I spent the night in the hospital. It came with all the fun of being watched at my apartment, but with the added excitement of Mason's near-death-experience trying to card him out permanently.
Tonight wouldn't be the night though.
Doctors assured me early on that he'd pull through, the slit not as clean-cut as Dashkov's normal work. He'd been in a rush to take Mason out as a liability, swift and easy, but in the process had missed any of the major arteries. They said he was lucky. Seeing as his attacker was an ace in the whole killing field, I agreed.
"Is he going to need surgery?" I asked. I was already on my 50th question, the nurse giving me the classic run-down. With Mason's family in god-knows-where Montana, I was the runner up for his contact. I'd have happily knocked a couple heads together for a status update anyway- lucky for everyone it hadn't come to that.
"No," the nurse, Tamara, assured me. She was tan and dark-haired like me, somehow even managing to pull off scrubs fashionably. "Right now we've got him on an IV and are waiting for a blood transfusion. We managed to close the incision without any complications."
"Alright, good," I whispered, clearing my throat. "What about his other levels, how did the tests turn out?" Luckily Tamara was a people person and sympathized easily, not minding the Q&A session. She ran me through the list. I was no doctor like Lissa, but the numbers sounded pretty steady as she charted them off. I figured I could breath easy. For the most part, my heated questioning was an attempt to keep me sane and still so I wouldn't end up pacing all 20 floors of the hospital. Gathering information helped ease some of my apprehension. I might have cut out for CIA if it was an interrogation job.
"We're doing everything we can, Dr. Ozera is with him now. I'll let you know if there's any change." Vaguely, I felt something tickle in my brain at the name "Ozera". Why, I wasn't sure. Her voice broke me out of my mulling before I could dig into that one and, reminding myself the last thing I needed was another mystery, I forgot it almost instantly. I thanked her and she walked back to the ER, taking it as a dismissal.
Crossing my arms against a faint chill, I shivered, still soaking wet from tackling Dimitri into a creek. Unlike Tamara, her counterparts at the nursing station were shooting me dirty looks like no tomorrow. I might as well have tried to killed someone. Even though it was linoleum floor, which a mop could take care of in 30 seconds flat, the puddle I was leaving in the waiting room wasn't scoring me any points in my favor. At that point though, I didn't care. All I cared about was Mason.
"Rose," Lissa interjected, breaking me from my daydream. No wonder my detective skills weren't getting me anywhere. Everyone kept interrupting me. She'd been lingering in the background with Mia during my debriefing, but came up and touched my arm now, overflowing with concern. "You need to go home and get some sleep."
However, I had already made up my mind. "I'm staying until Mason's released," I said fixedly. According to Tamara's report, he'd be released by morning. I could take another evening without sleep.
Mia, however, wasn't so convinced. "You're being unreasonable," she countered, her tone more gratifying than usual in light of recent events. Normally she'd have grabbed me by the collar and dragged me home by now. "Staying here with insomnia and freezing to death won't help anyone."
"There's already a PD unit guarding this floor, I'll be fine unless Dashkov sneaks in wearing a nurse's costume- and I doubt any Halloween store would carry his size."
"You shouldn't push yourself," Lissa cut in, her voice more soothing than my coworker. "I understand you're worried, but you're soaking wet and Mason would want you to get some rest." She began listing off the effects of sleep deprivation but I cut her off, not needing the PBS special to know I needed sleep.
"Look, I'll get some shut-eye somehow, but I'm not going home tonight. I'm sure they have a sauna of towels around here so don't worry about the dripping wet thing. PD is covering this place, I'll be protected and everyone can get some sleep- you two, Mark, and Mason. Hell, if worse comes to worse, I'll crawl into an adjoining bed with Mase."
Lissa and Mia shared a glance before Lissa weighed me, her jade orbs not missing a beat. She knew that once I stuck to an idea she couldn't change my mind; after several moments she seemed to come to that exact conclusion and sighed, giving up. "You're impossible. Fine, you're going to do as you please anyway." She paused. "Just make sure you don't jump in his bed," she added, her voice a mixture of dryness (knowing I probably would) and doctoral advice.
I rolled my eyes. "For Christ's sake, I'm not going to jump the guy's bones, he just got attacked by public enemy number one. I have some self-restraint."
"Not any I've seen," Mia muttered.
