Chapter 72: Shove

The bright light buzzed overhead at a constant hum. Feet shuffled and paced outside the locked door every so often, only distracting her briefly. The sounds, the light mildew smell, and the grey hue on the walls made the interrogation room feel surreal. There were no clocks or windows in the room, but she knew she had been there for far too long. Several hours at least - but she couldn't tell. Time both stood still and spun out of control simultaneously, adding to the uncanny feeling that none of this was really real.

She knew it was an interrogation tactic. Cops leave the suspect alone simmering with the threat of jail for long enough, making them lose all hope that anyone is coming, and they would finally boil over and spill all the secrets. But she wouldn't. Olivia would never bend or never break. Hell no.

All she cared to look at was her own reflection in the square mirrored window. She looked terrible. Olivia wore the same plain black dress from the plane ride home, her makeup looked faded, with mascara flaking under her lower lashes. Her hair was frizzy and her eyes bags looked tired, but she didn't care about any of it. Her focus lay beyond the glass, her mind desperately clawing and reaching for someone she would bet her fucking life was looking back at her from the other side. Someone whose thoughts sounded a whole lot like rolling thunder.

Oh, but she wished Alcide Hervaux could hear her wrath. Her pouring anger would make his mind look like a faint, drizzling rain, while she was an entire hurricane furious enough to wipe this fucking town clean off the map. She wanted him to see her look miserable and awful and pathetic, and realize how her spirit stood strong despite his best efforts.

The metal around her wrists grew warm with the touch of raw skin. Sometimes, she swore the cuffs that tied her to this table burned her skin like silver did to a vampire. The handcuffs were also locked onto the metal table, which was bolted to the floor - a bit of an overkill for white-collar crime if you ask her. Olivia was at least thankful she didn't have any of Eric's blood inside her right now, because she would have ripped this whole room to shreds, broken out of there, gone straight to Anthony Grey, and killed that fucking rat with her bare hands. Olivia wasn't naive, or stupid. She knew it had been him. The machine she had built was perfect. Grey was the only flaw in her beautiful creation, the disgusting stain, the faulty part - the rot. And rot spreads.

Hours passed. Entire lifetimes it seemed.

She had prepared for this scenario every single time she laid her head on a pillow. She rehearsed it more times than she could count. Olivia knew exactly what to say (nothing), who to call (lawyer), and what to do (wait). But she could barely concentrate wondering who was watching from the other side, waiting for her to break (she wouldn't).

Her joints started to hurt from the stiff chair. Liv was so hungry it ached, as her stomach was eating itself. Her mouth was so dry that her tongue was sticking to the insides of her mouth. Upon arrival they had given her a small paper cup of water, that she drank so long ago that the cup looked brand new. Her head was pounding with a headache, and her brain could not sit still, being in this fucking cage. Being watched. Being studied.

Olivia waited for salvation. They waited for her demise.

Spite was one hell of a motivator.

Finally, the door swung open. A tall, lanky male officer entered - a face she recognized from a photo on Portia's desk - Glenn Costa. He was accompanied by a larger black man wearing a dated brown suit, stripped collar shirt and a burgundy tie done up so tight she wondered how he could possibly breathe.

The two sat on the empty metal chairs across from her, ready to play good cop bad cop. They looked like they walked out of a cartoon, or a SNL sketch. Glenn set the recorder on the metal table, pressing the record button. The tape spun slowly.

"State your name please," said the suited man. The lanyard around his neck showed his ID - last name Moreland. His voice was deeper than Olivia expected, with a southern accent that wasn't from Louisiana.

Olivia said nothing. In fact, she didn't even look at them for more than a moment. Her eyes went back to the mirrored window as if they weren't there at all.

"Your name please, for the tape," the officer asked again.

Olivia did not open her mouth. She stared at Alcide Hervaux through the mirror in defiance. The two officers exchanged odd looks. Part of her wondered if she could even talk with her mouth and throat being so dry.

"Are you Olivia Carson?" Glenn asked. She could tell he didn't have the confidence of his counterpart.

