Zoë sips her coffee as she observes the brownish cream floating on top of her hot drink. She's at Beetles, sitting on a stool at the bar. The smell of cigarette smoke dwells the air, she tries to ignore it. She stares at the bottles across from the counter, exhibited on the shelves like pieces of art. The back wall is in fact a mirror to create the illusion that they have a lot more drinks stored than is actually the case. It's a modern kind of place, the only history it shows is in the row of pictures, pinned up against the wall. A song named Shut Your Eyes by Snow Patrol plays in the background. Usually she actually digs this song, but right now she's in need of something a bit more 'awakening'. The long nights are taking their toll and although strangers still see a stunning young woman, she herself can see she's tired by her reflection in the mirror. Zoë always finds it amusing to see herself totally different than she normally is. She traded her leather biker outfit for a white blouse, a black jacket and matching trousers and pumps. Her straight dark hair is combed back and tied together in a knot. It's funny, leather or business, she still gives away the same message; don't mess with Zoë Sullivan. Her eyes capture the bottle of Johnny Walkers Red again. She would die for a glass, but it wouldn't be a smart thing to do. It's best to stay focused right now. The damn bastard shot her once and she doesn't feel like peeling a bullet out of herself for the second time in two days. The appointment can go two ways; or the shapeshifter shows up and this bar and it's customers are going to have the most 'exiting' evening of their lives, or Terry Cliffer shows up and this will be nothing more than a boring interrogation. She finishes her coffee and puts the empty cup back on the bar. Carefully, almost unnoticeable, she glances over her shoulder. Zoë can't put her finger on it, but she can feel a pair of eyes burning in her back; someone's watching her. The shapeshifter maybe? She remembers Sam's words and realizes that even if she meets Cliffer within fifteen minutes, the son of a bitch might actually be in this bar, right now. Suddenly she hears a loud bang in front. Startled she turns to the bartender, who still has his hand folded around a filled whiskey glass.
"You've been staring at that Johnny Walker bottle for twenty minutes and you're really tensed. You need a drink, on the house".
She looks him in the eye, trying to decide rather or not to trust him. She smiles politely and takes the glass, but doesn't drink just yet.
"Thanks", she says, observing him. "You're the owner of this place? Rob Michaels?"
"That's me", Rob answers while he dries a glass.
Yeah right. It's the first thing that slips Zoë's mind. The bartender could be the shapeshifter for all she knows. She needs to figure out if he is, without giving him the impression that she's suspecting him.
"Then you probably know most of your regulars, right?", she questions.
"Right…", Rob hesitates. "Is this an interrogation?"
"Whatever you wanna call it", she flashes him her FBI identification.
He raises his eyebrows. He thought there was something more to her than just a businesswoman who's getting a drink after work, but a fed? He had city police over, even state police at one point, this on the other hand is a big first. He leans over the bar and comes closer for her to hear his whispering words.
"Somethin' shady going on in my bar?", he asks, looking around for anything suspicious.
"Not necessarily", she puts her ID away in her inside pocket after which she folds her hands together and rests her elbows on the bar. "What do you know about Terry Cliffer?"
Rob chuckles. "Are you kiddin' me? Terry wouldn't hurt a fly".
"We're not just around to catch the bad guys, Mr. Michaels. We actually intend to prevent crimes from happening", she states, pretending to be insulted.
"Is he in trouble?", the bar owner asks.
"I think I'm the one who's doing the questioning here, Rob. Can I say Rob?", Zoë grabs a hold of the conversation again, not impressed.
"Sure", he answers, obediently waiting for the question.
She glances at the clock, it's 17:55. Then she continues.
"Tell me what you know".
Her eyes are penetrating, yet calm and the bartender soon begins his story, but he doesn't start off with anything new. Shy guy, father of two, yada yada yada. Her thoughts wonder off to the whiskey bottle on the shelve again, as she partly listens. She wants it bad! Although there's a full glass in front of her, she still refuses to drink it; she still doesn't trust the guy and doesn't wanna rule out that he is in fact the shifter. Drag him over the counter and cut him, if he screams out in terror, he's not the shifter, if he doesn't he is, the little voice in her head tells her. Not such a great idea, Zo. And all this time she keeps staring at the Johnny Walkers Red.
"… moved into town a few months back with his family. I believe he still owns some property about a mile or three out though, somewhere on 110th Ave NW", Rob says with lowered voice.
Suddenly there's the sound of glass breaking. The bartender turns around and is surprised to find the bottle of whiskey in pieces on the floor.
"Ah, damn it! Must have left it too close to the edge", he muddles as he kneels down to pick up the biggest pieces of the shattered glass.
Startled Zoë stares over the bar. Did she just… Neh, impossible. Right?
