A/N: I am beginning to feel a little unhappy with my writing - I'm reminding myself I'm doing it for fun, but reading others' stories makes me aware of my lacking skills (and perhaps experience). Therefore, I've started to read some creative writing theory and one assignment is to practice showing vs. telling by having the character deprived of one of their senses, "the situation might put her at an advantage or disadvantage, but in any case, she will have to compensate (…) make the situation dramatic, one in which she is driven by a pressing need or desire" (Burroway et al. 2011, 71). In other words, sorry, Teresa, you're going to have to be blindfolded and/or bound this chapter (thanks for your cooperation, dear). Thanks for reading all of you xxxx
Chapter 4: to be double crossed
A few moments earlier…
He rubbed his neck with his hand while shifting in the seat. He pushed his leg out and shook it a little. The FBI SUVs were by no means small or uncomfortable, but sitting there for hours without any heat blasting from the air conditioning did make a middle-aged man a little stiff.
One officer of the patrol car to his right exited the vehicle, probably needing the movement to wake up his limbs, too. With long strides his boots hit the pavement, advancing toward the back entrance of the motel. He was probably canvassing the area. The officer disappeared behind the building.
He contemplated stepping out of the car himself - partly motivated by the constricted blood flow of his lower extremities, but also because he wished to see her, to feel the warmth radiating off her body as she relaxed into him. They hadn't really had a sufficient conversation about her frustration with him, and he wasn't sure she completely understood he would take any necessary measure to keep her safe. He had to admit to himself that his latest withheld truth was more about not wanting to add to the violation of her privacy rather than believing her physical safety to be in jeopardy; more so, he selfishly had not wanted her to retreat from him which she usually did in times of emotional turmoil. Alas, he had now discovered being dishonest, or less forthcoming, had actually been the cause of her anger and subsequent withdrawal. He needed to set things right. And he needed her in his arms again.
Then, the patrol car's engine roared to life. It was repositioned more toward the doors of the motel rooms across the parking lot. The officer had not returned yet, at least, he was nowhere to be seen. Odd.
His hand opened the car door, legs stepping out and with a brisk pace he stepped toward her before he consciously understood what was happening. His pace quickened, hairs on his neck on end as he typed in Cho's number on his phone. He answered on the second ring, and Jane could only muster "Something's wrong," as he saw her front door open.
He let out a breath of relief as her dark hair became illuminated in the porch light. There she was. But her head slung low, the locks of her hair covering her face. Her arms flailed at her side. Behind her, he saw the officer who just disappeared, his hands around her waist to keep her up. She was unconscious. The officer dragged her towards the car, her bare feet scraping the pavement.
"Teresa!" he shouted.
In hindsight, it was a monumentously stupid move. A bullet buzzed around him. He had to duck and move. He crouched behind a parked car while another bullet flew past him. He peaked from behind it to see the officer throw Teresa in the backseat. He pushed her legs inward before he slammed the door shut. The other had his gun trained in his direction.
He was still a hundred yards away from her. He had lost track of the amount of bullets released. He wouldn't make it. So he shuffled to his own car as the patrol car sped away.
"It's the officers," he said before he threw the phone on the passenger seat. The tires screeched as he put his foot all the way down, driving as fast as possible to keep up with the patrol car. They were using the sirens to burst through traffic, and he had to press his own siren button three times before his lights and sound came to life, so hard his hands were trembling.
He overtook two cars at once, swerving back onto his own lane. He was pressed against the seat by the force of his movement.
The patrol car was a few hundred yards in front of him. The car took a right turn, thrusting through the intersection. He followed. He was not going to let them take her.
His hands were sweating. His pulse raced. His eyes darted left to right to avoid traffic. The patrol car took a left. He did the same at his own intersection to hopefully gain some ground while undetected.
He could not stop them - couldn't risk hurting her by causing a collision. He had to just figure out where they were taking her. And then what? He didn't know.
At every crossing, he canvassed the street to his right. He didn't detect the patrol car.
He drove faster. There she was. He was now almost parallel to them.
He yanked the steering wheel to the right, tires slipping from the sudden movement. He had to counter steer to remain on the road. He was almost there. Then, a car entered the road from a driveway to his left. He pushed the brakes instinctively. His body was propelled forward as the car came to a halt.
"Fuck," he spouted. He hit the steering wheel with his flat hands, "Fuck," he repeated.
He started up the engine again. The patrol car was gone.
xxx
They were already at the motel parking lot when he returned. He opened the car door, stepped out and didn't close the door as he approached them.
Cho stood with his hands on his hips, lips pursed. He checked his watch. Fisher was on the phone, eyes darting from the motel room to the parking lot. She cast her eyes downward and moved her body away from him as he came to stand next to them.
He heard her note the car model and vehicle number for an APB. "Suspects have abducted Agent Teresa Lisbon, remain cautious in approach. Our agent might be injured," she said.
"We have every agent looking for her," Cho supplied. "Wylie's checking the officers' backgrounds. We must have missed something."
"You think?" he griped.
