End of Innocence
Chapter 41
Jenn's Laundromat, Ozarks, January 2014
"Really, you don't need to stay. I'm fine," she said. But, after everything that'd happened, Reese didn't like the idea of driving off and leaving Yolanda here alone.
She seemed stuck on finishing everything she'd started before the break-in. Guess he couldn't blame her – he would've done the same thing himself. Sometimes finishing what you'd started was the best way to use up the adrenaline surge.
A few dryers were still tumbling in the back. And once they were done, there'd be folding to do, she said. Customers would be stopping in the next day or two, and she wanted to be ready. Seemed like they ran a good business, taking in their customers' laundry, alongside the ones who came in to wash their own.
"It's no problem," Reese said. "I'll sleep better this way," smiling with his eyes.
"OK, then. Thanks. And thanks for what you did, before, for all of us. I'm not sure what would've happened if you hadn't been here," she offered. Reese looked down at the floor. Mostly to avoid her eyes. Eyes like hers could get him into trouble if he didn't watch himself. Tried to be nonchalant:
"Sometimes you're just in the right place at the right time," he said, his voice soft and low. He didn't see her reaction, but she turned away and headed for the machines in the back.
While he waited, Reese carried his duffel bag and the bottle of detergent out to his car. Of course, on the way, he scanned the lot plus all the little nooks and crannies up to the hillside in back, as far as he could see. No one out there this time of night.
Tested the air, too; but nothing on the breeze that shouldn't have been there: a trace of the laundry smells – soaps and softeners drifting out – and raw wood, from the plywood sheets they'd cut to fit the holes.
He glanced at the place. One full panel of the four across the front had spidered into a million glass nuggets, spilling onto the floor and the cement outside – a last-second warning to the cops and his only way to stop them from walking into an ambush. He flinched.
That word – it threatened to release an avalanche – a load of memories he didn't want to see. Reese shook his head, like shaking the memories off him. Refused to play them again in his mind's eye. Each time, they'd grab him in the chest and clench his gut as the scenes rolled by.
Couldn't stop it. Would've given anything to stop it … she'd still be alive.
Are you alright?" startled him.
Yolanda, right there in front of him. Made him look up to see where he was: inside the store. Must've gone and come back on auto. Didn't even remember the trip to his car.
"Fine," he lied. Her eyes narrowed and she looked like she was about to say something else, but then pulled back. A moment later, she gave him an update.
"The dryers are done. Just take me a minute to fold – and then I'll be ready to leave. Sorry for keeping you here like this – I just didn't want all these wet things to sit in the washers all night. Now, I can sleep better, too," she said, with a grin.
He smiled a crooked smile and grabbed a seat. She was right – it only took her a few minutes to finish her folding. Three small baskets filled with neatly folded stuff.
"Where do you want them?" he asked, and stepped up to help her carry.
"Up there, on the shelves."
He grabbed one in each arm, while Yolanda took the last, and they walked together to the shelves. He hadn't noticed them before, built on the front of that wall with the cash machine in the back – and right across from her desk. Convenient when customers came in to pick up their wash. A few baskets were already there on the shelves.
"Thank you again for sweeping the glass. You didn't have to do that," she said. Her eyes were dark and calm. Reminded him a little of Shaw's. With more feeling.
"Kinda did," he said in his whisper-voice, and then looked away.
Strange man, she thought, when he didn't go on to explain. He didn't say much, but he seemed to be full of secrets or something he didn't care to share.
"I'll get my coat."
While she left for the back, Reese slid his baskets next to hers on the shelf and waited for her to return. They walked out together, and Yolanda stopped to lock the door. The glass had become a rectangle of yellow plywood fitted into the opening. Once it was locked, she backed up to take in the full damage to the front of the store.
Reese watched her head swing from side-to-side. He'd been standing behind her, so hadn't seen the look on her face. When she turned around, she seemed a little more shaken than any other time that day: sad but resigned at the same time.
Reminded him of Finch in the library: "when they stop being a comfort, that's when we'll know – the end of innocence, Mr. Reese."
When Finch had said that, Reese had long since lost his sense of safety in the world. He'd enlisted when he was barely eighteen. They'd taught him how to fight with their weapons, and then they'd sent him all over the world like one himself.
So, by the time Finch had found him, Reese had long since lost any claim to innocence, too.
He was sure he hadn't needed to explain.
It wasn't like Finch hadn't known what he'd done all those years. Maybe Finch hadn't wanted to face it: Reese and innocence had parted ways years before. And once lost, there'd be no getting it back.
He walked Yolanda to her car and had her wait while he checked inside for her.
"All clear," and he stepped to one side. She clicked the lock open and reached for her door.
Reese had already been backing away when she turned around: no entanglements, remember? Her eyes – questioning. It was better this way, he told himself. If he'd stayed there, next to her, something would've happened.
"Gotta go. I'll wait for you to start your car," he said, and backed himself over to his.
In her eyes, she didn't understand.
Like another pair of eyes – back in the airport that day.