"That's a shame", she comments to break the silence.
"Sure is", he agrees, but then pulls his hand back with a little screech.
"Crap!"
He gets up and Zoë immediately detects the bleeding cut in his finger. So much for her shapeshifter theory. As if she was waiting for the lights to go green on a racetrack, she puts the glass to her mouth and gulps a sweep down her throat. My God, she so needed that. In the mean time Rob takes off to the kitchen, probably to bandage the cut. It's when the door closes behind him, that his last words sink in. 110th Ave NW! Cliffer owned land there? She quickly gets her ducks in a row. Neill O'brien, Josh Middleton, Alisa Gibson, Monica Brewer and Daniel Ford have all been at 110 Avenue over the last month, but no one actually owned a place there. This might be a major lead! She has to find the exact address and pay a visit as soon as she's done with Terry Cliffer or whatever he is. Then, as the place gets more and more crowded now that lots of people are done working, Terry Cliffer walks in. Zoë straightens her back and looks over the crowd. Insecure the guy in his mid forties searches the place, then he carefully approaches the bar. He has a bit of an old fashion haircut, his brown hair is starting to show shades of grey. It's not a tall man and he doesn't look that strong, it surprises Zoë that the shapeshifter chose his body to copy in the first place. He glances behind the bar, probably looking for Rob to ask if there has been anyone around asking for him. By this time Zoë has hopped off the barstool and walks up to him. Her gun, loaded with silver bullets, hangs from her belt and burns in her groin. If he attacks, runs or does something else that she doesn't like, she's gonna shoot him.
"Terry Cliffer?"
He turns around and looks her in the eye. Not a sign of recognition. The shapeshifter would recognize her, after all, she is the one hunting him. Nothing strange, nothing out of the ordinary happens, he just puts out his hand to greet her.
"Are you the FBI agent?", he concludes careful.
"That would be me, yeah", she takes out her federal agent identification again. "Shall we take a seat?"
They move to a table in the far corner of Beetle's Bar and sit down. A good spot, one she picked out the moment she walked in. From here she has a clear view over the entire place and it's private. She signals Rob, who probably took care of his little problem and is back behind his bar. In a few seconds he halts next to their table.
"What can I get you?", he takes out a pen and a small notebook.
"A beer, if that's okay", he glances at the woman across from the table.
"Be my guest, no worries", she approves and looks up at Rob. "Plain water please".
"Oh, and can I get something to eat? I didn't actually got the chance to have diner yet", the last sentence was more directed to Zoë than to the bar owner, excusing himself again in that self-conscience way.
"Anything else?", Rob glances from the one to the other.
"No, I think we're fine", Zoë answers directly.
"Okay then, coming right up", Rob leaves the table and finally Zoë can start her conversation.
She begins by trying to break the ice, Terry seems to be pretty tensed. Obvious though, it's not every day that you have a one to one with a FBI agent.
"Not planning to have supper with your family?", she concludes, trying to be friendly.
"Not today, my wife took the kids to their grandparents for the week, down in Preston", Terry tells her.
Good, they are safe, Zoë realizes. She fold her hands together and rests her elbows on the table, ready to start the interrogation, but Terry beats her to it.
"I don't want to be rude, but I expected to meet a man today", he admits with a nervous laugh.
"Right, I heard you talked to my partner. He called in sick", she makes up quickly.
"Ah, that explains why he didn't know who you were, I guess", Terry concludes, with a slight cynical tone that is barely noticeable.
Ohow, is he suspecting something? She has to come up with something good now to keep a good impression.
"I actually got married a week ago", she lets out a smile, pretending to be happy and still flying high. "I changed surnames. What can I say, he doesn't like change".
"Oh really! Congratulations!", Terry smiles back and buys it.
Pfew, that was a close call. Now it's her turn to ask some questions, because all she has been doing during the last five minutes is saving her own ass. Just as she takes a breath to begin, Rob shows up next to the table with their drinks and a knife and fork for Terry. Zoë lets out an annoyed sigh and looks away.
"One beer and a plain water", he puts down the glasses from his plate which he holds up with his left hand.
As he sets down Terry's beer, the knife slips of the plate and falls down, the pointy edge first. Zoë looks up just in time to see the knife penetrate his hand. She almost lets out a moan of disgust, but strangely enough, Terry doesn't even notice it until he glances at his hand.
"Terry, Jesus Christ! I'm so sorry, it just fell off…", Rob stammers, but neither of them hear him.
It's not a silver knife, it's metal, she realizes, he doesn't feel a damn thing. Slowly the person, or should she say creature on the other side of the table tilts his head until he looks directly at her. His facial expression is no longer insecure and friendly, but self-confident and sadistic. For a brief moment his eyes flash white, as the eyes of a cat reflect when it stares into a pair of headlights.
