Synopsis- Kelly Badillo gets the chance to confront her husband in his afterlife, and he gets the chance to explain the events leading up to his demise. Set After: Season 2 Episode 8 'The Ends'
Whiskey Dream
Residence of Kelly Badillo
For 10 years, she beat the demonic hold alcoholism had on her life. For 10 years, she was the best mother to her daughter and wife to her doting husband. For 10 years, she was functional without a sip of whiskey, gin, scotch, or whatever other liquid would fuel her for a day. For 10 years, she no longer dealt with the withdrawal symptoms that plagued and kept her up at night. For 10 years, she was herself.
Yet, that all crashed and burned when her husband vanished, no trace, no phone call, no text—nothing.
She tried to make sense of it all, remained as strong as she could be for her daughter. It was hard, she was unable to, and she took on the role of both parents amicably, but to no avail.
She drank to cope.
Furthermore, she drank to wake up, to continue, to take care of her daughter, to sleep.
That was her vicious routine.
It was a bitch.
She was it's bitch.
Again.
It was the morning after her last encounter with Paul, if that was even his name. He befriended her under false pretenses, withheld vital information regarding her husband's sudden disappearance, which was actually a fatality, and dare she admit, she found a man, other than her husband, devilishly handsome.
If nothing resulted from their friendship, other than friendship, then she was fine with that.
She chased all her friends out of her life because of her frequent bouts of intoxication.
It would have been nice to have a friend.
In a world without the love of her life, she was lonely.
In the bedroom she once shared with her husband, she woke up crying, pleading for the dream of him to claim her again. "Please," she sobbed, thrashing around in frustration. Her fingers raked her disheveled tresses, which tangled tautly. She tugged, loosening her hands and smacked her head a couple of times to scold herself.
She scanned, then, she grasped the neck of someone who would never lie, hurt, die, or betray her—Jack Daniels. She gulped the auburn liquid, the stream traveled down her throat. The long gulp blossomed inside of her. For a minute, she was in ecstasy and able to wipe her tears.
When that faded, she repeated.
Now, she was crying again.
It's no surprise.
She couldn't go the day without crying, wishing for him to be back, by her side. He used to whisper words of encouragement and assisted her to overcome what she was battling. It was his perseverance, patience, and love that did it.
Without it, she suffered.
She slid out of bed finally, leaving the empty bottle behind. She walked, wobbly in manner, to the bathroom, so she could freshen up to get more.
All of a sudden, her vision swam, the world appeared distorted, her head spun uncontrollably. Before the time came, her hand flew from her sides, reaching for the one thing she wanted to see. She grabbed their wedding picture. She held it against her and collapsed with it.
The frame shattered.
She was gone.
Several minutes later, an illuminated ellipse dropped in her room, flickering before transforming into a transparent figure. He approached cautiously, examining her prior to pulling a cascaded tendril from her face infused with liquor. "Oh, Mi Amor..."
Kelly's State of Mind
Kelly's eyelids fluttered, as she was waking. The sight of the sun burned her eyelids, inflaming them as if lit with a throng of matches. She whimpered over the uneasiness. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands. Little granules of sand pierced her eyes. "Shit," she cursed. As quickly as the pain came though, the pain subsided into nothing.
She rose.
Her eyes roved over the expanse brush of a desolate desert.
A desert she didn't remember going to sleep at.
She back peddled, her ass scraping against the searing ground. She got on her feet, the desert floor burned the soles of her feet. She sprinted, trying to get home, to the comforts of her bed. As she ran, she tripped and fell onto her stomach. "Fuck," she grunted exasperatedly.
For a little, she allowed her emotions to settle. Whatever tripped her, she wanted to see, so she craned her head slowly. What looked like a person's nose stuck out. She faced forward, unsure of what to think. Once more she looked behind, but, this time, she also turned her body.
This screamed for attention.
On her hands and knees, she scurried and used her bare hands. She dug and dug and dug furiously. She minded the pain filled pangs, she minded the tediousness of this task, and she minded her state of mind. She kept going, not even taking a breather or to wipe her forehead of the bullets of sweat. When the face was seen, by her own two eyes, she shrieked in terror. "Juan! Juan, Juan!" Her hands traveled all over her body in search of her cell phone, so she could call the police, the FBI, someone, anyone.
This was now a crime scene.
She didn't have one, so she shouted "HELP, HELP, HELP." Her cries were swallowed by the howling wind. Her shoulders convulsed, the lump formed in her throat, as she mourned.
Just seeing this, her husband in some makeshift grave, made his death a reality. A reality she didn't want to believe.
"Shh, shh, shh."
She froze, at the voice. Her mind was playing tricks on her currently. Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. Wiping her mouth with her dirt encrusted hands, she stood, her knees quivering.
"Mi amor..."
Her nickname.
"Juan," she faced him. Tears streamed down her face, as she ran into his arms. They were warm, burly and full of love. She attacked his face with kisses; it had been too long. "I love you..."
He looked at her earnestly, but that was all.
She broke away from him. His silence, no reciprocation was uncharacteristic. "You're not my husband," she whispered huskily in shock. She glanced behind her, the person buried disgracefully, that was her husband.
