita would oversee the search.
She stuffed her hands inside the pockets of her leather jacket, tugging it tighter around her against the nighttime chill. Her eyes scanned the lamp lit curvature of the street once more before landing on her target.
The Anderson home was an innocuous abode. White brick with dark gray shutters, large in size but otherwise plain. It wasn't decrepit, but there was a sinister feeling in its lackluster.
A SWAT officer, dressed in all black approached her with his helmet tucked under his arm.
Sergeant Morgan James wasn't a man of many words, but he was efficient and had solid command of his team. She had seen them in action a time or two before, and knew they were elite.
The fact that they were called in now only further indicated the direness of bringing this case to a close as soon as possible.
"We're ready," he said to her, nodding to his unit of armed officers lining up the Andersons' walkway.
Rosita gave a nod and Sergeant James signaled with his hand.
At his instruction, the SWAT officer closest to the front door raised a hand-held battering ram and swung. The wooden paneling split open with jarring ease, bouncing loudly off the frame.
The officer did a quick scope of the entrance, then gestured over his shoulder for the rest of the team to follow suit. "Go, go, go!"
The line marched quickly inside, breaking off into groups of three to search the premises. They were impressive to watch as they stealthily moved through the dark.
Rosita stood next to the sergeant and listened in on his radio as they cleared each section.
"Upstairs clear!"
"Downstairs clear!"
"Back exterior, clear!"
"All clear, Sarge. No one's home."
Sergeant James looked at Rosita and gave her a curt nod before starting towards the entrance.
Rosita followed behind him, one hand on the handle of her glock - just in case.
There was a surveillance camera positioned in the top-right hand corner of the door. The tiny gray camera blended perfectly with the paneling of the exterior frame. It would have gone undetected altogether if the sergeant's flashlight hadn't bounced off its tiny reflective lens.
"Think there are more of them?" she asked.
"We'll find out," he replied, raising his flashlight to get a better look.
A call from inside the house quickly redirected their attention. "Sarge! I think we found something."
Rosita took the lead, following the voice though the dark to an open door on the main floor with the light turned on.
A basement.
She re-holstered her weapon and descended the steps with the sergeant on her heels.
The room was nondescript, with cement flooring and walls, and a rickety wooden staircase leading to a separate egress on the other side of the space. There were some barron shelving attached to the walls and a stainless steel utility sink that seemed out of place in the otherwise unfinished room.
"Over here, Detective," someone said as Rosita stepped off the bottom step.
She made her way over to where the SWAT officer was kneeling, in the far corner of the room. As she knelt down the officer nodded towards the wall.
Or rather, the long drags haphazardly carved into it.
"Scratch marks," Sergeant James assessed, raising his light for a better view.
Rosita nodded in agreement, following the wayward pattern with her eyes. She squinted as her gaze fell to the floor, and nodded to James to redirect the light just there.
When he did, more scratches were revealed. This time the drags appeared to indicate a sort of message.
"P-B," he read aloud.
Rosita inhaled deeply. It couldn't be a coincidence.
She quickly stood, locking eyes with the sergeant. "He did it here," she said with certainty. "I'm willing to put money that P-B stands for Philip Blake. Andrea was trying to leave us a message."
Sergeant James didn't need to hear anything further as he reached for his radio. "All units be advised, this is now an active crime scene. Proceed with the search and raid, but have the crime scene unit sent down to the basement ASAP."
"You got it, Sarge," someone responded, then came back with another message. "We got a plan for the natives? They're starting to get a little restless out here."
"I'll handle it," Rosita intercepted. "Secure this crime scene."
"You got it," Sergeant James confirmed as she disappeared up the steps.
Michonne squinted her eyes in her sleep as flashing blue and red lights bounced off of her open bedroom curtains.
She groaned, rolling over to bury her face in Rick's pillow and peaked an eye open, only to quickly sit up with a start at the police lights filling the cul-de-sac.
In a strange state of waking alertness, she flipped back the bedsheets and rushed to the nearest window, pushing the curtains further aside. She gasped softly at the sight of police cars taking up residence on the street outside.
Ten of them lined the curvature of the street as what looked like a SWAT unit infiltrated the Andersons' house.