"Rose," another voice jumped in, Dimitri coming up from the elevator side. Our group glanced over as he strode in. Though he said nothing in regards to our ongoing conversation he'd probably arrived just in time to hear my last sentiment. Wonderful. "I need to talk to you. Alone."
There was a serious edge to his voice. He was here on business. My gaze hardened, not in the mood to deal with this. Apparently it showed. Lissa and Mia, sensing it was time to go as tensions between Dimitri and I crackled like lightning, suddenly became really interested in the late hour.
"Wow, is it already midnight?" Lissa asked to no one in particular, glancing at her watch as they edged out in unison. "Well, I better head home and feed Bass."
"Yeah," Mia strung along. "I need to go and... feed my 'Bass' too"
I gave both of them a look, not appreciating the team effort in bailing me with him. "Bass is a turtle, Mia."
"Tortoise," Lissa corrected out of habit.
Mia was just as bewildered as I had been, glancing at Lissa. "You have a pet turtle?"
"Tortoise."
As they debated the principal differences of turtles and tortoises (reminding me I really needed to window shop for better friends), they made their escape. It was just Dimitri and I. Well, us and the pissed-off nurses.
"I don't want to talk to you," I warned before he could get a word in, turning my back on him and going toward the benches. "But nice wardrobe change, comrade," I noted. He'd switched out of his undercover clothes into his standard slacks. He was like a boyscout, prepared for anything.
"Rose, please." He caught my arm, the lightning that crackled this time from something completely besides anger. Christ I could not get a break. With as distant as we'd acted the past couple days, I thought maybe the whole touching-spark would have died down.
Clearly I was wrong.
Again though, grabbing my arm was a good way of stopping me and making sure I'd have one less hand to punch him with. We locked into a silent stare-down, both of us braced and prepared for the worst. I knew what had happened to Mason wasn't his fault- it wasn't like he was the one wielding the blade. But right then, I didn't care about logic or semantics. You weren't supposed to be there, my head screamed at him. You did this.
Dimitri looked defeated and worn. Whatever accusations reflected in my eyes he didn't seem to deny. His own eyes were sad in light of Mason, the brown irises melted his pupils, indistinguishable. "Please," he repeated. "I know you're mad, you have every right to be, but you have to understand-"
"Understand? Understand what? You thought you could just jump in and save the day, but Mason's lying in a hospital bed with Dashkov still at large. The only thing I understand is that you screwed up my operation so please, go ahead and explain so I 'understand'." Cue air quotes with fingers.
He parted his lips to defend himself, but became distracted by something. With all the craziness running around, he hadn't noticed I was still dripping wet (in comparison to his completely dry state), giving me a once-over. Being Dimitri, he immediately shrugged out of his duster and held it out to me.
I glared at the coat like it had done something wrong. "I don't need it," I said stubbornly, still angry.
He gave me a look. "I assure you, you do, Roza."
I realized then what he was getting at. I was wearing a white shirt. Pair that with getting tackled in the creek and... well. It was about as far as professional as a female cop could get. If I wasn't so mad at him, I would have flushed out of embarrassment. Instead, I simply crossed my arms over my chest, muttering something about men before letting him put it over my shoulders.
My gaze burned into the floor. "What were you doing there?" I demanded quietly. "How did you know we were there, that we were trapping Dashkov?"
There was a heavy pause. Reluctantly and quietly, he said, "I'm sorry, I can't tell you. I'm under specific orders-"
"To hell with that!" I snapped, looking up. If he thought I'd take the 'FBI' card lying down, he had another thing coming. "We're supposed to be a team on this and you're acting like I'm still your helpless student that needs babysitting! I don't care what the hell 'regulations' the FBI handed down to you, comrade, you have no right interfering with my operation- and if that's too hard for you to follow, get reassigned, because I'm not about to put up with it!"
His gaze was hard, almost regretful. "Almost" doesn't cut it though. "Rose, please." Again with the pleads. "You have to understand this case is much bigger than you believe."
"I'd ask what that meant, but you wouldn't tell me anyway, right?"
"I can't," he said through gritted teeth.
"Don't give me that, comrade, if you wanted to tell me, you would. Instead I'm left in the dark while some guy's trying to kill me and send my partner to the hospital. If you know something about this case, I need to know."
"This case is complicated, Victor Dashkov is more powerful than you think and your part in the investigation isn't ideal."
"Oh I'm sorry, is Dashkov hunting you?"
"No, he's hunting you, which is far worse." The intensity behind his voice filled the room.