Still, she gave them nothing, as per the rules of the game. They had withheld her right to a call, so she would give them absolutely fucking nothing. Her mind tried to read their thoughts, but her own psyche couldn't make it out of the tight walls of her skull, pounding with a headache that started from behind her eyes and crept up her forehead. It was an annoying and inconvenient time for her stupid powers to fail, but it was what it was.

The officer in the brown suit reached for the tape recorder and paused it. "You know, this whole 'remaining silent' shit ain't nothing like they make it out to be. You sit there, all tight with it," he shook his head. "Waitin' on your paid lawyer. Thinkin' you're all wise, ain't you?"

Olivia said nothing.

"Naw, see. That worked when you were some kind of fuckin' criminal mastermind. When you ain't been seeing doing the dirty fuckin' deed. When your own fuckin' lawyer ain't in the next room, putting you in."

That had got her attention. She looked at the Moreland's dark brown eyes, trying to read any signs of acting. That made him smile.

"Oh yeah," he chuckled. "Big time snitch that one. The rich, goodie-two shoes usually are."

Glenn shot Moreland an uncomfortable look, but he tried to swallow it and play it cool. If the guy was referring to Portia Bellefleur, she had once been his fiance - until Eric erased the man from her memory entirely and replaced him with something very akin to loyalty and obedience. Which was how Olivia knew Moreland was absolutely full of shit - great actor, though. That was truly Hollywood stuff.

"We made it easy for her, of course, 'cause she was so motherfuckin' helpful. Iced tea, a quarter pounder, big fries, sprite and a sundae," the mental image of food physically hurt her.

She leaned in closer, back hunched over her cuffed wrists.

"Let me guess," Olivia finally spoke, her voice low and hoarse. "You'll leave me here to stew a little while longer, and on your way out I'll see a cop scorting Portia Bellefleur down the hallway while she's holding a McDonald's bag?"

The black officer held his smirk in place, but his eyes shifted. Glenn's nervousness gave it away immediately.

"I don't know what kind of fucking circus you clowns run here, but where I come from, we give citizens their fucking call," Olivia hissed.

Glenn fumbled over his own words. "Portia-"

"Isn't my fucking lawyer, the same way she isn't your fucking fiancee."

Moreland looked at Costa, equally confused and intrigued.

"Oh, you didn't share that little piece of evidence, did you Glenn?" Olivia mocked him. "Of course, you fucking didn't."

"A vampire wiped her mind, it wasn't her fault," Glenn said, trying to put up a brave face. She saw right through it.

"Let me let you in a little secret, from someone who hangs around a lot of vampires - glamouring isn't as powerful as people think it is. You probably didn't mean a whole lot to her if a vampire could wipe you out with just a few words."

"Shut the hell up," Glenn said in a spasm.

Olivia leaned back on her chair. She wasn't done twisting the knife, even if it wasn't entirely the truth. She thought hurting the officer would make her feel better. It didn't. "See, that's why I have nothing to fucking say to either of you. Because this whole police department is a fucking joke."

Glenn made himself small on the chair. He was pathetic. Olivia was actually thankful Eric did what he did. Portia could do so much better.

"The charges against you aren't a joke, I can assure you ma'am," Moreland said, his baritone voice taking the room. "Tax evasion, bribery, wire fraud, and you fill out the RICO bingo sheet for good measure too. You're lookin' at some very real 20 years in prison."

Olivia shifted her achy body on the chair, and her finger pressed the middle button on the tape recorder. The tape started to roll again.

"Okay, you want me to talk big guy? Alright, let's fucking talk. Let's talk about how Glenn Costa, an officer that for reasons I cannot fathom is still involved in this investigation, dated Portia Bellefleur for sixteen months, proposed, planned his little house with the picket fence and 2.5 fucking kids' life but couldn't handle having his fiancee be more successful than him the second she got a nicer car than his-"

"So you did give her the car? Not the vamp-"

"No, you asshole. That car was on a fucking lease, which if you cared to do your fucking job, you would know, you goddamn morron!"