"I'll wait for you, John, if you ask me to." And when he didn't, that same look – Jessie hadn't understood, either.
And only when she'd been far enough away, had he said it – in a whisper she'd never heard: "wait for me. Please, wait for me."
Yolanda leaned forward in her car, and the engine caught.
The last thing he saw as she swung around toward the road: her eyes on the other side of the glass. Big and full of feeling.
This could've had a different ending. Warm and soft in his arms. He could feel it.
Her car pulled away, and a ragged breath escaped. He shook his head and closed his eyes: Look what this life demands!
His hands clenched and his shoulders pulled back, tight and hard. Another ragged breath, as the lights on the back of her car disappeared in the dark.
Reese stood there, next to his car.
Empty lot.
Felt drained inside. Empty, too, like the lot.
Chided himself. Snap out of it!
His choice – this had always been his choice to live this life.
Never worked when he'd tried to let someone else in. And the more they'd cared, the more it'd ripped them apart. 'Til they couldn't watch it anymore – what it did to him, what it cost them. It just wasn't worth the pain.
If you didn't live this life, you'd never understand this life.
And that's why he'd decided: no more entanglements. Solitary was better – at least for everyone else…
He climbed in and sat there, letting his eyes drift to the front of the store. Didn't focus on anything special, but took stock for a moment, before he drove off.
He still had the lingering effects from the flash-bang: ringing in his ears; and a headache over an eye. Most of the disorientation had passed, and he could walk straight now.
Breathing seemed fine, but he felt the gnaw of hunger inside and needed a cup of coffee – reminded him there were leftovers in the fridge. And they had one of those drip-style coffee makers, too, in the room.
So, he wouldn't need to scout around for food this time of night, in a small town. Might find an all-night donut shop or a bar if he was lucky; the rest had already shut down.
Better head back, he thought.
When he reached for the key, he felt a stab of pain over the rib healing in his chest. The knot left over from the break creaked sometimes when he used his arms. He'd felt it today, pushing the broom to sweep up the glass.
With all the weight he'd lost, the knot stuck out on his rib like a wide bubble, but hard like bone.
And lower down, that hole in his side – slowly filling in. It'd made him pretty sick – if Shaw hadn't come, too sick to know he was freezing to death in the cabin that night.
She'd saved his life – again.
Somehow, Shaw had always been there to catch him if he fell – when he fell. But the last one to cut him any slack. Fair enough, he thought. He could live with that.
Still too soon for the drink he'd promised. He'd planned to make New York by the time he could drink again. Owed her that, and a whole lot more – but a drink would have to do. She'd understand, if anyone could.
Flicked on his lights and drove out on the road. No one in sight. This time of night in a small town, people tended to settle in at home.
How many times had he rolled past homes just like these – on his way somewhere else – and seen the glow from the windows, wondered what went on with the ones inside? Never talked about it. Kept his thoughts to himself.
He drove the four-lane road back through town. Nothing open downtown. Storefronts dark. Streets empty.
Could have turned onto a two-laner and taken the back way there. No need. Traffic was light – just a car or two passing through town. And every little while, an 18-wheeler chugged through. Might find it parked in the lot by the café next morning.
Starting to feel that same thing he'd felt in the back of the patrol car – wired, but like he wanted to sleep, too. Still not back to his normal self. Couldn't tell if he needed to cut himself more slack or kick it up a notch.
Maybe he was the slacker, himself. Needed to get back into shape and stop the whining. Reese glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. Should ask Shaw. She wasn't one to hold back.
He thought about her eyes: calm dark pools. How many times had he looked up at those eyes, after hell had rained down on him? He'd lost the count. She'd pulled him back from the grave more times than he knew. True, she wasn't the type to cut him any slack, but he knew he could depend on her – and that was saying a lot.
Hoped she felt the same about him. He half-smiled: Mayhem Twins. Kinda liked the ring. Might need to give him some time to hold up his half of the team. Not his best at the moment.
Smiled again – short-lived though.
Who was he kidding? Just indulging in a little nostalgia, right?
She'd said it herself: a smart man would've walked away. "I didn't come all this way just to send you back to the meat-grinder."
Pretty clear what she thought he should do.
No-Name Motel, January 2014
He'd pulled in at the front of the Motel and driven past the line of rooms on his left. At the end, he'd swung left and watched the sweep of headlights curl around to his room. A few cars were scattered around in the lot back there. Looked cold, like they'd been there all day.
Might have been visitors coming to see a guest in a room, or maybe a different kind of visitor – one who didn't want her car seen, so she'd parked in the shadows back here.
How many times had he used the same ruse to send Kara Stanton in for a kill. She'd been good at it, maybe the best he'd ever seen. Too bad she hadn't had his back; not when it counted. She'd just followed orders.
He pulled his bag off the seat and swung it down next to his leg. Nudged the door closed with a hip and clicked the locks. Reese glanced over to the room, dark and lost in shadow back here.
Remembered Kara, standing in shadow, too. At the pickup point.