She quickly turned away from the window, easing into her slippers and robe before quickly making her way out of the room.
As she descended the steps she saw Daryl emerge from the downstairs guest room.
He looked up and they exchanged a look of wary confusion.
"What the hell's going on?" he muttered.
Michonne shook her head, unsure as she reached for the doorknob.
She opened the door to find they weren't the only ones roused by the commotion.
Aaron was descending his front steps as Eric lingered in their doorway with Gracie. Abraham was already attempting to exchange words with an officer setting up a perimeter, while Ellen looked on in worry from their front porch.
"Stay here," Daryl instructed, moving around her head down the walkway towards the line the police had tapped off.
"Mom?"
Michonne whirled around to see Carl and Andre descending the staircase, likely woken up by flashing lights painting the walls of their home. A fact that made her grateful Judith, RJ, and Maya's rooms faced the opposite side of the house.
"What's going on?" Carl asked, stepping in the space between her and the door.
"I don't know," Michonne murmured, redirecting her attention back outside.
She locked eyes with Ellen, and the other woman started down her front steps as quickly as her fuzzy slippers would allow her.
"Stay here," Michonne said, repeating Daryl's words as she went to meet her friend.
"Tell me you know why half of Atlanta PD are parked in our cul-de-sac," Ellen breathlessly asked once she was close enough.
Michonne shook her head, looking back over her shoulder. "I have no idea."
She spotted a young woman descending from the Andersons' front porch, where most of the action had congregated on the other side of the tape. The subtle deference she was shown by the uniformed officers she passed gave away her rank as she walked purposefully towards the line where Abraham was demanding answers with Aaron and Daryl at his flank.
Michonne grabbed Ellen's hand and pulled her along. "Let's see if we can find out."
"Good evening, folks, I'm Detective Espinosa," they heard the young woman say as they neared. "On behalf of the department, we apologize for disturbing you and your families at this hour."
Abraham sniffed, folding his arms across his chest. "We don't want no damn apology, Detective. We want answers. What the hell is going on?"
Detective Espinosa nodded, maintaining a neutral expression under his glare. "I can appreciate your frustration, but right now, we have more questions than answers ourselves. I'm hoping you all can help shed some light on your neighbors," she said, tipping her head back to the house behind her.
"Doubtful. They just moved in," Aaron said, taking a cursory assessment of the others, all of whom indicated some form of wary agreement.
"Does this have anything to do with why you were here earlier?" Ellen asked, pressing up on her tiptoes as she peaked around her husband.
"We're following up on a lead in our investigation," the detective confirmed with a nod. "Right now, we have Mrs. Anderson and her children in custody. We're looking for any information on the whereabouts of her husband."
Michonne exchanged a concerned glance with Ellen. "Did something happen?" she asked.
The Detective pressed her lips together and Michonne realized she was withholding information.
"We're looking into every possibility," was all the detective said.
"You mean to tell me that's what this whole horse-and-pony show is about?" Abraham scoffed loudly. "Hell, for all we know could be passed out drunk in a bar somewhere."
"Stop it, Abe. Clearly there's something serious going on here," Ellen admonished, nudging him roughly with her elbow.
"No worries. I get it," Detective Espinosa inserted with an empathetic nod. "It's after midnight and I'm sure you all are tired. Go back to your homes and try to get some rest."
Daryl snorted under his breath. "How the hell are we s'posed to do that with y'all lighting the street up like a goddamn Christmas tree?"
To her credit, the detective's expression was apologetic. "A necessary evil, I'm afraid."
"Can you tell us anything else? I mean, should we be concerned?" Aaron asked, looking back over his shoulder at his husband and child observing their interaction with worried eyes.
The detective shook her head once. "For now, it would be best for you all to return to your homes and let our people do their jobs."
Her response provided no real comfort, but at the moment there was nothing else to be said. She left them with a firm nod, then turned on her heels to head back inside the house.
Abraham exhaled his frustrations loudly. "Something ain't right."
"Whatever it is, it must be pretty bad to show up like this," Aaron concurred, lifting his eyes back towards the Andersons' house.
Ellen looked at Michonne, the closest to law enforcement within their group. "What do you think, Chonne?"
"They know more than they're saying," she murmured in reply. "They're treating the house like a crime scene."