"She doesn't-"

But Olivia didn't let him finish. She suddenly had plenty to say. "And you," Olivia stood, pulling the table with her if she could. "Officer Alcide Hervaux, who's too much of a chicken shit to show his face, and instead hides behind the one-way window because he can't stand being near me,"

"But what is it about me that you can't handle, huh?" She asked her own reflection. "Is it because I was that one CI you couldn't flip? Or was it because you're so self-centred you can't stand not saving me, just like you couldn't save your pathetic girlfriend? Oh! Maybe it's because you can't stand his smell on me? Oh! It is, isn't it? You fucked me but couldn't claim me. I chose vampires over you just like Debbie did! And I will always choose Eric over you!"

Olivia was aware that for Costa and Moreland she sounded delusional, but she knew Alcide would understand every single word. And she hoped they cut and made him bleed too.

"This whole investigation is based on the whims of two fucking mediocre detectives who lost some pussy to fucking vampires and their egos won't let go!" Olivia yelled in a way the entire station heard. "And boy, I would love to see a fucking judge hear that!"

Glenn Costa's hands dove to the tape recorder, pressing every button his lanky fingers could reach to make it stop rolling.

"Come on," Moreland nodded to the door, and the two officers exited the room with blank expressions on their faces.

"Oh, what is it? You guys don't wanna hear how Alcide fucked me? It was pretty good for a rebound fuck actually! I think it would make for some very interesting evidence!"

The two men shuffled out of the room. In the hallway, an officer pushed Portia down the hallway. She couldn't see what kind of paper she was holding, but she didn't have to. She knew she had figured out their little game, which meant she was awarded more time in the grey room, accompanied only by her own haunted reflection, out of breath from her own beating heart. Behind the window, a shadow moved.

A booming echo of raging thunder. She just didn't know whose - the wolf's or her own.

It could have been hours or days since the two officers visited. Hunger turned into nausea. Hopelessness was starting to settle in. But Olivia knew Alcide waiting for sundown was a bad move - Eric would come. Not during the day, but he would come. He always did. Police could bullshit a lawyer from entering this room, but nothing in this world would stop Eric Northman. Finally, once again, the door opened. A familiar elderly gentleman walked in, but not one she expected: Mr. Cataliades, the Queen's former lawyer, entered the room.

He wore his usual all-black suit and crisp white collar shirt. He carried a briefcase, one with golden latches that she suspected were real 24k gold. His presence was usually unnerving. His mind also felt different from others. Static, but as if his brain responded in different ways. As if he could somehow feel her trying to read him dodge his thoughts out of reach. It usually caused a tingle in her own brain, but today she felt nothing other than the discomforts of dehydration and starvation.

At least, that's what she recalled. She had only met him a few times and mostly dealt with him over the phone. Today, there was nothing unusual about him - her headache seemed to drown everything out. If she didn't feel so awful, she would wish for headaches like this more often.

Mr. Cataliades took a seat on Glenn Costa's old chair and put his briefcase flat on the metal table. He looked at her, with kind but intense dark eyes. He must be in his late forties, but something about him gave her the impression he was much, much older than that. Mr. Cataliades always looked like he knew everyone's secrets. It was true what she meant earlier - Portia Bellefleur wasn't her lawyer. It was the lawyer she hired for Eric's business, but not her lawyer. Hell, she didn't even have a lawyer, and she wasn't exactly sure who she would have actually called given her constitutional right. But she didn't get her call, and Mr. Cataliades came anyway which could only mean Eric had sent in the hounds.

It was actually surprising that Eric would have kept the Queen's lawyer on retainer, but she was thankful someone had come.

"When can I get the hell out of here?" She asked him.

Mr. Cataliades shot her a confused look. He adjusted his thin glasses and took one long look at her. It was the kind of look that made her rethink things.

"The charges are bullshit, are they not?"

The lawyer said nothing, he just held her gaze. Another long moment passed by, one that was inexplicably frightening.

"Mr. Cataliades?"