He attempted to make her face him again, bring her close to him, so he could explain.
She fought him off. "You aren't my husband."
"Maia..."
Their daughter's name.
"Stop it!"
"Why, why did you start again," he asked.
Her lip trembled. "You don't get it," she screamed. "I'm here, there, but you're gone! Gone, away from me and Maia... That monster did this to us. He ruined our family, and he needs to pay for what he did to you. Get me out of here!"
"What are you going to do," he queried, digging into her thoughts. "Avenge my death? Really make Maia go through her life without two parents."
"She's better off without me," she surrendered, self loathing.
He sighed. "Mi Amor, you have to understand, I caused my own death."
"No, you didn't," she chanted over and over incredulously. Her anger rose, when he nodded it was true. "TAKE IT BACK!"
He swore on Jesus Christ and the Lady of Guadalupe. He was being honest, even if it hurt her. "I've had plenty of time to wander around aimlessly and make sense of why this happened to me. You want to know what I figured out?"
She gulped. "What?"
"I need to pay for my sins," he answered. Again, she attempted to part from him, but he held her closer.
She clawed to break free, her nails shoveling and came to find it was futile. His skin rejuvenated easily. "Where are we," she questioned, her worst fear coming true. He grabbed her arms, forcing her to see where his body was. She resisted, so he dragged her with more force. "What do you want me to see?!"
"To see where I am," her husband replied. "Agent Paul Briggs is FBI. I sent another agent to spy on him, and he would report back for daily updates."
Kelly started to process the newly given information. "So, Paul West, LAPD, is Paul Briggs, FBI," she had to get this straight. He nodded. "Why was he being investigated?"
He delved into the story about the Estate, Graceland's prototype where a group agents lived under one roof, and how it mysteriously burned up. He, of course, believed Briggs lit the match that started the devastating fire to hide his rule breaking transgressions. He tried to uncover the truth, unbelieving to the theory Briggs was injected with heroin continually, while in Mexico, as a new form of torture, ruled out the possibility he was involved.
This was the truth: Federale Rafael Cortes aka Jangles was the one who lit the match in retaliation for an FBI agent undercover in the Caza Cartel and was responsible for Briggs' addiction to heroin.
When he found out, it was too late.
"You confronted him as Jangles," she yelled at the extreme he was willing to go through. "Juan, why?"
"I thought it was the only way for the truth to be revealed, but I was wrong. Paul Briggs, though unconventional in his methods, is a good, no, great agent. He's been to his own hell and back. You know, one of the agents that died in the fire was his girlfriend," he queried, as he touched her hair, breathing her scent of whiskey.
"The heroin," she asked, wallowing in his touches.
"Every single day, he was injected and injected and injected with heroin... one day, it stopped. You thought your withdrawals from drinking were bad, heroin is ten times worse. It took some time, but he's clean."
"But, he buried you..." she looked over.
"He had been drinking his problems away, when I confronted him. He panicked instantly." Juan's eyes roamed to the the left, where his body laid, reminiscing, mourning, apologizing for his actions. "I've forgiven him."
"Why?"
"Because him and his girlfriend, another agent with the FBI, went through leaps and bounds to get you an extra $30,000."
"It was them," she remembered Paul was in front of her when she got the check, and he acted as surprised as she did. All this time, it was because of them.
"Mi Amor," her nickname rolled off his tongue. "I need you to stop drinking."
"I don't know if I can, not without you anyways..."
He scoffed playfully. "You can. You just one friend to be by your side; maybe two," he referenced Agent Briggs and his partner.
"Does she know," inquired.
"No, and the longer he doesn't tell her, the worse the outcome is going to be," he relayed honestly. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her temple. "I love you."
"I love you."
"Remember, this is your time to turn your life around. Maia can't be parent less," Juan got up and dusted off his pants. He started to walk off.
"Where are you going," she asked, unsure of whether to follow him or return.
"A place to repent my sins," he responded cryptically. The fact he was able to tell her the truth and give her a little push in the right direction was enough for him to travel in the depths of hell. "Again, I love you, so please wake up."
Residence of Kelly Badillo
"Please, wake up... come on," Senior Agent Paul Briggs smacked Juan Badillo's wife's face a couple of times. The visions he was consumed with didn't sit well with him, so he tracked her down. He knocked on the front door several times. The knocks tumbled into violent bangs. Neighbors came out, prompting him to show his badge. Suspecting something was amiss, he broke the door down, rushed inside and found her unconscious on her bedroom floor. For the past few minutes, he's been trying to wake her.
A soft breath escaped between her lips, as she came to. Holding onto the visual image of her husband for as long as she could, she let go. She had to. She overheard the alarming pitch from a man. Her vision hadn't steadied yet, but she knew who it was. "Briggs," she whispered.
His name unfolding from her mouth tossed him into a paralytic state. "How... how did you know?"
This could have been her time to berate, taunt, run to the kitchen to fetch a damn knife to gut him, but she scaled. "Thank you," she thanked him coming here. "Please call for help—rehab."
Briggs nodded. His questions could be answered later. He grabbed his cell and made the important call.
Kelly overheard, and, though they had plenty to talk about, she knew everything was going to be okay.
The End.