Her words sent a chill through the others as they took in the scene in silence.
Abraham was the first to break it. "Let's go, El. No sense freezing sphincters off out here," he grunted, taking his wife by the hand. "I suggest you all do the same."
"Hopefully, they have more information to tell us in the morning," Aaron said, nodding to the others as he slowly back trekked up his walkway.
Daryl turned to Michonne as the others dispersed. "Should we call Rick?" he asked as they began to retreat back up the sidewalk.
She started to respond but had noticed her older kids had migrated to the edge of their driveway. In the time it took to get what little information they could from the detective, Judith had wandered down to join her brothers.
"Gracie text me," she said before Michonne could ask.
"What'd they say?" Andre added quickly.
Michonne exhaled softly, looking back over her shoulder. "They're looking for Pete," she told them.
"Did something happen?" Carl asked.
"The police are working to find that out. Come on, back inside," she said, motioning for them all to turn and head back towards the house.
Judith frowned and opened her mouth to protest but Daryl put a hand on her shoulder before she could.
"You heard your mom," he said, steering her towards the door.
Michonne started after them, but paused when she realized someone was missing. She turned and found Carl still lingering at the edge of the driveway.
"Carl," she said, wrapping her arms around herself as she rejoined him. "What is it?"
"I have a bad feeling," he admitted without looking away from the scene.
Michonne wrapped an arm around him, hugging him to her side. "Come on," she murmured, kissing his forehead, then turned them around to make the short trek back to the house.
Daryl had posted up in the family room with the TV turned to the local news in a vain attempt to get more information. He looked up long enough to let her know he had sent Judith and Andre back up to their rooms.
She nodded her thanks and sent Carl up to join them. Once she saw that all of her children were back in their bedrooms with their blackout curtains closed to shut out the world outside, she made her way to the master suite to do the same.
As she sank down to the bed her cell phone caught her attention, left discarded in her bedsheets. She reached for it to call Rick.
She hated to wake him, but knew he would not like being left out of this development. Besides, she desperately wanted to hear his voice.
When she unlocked the device the first thing to come up was a text from him, sent just a couple of hours ago. She tapped the text bubble and a picture of her filled the screen.
It was from their last conversation, when she had FaceTimed him right before bed. She vaguely remembered falling asleep while still on the call. Her hair was everywhere and her mouth was opened slightly and she looked crazy. He must've snapped the pic before hanging up.
She swiped off the picture to read his accompanying text.
R: You were too cute to resist. Sweet dreams, beautiful.
Michonne held the device to her chest, wishing it was him instead. She fell back against the bed, deciding he would forgive her for waking him and lifted the phone to dial his number.
But her cell vibrated with an incoming call from an unknown number before she could.
A jolt of panic tensed her muscles, because who could possibly be calling at this hour? Especially from a number she didn't know. Still, she forced herself to answer before it could go to voicemail.
"Hello?"
"Michonne?"
Michonne sat up straight, knitting her eyebrows together at the sound of the voice on the other line.
"Jesse?"
Philip was working late in his home office.
His press conference had managed to do some damage control, rallying support from his most ardent followers. But the opposition on the left was making his life increasingly difficult.
All week, talking heads on national news networks have been digging into his past, dragging his name through the mud for political points with their viewers and pundits.
All the while, his polling numbers were going down across the board.
He stayed up late responding to emails from his high-dollar donors. Some of whom were growing concerned with his connection to the ongoing investigation and the perceived optics as a result of it.
Philip was trying to be patient, wording his missives with flowery language he didn't actually mean to assure them. But as he downed the last swallow on his second glass of whiskey, his indignation grew.
Everything he has done has led to this next stepping point in his career. He had dreams beyond the Georgia Governor's mansion, dreams that led all the way to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. And he would be damned if he let his dream crash and burn to the ground because of someone else's incompetence.
Liquid courage began to influence his typing, and his email became harsher and less apologetic.
A hard knocking at his front door stopped him from pressing send, for better or for worse.
Philip snapped his head up to the clock on the shelf behind him. It was almost 1am.
With a growl he pushed himself from his seat and stalked out into the hallway. The walls were lit up with the blue and red lights flashing through the glass paneling of the front doors.