He'd watched her crack the light sticks and throw them out where the team would see them. Engine sounds in the distance; their team coming to pick them up. He'd already lifted his gun and aimed. Could have taken her out right there, with a shot to the back. Stopped himself.
Wasn't right. This wasn't right. Snow had told him she was dirty, and he should've known. Clean it up, he'd said. Kara wasn't coming back from the mission.
Instead, he'd lowered his gun. They'd have to find another way.
Heard the shot, then. Heard it more than felt it, at first.
When you're shot, sometimes it feels more like a slap. You keep going. Only later do you realize you've been hit. But once you know, that's when the pain kicks in.
Something in the air, he noticed. The smell of a cigarette – can't smoke in the rooms, so someone must've stepped outside. Couldn't see anyone, but cigarette smoke can travel a long way.
"Nothing personal," she'd said, raising her gun for the kill shot.
Remembered the look on her face. This was Snow's doing. Snow had set them up to end each other. And the chopper coming in? Meant to sterilize the scene, not to pick them up. The light sticks only showed them where to aim.
Reese was half-way down the grass to the river when the missile landed. Threw him to the ground, a red ball of fire where they'd just been standing. No one could've made it out alive.
He slid his card through the lock. Red clicked over to green on the top. And just inside, his old ritual kicked in. He sniffed the air in the dark, like always. This time, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
Reese dropped, instantly. Before he'd even processed the scent.
No sound. No shots. But someone was here.
He lifted his bag like a pillar in front of him. Slipped a hand inside and found the Glock. Two parts. Felt the mag in his fingers and the cartridge on top. Which way did it point? That was the front.
Slid the mag in the handle and slipped it home, gently. Smothered the slide with his palm and drew it back – quiet as he could go. A cartridge fed in and settled. Once the slide returned, ready to go.
Cold filtered in from the gap in the door.
If he closed it now, the latch would buzz, revealing where he was.
Reese swung his duffel bag down in the darkness and stuffed the door with its closest end. Then he angled himself ahead, still low, 'til he was an arm's length away from the end of his bag. Six feet, at least, from the door now. A shot fired there would miss him.
Held the Glock on his right this time and leaned back.
Silently, Reese drew the bag his way, clearing the door. It started to swing on its hinge. And just before it slammed, Reese raised the bag like a pillar again.
It slammed, the latch buzzed, and Reese heard scrambling in the dark. The gun snapped up to the sound.
Reese held his fire. Needed to know who it was. He reached for the switch plate behind him. Readied himself. Toggled the switch.
And nothing. No light.
Must've spun the bulbs in the sockets.
He had another way. Reese reached for his phone. A click and its light would flick on, blinding in the dark. He rested the phone on his thigh.
One more step. In a pocket, a slug of leftover quarters from his wash. He palmed the bunch, leaning the duffel against him to free up his hands. The bag wouldn't stop a bullet, but anything he did to confuse where he was could help.
Reese leaned right, over the top of the Glock. On the left, he rolled back his arm and flung the quarters in a hard, wide spray. Grabbed for the phone in the same arc.
He heard the plinking of metal strikes, and a startled grunt. Clicked the phone. Arms swung up to block the glare.
"Hands up! Where I can see them," Reese ordered.
"Okay, okay," he pleaded, "don't shoot. I – I don't have a gun," he mumbled.
"Hands where I can see them!" The man leaned forward in the glare and pushed himself up off the floor with his legs. He kept his hands up and his eyes down out of the light.
The glow from the phone fanned out over that whole end of the room. And no one else he could see.
Reese let the bag go. It slumped to one side. He stood, then, the gun aimed straight at the intruder.
"Back up!" he barked. It took a second for the man to move, backwards, with his hands in the air. Looked awkward, Reese thought. He moved like he wasn't used to it.
"Stop!" He'd backed him up right to the front of the bathroom door.
"Right hand. Reach for the light switch. Keep your left hand high," he said. Seemed to confuse him for a second, right or left, and then he reached with his right hand.
"Slow!" he snapped and the man flinched. Started over, slower, 'til his hand disappeared inside. Saw him fumbling on the wall. Then the light went on inside, casting a swath of yellow light where they were standing. Wasn't bright but it would do.
"Down on your knees. Hands behind your head." The intruder looked worried. Like this was the start of some kind of execution. His hands started to quiver, eyes lowered in shadow.
Reese always carried duct tape in his backpack. Most useful thing he had. He'd use it to bind the intruder before they had a chat. Reese could see him shaking.
"I'm not gonna hurt you – We're just gonna talk," he said.
A loud gush of breath came out of him. He shook harder after that. Better get this done before he has a heart attack, Reese thought. Saw his backpack, tucked in next to the closet door, behind the intruder.
Reese started up to get it.
On the right, at the end of this little entrance hall, there was a corner. Beyond, the room expanded into a wider space, with the kitchenette on that right-side wall.
Like any soldier clearing a space, Reese swung right to check it.
Just as a yellow flash rocketed around the corner – and slammed across his head. Saw the arm attached, all in black, and felt the blow. Flashes going off, knees hitting.
He was out before he hit the floor.