Was this guy having a stroke?

"Are they charging me?" Olivia asked, a knot forming in her throat.

The lawyer seemed to be playing the same game she had with the officers. But at what end? Suddenly, he opened his briefcase and pulled out a series of stapled documents, along with a fountain pen. He slid the papers across the table towards her.

Her heart sunk into her stomach which was promptly devoured by acid. These were release documents, unbidding her from the Casino deal. Her brain tried to hold on to logic - no one with criminal charges could have a partnership with the Casino in order for the license to be upheld. But all the other parts of her brain told her otherwise. Olivia was disposable. Olivia was replaceable. She had lost the game, she had lost everything.

Trying not to spiral, Olivia signed the papers. She then signed a lawyer agreement. Once she dotted the i in her name, Mr. Cataliades spoke.

"Mr. Northman has posted your bail. You will be released shortly."

She thought of her empty bed, and how she didn't want it to be. "And the charges?"

"That is a problem for another day, Miss Carson," he said blankly, but somehow, sounded disappointed. "The officers would like to ask you a few more questions. As your lawyer, I cannot instruct you to perjury yourself, but it could be helpful to explore what they know based on what they ask you."

Olivia nodded.

"Only answer what you are asked. Nothing more."

It wasn't long ago that Godric told her something all too similar. She watched the lawyer systematically stand up, pick up his chair and bring it next to hers. The door opened again, and Idiot Cop and Moron Cop walked in. This time, there was a different tone about them. Moreland stood this time, while Glenn took the remaining chair.

"Let's try this again," Glenn said, placing the recorder back on the table and making the tape roll. "State your name please?"

Something inside her shifted. Her mind replayed this scenario over and over again, but her mind never actually made it this far. Olivia glanced at Mr. Cataliades, whose eyes were transfixed on her. Finally, he nodded.

"Olivia Carson."

"How long have you been Mr. Northman's accountant?" Glenn asked. She was surprised Moreland was giving Costa the lead.

"Since March."

"And how did he hire you?"

"His boss assigned me to his district."

"His boss?"

"Late boss, you might have heard of her on the news. Sophie-Anne LeClerq?"

"Yeah, the one who died. Did Mr. Northman kill his boss?" Moreland asked.

The deja vu from the Vampire Authority almost gave her whiplash.

"Stay on topic, gentlemen." Mr. Cataliades rebutted.

Glenn shot her lawyer an annoyed look but proceeded."Did you ever give him financial advice?"

"I am his accountant."

"And you managed his money? Accounts, assets, investments..."

"You do know what an accountant does, right Glenn?"

"Yes or no, Miss Carson."

She sighed. "Yes."

"For all his businesses?"

"Mr. Northman owns a lot of businesses," Mr. Cataliades answered before she could say yes.

"Fangtasia?" Glenn asked more specifically.

She had no idea where this was going. All she could hear faint breathing and her own headache. "Yes?"

"The strip mall in Monroe?"

"Yes."

"And the laundromat?"

Bingo. "Anthony Grey likes to do his own books."

"He signed papers allowing you to take control of his laundromat's finances."

"It was part of his deal with Mr. Northman, yes, but I've never actually touched it," not in any official capacity, because she wasn't fucking stupid.

"Then why assume responsibility at all?"

Olivia shrugged. To make him feel tiny like own dick? "To allow me to represent him for his daytime banking needs. However, my services were never needed."

"Is this a standard procedure?"

"It's why they usually hire humans, yes."

"But Grey managed without you, and Mr. Northman did not?"

She was getting annoyed with the pointless line of questioning. "Mr. Northman is a busy man."

"Right. And why would such a busy man invest in a decrepit establishment and never financially seize it?"

"You'd have to ask him. And for the record, it's a dry cleaner, not a laundromat."

"Is Fangtasia a dry cleaner too?" Moreland asked. He had far more interesting questions.

"No, it's a strip club. You should come by."

"Aren't you a bit embarrassed to be a Princetown graduate, working at a titty bar?"

"I'd hardly be the first."

