Chapter 2 - Dream a Little Dream of Me
Mary Shannon woke with a start, her breathing shallow and ragged. She looked around wildly, her hand reaching for the empty space beside her. She flailed in the darkness until her fingers closed around the bedside lamp and unsteadily turned it on. Staring at her empty bed, she turned her gaze to her room, gradually taking in the familiar surroundings; her clothes hanging in the tiny closet, her cluttered desk, the southwestern painting hanging on the wall.
Breathing returning to normal, she flopped back on her pillow, her hand over her heart. Frightened eyes focused on the painting in the pale morning light. Cacti, redstone bluffs in the distance, wide open space under a deep blue sky. It had come with the furnished apartment and she had never really paid much attention before. Art wasn't her thing. Concentrating on the large painting now helped steady her rapid breathing. The image of unending vistas, blazing skies; freedom. It was mesmerizing somehow. Cacti. Weird word. Her fevered mind chased after the stray thought a moment, wondering how the plural of cactus came to be cacti.
Her thoughts returned to the dream that had woken her and a frown crossed her face. Her dream had once again featured the tall, slender stranger. Circumstances had changed, but it was the same man. The man who towered over her, whose intense blue eyes focused on her, who she instinctively knew was law enforcement. Everything about his bearing screamed 'I am a lawman'. He wore it proudly.
Mary calmed down and cast her mind back, trying to recall if she had ever actually met the man in her dreams. No, she would remember those eyes, the slender build. The intensity of this dream caused her to shudder. She could actually taste the fear in her mouth, feel the burn in her arms.
She had been held in a dank basement, chained to a post, threatened with death, threatened with rape. She had witnessed the shooting of another man, who looked alarmingly like Brandi's worthless boyfriend. After managing to break free of her chains and shooting one of her tormentors, she waited with a shovel at the ready in her cuffed hands as footsteps sounded on the stairs. She swung at the first short, bald man who appeared, missing as he ducked and then the tall, thin man appeared. She stared at him before dropping the shovel and collapsing into his embrace. Adrenaline surged, then dropped off a cliff. She felt nauseous, her legs trembled, she felt she may pass out.
"It's all right." His arms went around her ." Whoa. All Right." She never wanted him to let her go. Her wrists were still cuffed and she felt her legs start to give way. His arms felt good around her; safe, secure, loving. This man would protect her, he wouldn't let anyone else hurt her.
Later the man had driven her home, looking at her with worried eyes. He had walked with her into her house, his hand lightly holding her elbow. He had cleared a path past her hovering mother and sister, depositing Mary in a bedroom, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on her forehead and a squeeze on her shoulder. She felt a sense of loss when the lanky man with the big belt buckle walked out the door. She knew he was leaving to find the person who had done this to her; she wanted him to stay.
Mary tried to clear her mind of the puzzling dream as she drove to work. A busy day was ahead for her. The Jersey FTF office was coordinating with the Pennsylvania branch on a raid. Mary had been tracking this fugitive for six months and they finally had reliable intel on his whereabouts.
She pulled into a parking space, next to that asshole Pelman and his shiny new Porsche. How he could afford that on a marshal's salary was beyond her. He always parked just slightly over the line so no one would park in the space next to him. Mary smirked and pulled in, making sure he wouldn't be able to open his door. She couldn't care less if he dinged her Probe in his attempt to get in his car. The little buttjack was always cutting out early and Mary knew he would leave before she did. Attempt to leave she thought, as she viewed the slender space between their cars.
Entering the office, she heard the familiar hum of a dozen different conversations taking place. She stopped briefly by her desk to deposit her jacket and grab her coffee cup, then made her way back to the conference room. Pelman and Nickels were already assembled there, along with two marshals from the Philly branch. Gravitating back to the credenza where the coffeepot was set, she filled her mug and snagged a chair.
"Okay people," Nickels began, handing out briefs after quick introductions were made, "this is the latest information we have on Willington. He left Newark on Tuesday, as near as we can ascertain. He has been spotted in Philly and appears to be holing up in a motel with a shady acquaintance. Surveillance has had him there since yesterday. Schwartz and Ferris here have provided all the information they have gathered. Mary, you will be heading to Philadelphia tomorrow." Mary nodded, her eyes scanning the brief, taking in the information, reading between the lines for the things that weren't said.
Schwartz chimed in. "If the fugitive doesn't change location, the take down is planned for day after tomorrow. Mary, we understand you will be the lead on this. Just tell me what you need." Mary ventured a quick glance at the balding agent, something familiar tickling at the back of her mind that she couldn't quite grasp. She nodded her thanks and shook her head to clear it.
Leaning back in her chair she studied the two men who would be teaming with her. Gerry Schwartz was short with a rapidly receding hairline. His rolled up sleeves exposed powerful forearms and his quick brown eyes didn't miss much. Pete Ferris was tall with a thickening waistline. He must not spend much time out in the field. Mary guessed he was the intel provider.