Footsteps rushing down the staircase caught Philip's attention and he looked up to meet Lily's wide-eyed gaze.
"Philip? What's going on?" she asked in alarm, tightening her robe around her.
He didn't answer her as he marched towards the door.
His indignation increased tenfold when he saw who was standing on the other side of it.
"What the fuck do you want now?" he snapped, well past the stage of false pleasantries.
Detective Peletier offered him a casual smile, unphased by his belligerence. "Good evening, Mr. Blake."
Philip shifted his glare from her to the officer standing on his steps behind her, to the paddy wagon blocking access to his street. "Get off my property, now," he warned, redirecting his eyes to Carol.
"Happy to," she said, maintaining her overly agreeable tone. "Just as soon as you turn around and put your hands behind your back."
Philip narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"Philip? What's going on," Lily inserted nervously, behind him.
He turned and found that his mother-in-law had migrated downstairs, as well. She and Lily were huddled close together in their nightgowns and housecoats, both with mirrored bewilderment in their eyes.
Philip looked back at Carol, his expression darkening. "Aren't you tired of playing this game, Detective?"
"We can make this however easy or difficult you want," Carol said with a shrug. "Doesn't matter to me."
"He hasn't done anything!" Lily cried as her mother wrapped her arms around her, attempting to soothe her.
"Hush now, dear," Charlotte said, glaring pointedly at the officers outside. "I'm sure this is just another big misunderstanding. Lord knows we should be used to them from the APD by now."
Carol ignored the dig as she stepped aside to allow the officer behind her to step forward with handcuffs.
"Philip Blake, you're under arrest," she informed him as the officer bound his wrists, "for the obstruction of an ongoing police investigation, misleading officers with tampered witness statements, and the accessory to attempted homicide."
"What?" Lily and Charlotte proclaimed in simultaneous disbelief.
"It's alright," Philip said to them, maintaining his composure even as he was being led down the steps of his home. "Call Negan. Tell me to meet me at the station. We'll sort this out."
The officer led him down to the waiting paddy wagon, and Philip pulled up short to find Milton already inside. His hands were bound in front of him and his face downcast.
The officer pushed Philip forward. "Get moving."
Philip turned to look at the man, eyes flaring. "Do you know who I am?"
The officer stared back at him, unblinking. "Sir, I don't give a damn who you are. Get in," he said, all but shoving Philip inside.
Once he connected Philip's handcuffs to the seat bar next to Milton, the officer took a seat directly across from them. He banged twice on the steel partition. "Let's go!" he yelled to the driver, and the vehicle started.
Philip turned his glare onto Milton, but the other man never lifted his head.
They were both carted away in silence.
Daryl paced the length of the family room, unable to get back to keep still long enough to do anything else.
Every now and again he would stop to peer out of the bay windows. Some of the police presence had lessened, the SWAT unit was gone at least. But the Andersons' home was still taped off, and now people dressed in what looked like hazmat gear filtered in and out of it, carrying equipment in and boxes out.
Daryl didn't know what was going on, but it looked bad. And it had something to do with Pete Anderson.
He knew Rick didn't trust the man, a sentiment he expressed in so many words when he called and asked Daryl to stay the night after Michonne told him about some video Judith made.
And it seemed like his concern wasn't unjust.
He figured Michonne would call and update Rick sooner or later, but he still reached for his cell phone and pulled up their text thread.
D: Call me when you get this
He sent the note and sank down on the sofa, debating heading back to the guest room to try and get some sleep.
Light footsteps, quickly advancing down the steps caught his attention before he could make up his mind.
"Oh good," Michonne whispered when she spotted him. "You're still up."
Daryl watched as she made her way over to the credenza outside of the family room, frowning at the knit sweater and jeans she wore.
He pushed himself up and neared her. "What are you doing?" he asked, leaning against the archway as she rummaged around her purse.
"I need you to watch the kids for me," she said, distractedly.
He raised his eyebrows. "It's 2am."
"Jesse called, she's at the downtown precinct," she told him, pulling her car keys from her Coach bag. "They're holding her for questioning right now. If I go down there, I might be able to get her to tell me what's going on."
Daryl shook his head, pushing off the arch. "Rick's not going to like that."