"I ask because there's an awful lot of lint in Fangtasia's trash. Fistfuls of it. Linen and cotton and starch fibres only found in American currency, rolled up in lint balls, straight out of an industrial dryer."

Her heart stopped. All those times she rinsed Eric's too-new and too-clean drug money bills with watered-down bar juice and stripper glitter in Fangtasia's dryer - it left a residue in the lint trap, which ended up in the trash…. Which the cops had been going through unnoticed. Fuck-

"Some of the bills get a bit… Wet. I like to put some decorum back in them before I take them to the bank."

"Wet?" Moreland repeated.

"Yes, wet."

"Wet with what?" Glenn asked, trying to catch her in a lie.

"Semen, Mr. Costa. Some of our ladies are just too damn good at their job and they get semen all over the bills. Which means I have to wash the bills before I put them on my expensive money counter machine so I don't get jizz all over my damn desk."

Glenn's face turned so red it almost became purple.

"You'd think all the glitter rolled up with the lint might have been a hint," she chuckled at Mr. Cataliades. He didn't laugh.

"You do deposits too?" Morelane asked.

"Sometimes."

"Do you have OCD?"

"No."

"No superstitions or hang up about specific numbers?" He waived his hand.

"No."

"Any particular reason why these deposits are always $9,999 dollars, one exact dollar below the amount that would require your bank to file a currency transaction report to the IRS and the Department of Treasury?"

"And did you transfer money from Fangtasia to Mr. Northman's other business?" Glenn added.

"I-"

"Your revenues keep going up, but your cashflows stay the same," Glenn interrupted. "You keep moving money around - horizontally, and vertically in the most complex patterns. Every business under your jurisdiction withdraws just enough money to fly under the radar of the authorities. The strip clubs in Bossier and Munroe do a quarter of the business you do with double the dancers. And the accounts you do business with? There are thousands, it's impossible to follow."

"Give me a pen and paper and I'll teach you some accounting, Glenn. It's decidedly not impossible, you are just shit at your job."

"It's not you we want, Miss Carson," Moreland said definitively.

It sent chills down her spine.

"I think we are finished, gentlemen," Mr. Cataliades shot straight up out of his chair. "Release my client at once before I file for harassment."

No one moved for a second, Moreland and Cataliades were locked in a death glare.

"Word to the wise, Miss Carson?" Moreland reached deep into his pocket and handed Glenn a set of small silver keys, teeth so narrow that could fit in her handcuffs. "Get your own lawyer. He ain't here to protect you."

Eric stood above everyone else. Her eyes found him across the room without even trying and lit up the whole sky. He smirked, putting his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Pam leaned against the wall, arms crossed against her chest, staring down any cop who dared even look at them. They had been waiting at the station for nearly an hour, but Eric had been anxiously counting down the minutes to see her ever since he received the call the moment they landed in Shreveport. Olivia had been locked up for much longer than that.

He knew it was wrong, to send her back here. Olivia belonged to his side, and every time he denied both of them that, life punished him. He waited 12 long hours, hiding alone in his quarters, waiting. Going mad. Dying to hold her again. Rethinking every mistake he had ever made. Thinking of her dream, the laughter, the easy joy in her eyes - and how he had betrayed such a precious thing the very first chance he got. Of how truly undeserving of her he was.

Olivia crossed the lobby and collapsed against his chest. Her hands snaked under his jacket, wrapping her arms around his torso. He stiffened for a second, in shock that she would show such vulnerability as the entire police station watched. Eric could feel Pam's glittering icy eyes looking at him in disapproval, but couldn't quite tell if it was the PDA or her warning words that were crossing her mind.

You're breaking her, Eric.

He would take Olivia away from all of this. He had to wait until the demon lawyer finished speaking with the clerk about the final details of this debacle and they would take Olivia far, far from here.