He kicked a loose pebble on the asphalt and ran a hand over his face. This was all of their faults. He should never have left her by herself - and why did Fisher agree on simple police officers watching her? Teresa herself had probably refused any other form of protection; she was already uncomfortable enough that resources had to be spent on her behalf, embarrassed by the reason for it. She would not have allowed any more elaborate measures. No, his Teresa was unwilling to bother other people with what she considered her own issues. Goddamn that woman and her selflessness.
He strode to her motel room - forensics hadn't even arrived yet. The room was dark except for the porch light casting a soft light through the window. The bed made up most of the space in the room, anchored to the wall with a fake looking oak head board. The bedsheet lay crumpled at the end of the bed. Beside it, the nightstand made of a similar fake wooden material, her phone and a half-empty glass of water on it. The drawer was opened, empty. Her gun lay on the table near the window. The chair that held the suit she'd been wearing that day had fallen (was kicked?) over. He had helped her put the jacket on just that morning - gave her a peck on the lips in approval. He picked up the garment, inhaled the scent and let out a sob.
His hands were still trembling.
"After effects of the adrenaline," Cho supplied as he came to stand next to him. "Any idea what happened here?"
"She heard him - she took out her gun from the night stand, but she also put it away -" he began, standing at the table. He was now standing in front of the window and had full vision of the corner of the parking lot where he had been parked all evening.
"She must have seen me. She put her gun away because I-" he didn't finish his sentence, looking at the floor now.
"It's not your fault, Jane. Let's find the bastard responsible."
xxx
Fisher had persuaded him he'd be of no use in the field, so there he was again on his couch. The sun was coming up, warming up the space minimally. She had been gone for four hours now. Images of her slumped form assailed his thoughts, the ivory skin of her legs, her dark curls draped over her face. It was a too familiar picture. He dry heaved in the trash can, his empty stomach preventing him to actually vomit.
"Here, take this," Fisher said as she handed him a cup of tea and a sandwich wrapped in plastic.
"You need your strength to find her."
He took a sip of the tea, winced as the liquid burned his throat. Abbott approached them.
"We have people bringing in Hazel Haibach. Wylie's getting here any moment to find any connections between the officers and this cleaner woman Povo. Tell me what else we need to do," Abbott said.
"I-" He didn't know. He'd been too distracted by her, savoring their newfound intimacy. He hadn't paid too much attention to anything else.
Before he could respond, however, Wylie had marched in, laptop in his one hand, the other raised.
"I got something!"
Jane rose immediately, the movement dizzying him a little. He held on to Lisbon's desk for support and then stepped to Wylie's desk, Fisher and Abbott already looking over Wylie's shoulder to the screen.
"The agents both received a sum of money on their accounts three days ago. And guess what?" Wylie said, while eying Jane, who only widened his eyes to make him continue.
"They were paid by the same account as the cleaner, Tamsin Povo, was. She received multiple smaller payments in the past three weeks, which is why it wasn't flagged as suspicious immediately." He typed some things on his laptop, and then went on.
"The account is part of a company by the name of Goliath Enterprises. I'm figuring out who's behind that, now," he finished.
"Good work, Wylie. Do you have an address for this company?" Fisher asked.
"Not exactly, but I did find out Goliath Enterprises has some smaller branches and one of them, Jumbo Investments, is located at 7409 Burleson Road here in Austin. It's a warehouse."
"Good, Fisher, go there. Take Jane," Abbott said, knowing Jane well enough that he wasn't going to stay put.
"Find out if there's a connection to the Haibachs," Abbott said to Wylie, while dialing SWAT on his phone for assistance.
xxx
The address appeared to be an empty office space with a garage. As the scene had been cleared by SWAT, Fisher, Cho and Jane stepped in to inspect the area. The garage had a concrete floor, led lights hanging from the ceiling giving off a bright white color. There were no other light sources. The walls were concrete, too, and hadn't been polished or plastered. A jacket hung from a peg in the wall. In the corner there was a small kitchen area with a table and some chairs. On the table lay a frayed cotton cloth a mug, stained with a brownish liquid - coffee, probably, and a pair of glasses of which one temple had come loose of its hinge.
The car was here - the one they'd taken Lisbon in. The doors were open, and he looked inside the backseat and saw something shimmering tucked into the cushion. He picked it up; it was her earring, the small gold stud with a faux diamond nestled in. It had blood on it. The blood coated his fingers - it was still wet, fresh.
"They haven't been gone for a long time," he said as he pocketed the earring.
Fisher nodded at him and phoned Wylie to find cameras of nearby buildings so that they could identify the car used after dumping the police vehicle. Cho put a hand on his shoulder, a rare gesture from the stoic man.
She was close. She had to be.
xxx
She woke up hearing a loud pounding noise. She was cold but when she tried to grab the sheet for warmth she couldn't move her arm. It was locked behind her; she was bound, arms twisted together at her back. She was lying down and tried to turn. The plastic that bound her chafed her wrists by her wriggling. She breathed in through her nose and breathed out in shallow, uneven breaths. The memory came back to her then, the rough hand coming from behind her. Fuck.
She opened her eyes but didn't see anything; some kind of ragged material stretched in front of her eyes. She was blindfolded. She was lying on something - a mattress, perhaps.
