Don't forget to R&R!
John Smith
"Her name is Samantha Miller. She's been in and out of foster homes because the foster parents didn't like her strange, quiet shyness. God forbid, the child watched her parents be murdered right in front of her. Thankfully, her new foster parents, Luke and Rebecca Miller, treasure her like their own child. I did some digging into the murder of the parents. They apprehended a suspect but Samantha never I. him as the killer. The case went on substantial evidence because of her father's position as a judge. The real killer must still be on the loose, Mr. Reese."
Reese took small mental notes of everything Finch said as he pulled up to the curb on the opposite side of the street the Millers lived on. Under the shade and cover of a tree, he hardly stuck out on the populated street lined with cars.
"Oh, and Mr. Reese," Finch started but was cut off by Reese's smooth voice.
"I won't let anything happen to her. I promise."
Finch sighed heavily. He knew Reese would always put the number first and that worried him. Reese was an invaluable asset. The ex-operative could be replaced but it would never be the same. No man was as capable and willing to repent as much as Reese. Reese needed this to help himself sleep at night, to quiet the screams in his head, to block out the horrifying images of people he could have saved or shouldn't have killed. Most of all, Finch had grown accustomed to him. He was the only human he was willing to trust with his life.
"So, what were those other symptoms, Finch?" Reese asked to lighten the mood. He reclined his seat and set his camera on the passenger side. There was no activity in the house, it was still early morning.
As he got comfortable, he heard a hard, off beat thumping noise on the other line, the familiar sound of Finch wandering the library, looking for a book maybe.
"There's a book on it, huh?" Reese snickered to himself.
Finch made a soft 'hmm' in response. His steps stopped producing that off beat and a loud, metal on metal scraping stung Reese's ear. The harsh high pitched noise ceased and the sound of books being flipped through followed.
"Let me fix those cages later. Damn thing's going to ruin my hearing." Reese plucked the Bluetooth from his ear and rubbed his ear generously. When he set it back in place, Finch was clicking away on his keyboard, back at the desk.
"The most common symptoms are..." Reese heard pages flipping and more tapping on keys, then a satisfactory sigh. "Ah, alright. For one, enhanced senses in full human form, olfactory, sight, hearing, taste, touch. Strength and endurance are included in that category. You already possess inhuman endurance and previously displayed strength. I think this borderlines you on being super human." Reese could almost hear the soft smile Finch was making at the thought of his special agent being some kind of superhero.
Reese closed his eyes and tilted his head back, trying to image all of those things. For the past weeks he had been experiencing strange enhancements in his abilities he hardly noticed. Every morning, he inhaled the deep scent of his loft, new, bare, the hardwood floor stain, the paint on the walls, the alcohol he stashed away in a cubby built into his bed frame. As soon as he opened his eyes he caught every little shift in his vision, the clock face ticking away across the room in the kitchen, the papers from cases he had filed on his desk fluttering slightly from the a/c. He heard everything around him, the busy streets outside, the click of the clock as it changed, the soft creaking of his floor boards as he moved atop the bed. Whenever he found time to eat, his tongue sang from the unique flavors he never stopped to enjoy, now unable to escape their decadent grasps; his hardest of liquors jolted his senses and made him regulate exactly how much he actually drank. Lastly, for touch, he hardly wanted to think about that sense. His body grew sensitive to physical contact, feeling the heat and emotion from a single skin on skin contact. He could feel the air shift around him, sense when something disturbed the normal flow.
"I hadn't noticed the changes, but yeah. What else?" Reese opened his eyes and glanced over at the house; it was still dormant in sleep and quiet morning rituals.
"Any wounds you sustain will heal very quickly. Also, you should have developed glands in your mouth that produce a chemical crucial to cleansing and closing flesh wounds. Essentially, you could lick your wounds clean. Oh, Mr. Reese, don't test that one on yourself!"
Reese smirked and let out a short laugh as he stopped rolling up his sleeve, ready to cut a small line to test both theories.
"I can't believe you were actually thinking about that Mr. Reese!" Finch bit out on the other end of the line.
"No better way than to test it, Finch."
"There is! Check the knife wound on the right hand side of your stomach. Did you already forget about that little scuffle?" Finch had a hint of relief in his voice.