"You son of a…"
There's no time to finish her sentence. In a split second the shapeshifter draws his gun and Zoë is just in time to flip the metal table over on the side. She herself goes for her gun as well as the shapeshifter backs out, causing his chair to fall over. Several people turn around to see what's going on as Rob turns pale and steps back. Just before he unleashes a bullet on her, she shouts a warning.
"Everybody on the floor!"
As screams are let out by people inside the bar, the shifter fires two bullets at her, but by using the steel table as a shield, she stays unharmed.
"No way you're gonna shoot me twice, sucker", she snipes, aims her gun and pulls the trigger.
She aims careful, but doesn't hold back firing three shots in a row. She's not sure if any of them hit target, but he's still running.
"Damn it!", she curses as the third shot shatters the glass of the front door.
Quickly she follows and intends to run outside, but stares right into a barrel. Just in time she retreats and the two bullets barely miss her. Stumbling back inside she takes a short second to catch her breath with her back against the wall. Several frightened and panicking eyes look straight at her. One face stands out, Rob stares at her as if he just saw a ghost.
"I hope you've got incurrence, Rob", she comments a bit out of breath of all the excitement.
He nods his head, but is unable to get a proper 'yes' out of his mouth.
"Good, have a nice evening you all. Sorry 'bout the mess", she smiles uncomfortably and gives the people an awkward wave.
Then she gathers her courage and exits the bar. She keeps her gun in both hands in front of her, clearing the area, but there's no one there but a bunch of thrill seekers who probably heard gunshots and are now glaring at her from across the street. Zoë lets out a sigh; she's back to square one. There's no need to follow him, he could be anywhere and anyone by now. She carefully walks back to the small alleyway next to Beetles Bar, where she parked her Harley, still expecting an ambush behind every corner. When she walks up the street, she notices a shiny fluid on the sidewalk, which catches her attention. Curious she kneels down and touches it with the tip of her finger; it's blood. A grin appears on her face, looks like she did shot him. When she looks further she sees the blood trail leads to the sewer in the center of the alley. He left the lid off, she stares down into the black depth.
"Hope my bullet hurts as much as yours did, bastard!", she yells down, although she knows he's long gone.
With a moan she gets up and walks up to her bike. Okay, calm down and think straight. What is the best thing to do at this moment? Terry Cliffer's house at 110th Avenue NW, that is her first priority. She has to find that house, that's probably his hide out. She gets on her Harley Davidson, puts on her helmet and starts the engine. The headlight lights up the street in front of as the familiar roar echoes between the buildings, then she makes a right and heads back to the 52. As she speeds up on the highway, she feels like she's freezing off her saddle, dressed in the thin fabric of her business outfit, but she doesn't blink.
A little over 5 minutes later she pulls over at Motel 6. It almost seems too quiet, but she doesn't pay attention to it. She rushes inside while taking her helmet off, doesn't bother to pay attention to the man behind the counter and quickly opens the door to her room. Her Macbook is still buzzing softly and as soon as she presses a key, the screen activates. She selects a tracking website from her favorites and types in the information she has. After several seconds a complete address shows; 3841 110th Avenue NW. The next moment someone bangs at the door. Startled she looks up, takes her gun in her left hand and silently approaches the door.
"Mrs. Johnson! I know you're in there!"
She recognizes that voice, it's the owner of the motel. Quickly she puts away the gun and opens the door. The old man is waiting with a phone still in his hand, he doesn't seem amused.
"I just received a call from one of my guests who was dining at Beetles Bar, said he saw you shootin' up the place", he recalls.
"I can explain that", she tries.
"I bet ye can. You know what? I'll bet your real name isn't even Johnson. I want you out. I said I didn't want any trouble", he insist, pointing down the hallway.
"Just give me a sec", she goes for her ID in her inside pocket while her other hand makes a calming gesture, then she shows it to him.
"My name isn't Johnson, you're right. It's Evans, Sarah Evans. I'm a federal agent undercover", she explains.
"FBI? Sure, I don't give a damn, get out of my motel", the man stands his ground.
"Alright, let me get my stuff", she sighs as she puts back her identification.
Instead of pulling back her hand empty, she grabs a small flashlight, draws it and lets it shimmer in the old man's eyes. Your hotel? My ass, she realizes. With all reason, because again his eyes flash white. For a brief moment the shapeshifter is overwhelmed now that Zoë caught him off guard and she slams her fist into his face. He goes down in the hallway and looks up at her, unpleasantly surprised.
"Come on, did you really think I was gonna be that easy?", she grabs him by the collar and throws him inside her room.
"Actually I did, I almost shot you twice. Reckoned this would be a piece of cake", he grins, as he gets up.