Hell, he didn't like it.
"I'll only be gone for a couple of hours," she said, shouldering the bag. "I should be back before the kids wake up."
"What makes you think they'll let you see her?" he pressed, following her to the door.
She tossed him a look over her shoulder. "In case you forgot, I'm a lawyer."
"Yeah, but you're not her lawyer," he countered evenly. "Does Rick know what you're doing?" he added when that didn't appear to stop her.
Michonne paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, then sighed as she turned around.
"Will you watch them or not?" she asked him. Her tone wasn't unkind, just exhausted.
Daryl cocked his head to the side. "Course I will. That's not the point."
She turned the knob and opened the door. "Thank you," she said as she stepped outside, she turned back and added, "I'll call him from the car."
Daryl nodded, wordlessly. He still didn't like it, but he also knew he wouldn't be able to stop her either.
"Just be careful," he told her.
She nodded and he watched from the doorway as she got into her car and backed out of the drive, hoping he wasn't making a mistake letting her go.
Glenn opened his eyes before the screech of his alarm clock could do the job for him. He sighed inwardly at his ability to wake up before dawn, and reluctantly pushed himself up.
Maggie moaned in protest beside him.
"No," she grumbled sleepily, tightening her arm around his waist.
Glenn chuckled softly, lifting her hand to kiss her fingers softly. "I'm sorry, babe."
"It's the crack of dawn, you can't have a surgery scheduled this early," she muttered, rolling onto her, blinking the sleep out of her eyes.
Glenn sighed, swinging his legs around to plant them heavily onto the floor. "Not a surgery," he breathed as he stood. "Mandatory all-staff meeting. The director sent out an email last night. Everyone has to be there."
Maggie frowned, sitting up on her elbows as she read the time on the nightstand's clock. It was barely 6AM. "This early?"
Her incredulous tone followed him as made his way over to their shared closet, and he gave her an apologetic look. "The meeting's at seven."
Maggie exhaled loudly as she flopped back against the pillows. "What could be so urgent that they can't even allow time for a decent breakfast?"
"I dunno," he said, shrugging out of his t-shirt, "but whatever's going on must be important. All the board members were holed up in a conference room all day yesterday. The mood seemed...tense."
Maggie arched a questioning eyebrow. "Layoffs?"
"I thought about that, but the hospital's doing fine. Our performance numbers are even better than last year, despite the scheduling chaos," he told her, tossing a towel around his shoulders.
He crossed back over to her side of the bed, kneeling down beside her to run his fingers through her hair. "I promise, tonight I'll be home in time for dinner."
Maggie gave him a doubtful sideways glance. "How? You're still covering for what's-his-face."
"There is some good news," Glenn whispered, grinning at her. "Anderson was officially taken off the rotation yesterday. Apparently, we're getting some support from Mercy to fill in the gaps until we can find someone permanent to replace him."
Maggie arched a delicate eyebrow. "Did he quit?"
"If you can call it that," he replied, shrugging. "He just disappeared."
She frowned. "Disappeared?"
"From the hospital at least," he confirmed, leaning forward to kiss her forehead before he stood. "When you see Michonne at the office today, ask her if she's noticed anything," he said over his shoulder as he headed for the shower.
He turned on the faucet and stood under the rainfall shower head.
Just as he had lathered up his hair with shampoo, he heard the stall door open and Maggie slipped inside.
"What're you doing?" he asked, grinning as he turned. He had to squint to see her without getting bubbles in his eyes.
Maggie shrugged, returning his expression as she stepped towards him, looping her arms around his neck. "Since you have to leave so early, we might as well make the most of the time we have."
A little over an hour later, Glenn was half walking/half jogging through the hallways of Atlanta General towards the main auditorium. Thanks to his wife's impromptu distraction, however welcomed it was, he was now running late.
He quietly snuck into the room through a side door, slightly amazed that it was already filled to capacity. As his eyes scanned over the crowd he managed to spot Jesus' infamous man-bun in the sea of scrubs and white coats. He was posted up in the back of the room, leaning against the wall.
His friend gave him a sideways glance as he slipped into the space beside him. "Was wondering where you were."
Glenn shoved his hands into his scrub's pockets as he leaned back against the wall. "Overslept."
