“Come on. I owe you one. A big one,” he said, placating me. “What if I made sure you got another crème brulee? Would we be even then?”
I could almost taste the exquisite dessert at the sole mention of it. Could I sell out for something so little, but extraordinary? Apparently, I could, because I felt myself nodding.
“When do I get it?” I blurted out, opening my eyes wide and staring him down.
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll get it. Now, let’s shake on it. No more punching, okay?” There was a fatherly tone to his words and I once again wondered how old he was.
With some hesitation, I raised my hand to his, and we shook on it. The moment our hands touched, I regretted the deal. Maybe I should have upped the ante and not settled so quickly. It had been way too easy for him. I had suffered way more—especially since Alex had seen. It was too late, though. With my handshake, I had agreed; there was no turning back. Bummer.
“This way, Christy,” Jeremy said, pointing behind me with one hand and shutting the limo door with the other. “Follow Agent Miller. I’ll be right behind you.”
The echo of the limo door slamming was so loud, I jumped and followed Agent Miller like a scared rabbit. We walked toward a man who had one hand resting on a gun strapped to his waist. I shivered. This was it. I was going into FBI headquarters to be questioned. There would be no more pretending that I was going to prom or on a fancy date. I was about to face the hotel ballroom head on.
“Identification please,” he said, looking us over. The agents offered their badges again and he put them into a slot in the wall. He handed them back just a second later. “And this is?” he asked, staring at me.
“Christy Hadden. Here for questioning,” Jeremy answered, sounding very official all of a sudden. I supposed a place like this had to be pretty formal and precise. He handed Jeremy a new ID badge and he clipped it to my shirt.
Next to the guard and to his right, a green light came on. The wall opened up to reveal an elevator. We stepped inside, but nobody turned around to face the doors we had just walked through, like people usually do. Instead, we all stood with our backs to them. Weird. My stomach jumped as we started our ascent, and my heart pounded faster and faster every level we climbed. When we stopped, the whole wall we’d been staring at, moved to its left, revealing a hallway. I’d never seen an elevator open like that before.
We walked down a narrow, non-descript hallway lined with closed doors, just like ones we’d seen on our tour. This time I got to go in one of those doors. It led to a small room with no window and no other door. In the center of the room was a table surrounded by chairs. It looked like a normal meeting room; not what I had imagined. I thought it would be like the ones I had seen so often on TV shows. I was, however, finding out that reality rarely mirrored TV.
“Have a seat, Christy,” Jeremy urged, his eyes looking toward the chairs.
They all looked the same, so I picked the one nearest me. It wasn’t hard, but soft and giving, with nice arm rests too. I saw no microphone, no tape recorder and no one-way mirror. This was definitely not an interrogation room—at least I tried to convince myself of that.
“I’ll be right back,” Jeremy said, shutting the door behind him.
I tried to think of nothing while he was gone by staring at the white wall in front of me. I couldn’t let myself start replaying the beheading just yet.
Jeremy returned with bottles of water, and a tall, military-looking man followed him.
“Christy, this is Special Agent Durrant,” Jeremy said, as they took seats opposite me. “I’ve read the letters you and your friends wrote. Yours was the most detailed; that is why you are the only one here. I know it will be difficult to relive it all again, but we need you to tell us what you saw. We will stop you and ask clarifying questions along the way. Tell us what you saw.”
As I started to talk, I could see myself climbing onto that toilet seat again, both curious and scared. I wasn’t simply telling what had happened, I was there. I hadn’t actually told the whole story to anyone, and doing so made it seem like it was happening all over again. My clasped hands trembled and turned cold. Instead of running from my memories, I had to face them head on.
Jeremy interrupted me every now and then to ask questions. When he spoke, he seemed oddly far away and quiet. It sounded like I was down a deep well.
“Why were you in the Hotel Norton’s bathroom in the first place?” Jeremy asked.
Hadn’t I written that part in my letter to them? It hardly seemed relevant.
