Red awoke refreshed and alert, having slept very well.
The mail had been piling up, so he took his coffee heading for the office.
Dembe had arrived ahead of him and was already going through a batch. An hour later, some headway had actually been made when his damned phone rang. Red picked it up, staring at the screen, sighing.
Ressler. His world turned bleak.
"Yes?" Red said simply.
"Reddington?" Donald's monotone voice returned the greeting.
"What do you want Donald?"
"First, how is Keen doing?"
"She's doing well." The older man replied. "Better actually"
"We've found a new victim." with the amenities out of the way, life moved on in Donald's world. "We're wondering if you can ID her?"
"Send me a picture." Red instructed.
"To where?" Ressler was momentarily waylaid.
Red covered the phone, "Send Ressler an address or a number he can send a picture, please Dembe."
"Are you there, Reddington?" Samar asked.
He hated when they did that. The speaker phone was such a nuisance. "Yes, I'm here. Dembe will be texting you an address."
"Is it secure?" Donald ran true to form.
"Just send the damn thing, Donald." Red snapped. "I'll call you back in a few minutes."
He closed the phone waiting for Dembe to hand over the laptop. The page finally opened, so the man shuffled through the pictures rapidly.
Why Ressler had sent six, he didn't know. But they were from every angle. Red could see in living color, what this woman had gone through. And while it didn't turn his stomach like it used to, he did feel a great deal of sympathy for her.
Finally finding one of her face up close. He focused on different features, seeing past the horror in her eyes, the grim set of her mouth and the blood, to piece together the woman she had been.
Flipping his phone open, he dialed Ressler. The phone continued to ring incessantly. He really hated when he told someone that he'd call them right back, then they let the phone ring and ring.
Ressler was taking a play out of Glen's handbook, Reddington just knew it.
"Ressler." Donald finally spoke brusquely into the phone.
"I don't know her."
"You're positive?"
"Yes, I don't know this woman." Red grated. "Though..."
"What? What do you see?" Samar asked.
"Look at her wounds, compare them to the other victims. He went out of his way to really torture her." the words sounded hollow and empty, even to Red's ears. "The others; their face, legs, arms, something on them is always left unblemished. There isn't one part of this woman he didn't touch." Red scrolled continuously back and forth between the photos. "Something's off."
"What?" Donald asked, hopefully.
"If I knew, I wouldn't have stopped talking."
"Yeah well, if anything comes to mind, call." Ressler would always be Ressler. More's the pity.
Red shut the phone, leaning back in his chair, grabbing a pile of mail stacked neatly before him.
He rifled through it quickly, sorting personal from junk. Red stopped, holding up an envelope. "Why do I keep getting these?"
He made reference to the 'Planning for your Funeral' leaflet. He questioned Dembe. "Did you put my name on a mailing list?"
"No..." Dembe did not even look up from his busy work, "not yet."
Red scowled. Dembe continued, "Perhaps they think you can send them repeat business?"
"I would never undercut Kaplan." Red threw the leaflet aside.
"That is the parcel Mr. Kaplan sent over this morning, by the way." Dembe motioned to Red's right. The man put down his own mail, picking up Elizabeth Keen's.
He paid the bills with enough to carry through to the next month. Hopefully, the house would be sold by then, but he'd rather have it out of the way.
He pulled over the small stack of envelopes addressed to Liz personally, wondering what to do with them.
Red did not believe in invading anyone's personal space, and normally he would never do so... but there was something peculiar about this set of envelopes, which had caught his attention.
The post marks were dated from approximately a week back.
Without hesitation, he sliced the first open with his knife. He pulled out the single sheet, unfolding it, rapidly scanning the neatly typed script.
His eye ticking as he read it.
I saw you with Reddington last night. You looked so beautiful, even from a distance
You smiled at him, but I know it's to keep him close. I don't know what he's told you,
about your life. It's probably all lies. He put you in danger. He's the reason you were
shot at. Spreading the lies he's told everyone. Don't trust him.
Red pulled out the second, scanning it.
I saw you walking out with Reddington with a bag and then you didn't come home.
I tried following, but lost you. I know you're staying with him. I can't even begin
to fathom how that came about. I'm sure it's for your job, but I have to wonder what
lies he spouted to get you to agree. Don't believe in the lies, Liz.
At least Tom hadn't followed them or been able to keep up with Dembe's erratic movements through traffic. So, there was that at least.
You weren't home again last night. Remember, he is sinful, and taints those around him. No matter what it takes, I will do anything to rid you of his filth.
How long had she been receiving these and said nothing to him. The man's ire rose. It may sound on the surface, like the ramblings of an insane man, true...but Red saw a definite threat. That Tom would do anything to rid her of Red's filth...
What the hell does that mean!? Filth as in, the world Red resided in? Just being in his presence?
If Tom was as insane as he thought he was, if he were to do a little research on how other cultures cleansed the sinful, he'd pick the most horrid, malicious practice he found and make it his own.
It's bad enough that you're staying with him so long. But that you enjoy that time
spent with him is mind boggling. I heard you laughing at the Blacksite
when he was talking to you. Don't lose sight of what your job is, Liz. He's a criminal.
A monster. A demon. If you give me a chance, I know we can bring him down to his knees.
The Blacksite wasn't that populated a place, so for him to have missed Tom, meant Red wasn't focused. That would change.
Not that Lizzy was going anywhere anytime soon, but maybe, if Red was alert and ready, he could catch the prick and take him down. Because it was very obvious, Tom had gone around the bend.
Where the hell were you going in that dress with Reddington? That dress was only fit
to be worn by a whore. You should not be wearing red or something so revealing. You
should wear white, the color of purity and cleanliness. Wholesome and untainted.
Be the angel to the demon.
"I'll buy her an entire wardrobe of nothing but red, you asshole." Red seethed. He was thankful he trusted his instincts concerning these correspondence.
She had never looked more beautiful than in that dress. Elizabeth Keen outwardly, appeared confident and self-possessed. Red knew in reality, that image was nothing more than an erroneous misconception.
If she had seen these hateful words, there was no doubt in the man's mind, that she would have believed every syllable. She would have only seen the negative comments about her appearance that night.
Which was a complete load of shit.
He had never felt so proud of her or as privileged, to have her on his arm. He had not missed the envious looks of other males. Part of him felt a surge of pride, but a larger part admitted to pure unadulterated jealousy.
Red slammed the papers down, his blood boiling. He stood, pacing slowly back and forth.
Anger was unproductive, he had to rid his mind in order to function properly.
He set about doing so, with the one person who was always capable of putting his world in order, no matter how chaotic.
He didn't understand it, but he no longer denied it, if only to himself.