Death of Innocence
Day 29
Jail Cell, Cimarron, Colorado, December 2013
He'd dozed sitting up. Easier to breathe that way. Guessed he'd be here for the night. Only one deputy left out there – the rest had gone home hours ago. Zipped his jacket up to his neck. The air in the back of the jail was cold now, and his clothes were still soaked from the fight. Rain and mud, some blood – not sure whose.
Just at the edge of waking and sleep – where all the magic happened.
Felt the sun on him, hot that day. And the breeze off the water, cooler. It tousled her hair as she slept. Liked to watch her like that. Beautiful. Kicked himself for waiting so long to ask her out. And when he had, that moment before she'd answered kicked him to his knees. He'd thought about it – so long, he'd nearly given up. Why'd she wanna go out with him?
The breeze teased at her hair. Look how soft she looked. How relaxed and calm inside. Maybe that's what'd drawn him first. Beautiful, of course. But something about her. Calm. Never seemed to ruffle herself about silly things. When you looked in her eyes, they went all the way down inside her. Happiest he'd been in his life, with her.
Remembered the trail of smoke. Each time he'd made it back home. She'd catch him at the hallway, carting his duffel bag on a shoulder, dressed like a soldier. That smile when she saw him. Enough to melt a man inside. Back to her place. Hands all over each other as soon as the door'd closed behind them. He'd lift her up in his arms, and her scent'd wash over him. Into her room. Where the trail of smoke curled off the stick next to her bed. He'll always remember that scent. Incense. Every time he thought of them, he remembered that scent…
Saw them walking, hand in hand.
On the beach first, sun shining down as they walked. The breeze picked up. And off in the distance, some clouds rolling in. Darker than the rest.
Closer. Closer. Storm's coming.
Look out!
He heard the voice out in the lobby. Fusco out there, in the middle of the night. Crap. What now?
Wasn't long before he heard their footsteps coming. No use trying to sleep. Reese sat up, and swung his legs over the side. Mud dropped down on the floor every time he moved.
As soon as he saw his face, he knew. Someone's in trouble.
Shaw, again. Once the shooting had started, she'd grabbed the two of them and hustled them out of the room. Root had shown up, just as the woman, Diane, had threatened to kill one of the two scientists: Arthur or Harold. Didn't matter to her, she'd said. One of them needed to turn over their AI Machine. Whichever one did would live. Simple as that. Root'd held her off and sent them ahead to escape.
He'd started to put the pieces together before that. The project Arthur had mentioned. Ready to deliver and canceled at the last moment. Because someone else had 'won'. Northern something, he'd said. Well, Harold knew all about that. Northern Lights. The Machine he and Nathan had designed and built. Never again. Remember? Never again would they be blindsided by another terrorist group or global threat. They'd won! Northern Lights had gone into production mode and was making a difference immediately. Success.
Little did he know that Arthur had done the same. But, like a father saving his child, he'd hidden away his last copy of the code before the NSA could destroy it. One last copy.
So little time. And Arthur in and out, more out than in with his mind. If he could just tell him where he'd hidden the code. Before his mind collapsed.
Another drive, whisked away in his car to another place. Arthur had given them the name. A bank downtown, where he'd kept the code hidden inside. Running out of time. Rushed in. Was he right? Was he still lucid enough to remember it right?
The box. Brought from the vault and placed in front of him. Arthur stared at it. Confused, suddenly. What's happening here?
It's only right to tell him, Finch thought. He had to let him know. Northern Lights. Success.
And after, a tear coursing down his face. The side that still worked.
At least one of them had made it, he'd said. Happy it was you, Harold. If it had to be one of us, happy it was you. Northern something… Something about the light, was it? Couldn't quite bring it in...
And after, he'd stared at the boxes. A father's pride, for sure.
Time to let it go now, Arthur, he'd said. Gently.
Can't let it fall into the wrong hands…
What was that noise? Out there - in the bank?