She tried breathing in slowly once again, but her pounding heartbeat preventing her to even out her breaths. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest; as if it was trying to find its way out of her body.
She tried sitting up, which made the pounding noise grow louder. She couldn't locate its source, but then a wave of nausea hit her and she vomited; her body protesting the abrupt rising movement. Some of it hits her thigh, her aim way off and the warm liquid gliding down her bare leg. She was in her sleep shirt, probably. This was bad.
She tried to stand up, another wave of dizziness and nausea almost keeling her over. The floor felt cold as she shuffled through the space. She took small steps and tries to count them to get a sense of the size of the room.
She stopped when she heard another sound. It was footsteps.
An arm grabbed her by the armpit, roughly pushed her back and she fell onto the mattress again.
"You gave her too much," a voice said from the distance.
"She fucked up my glasses, dude. Just help me clean her up before he arrives," the one close by said. The voice sounded shrill in her ears.
When she felt a rough cloth on her leg, she used her legs to kick the near presence. He let go of her temporarily, but then the hand that had previously wiped her thigh made contact with her cheek as he hit her.
"You fucking bitch," she heard him cry out. She was successful, then.
It was a short-lived win, as now the other presence's heavy breathing hit her ear and she was gripped by both arms. He smelled like tobacco and alcohol and it made her gag.
She cried out as she felt a sharp sting in her elbow, and then it went dark again.
xxx
Hazel Haibach had arrived at the bureau for questioning. He marched up to the interrogation room, but Abbott's raised hand to his chest halted him momentarily.
"We need to figure out what she knows, and she won't tell you if she realizes you're out of control. Be calm," he said.
"I know how to work a suspect, Abbott," Jane replied.
"You're hyped up and emotional, understandably, but you won't help her by losing your control."
"Just let me in," he said, and walked past Abbott.
Cho asked Hazel another time when she'd last seen her brother.
"I'm telling you like I told the little woman yesterday - I haven't spoken to my brother in ages."
"Your telephone records say something else, Hazel," Cho supplied. "Was it your evil twin who called him two weeks ago?"
"I-"
"Where is he?" Jane asked.
"I don't know - I swear. I called him two weeks ago, that was it." she answered, eyed wide. She fumbled with her fingers. She was nervous.
"What did you talk about?" Cho asked.
"Nothing. He owed me money."
"What did he need the money for?"
"He didn't say. A project of his, I never ask." She looked away then. She was lying.
"How much?" Cho asked.
"Six hundred dollars." She looked to the ground.
Jane rose from his chair, slammed his hands on the table and bent forward to level his face with hers.
"You know your brother is a little pervert. The question is whether you became one as well. Father like yours? You didn't stand a chance. You can't hide anything, Hazel," he spit out.
Her posture seemed to slump, shoulders inward, face down. She didn't respond to him at all.
He had planned to be more eloquent about his discovery of their past, to use his male presence to intimidate her like her father had undoubtedly done. There were two ways women reacted to fatherly abuse. Either they became meek and submissive; shoulders sagging, eyes shifty, easily intimidated, or they became hardened and impenetrable, rejecting any emotion and warmth to protect themselves from hurt. It was easily discernable which one Hazel had turned into. And Teresa, of course, had been the latter. Oh, Teresa.
"You wouldn't want Richard to find out you've been here, would you?" he went on, adding to her sense of helplessness. "If you tell us right now where he is, you can go, and he'll never know. If you don't, well, you'll stay here for another few days. Think of how mad that would make him."
"He's right. We won't tell him," Cho lied.
She looked up then, first at Cho, then at Jane. And she told them he needed the money for a trip to the Californian Redwoods, some kind of camp site he'd planned on visiting.
xxx
When she woke up again, she was no longer blindfolded. It was dark, and she blinked a few times to get a clearer look at her surroundings. Her eyes started to water from the strain. She wiggled her hands once more, still bound, but felt a cold and hard material to her back and legs.
She was strapped to a metal chair and when she tried to move it made a scuffing sound that hurt her ears. Her mouth was dry. The nausea, exacerbated by the smell of mold and her own vomit lingered in the back of her throat, lay low in her belly.
"Good, you're finally up," a voice said - a different one from earlier - and she tried to locate its origin somewhere in front of her. Her vision wasn't clear. Multiple presences stood somewhere in front of her and when she blinked they multiplied.
"Here, drink some water. You must be thirsty."
A glass was held to her lips and she gulped it down eagerly, water running down her throat from the badly coordinated movement.
She looked up to see the face of the man, he had dark hair and a low voice but that was all she could see.
"Sorry they had to drug you; I told them you were feisty. I wasn't wrong, I see," he said as he traced his finger over the puncture hole in her elbow.
The voice sounded familiar. She needed him to continue. She needed to know who she was dealing with.
"What do you want?" she croaked.
"Straight to the point, aren't you? You always were," he smiled. He fondled her face with his hand, feeling the cut on her cheek with his thumb. He pinched her ear which burned like hell, hard, and she cried out.
"You destroyed me, Teresa. And now it's my time to destroy you," he whispered in her ear.
She recognized that voice. She closed her eyes and shuddered.
xxx