"Uh-huh."
"So, what'd I miss?"
Jesus sighed, folding his arms over his chest. "Nothing yet. It's just starting," he said, nodding his head towards the stage at the front of the room, where the hospital director, chief of staff, and board director were huddled in quiet conversation near the podium.
"Still have no idea what this is about?" he asked, looking over at Jesus.
"Nope." Then he leaned in closer, lowering his voice, "but when I got in this morning, Dr. Cloyd was in her office with the directors having a pretty intense conversation with Dr. Monroe."
Glenn's eyes wandered back towards the stage and frowned. "Spencer?"
Jesus nodded. "I didn't see how it ended since I had to make sure the patients were good before this thing started, but yeah. It was pretty heated."
"Weird..." Glenn murmured, and Jesus nodded in agreement. "What the hell is going on?"
"Looks like we're about to find out."
The directors had retreated, leaving Dr. Cloyd behind the podium. She stepped towards the mic, tapping it once for a sound check.
"Good morning," she said, and the first thing Glenn noted was her somber demeanor.
She was well known and liked throughout the hospital, in part, because of her awkwardly bubbly personality. An endearing trait that made her seem more down to earth than her title would imply.
The seriousness in her tone and body language were out of character from the friend and colleague he had come to know over the years.
"I know we didn't give you all much of a choice, but thank you for being here. What I have to say is far too important to convey through email," she said, then glanced back over her shoulder at the directors who gave her an encouraging nod to continue. She took a deep breath and turned back to the audience. "In a couple of hours, the Atlanta Police Department is going to hold a press conference regarding a highly publicized homicide investigation...During that press conference they're going to identify Dr. Peter Anderson as their primary suspect."
A wave of gasps and murmurs took over the room, noise that overtook Dr. Cloyd's voice even with the microphone.
"I know this is a lot to drop on you so early in the morning," she said a little louder in an attempt to regain the crowd's attention, "and I'm sure you have questions. What I can tell you right now is that Dr. Anderson's employment has been terminated, effective immediately. Along with a recommendation to the state medical board to rescind his license. We are giving the Atlanta PD our full cooperation with this investigation, and should you be asked directly, we advise you to do the same," she explained.
Jesus shook his head in disbelief. He knew that Dr. Anderson was an asshole, but a murderer?
The consequences of that realization hit him with a jarring effect. Not only did he work with said asshole, he also had friends that lived in close proximity to him, too.
Panic kicked into overdrive and he turned Glenn. "We need to-"
Words died on his lips when he found the space beside him already vacant.
Rick tossed and turned for most of the night, unable to get comfortable in the ridiculously comfortable hotel bed.
His restlessness led to a late-night working session, making changes here and there to his presentation for his meeting in the morning. Then, drafting and redrafting a new design for a smaller project he and Daryl would be starting when he returned home.
When Michonne called to say goodnight a little before midnight, he happily switched gears to talk to her instead. But while he was wide awake, she was barely able to keep her eyes open and eventually fell asleep on him.
He didn't hang up right away though, content to glance over and see her face every now and again in the video chat as he resumed working before he decided a screenshot would literally last longer.
Sometime after 1am he had decided to take an Ambien, and managed to pass out within the hour, but woke up feeling more jetlagged than he did the night before.
He knew right away that a morning run was off the table. He'd need a coffee just to give him the motivation to start moving.
Blindly, he reached for the TV remote, and turned on the news. Then, the hotel phone to call down to the concierge to place his order.
As the concierge confirmed his black coffee and blueberry muffin would be up shortly, the headline flashing across the television caught his attention.
[GA Republican Gubernatorial Candidate Arrested in Connection to Local Murder]
Rick's eyebrows knitted together as he turned up the volume on the broadcast.
[Surprising new developments unfolded overnight in the Andrea Holden homicide investigation. Less than 24 hours after the press conference reaffirming his innocence, Georgia gubernatorial candidate - Philip Blake - has been arrested alongside his campaign advisor, Milton Mamet, in connection to the murder. Legal representation for both Blake and Mamet declined to comment at this time. We're currently outside of the Atlanta Police Department's downtown precinct, where police are expected to begin their own press conference any minute.]
"Well, I'll be damned," Rick huffed to himself as he reached for his cell phone.
