Death of Innocence
Day 3
Day 3: "Like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the room."
Journal, solitary confinement, "make it stop"
Lower Manhattan, same day
He kept beneath the awnings overhead.
A cold rain had started, a fine misty drizzle that'd moistened his face as he walked. Up ahead, the alleyway running next to his apartment building. And down that walk, he'd started to feel a little relief coming on. Familiar turf. A home - more than any other he'd known for decades.
His own place - quiet inside, and with the ceiling soaring high above the leather couch in the living room. And high on the wall, the run of industrial windows, too, looking out at the sky. It'd always given him a sense of his real home there - like standing in a glade in the mountains. Closest he'd ever get in New York to his home in the woods. Something tightened in his chest. Hard to leave it. Had to leave it.
His next challenge: empty pockets. Reese had no keys to get in, so he'd need to improvise.
Down at the end of the alleyway he scanned the steps and the landing there. Empty, except for a dark, skinny cat that liked to shelter on his porch. Their eyes met, briefly. Two males claiming the same turf, neither one in any shape to fight over it. A grudging peace, then.
Next to the steps, at the bottom of the wall, there was an inset window letting light into the cellar. It'd be a tight fit for a man his size. Reese let his coat down off his shoulders. Dangled the tweed side flat against the glass and held the coat by the collar. With the pain from his wounds, Reese didn't want to bend down more than once to do this.
He turned around, away from the window, and kicked backwards into his coat with his heel. Dead center of the glass on the other side. Heard the crack. And felt the pain shooting up into his chest from below. Any motion like that jarred him and made the pain flare. He wasn't looking forward to the rest.
It'd take a couple more kicks to break it all the way through. Hard to generate enough force like this. His coat muffled some of the sound. And once it broke, he used the coat to push the glass out of the frame with his heel. He could hear the pieces hitting the floor inside, shattering again.
This next part was gonna be the tricky one. How to get down that low, and let himself in through the window, like this.
Reese pulled his coat away and took a look. Still some nasty shards caught in the frame that could stab him. Used his toe to click them off at the frame and send them tumbling into the basement.
Okay. This was gonna get unpleasant. He dropped the end of his coat through the opening and draped it over the frame at the bottom to protect him from any glass. Took a knee, slowly. Here's where being this tall was not an advantage. Tipped himself sideways to glance inside.
He'd have to go in feet-first; on his belly. Scraping over the frame wouldn't be the worst of it, but it was pretty damn close.
He let his legs dangle inside, and then pushed himself backwards over the frame with his hands gripping the sides. That hurt. Didn't tarry there but slipped down over the slippery lining of his coat to slide himself inside. Tucked his arms and dropped down along the wall inside the basement. All the pressure on the wounds with that maneuver? He needed more than a minute before he could move again.
Waves of pain and even some nausea kept him pressed against the wall below the window. Ugh, this felt bad. Didn't wanna have to do that again. His feet shifted on the glass, crunchy under his shoes and a little slippery. Don't fall...
When he could move again, Reese reached around him for his coat and pulled it in. No use leaving it there on the frame.
Walking was tough. That side with one of the bullet wounds didn't like the stretch or pull of moving his leg now. Kind of dragged it along instead.
He glanced around him. Dark room in a hole, like a hundred he'd been in before, alone or working with Kara. Searching first - any kind of papers, journals, maps; anything that'd tell them what the plans were. Any leverage to make the bad guys talk. Kara was better at that part. No mercy; just went right to it.
She'd tell 'em right from the beginning: "you're not getting outta here. This is where you'll be. Whatever it takes 'til we get what we want. Might as well tell us now. Save yourself a lot a grief. Like solitary confinement with a couple of motivated guards, huh? We always get what we need."
Reese played the good cop in these scenarios, but he'd had his share of pressuring, tormenting, too. Usually didn't take too long. Pressure and pain tended to loosen the lips, Kara had always said. Could see it in their eyes - when they were ready to give.
A kind of desperation there:
Crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon shining in. Mute, watching. No help at all in the end.
That desperate look in their eyes. And then: "make it stop."
Dropped his coat on the floor. Probably full of glass. Made his way to the stairs. Up one at a time, and into his apartment. It smelled empty inside. No one had been there for a while.
Into the kitchen first for water – a long slug out of the tap. He thought he'd have enough time, so he filled the pot and dumped it in. Shook a pile of grounds into the top and hit the button. Waited for the gurgling sounds and headed down the hall to his room while it brewed.
In the closet on the floor, he had his backpack ready to use. Opened it on his bed. Some of his stuff was already in there: a few toiletries, a knife, twine, dental floss (which came in handy for all kinds of things), matches/butane lighter, a few small tools, one of his passports. Then back to the closet again. Reese had a standing safe under a set of shirts hanging there. Took a knee, and knew he wouldn't wanna spend a lot of time like that. Twirled the knob until it opened.
Inside, cash – bills wrapped in paper bands, stacks of them. He grabbed a handful and thumbed through the bills. Tossed the lot of them on his bed next to the backpack. Then, his Sig-Sauer, and some boxes of shells.
Reese glanced through the rest. Nothing he'd need from there for now. Only wanted to bring what he could carry on his back. Reese slammed the door and spun the knob. He got up slowly, and that side, down low where the bullet wound was healing, tried hard to get his attention.
He could smell the coffee brewing down the hall. Picked up the pace a little to get to it. Grabbed some clothes, warm ones, out of his drawers; stripped out of his suit and dropped it on his bed. Reese dressed in working clothes with a layer underneath to fight the chill. Wool sweater over the top, and a wool hat pulled down. A down jacket would be the better choice. Light to carry, but warm and easy to dry if the rain kept up. Gloves, two kinds. Thicker synthetics, stuffed and warm. And a thinner pair just to keep the chill away.
Changed his shoes out for boots, and tucked his pant legs down into the top of them. Laced them up and then arranged his booty into the bag. Reese hefted it. He'd manage if he could carry it on his shoulders.
Back to the kitchen then. He grabbed his extra set of keys and a thermos that strapped on the side of his pack. What he didn't drink of the coffee, he poured into the thermos and screwed on the lid. Reese dumped the grounds into the trash and turned the pot off. Ready to go. He glanced around, and took a last look in here. Might be the last time until he came back to empty it out.
Left by the back door and startled the cat back there. He leapt off the porch ahead of Reese and down the stairs, stopping long enough to sniff around at the cellar window and then moved on.
Reese glanced around one more time before he closed the door. End of an era. The longest he'd stayed in one place since he was a kid in the mountains of Colorado.
He turned away and closed the door behind him.
Shaw was ready to go.
Heated some of the breakfast in the microwave first, and then poured ketchup over the home-fries. Shoveled eggs and the potatoes and savored the taste. The coffee went down easy, too, cooled to less than molten now. A girl's best friend: a good cup of joe.
Harold was there at his desk, tapping away on his keys. Every once in a while he'd stop and nod at the eye at the top of his screen. Symbiotic, she thought, how the two of them got along together.
Solitary was better for her. She grabbed her bag and slid it up over her shoulders.
If she hadn't been there in New York City, she'd have taken her car for this. But New York and cars just didn't mix, especially during the day. She might have to come back for it later if she didn't find him before dark. By then, the City would have emptied out some, and she'd have an easier time. But for now, she'd be making her way around in other ways.
First stop, Reese's apartment. He'd need to supply himself for the road.
She knew, 'cause that's what she'd do.