“Kira needed a bathroom and it was just around the corner. We weren’t ready to go back to our hotel because we hadn’t finished our game yet.
He nodded, so I continued.
“I climbed on the water tank of the toilet to look through the vent—”
“Why were you climbing up there?” he asked, frowning.
“I heard muffled voices coming from somewhere and saw the vent above the toilet. I was afraid some perv was up there taking pictures of us.”
He nodded again, and I plowed forward, words coming from my mouth in a choked whisper.
“Alex took a bunch of pictures with his cell phone—”
“Pictures?” Jeremy interrupted. “You didn’t write anything about pictures in your letter.”
“I didn’t? Oh, probably because the phone got ruined. There aren’t any pictures to get now. You see, Eugene bumped Alex and the phone fell into the toilet and it doesn’t work anymore.”
“Where’s the phone now, Christy?” Jeremy asked, his tone very serious.
“I don’t know. Alex bought a new phone yesterday. Maybe he threw the broken one away.”
Jeremy nodded to Agent Durrant who left the room.
“What did the men’s accent sound like?” Jeremy continued after the door shut behind Agent Durrant.
“Sound like?” I paused and thought for a minute. “It was a middle eastern accent as far as I could tell. I’ve heard people talk like that on the news and on TV shows.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.” I was certain. His voice spoke to me every day. I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Agent Durrant, stiff as a board, came back and took his seat once again.
“Why was Marybeth so sure it was her senator, Senator Randolph?” Jeremy asked.
“She recognized his voice. She said he was a blessing from heaven and would save the farmers.”
“Does she still think it was him?”
“I don’t know. We’ve never discussed it.” I couldn’t believe that three days had passed since the murder, and it was as vivid in my mind as if it had happened moments ago. I was scared, but too busy telling what happened to be consumed with fear until the next question threw me for a loop.
“What did the sword look like?”
I felt cold to the bone, my muscles seemed to lock in place. Only my stomach was left to twist and squeeze. My muscles were already tender and sore from all the puking, and the nausea from earlier returned. My mind was overtaken with the sword, the shiny, thick, curved thing that had sliced through Jonathan’s neck like butter. Over and over again, I watched as blood spurted, and his head fell to the floor. Thinking about it had my head spinning, and I was losing control. I couldn’t get the image of the head, severed from the body, and the blood pooling around it, out of my mind.
A dull ache spread through my body. I couldn’t help but lay my head on the table and close my eyes. I couldn’t face it. I shut down, unable to raise my head. Exhausted, both mentally and physically, I had to give in to nothingness, pushing the memories back into their hiding place. It was like an out-of-body experience, like I was watching myself disappear into the recesses of my mind, unwilling to deal with the actual beheading again.
The next thing I knew, Jeremy’s gentle touch woke me. Reluctantly, I opened my cloudy eyes. How long had I been out? My eyes burned. I shifted in my seat. With no clock in the room, it could have been midnight and I wouldn’t have k
nown it.
“Lunch is here,” Jeremy said a few minutes later. I heard the door shut. “You’ll never believe what I brought you.”
I raised my body from the table with care, my muscles protesting as I stretched.
Lunch? Had I been out that long?
“You feel up to eating?”
“Yeah, uh, sorry. How long have I been out?”
“Just a few hours. Don’t worry about it. You’ve had a long few days.”
I smiled, wondering what was in the bag he held.
I saw Special Agent Durrant directly across from me. He appeared rough and mean. The contrast of his black hair against his pale skin made him look even more ominous. He never smiled, the corners of his mouth always down, and there was a glint behind his eyes, that was unsettling. He sat straight in his chair, with his arms folded over his chest, scowling the entire time. He hadn’t spoken the whole morning, and I couldn’t help but wonder why he was there.