Reese shrugged and began to unbutton his shirt. He peeled back the pad of gauze he set over the wound and whistled in surprise.
"I had forgotten about it. It's healed." He ran the pad of his index finger along the light pink line of the inch long scar.
"Well, I can conclude you weren't hexed, Mr. Reese," Finch said with a sigh and a thump as he shut the book.
"Seems that way. How long will this last? It's hard to work not knowing if I'm going to sprout ears at any moment. I must admit, it would make a fine distraction, though."
"It's permanent. It's a trait, you cannot simply lose it. You will, however, learn to control your appearance. I'm just glad you haven't completely transformed yet. Looks like we won't be working this weekend."
Reese buttoned his shirt and laid back. He plucked up his binoculars to get a look into the quiet, white panel house where the Millers resided. He mumbled harshly under his breath, "Permanent? Fuck, Finch. Tell me you're playing some sick joke."
"I'm afraid not."
"Damn it... What did you mean fully transformed?" Reese clenched the binoculars tightly and grit his teeth. Just one more thing he had to learn and hone into his special set of skills. Sure, this abnormality had a long list of advantages, but the single disadvantage of not being able to fully control his urges around Finch was a deal breaker.
"The myths of lycanthropes transforming into full beasts during a full moon was a partial truth. It's the new moon that makes you want to go on the hunt, not to kill, but to be a predator, to prey on other creatures, like the roughhousing pups do with each other. On full moons, you lose all of these abilities but go into a sudden state of heat. This Sunday is a full moon. We have three days including today to save Miss Samantha Miller. At 12 Sunday morning, I have to keep you secluded, and every new and full moon following until you can control yourself. Mr. Reese, try to promise to not toss me around too much. I can't handle much rough play or fend you off."
Reese let out a laugh. Finch actually found some humor in this matter.
"I would never hurt you. All of the Millers are awake, Finch. I'll force pair the phone of whichever parent goes with her. Can you keep an eye on the other one?" Silently, deep in the back of his mind, Reese was growing worried about this upcoming full moon. He wouldn't be able to resist being secluded with Finch alone.
"Already pinged their locations. Be careful, Mr. Reese."
The line went dead and Reese pulled his camera onto his lap, fiddling with the cap over the lens as he thought. This wasn't a dream. He couldn't get out of this situation like he did in combat when he was cornered. This was real and he realized he was possibly putting everyone in risk. Deep inside himself he could feel the urges growing, the need for a mate trying to force itself free. Any companion would do now, friend or sexual. He didn't dare put Finch in that situation. He would have to make a friend.
Reese set the camera down on his lap and looked at the house. It was 8 a.m. now and nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The usual, avid joggers and morning mothers speed walking dogs, fathers pulling away for work, no real activity. This is how surveillance usually went. It was dull and quiet, not a single thing to draw your attention away. That was the point, though. A single distraction could give away the operation or possibly get a Number harmed. Reese couldn't risk that. As trained as he was, he knew better. Finch would never forgive him either.
The Miller home stirred. The front door swung open, Luke first with Samantha right behind him. Rebecca followed soon after, each parent swinging Samantha back and forth between them as they walked down the stoop to the small Sedan parked out front. It touched Reese's heart. He smiled softly, a hurt smile. He wanted a family, to play with his child like that, give into their whimsical demands and needs. He wanted that desperately. But never under these circumstances. He had given himself to Finch, to the Machine. If only Finch could rear a child, Reese laughed at that. Their offspring would be one of a kind, for sure.
The Millers carried Samantha down the path to their gate. As Luke messed with the lock, Rebecca cleaned up her daughter's face and pinched her cheeks innocently. Samantha just smiled and hugged her foster mother's midsection. The look on her face was pure bliss. Reese couldn't say the same for the parents. Rebecca had a hidden worry etched across her face, hiding behind the fake smile as her eyes darted across the yard and down the street. Luke fiddled with the lock, his eyes working the streets as he did, pretending he couldn't find the key. When Rebecca finally touched his shoulder and offered the right key to the gate lock, he nodded and opened it. Little Samantha sprung out and bounced in front of the car door, a bit more in Reese's view. She had a small pink backpack hanging off her back, a cute little uniform, blouse and skirt, and her hair all done up proper.