I swallowed. My heated words died on my lips, like he'd suddenly snuffed out the burning blaze between us. A cart, run by one of the nurses on the night shift, clattered past, Dimitri taking a clean towel from the piled mountain. He draped it over my head, gently using it to dry my hair, the black waves rustling underneath. Somehow, the action was soothing. My fists uncurled. Softly, he said, "No matter what you may think, and no matter what may have happened between us before, the last thing I want to see is you getting hurt, Roza." There was an unspoken 'let me help you' message ingrained in his words.
My head was bent, eyes once again avoiding his. "I don't need help," I mumbled. "I'm fine on my own."
"I know," was his only response. He continued to dry my hair regardless. I didn't protest. That was the problem with me. I couldn't stay mad at him, even if I wanted to.
His last words were the ones that really struck me, like an arrow through the chest. What may have happened between us before. That's right, I reminded myself. I was supposed to be mad at him already, mad about what happened before I'd dropped out of the academy. About what had split us apart...
He led me to chairs and soon enough, I was curled on top of them, Dimitri volunteering to be a pillow, insisting as much as Lissa I needed sleep. "I'm going to ruin your Men's Warehouse slacks," I warned.
"It's alright," he said simply. "These are from the Gap."
I rolled my eyes to hide my smile and rested my head on his lap. Like back in the woods, this was only another cease fire. It didn't solve our problems. But at that moment, I didn't care about the future, only the present. Well, the present and the past, my thoughts still lingering on my days at the academy. I know I'm supposed to be mad at him, I told myself, drifting to sleep curled against him.
But.. why?
I never got the chance to find out. My exhaustion won out over my chaotic thoughts almost the instant I closed my eyes. Normally I'd have been grateful to get away from my worries about Dimitri (had I had the sense of mind to begrateful) but, unfortunately, this wasn't a normal circumstance. Instead of being distracted by a quaint, simple dream, my head thought it'd be a nice change of pace to switch to another dangerous topic. Like, say, the guy trying to kill me.
Most of the time I payed little heed to dreams. They didn't mean anything. They were just hallucinations, a vacation until I woke up again and got back to reality. But as the room around me solidified, it didn't feel like a dream at all. It felt... real.
Back when we were in college, Sydney had had a crazy history teacher that was a firm advocate of magic; that, of course, hadn't meshed well with Sydney's science-and-fact-based world. Sydney vented about her practically nonstop during our coffee breaks. I vaguely remembered her griping once about "spirit dreams", her teacher claiming that people could contact others through dreams and that it was as real as picking up the phone and dialing them.
Obviously, that was insane. Her teacher was off her rocker and, as I told Sydney countless times, would probably be forced to retire before I scored above a "C". Magic didn't exist. But as I looked around the elegant parlor, my stomach twisting into a double-knot, I started to seriously doubt that philosophy. Because turning around, it felt like I was face-to-face with my real life nightmare, Victor Dashkov.
"You're tenser than usual, Rosemary. Trouble sleeping?" He was sitting in an ivory-sculpted chair across the room, next to a harp and grand piano. I noticed he'd also traded out his prison orange for a refined charcoal suit. Everyone was getting new threads these days.
Just seeing him made my body go instantly rigid, doubling that tension in a heartbeat.However, I didn't move. I stayed still at the safe distance, eying him warily. He was too relaxed. Instead of looking at me in that usual and sick, obsessive way of his (that always reminded me of a scientist looking at a test subject), he was studying me curiously. Like he was actually concerned about my health. This coming from the guy that wants to slit my throat. "A little hard to be easy-going around you, don't you think?" I answered once I found my voice.
He chuckled. "A valid point." We both knew what happened when I underestimated him. He paused. "Am I the reason behind your worry? Do you think I'm going to kill you, Rosemary?"
Why I was having this conversation with a stress-induced, dream embodiment of Victor I didn't know. Keeping in mind it was just a dream helped me roll with it a little better though. "Uh, since I doubt you broke out of maximum security just to have tea, yeah, the idea's crossed my mind once or twice." I stuffed my hands in my pockets. I was still wearing Dimitri's duster. That in itself was comforting. "So is this dream thing my subconscious's way of saying I'm going insane?"
"You're not insane, Rose."
"Could have fooled me."
"You're afraid, that's all. And you have every right to be, I am going to kill you, rest assured." It was like we were talking about the weather and politics. Completely nonchalant. "What happened to your partner was only a warm-up."