Suddenly, the foul stench of dog assaulted his nostril. His eyes found the source, noticing Alcide Hervaux standing in an office doorway twenty feet across from him. His brows furrowed and pupils dilated at the sight of them. Eric folded his arms around her and placed a soft kiss on Olivia's head while he watched. The detective's jaw clenched, but he didn't dare to look away, hatred fueling him. It wasn't Eric who had broken Olivia. It was him. And Eric was going to end him. Systematically, slowly, painfully.

"Pam, take Olivia to the car," he glanced at his progeny.

She sighed in relief, standing up straight. "Let's go, sugar."

Olivia nodded, letting Eric go. He felt her body heat retract and missed her honey scent already.

The second Olivia turned her back, Eric looked Alcide Herveaux dead in the eye. He counted on his werewolf hearing to catch every word, as he whispered just a notch above his own breath. "I very much enjoy watching you waste your time."

The detective approached him, eyes furious. "It's over Northman. I got you fucking dead to rights," he growled in a whisper trying to contain his anger to not draw the attention of his peers. "You won't get away with this."

"I already did," Eric smiled. "I've gotten away with much, much worse, and you aren't even looking."

His eyes were locked into his enemy's - gold dancing behind the darkness, eager to break into his true form. But Alcide couldn't. He had to be docile, a common man just like his pathetic peers. Eric took pride in knowing he would never have to hide who he was no matter where he went. It was good, to look at him in the eye. Eric was going to break Alcide from the inside, piece by piece. Eric leaned closer to the wolf. "I killed Debbie. And there isn't a thing you can do about that, just like there isn't a fucking thing you can do about this."

Alcide's hands shot up to his neck, but Eric was faster at evading the assault, taking three steps back. There was a wave of cries and warning shouts coming from several police officers watching the duo, a few guns were cocked and pointed. Eric put his hands up, along with the curve of his smile. As a wave, three men rose onto Alcide, holding him back.

"We're okay, we're leaving," Eric told the station, taking a few steps back. "See you around, Alcide."

"Eric!" Olivia sprung to his side as he crossed the threshold of the front door. "What the hell did you do?!"

Her beautiful brown eyes were filled with concern and anger. A very cold gust of wind hit them both. It was as if the Gods were with him.

"I declared war."

Pam begrudgingly dragged Olivia into the car before she could cause a scene. He would deal with her wrath later. Right now, he had to know where they stood legally before Eric started moving his chess pieces across the board. The demon finally came down the police station steps, his posture stiff as a board. Whatever it was Mr. Cataliades had to say, he didn't want Pam or Olivia to hear. Eric's best guess was that Olivia had refused to sign the Casino papers, but Eric didn't think it would be much of an issue. He would make sure all the charges would disappear, that he would hang Alcide's badge on his fucking wall, and piss on Glenn Costa's grave soon enough.

"Did she sign the paper?" Eric asked before the demon could even open his mouth.

"She did."

His answer surprised him, but it was good news nonetheless. The Casino would continue moving forward.

"Can you get us a quick and dirty mistrial? I want this gone and Olivia reinstalled into the Casino as soon as possible. Her sheet has to be clear, do you understand me? Not even so much as a parking ticket."

Mr. Cataliades adjusted his glasses, pushing them further up the bridge of his nose. "That won't be a problem, sir."

"That's what I like to hear."

"But you do have a problem, sir. A much more pressing one, I'm afraid," his eyes held a different darkness, one that Eric didn't like looking into too much.

"What is it?" Eric asked with the confidence of a man who never met an enemy he couldn't beat. Whatever the problem was, he could handle it. Why else be King?

"Miss Carson couldn't hear me."

"What do you mean?"

"Miss Carson couldn't hear me," he repeated. "You do know what that means, right?"

Everything stopped. Mr. Cataliades was a demon who shared the same special gifts of telepathy as Olivia did. Suddenly, the wind stopped blowing, as the Gods turned his back on him.

Do you know what happens when you trap a fairy?

She dies.

A.N

Uh-Oh of the HIGHEST degree! What now? Discuss in the comments.

I managed to squeeze this chapter here and there while procrastinating through the thick of the semester. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel!

I hope to write lots during my winter break and then post frequently again!

XOXO

Spice