"Looks like I'm going to school," Reese groaned, not fond of the idea. By the looks of it, it was either a religious school or private school. Either way, it would be hard to get past the adults dedicated to the children. They wouldn't let just anyone in and would be Finch's type of paranoid. That was good news. If Reese couldn't get in, whoever was after Samantha couldn't either.
The Millers all hopped into the car, Rebecca in back with Samantha and Luke driving, and drove off down the street. Reese flipped his phone open and dialed up Finch.
"Trouble, Mr. Reese?"
Reese put the car in drive and started the same way as the Millers.
"The Millers are paranoid. I can't tail them."
Finch made a sneer on the other end of the line followed by rapid tapping on keys. "Take a right at the end of the street, Mr. Reese."
Reese sighed as he followed Finch's instructions. It was a fifteen minute drive to the school. The entire school, Ross Private K-12, was surrounded by a large, intimidating bar fence with only one entrance point that required an I.D. pass. Reese pulled off down the street, hidden by the large trees looming on both side of the gate and along most of the tall fence. He thought about scaling the gate from there but settled with the force pairing he'd managed to get at a stop light a few miles back. He got the mother's phone. Luckily, the mother went in with Samantha. Luke dropped them off and presumably went to work.
"Don't get into any trouble," Finch said as he was about to hang up.
"Wait, talk to me," Reese stopped him as he unhooked his seat belt and watched Rebecca skip into the front doors of the school with Samantha.
"Excuse me?"
"Don't hang up, please. Just talk to me about anything. I need it," Reese nearly groaned as a heat swelled inside him. He felt hungry but not in the normal way. He needed some kind of human contact.
"Ah, well, Mr. Miller is heading to work at a small law firm co-owned by him and his childhood friend."
"Work," Reese sighed as he slumped down in his seat and eyed the only security gate.
"I'm sorry, but work takes precedent. Occupy yourself by scouting Mr. Miller. Chances are our perpetrators will target the parents as liabilities. Based on the previous records from other foster houses, which I dug into deeper for the raw accounts, upon taking in young Samantha, all the families experienced the feeling of being followed and watched. I can assure you that they were and that this was the work of the killers. Which, I have also looked into. Samantha's real father, the judge…"
"Finch, slow down. You've distracted me plenty," Reese smirked as he pulled away from the curb with one last glance at the secure school.
"Well, he put away many criminals. I found that not one sentence from him was ill-given, a rather impressive record. His last case was based on drug-dealing, which is where they got their prime suspect for the murder. That certain suspect, though guilty of many things, did not kill the judge. The only lead on the murder was 9mm casings and the execution-style murder." Finch drew a deep breath. Reese didn't interrupt as he sat patiently at a stop light, hands beating on the steering wheel to a silent tune. Finally, Finch continued in a softer voice he usually only used when he thought Reese had been fatally wounded but was mostly unscathed. "Mr. Reese, I fear for Samantha."
Reese clenched the steering wheel, a fire burning deep inside him. Finch needed him right now. The weakness of fear was hidden in his voice. He was probably thinking of all the Numbers he couldn't save, staring at the long bulletin board list. The beast in Reese cried to be set free, to care to his born mate. But, he resisted and grit his teeth, allowing silence to soothe the recluse and bring composure back to him.
"Mr. Reese..." he was hurting but Reese dared not act, knowing he would say or do something unforgivable. "Take a left at this light."
Reese waited for the light to change and pressed his forehead to the steering wheel, resisting. His breath escaped him and he breathed lightly into the earpiece, "I'll protect her like I would you, Finch." It wasn't detrimental but he could hear Finch smiling.
"Now that scares me. Remember you're invaluable, Mr. Reese."
"It's hard to forget when you're always whispering it like a confession of love into my ear."
Finch instantly clammed up, and held his breath. "Sharp tongued devil as always," he finally exhaled.
"At your service. I'm here, Finch. I'll let you pick my cover name this time." Reese fit his fedora snug on his head, stuffed his surveillance gear into a small duffle bag, and hid the bag under the passenger seat. The windows rolled up and the half wolf operative stepped onto the hard pavement in the small yellow-striped parking lot. He looked the rather small law firm up and down a few times, developing a character that would get him some sort of access into the paranoid lifestyle of the Millers. As he scaled the front stoop, checking his phone to ready the camera for inside, Finch laughed into his ear.