Even if he was nonchalant, I wasn't. The meaning of his words slammed into me. Reality slammed into me. My initial wariness melted, replaced by a wild fire as I stepped forward. The images of his scalpel were replaced by Mason and I trying desperately to stop the blood from leaking between our entwined fingers "You. You tried to kill Mason."
"If I wanted to kill him, he'd be dead," Victor said simply. "I'm afraid my associate was the one to cause that mess. If it makes you feel any better, I chastised him about it afterwords."
Funny how that doesn't make me feel better. "He's just as bad as you," I replied, unable to comprehend who the apprentice could be. He had to be just as twisted and sick as his mentor.
"I'm not as bad as you believe me to be."
"You've killed dozens of people, woken innocent women up in the middle of the night and slit their throats! You want me to believe you're not bad when you're obsessed with making me one of those women?"
He looked like I'd just insulted his work. "You're not like the others. You're different. That's what makes this so exciting. Anyone else and I wouldn't have bothered."
"Why?" I demanded, daring another step forward. "Why did you choose me, why me?" I was the center of his game, but I never understood why. I wasn't his usual memo. He'd always gone after couples until me.
The moment of insult passed and he chuckled like he was answering a child. "That's what I love about you, Rose. You answer your own questions."
I gave him a not-amused look, in no mood to decode what that meant. I might not be going insane, but I couldn't vouch for him. "If I had the answer, I wouldn't ask the question, now would I?"
"Oh you have the answer, Rosemary, and it's laying right in front of you. Why did I pick you?" He leaned forward, elbows resting on the chair arms. There was a feverish edge in his eyes. It really was exciting to him. "You've been asking yourself that every day since that December night when I first tried to kill you, haven't you? 'Why me?' 'Why would he choose me?' That question has been bothering you for years, and yet you can't find an answer. It's very simple. I choose you because of you."
I met his stare, not sure where he was getting at. "Well thanks for putting that to rest."
He smiled. "Every boxer fights a worthy opponent. And you, Rose, are the only worthy opponent I've ever had." I stared. Worthy opponent? So it was all just a game to him?
"So how does this game end?" I asked. "I'm guessing not with a boxing match, despite your metaphor. We both know who would win there."
"You know exactly how this game ends, Rose."
"You won't kill me. I won't let you."
That comment only served to amuse him. He propped up his chin with his hand. "It's interesting, though. This dream has lasted several hours and yet you haven't made a move to kill me once. Why is that, I wonder?" I blinked. The change of topic had caught me off guard.
Hours? It felt like minutes. No matter the length of time, I realized he was right: I hadn't tried to kill him. The guy that was rapt on jumping me in my sleep with a scalpel, had torn my unit apart, and almost killed my partner- not once had I tried to stop him, dream or not. That should have been my first instinct. And yet I hadn't thought about it once.
The air was heavy and foreboding. It made my skin crawl and I wrapped my arms around myself, fighting the chill. I didn't back down from his piercing gaze though. "Neither have you," I pointed out.
His smile made an ice-cold feeling wash over me and envelop me like a blanket. The room temperature plummeted 20 degrees. It wasn't a simple chill like before. This was the coldness of death. "Because when I kill you, it will be in person," he said, his voice not raising despite the volume of everything else. "The nightmare will be real, not one like this you can wake up from. I'll make sure you, my sweet Rosemary, never dream again."
Before I even found my voice, the room slipped away, the connection broken. Just as the dream had solidified, it dissolved like smoke, back into nothingness. Victor was gone. The dream had ended. But instead of waking up in a cold sweat like I thought I would, I found myself plunging into the darkness and sleeping through the night, undisturbed. I didn't dream again.
To say our unit's section was dedicated to the Dashkov case would be an understatement. The place was trashed with photos of victims, testimonies, and Victor's wrap sheet. The phones were ringing off the hooks as I leaned back against my desk, arms crossed and eyes sweeping over a map of Boston. I hung it up in every mass-murder case to track the culprit. In this case, it took center stage among everything else. Color-coded pins representing the victims so far, husbands and wives alike, were stuck into the green-and-brown paper.
Victor's method seemed simple enough- find a newly-wed couple, catch them unexpected, and play his killing game. But I knew he wasn't sloppy enough to randomly pick a pair off the street and stalk them home. He planned everything out precisely. Everything had a purpose. There had to be a pattern here. A connection.