Special Agent Jeremy McGinnis was just the opposite, smooth and inviting. His voice calm and his skin tan, paired with his light brown hair, made him very attractive. He sat relaxed in his chair, holding a legal pad that he scribbled on every now and then. Despite the drugging incident, I could actually say that I trusted him for some reason.
“Check this out,” Jeremy said, a giant grin on his face. He slid a carton with the logo of the café, where Lance and I had brunched earlier that day on it. In front of me, sat my crème brulee.
I ate it first, savoring each bite. I still felt a bit cheated not demanding ten more of them, but the creaminess of the sweet dessert softened the blow, if only a little. On further reflection, I decided it was pretty smart to drug me. I just needed to be honest with myself. I took my time eating the sandwich, and Jeremy and I talked about nothing in particular. While drinking my lemonade, I finally heard Agent Durrant’s voice for the first time.
“Let’s get on with it McGinnis,” he sneered, his irritation obvious. “We don’t have all day. We wasted three hours letting her sleep, and we only have about two and a half left.”
Agent McGinnis shot him a look that could kill. I wanted to kiss him for it, figuratively, of course. I mean he was hot, but he must be a lot older than he looks if he was an FBI agent. Agent Durrant didn’t even acknowledge the look; he just turned his head and stared at me. It felt like he was boring holes right through me, and I started to sweat. I quickly looked away and found Jeremy’s reassuring face.
“In the ballroom, how far away would you say the table was from the vent you were looking through?” Jeremy asked.
“How far away?” I repeated, thinking. I could see the table, the men sitting at it, along with the guards all surrounding it. Once again, it felt like it was happening right in front of me, and I tried in vain to look straight down from the vent and measure the distance mentally. My view was fixed. I couldn’t alter it.
“I don’t know. I’m so bad with distances,” I admitted.
“Just try,” Jeremy said.
“Let’s take her there,” Agent Durrant suggested, sneering like only he could. “Then she can show us exactly where they were.”
The nausea came back and the entire event flashed before my eyes, repeating, over and over again. My throat closed, and I couldn’t swallow or breathe normally. I shut my eyes and pleaded in my head, show me, please show me the distance. I couldn’t go back there.
A bead of sweat dripped down one side of my face and darkness loomed again. By sheer grit, I rallied and managed to slow the images flying through my mind. I was determined not to go back to the hotel where Jonathan had been murdered. I watched the leader with the crooked nose and the senator walk from the table and go out the ballroom doors into the hallway beyond. Over and over they walked.
Why did I keep seeing that? I needed answers. It didn’t seem to make sense: then as if some unseen power whispered softly to me, I knew why.
“The table was straight out from the vent,” I croaked in a voice that didn’t seem to be mine. “I looked straight ahead, and the table was in line with the doors that led to the hallway, the ones the senator and the leader exited after the beheading.” I paused and closed my eyes, thanking the unseen power that had just helped me. My throat loosened, and I took a deep breath and smiled. A real smile too. Someone was watching over me.
I looked at Agent Durrant and his eyes narrowed to slits. I shivered. I wondered why he wanted me to go to the hotel.
“Great,” Jeremy said, I’m sure thinking hard. “So, if I were to walk straight out from where the vent is on the wall and Agent Durrant was to walk straight into the ballroom from the northern most doors, we would intersect at the spot where the table stood and the blood pooled on the ground?”
“Yes,” I said, triumphant.
“This next part might be hard for you, but it’s essential.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said, trying to take courage.
“A sketch artist will be joining us in about two minutes,” Jeremy said, consulting his watch. “We need a sketch of the ‘leader.’ Can you help us with that?”
I told him I could do it. I could clearly see the leader’s twitching, crooked nose. I felt reassured and capable, like when I handed in perfect work at school.
Exactly as predicted, a short, skinny man with friendly eyes entered the room carrying a sketch pad and pencils.
The sketch was done in no time. I was shocked to see the leader’s face looking back at me from the paper. What talent. I shuddered and the hair on my arms stood up.
“That’s him, huh?” Jeremy asked, looking at the picture.