"John Smith. See how your cautious parents like a shady man with a walk-in appointment and gambling problems. Hm, which cartel haven't you paid in full yet?"
Reese smiled at the door, took a deep breath, then allowed a scared, frantic look take over him. Shaking hands, darting eyes, nervous hand gestures and lip biting - he was ready.
"Stay on the line, Finch."
Finch gave the usual, preoccupied, "Hmm," in response.
Upon entering the small one floor law firm, Reese inhaled the deep scent of two things awfully familiar to him: coffee and gunpowder. There were either guns hidden somewhere in this building or someone who frequented a shooting range. He hoped for the latter but hated both possibilities. With his senses tingling, Reese had no choice but to let his eyes shift and take in the small details of the room. There was a reception desk, an already busy Mr. Miller on the phone, apologizing for his coworker's mistakes on dates and times. Not much else stood out, no hidden weapons, no trained movements being made by either Mr. Miller or his friend who was practically begging while filing papers between the rooms on either side of the reception room.
"You have been charged with a debt you don't owe and suspect illegal practice at the tables," Finch quietly informed Reese of his cover story.
After a few moments of surveying the room and taking a couple of pictures of the coworker, Reese approached Mr. Miller timidly and tapped his back.
"M-Miller, right?"
Mr. Miller turned on his heel, eyes darting across Reese's figure. He fixated on Reese's hands stuffed deep in his overcoat pockets with bulges. It looked like he had a gun. He did, but that was in his waistband. Instead of blowing his cover by noticing the prying eyes, he threw his hands up in the air almost beggingly.
"Can you help me?"
Mr. Miller looked up his figure again, calmer, spoke with a hard, demanding voice into the phone, and hung up. He fixed his tie with a brief tightening and turned to Reese.
"What can I do for you, Mr...?"
"Smith. John Smith," Reese smiled wryly.
Mr. Miller poked the inside of his mouth with his tongue at the very unlikely name.
"I don't work with people of your type," Mr. Miller folded his arms.
"Try to not bite the poor man, Mr. Reese," Finch snickered into Reese's ear.
Reese quirked a hidden smile beneath his fedora and gave the young attorney the hurt, puppy dog look.
"I-I have done anything illegal. They cheated me of my money. I saw the dealer switching the decks and handing off the good cards to the man at the end. Please, they say I have a debt for games I never played." Reese sucked his lower lip into his mouth and shot a glance at the door, taking a few steps towards it. He doubled back shaking his head, mumbling, "no, no," over and over under his breath. His eyes darted up to Mr. Miller and a faint apology escaped Reese's lips as he nearly bolted for the door.
"Hey!" Mr. Miller snagged Reese by the arm and spun him around.
"Who's after you? Why would you come to me?"
Reese looked around anxiously, locking his eyes on the coworker/childhood friend. The friend froze, petrified by Reese's hard glare. Mr. Miller raised his hand to his friend, waving him off to the other room.
"I want to p-put them out of business so they can't hurt anyone anymore. I need help. I don't know the law and I heard you take hopeless cases. Please," Reese lowered his head in defeat.
"We'll get your money back. Why would they charge you more than your debt?"
"I don't have a debt. I heard they run drugs out of that place and must have pegged me as some sort of liability. They uh, uh," Reese stuttered trying to think of a gang.
"Local Latin Cartel. It's vague enough to draw his attention and his brother was caught up by the same ruse and killed a few years back," Finch assisted quietly.
"Latin Cartel. I even saw some of the usual dealers on the streets selling. I don't know, I'm scared."
Mr. Miller looked down at the floor, contemplating whether or not to get involved.
"Here," Mr. Miller handed Reese a business card with a different number scrawled across the back, "I'll get the paperwork filled out. Call me if they try anything. We can stop this."
Reese nodded and stuffed the card into his pocket, silently thanking Mr. Miller. He quickly took his leave and settled into his car.
"We now have an access point. Well done, Mr. Reese. You should stop by the house and plant a few bugs, preferably about the parents. They have something to hide."
"Anything for you, Finch," Reese cooed softly as he pulled out of the parking lot.