Blue pins marked the Colbes, Dr. Colbe on the eastern side at his home while his wife, Gabrielle was marked in the forest. Yellow pins represented the Grants. A few miles off from Gabe's pin, Emmaline's daisy-yellow pin bloomed. Her husband, John, was marked on the north-western side at their beach home. The homes were across the city from one another with no middle ground. The Colbes and the Grants had never crossed paths. Two seemingly innocent couples that'd been hand-picked by a killer as his next target.
"But what made Dashkov pick them?" I muttered to myself, staring at the death map. His dream-self had explained why he'd chosen me (if you counted his crazy ramblings as an explanation), but it didn't carry on with the other victims. They looked random. What was the bridge?
"Stare at that map all day and you'll end up in the hospital from a stroke," Mason said.
I couldn't help but smile. "If that hasn't happened yet, I doubt it will." Mason was seated at his desk, going through media reports. He'd changed out of his blood-stained clothes and the only remaining sign of the attack was the bandage on his neck. I was ecstatic to see him up and moving again. Even under the afternoon, fading light his blue eyes danced with energy again. "How are you holding up?"
"Pretty good, especially considering I had someone sleeping at my doorstep all morning."
"That was a one-time-deal," I reminded him, hoping he didn't think I was going to show up at is house with a basket of muffins each morning.
"For you and me both."
My smile widened and I went back to the map, hoping something would have magically popped up in the last 60 seconds. Nope. I sighed and straightened, shuffling my papers. "I hate to say this, but it would almost be easier if there was another murder." That at least might bring some kind of logic to Dashkov's choices.
"Too bad I survived then, huh?" Mason said teasingly.
"You know what I mean. And your death wouldn't help anything, sorry."
"Rose!" I looked up as Lissa darted into my office, looking both nervous and exciting. I could see the stress of the case was beginning to take a toll on her couture-worthy wardrobe, Lissa sporting a last season red dress with- God forbid- ballet flats instead of pumps. I'd long changed into my typical monotone-colored clothes. They looked like they'd been yanked right out of Sydney's closet. Need to pick up a fashion magazine when this is done, I reminded myself.
"What's up?" I asked her.
"You know how you tackled Dimitri in the creek?"
"Uh yeah, kind of hard to forget," I replied. I'd have to fess up to Albera sooner or later about taking down a superior federal agent. "What about it?"
"I was thinking about how he could have known where we were and I realized someone could have zeroed in on the GPS on my phone."
"I told you to turn your phone off!" I exclaimed. "For that exact reason!"
"I know, I know, but I was waiting for a call about these pair of Gucci heels, they're only making a limited number." Even as she explained, she looked guilty just admitting it. I really shouldn't have surprised. Though her profession hardly screamed glamor, she still looked like a runway model, beautiful looks aside.
"Seriously, Liss? Heels?" No wonder my operation had sunk, it was being sabotaged my Mason's small bladder, Lissa's heels, and secret FBI intel.
"My point is, after I realized this, I got one of your tech guys to get the number of the person that hacked into my phone. He said he'd have the result by tomorrow."
"It was probably Dimitri," I said dryly, not seeing her point. He was the one that had shown up, he had to be the one that sniffed us out.
To my surprise though, she shook her head. "I ran Agent Belikov's cell phone number first along with the stationed FBI personal in Massachusetts. There wasn't a match."
I stared at her before my thoughts kicked up to overdrive again. The only FBI association with the Boston PD should have been through those numbers. Someone else had hacked Lissa's phone and told Dimitri our location, but he was a straight-shooter. He would only work with the good guys. That didn't limit it only to the FBI though. Suddenly, our conversation from last night hit me. This case is much bigger than you believe.
I looked at the map of Boston again, zoning in on the forest we'd been in last night, before locking eyes with Lissa again. From her excited and proud look, I knew she'd already figured it out."Someone else is working on this case," I breathed, picking up my badge.
I feel like a saint for not killing Mason off (since 90% of fanfictions end with something tragic happening to him). But I love him too much to do that. So now we're back to square one trying to pinpoint Victor's next moves. Luckily the climax isn't too far off now.
Aaaand since a lot of you have been making small mobs demanding more R&D action, I threw some in prematurely. There's plenty more fun left in that category before this case wraps up. What do you think happened between Dimitri and Rose between the beginning scene (which, come on, was pretty hot) to her dropping out of the academy?
*cue suspenseful orchestra music and a Ryan Seacrest cliffhanger quote*