“Yeah.”
Jeremy left the room with the sketch artist, murmuring to him, and then came back to the table. We discussed a few other items, but thankfully, he didn’t ask about the sword again.
There was a knock on the door and Jeremy stood to open it while Agent Durrant, eyes still narrowed, continued to scowl at me.
Jeremy brought a photo to the table. “Is this the man?” he asked.
I started trembling as soon as I saw the face of the leader staring out from the photo at me.
“Yes.” I didn’t know why I was afraid. It wasn’t rational. He wasn’t following me now. I was safe in the FBI building.
He then pushed another photo across the table toward me. The senator.
“Have you ever seen this man?”
“That’s Senator Randolph, isn’t it?”
“Great,” he said.
Finally, he slid one more picture across the table.
“What about this guy?”
Jonathan. My throat closed up. I nodded quickly as tears welled up in my eyes. I blinked hard, not able to see, and the tears fell to the table with a tiny splash. To keep my bottom lip from quivering, I clamped it between my teeth.
Jeremy quickly whisked the photos away and set them on his chair before coming around the table to me. I welcomed his strong, firm arms around my shoulders, and I gladly buried my face in his shirt.
I had never been comfortable expressing emotion and it pained me to break down twice in one day, especially in front of the same two people. Jeremy’s arms were warm and comforting though, and I wanted to stay wrapped in them forever. He understood what I’d seen and could somehow sympathize with me; he was an ally. How I needed him at that very moment. He seemed to never show weakness. Maybe I could fake being strong.
Someone knocked on the door at the same time I heard a watch alarm go off. Jeremy shifted and reached for his wrist, I guess to stop the alarm.
“Christy, are you okay now?” he asked, pulling away and looking into my eyes.
“Yeah, I think so,” I said sniffling, but still holding his chest tightly, afraid to let go. He pulled back a bit more, and I had no choice.
“We’ve got to get you back,” Jeremy said. “It won’t be long before your group returns to the hotel, it’s almost six.” He looked me directly in the eyes and said, “You were incredibly brave today. Thank you so much. We know who
we’re looking for now and we’ll try to get some evidence from the hotel. But, there’s one more thing we need to know.” He moved back to his chair and shuffled through the photos he’d set there. “Did the sword look like this?”
I looked at the picture he laid on the table. A curved sword with an intricately decorated handle pierced my eyes. I took a deep breath, closing them after nodding.
“Just so you know. That sword is the typical weapon of this particular terrorist faction. Their leader tends to be on the dramatic side.” He emphasized the word dramatic and placed the pictures inside the notebook he’d brought with him, then led the way to the door, saying, “Remember, if you see anyone following you, we have a line on them. We know who they are. Don’t be afraid.”
I forced a smile and sniffed again, passing him to go into the hallway, thinking about Jeremy calling the bad guys, terrorists.
We went out the same way we’d come, and I found Lance waiting for me by the shiny, black limo. I couldn’t make myself get excited about the ride this time, though. I was physically tired and mentally spent. On the other hand, I suddenly felt as if my life had become valuable. I was no longer the insignificant smart girl. I also wasn’t the girl sitting back watching. I was center-stage and it was terrifying. I wondered why I had ever wished for it. Change hadn’t set me free, it had trapped me.
The ride to the hotel was both uneventful and brief. I found it hard to play the part of Lance’s girlfriend when we got back to the hotel, but I muddled through it. I was glad to be back in my room even during the silent exchange with my decoy. Jeremy told me back at the FBI building that they would be in touch and to remember that I was safe. Once again I was required to renew my vow of silence about the whole affair. I wondered if I would ever feel safe again.
Chapter Nine
Back in my bed, a flood of emotions swept through me. To do what the FBI wanted me to do, to go it alone, seemed impossible. I wouldn’t be able to confide in anyone, so no one could help me carry the load; a heavy burden to carry alone.
Watched (The Watched Trilogy) Page 9