Evan Nickels left the three marshals together to plan strategy, drawing a reluctant Bruce Pelman out of the conference room with him. Mary would work better with the fewest number of people possible in the small room. They spent the next several hours formulating their plan, designing contingencies for every possible scenario. Mary felt fairly comfortable by the time they wrapped up. She would be able to work with Schwartz and she had been promised his best people. She would meet up with them in Philly in the morning.
A grim smile crossed her lips. She would have that rat bastard soon.
U.S. Marshal Marshall Mann jolted awake, his body thrumming in response to the vivid dream. He reached over and switched on his bedside lamp, flopping back down and staring at the painting on his wall with the southwestern theme. Cacti, redstone bluffs, sand, crystal blue sky. It was one of his favorites. The wide open spaces appealed to him. He concentrated on the painting as his breathing slowed.
The tall blonde had pulled him into the horse stall, her weapon strategically stashed in the holster around her thigh. The tight fitting dress showed off her cleavage quite nicely and he had been staring when she told him to follow her lead. He would have followed her into paradise as she pulled his shirt free of his pants, mussed up his hair, grabbed his head and started kissing him, albeit in a somewhat sloppy fashion. He could deal with that though, as he brought his hands up to her face to steady her and kissed back.
"What the hell... What the hell are you doing?" She hissed at him as she shoved him back and gave him the WTF look.
"What the hell are you doing?" He responded in confusion, his lips already missing the contact with hers.
"Just follow my lead!" She glared at him, then started to leave the stall.
"I thought I was!" Confusion vied with want in his addled brain.
Marshall carefully reviewed the dream, looking for clues. It had felt terribly real. His body had believed it real. He could feel her lips on his, could feel the curves of her body pressed against the angular lines of his. She had been so soft, so pliant. He committed the woman's features to memory, although sure he had never met her. Long blonde hair, green eyes, full breasts, nice legs. What they were doing in a horse stall, he had no idea.
He rubbed a hand across his face. These dreams were becoming regular. Circumstances changed, but always the same woman. What could be the meaning of them? Marshall was reasonably sure the woman was not someone he had met in real life. He would have remembered her.
Sighing, he brought his attention back to the painting on the bedroom wall. It was hung where it would be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. He had bought it on a whim and it was a purchase he had never regretted, appreciating the implicit message of freedom it conveyed.
Marshall threw back the covers and got up, taking a critical look at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Time is marching on Mann. And what do you have to show for it? He had to be careful or he would slide into melancholia. It was hard though, to objectively evaluate his life. He had a job he loved, a job he excelled at. Although filled with classes and projects, his personal life, though, felt bland, empty. His younger brothers were both married; had half-grown children. They had a steadiness to them that was directly attributable to their families. The eldest Mann wanted that anchor badly. Wanted that person who would bring some true meaning to his life.
Marshall's distraction carried over to the office. Stan noticed his inspector's preoccupation, but said nothing. Perhaps it was time to assign another partner. Stan had been quietly reviewing personnel files for other inspectors, looking for potential fits. Marshall was so laid back, he needed someone with a bit more fire to balance him. There were a number of problems with people with fire though. Many were on a career climbing ladder and Stan was not going to have anyone stepping on Marshall on their way out of the Albuquerque office. And career climbers sometimes didn't care enough about their witnesses. As Stan saw it, Marshall would eventually have his job, assuming he didn't transfer to another office. The chief had recently expanded his search to include marshals outside of Witness Protection. He had three files on his desk to mull over for a second time. Three vastly different, but potentially good fits for his most sensitive inspector.
Marshall checked his calendar and noted his witness visits he had scheduled for the day. He headed out to visit Marlie Winston with a heavy heart. Marlie made him sad. She had experienced so much loss prior to entering the program, losing her husband and granddaughter to gang violence. And she experienced more loss upon entry into the program as her son, two daughters and five other grandchildren were denied her. She was a ghostly shell of a woman, quietly waiting to die. There were some people Marshall reflected, for whom WitSec was not the answer.
Plastering a bright smile on his face, Marshall greeted Mrs. Winston, accepted her whispered invitation to come in and sat down at her kitchen table, cradling a cup of coffee. Her answers to his questions were always the same, they never varied. Marshall had tried, he really had over the years, to get some spark of life in her, to get her interested in something, anything. He had actually talked to Stan about opting her out of the program so she could go back to her family. Stan had been appalled, Marshall chastened. He backed off, but privately felt his witness was just waiting for death anyway. She may as well be with her family and happy.
At the end of their visit, Marshall rose to go and was startled when Marlie laid her hand on his. He stared at her chocolate brown fingers smoothing over his bare ring finger.
"You're such a nice boy. Why aren't you married, Marshall?" Her tired eyes looked at him with her ever present sadness, magnified by her round glasses.
"Still looking for the right girl I guess," he said with a nervous chuckle, suppressing the comment about Marlie sounding like his mother. He was afraid that might be hurtful to her.
"You hold out for that girl. You'll find her." She dropped his hand and slowly shuffled over to the kitchen sink, carrying their coffee cups, Marshall's stare on her back. "And she'll be a lucky girl."