They circle through the room, challenging each other. The evil look upon the mans face doesn't make it even a bit hard to kick the old guy's ass.
"I have to say, you got me fooled. Making me believe Terry Cliffer was going to be your next dress-up party while he actually was your first, smart", she admits.
"If I'm such an admiration to you, why waist me?", he tests while blood drips down his shirt from his nose.
"Don't give yourself too much credit", she comments.
He steps towards her, but she beats him to it. In a quick move she places her hand on his chest to hold him off and gives him a right swing, but the shapeshifter is able to block her fist by clamping his arm around hers. With a fierce strike his elbow hits her cheek and she almost goes to the ground. He still has a hold of her arm and twists it, forcing her on the floor. She lets out a squeal, but she doesn't give up that easily. In a fast counter she gets up, turns around him as she and now grips his arm, forcing it on his back. He can't go anywhere.
"What did you do to those people?", she asks not very nicely.
"Oh don't worry, I don't actually kill them. It's far more fun to see them suffer", he responds sadistically.
"You son of a…"
She doesn't have time to finish her sentence, as the shapeshifter quickly grabs her upper arm with his spare hand and throws her over his shoulder. Zoë lands on her back as the air is slammed out of her lungs and for a moment she gasps. No time to dwell in her pain through, she sets off and jumps back on her feet skillfully. Quickly she goes for her gun, but it gets kicked out of her hand and she receives a punch in the face not even a second after. Zoë slams into the table and is unable to turn around as she immediately feels the tightening grip of the shifter's arm around her neck. He tries to choke her and Zoë desperately gasps for air. With a smirk on his face he looks down at her, enjoying de helplessness in her eyes as she tries to fight him.
"You know what I do to them? I keep them somewhere safe, safe from the world where nowhere can find them", he tells her with calm voice, as if he's reading a scary chapter of a bedtime story.
Zoë glances aside. Although she can't move her head and notices the empty whiskey bottle she and Dean drank last night, still laying on it's side on the chair. She reaches out, but is unable to grab it. The shapeshifter continues his story as if he has all the time in the world to tell it.
"Humans are such strange creatures, you know? If you keep them together in a tiny cage for a while, they tend to behave like spiders. They attack each other, eventually kill and actually eat their own kind out of pure desperation. How amusing is that?"
More disgusting than amusing actually, but this sure is amusing. With un unexpected blow Zoë breaks the bottle on his head and the shapeshifter stumbles back, finally letting go of her throat. She coughs and is able to catch her breath in time to grab her gun from the floor and swing it around, aiming at… nothing? The room is empty.
"Damn it, not again", she curses.
She runs through the open door and glances both ways down the hallway, her gun ready. He's not in the foyer and from her point of view there's no one in the parking lot either. She lets out a frustrated sigh and rubs her face, which feels soar from the blow she received. Pondering she licks the blood of her lip and turns around, surprised to see the real motel owner tied up to a chair in nothing more than a shirt and trunks, his mouth taped.
"You alright?", she asks, as he hmmm's loudly.
In a quick movement she rips the tape from his mouth and instantly the guy starts shouting and yelling like a maniac.
"AU! That son of a BITCH! Where is he? Where is that BASTARD who did this to me? I'm gonna KILL HIM! I swear, I'm gonna…"
Zoë has been staring at him for a moment, feeling a headache coming up and grabbed the role of duct tape from the counter. While the manager keeps on rambling, she rips off a piece of tape and presses it over his mouth again. There is no way in the world she's gonna release this ancient pissed off pit bull right now, he needs some cooling down time. She picks up the phone and for a moment considers to dial 911, but decides this isn't really that much of an emergency and calls the local police.
"Hello? Yeah, hi. I just found an old guy tied up to a chair in not much more than his undies… Motel 6, 2107 Highway 52 North... My name? Yeah, it's Not Interested", she hangs up and clears her throat, then walks away bored, leaving the furious moaning motel owner behind the counter.
Back in her motel room, she gathers her things and stuffs them in two backpacks, which fit into the two big leather saddlebags on her Harley perfectly. With both bags on her shoulder she takes a last look around and leaves the room, waving to the motel manager on her way out. The iron lid of the sewer in the center of the parking lot is removed; her shapeshifter went underground again, but then again, she didn't expected any different. He's running back to his hide out, only he doesn't know that she knows exactly where that is.
"3841 110th Avenue Northwest", she whispers to herself as she gets on her bike and presses the helmet on her head.
That's where she's going, that's where this is going to end. The Harley engine roars loudly when she exhilarates. It's back tire spins for a moment before the motorbike takes off as the evening sets in. This is going to be her last night in Rochester and his last night on the face of the earth. Zoë is determined, this hunt ends tonight.