He knew Michonne had been following the Holden case pretty closely, and was curious to see if she was aware of these most recent developments.
He frowned down at the device when he saw several notifications waiting for him. Apparently, during his Ambien induced coma, he had missed a text and two phone calls. He ignored Daryl's text for now in favor of listening to the voicemail Michonne had left him.
"Hey baby, I'm sorry for calling so late but... you should know the police came back...more of them this time. They practically woke up the entire neighborhood. I don't know what's going on but one of the detectives told me they're holding Jesse for questioning downtown. I'm going down to see if they'll let me talk to her. I'll try you back when I leave the station. I love you."
Rick's frown deepened when he noted the time of the call; 2:11 AM.
He felt a sharp spike of agitation at her decision, followed immediately by concern when he realized she never called him back like she said she would.
He dialed her number, but the call went straight to voicemail.
Trying not to work himself into a panic he scrolled over to Daryl's contact instead as a familiar face appeared on the television screen.
Rick blinked in surprise as Carol entered the frame, stepping right up to the podium.
"Good morning," she said to the sea of reporters and cameras, her expression was stoic and her voice firm. "My name is Detective Peletier, lead investigator on the Holden investigation. Last night, through the combined efforts of state and local police, arrests were made in connection to Ms. Holden's murder. We have detained Philip Blake and Milton Mamet as co-conspirators within our investigation. They have been processed and await arraignment from a circuit court judge."
Beside her, a flat screen monitor displaying the department's seal dissolved into an image of yet another familiar face.
"We have identified our primary suspect as Dr. Peter Anderson," she continued as cameras flashed and reporters shot their hands up from the audience. "Please be advised, the suspect remains at large and is considered armed and dangerous."
Rick's phone vibrated with an incoming call, but it went unnoticed.
Everything after Carol uttered that name became white noise unable to break through the alarm bells going off in his mind.
The call went to voicemail, but the device immediately began to vibrate again.
As if operating on autopilot, Rick answered without tearing his eyes off the screen.
"Rick?"
It was Daryl.
"You there?" he urgently pressed on the other end of the line.
Rick opened his mouth to respond but the words wouldn't come. His heart rate increased without warning, thrumming loudly in his ears.
But Daryl's next words cut through the noise with terrifying precision.
"Rick...it's Michonne," he said, attempting to keep his tone steady. "...she's missing."
Michonne woke up with a start.
The first thing she noticed was her splitting headache.
Her eyes slowly fluttered open and she knew immediately something was wrong.
She felt drunk. Or drugged.
Her mind wasn't processing things quickly enough. The world outside was moving too fast and her body was reacting too slow.
She moved to sit up, but realized she couldn't.
Through hazy vision, she looked down and found her ankles and wrists were bound...by zip-ties?
The realization forced her into a panic and she struggled weakly against the restraints.
"There you are," a voice said, distorted and unfamiliar in the fog of her mind. "Welcome back."
Michonne struggled to speak, to yell, to scream. But she couldn't, and it was only then did she realize she was gagged as well.
Frantically, her eyes darted around the moving space. Her vision was still blurred, but she could tell by the outside world that she was laid across the backseat of a moving vehicle. And it wasn't hers.
"The drugs will wear off soon enough," the voice continued from the driver's seat in front of her, clearer now. "Just sit tight. We'll be there soon."
Pete...?
Michonne didn't know what he meant, and she certainly didn't want to find out.
She willed her body to move, but it wouldn't comply, forcing her instead to lay dormant in her confinement.
Tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision even more as she struggled to remember what happened. But everything was a blur.
The sun was high in the sky by now. She should have been home hours ago.
Surly someone would know she was missing by now. Someone would be looking for her.
She repeated the thoughts in her mind, over and over again in an desperate attempt to reassure herself as she was carted off to a destination unknown.
A/N: This took so long in part because I kept writing and rewriting certain scenes over and over to try and make them make the most sense for you guys. I hope you were able to follow along with the all of the different moving pieces. These last two chapters were the most difficult to write, but I do like how they turned out. And I'm so curious to hear your feedback.
Thank you guys for being so patience with me and this story. We're nearing the end, but we're not quite there yet. Thanks for sticking with me!