by Ben Follows
One for breath in.
Two for the breath out.
Three for the breath in.
When he got to six, he restarted the count, focusing on nothing but the count and his own breath. Slowly, his heart rate lowered, and he could feel his focus returning to the present.
He looked up at Frankie as his body stopped shaking and he looked up at her.
"Okay," he said. "I'm coming back. I'm okay."
He looked up at Frankie.
He took a deep breath, then nodded to Frankie, indicating he was okay. She looked at him with concern for a moment, then let go of his arms.
He took a deep breath, and then, only when he was confident that he was back to normal, he turned to take in the situation.
There were no fires or explosions, but there may as well have been.
There were only two things in that space between the police cars and the front doors of the rest stop.
Two bodies.
Jason Wilson and Lauren Mavis laid dead in the middle of the parking lot.
There had been five people involved with the robbery of the mercenary group which had robbed the unknown mercenary group of what they had hidden from the US Government.
Four were dead.
Two had just died in front of Curtis.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
He turned back to Frankie. She smiled at him, but there was something below the smile, some uncertainty, as though there was something she wanted to tell him but couldn't at that moment.
They had to focus on solving two murders that had just taken place in front of him. He already knew who had done it, but he had to figure out why.
However, he didn't have the slightest idea what to do next.
"What happened in there?" said Frankie.
Curtis turned to Frankie, who was standing beside him.
"It's complicated," said Curtis.
"Tell me the short version."
Curtis sighed. "They have Jasons's daughter. A group of mercenaries. He told me that he would tell me the name of the group as soon as we were home free. But he never told me their name."
"What now?" said Frankie.
Curtis looked over the empty parking lot, the two dead bodies in the middle of the vacant parking lot, and the cops and the SWAT teams converging on the bodies.
"I made a promise," said Curtis. "I promised him I would save his daughter. I have to do that. If I can't do that, then what good am I?"
Chapter 37
The rest of the time spent at the rest stop seemed like it was part of a dream to Curtis. He saw everything, but it didn't quite seem real, as though there was some sort of haze he was living through. He half expected to wake up at any second.
He remembered sitting on the back fender of an ambulance as a paramedic cleaned the blood off his face.
He remembered the cops interviewing him, and then apologizing for it. They said they needed it for their local records. Curtis didn't mind but felt it was a waste of time.
He remembered climbing into the car beside Frankie and looking out the window as they drove down the highway, the streetlights passing by the window at irregular intervals.
He remembered arriving at his house.
He remembered the passenger door of the car opening.
He remembered Frankie grabbing his arm and leading him out of the car.
He looked up at the house, through his haze, as Frankie led him through the front door.
"Take a shower and get dressed," she said. "Be quick."
"What?" said Curtis, looking back at Frankie. "Why?" He looked around. "Where's Melanie and Sophie?"
"I'm taking you to meet them," said Frankie. "Shower and get dressed."
"Where are they?" Curtis walked through the empty house in a haze.
"Shower and get dressed," said Frankie with a soft seriousness.
Curtis nodded and walked into the bathroom. He undressed and climbed into the shower. Jason Wilson's blood was still on him. It came off him in flakes as he turned on the hot water and let it run over his body.
He looked down at the drain, watching the blood circle the drain and disappear. He went through the automatic motions of washing himself, feeling like he was watching the blood of everyone who had died because of him.
Their faces flashed by his eyes, his guilt at each of their deaths seeming to build on one another.
Every person he couldn't save.
He knew what Frankie would say. She would tell him he couldn't feel responsible for the deaths. She would say that he just needed to keep moving forward and in this line of work you couldn't let yourself feel guilty.
For a long time, Curtis had been a perfect example of an FBI agent who was capable of keeping his personal and professional life separate. He had been able to smile and laugh and keep the nightmares at bay whenever he was off a case.
Then Blind River had happened.
That case had gone south so far, and so many people had died.
It all started with the three initial victims.
Harriet Matheson.
Darcy Oberman.
Ashley Hagerty.
Then Curtis's father had died in hospital.
Gordon Mackley.
Then the chaos at the jail had ensued.
Bobby Randall.
Ken Hagerty.
Matt Oberman.
Joe Hagerty.
Chief Tucker.
Tom Vance, the FBI agent.
Maybe Curtis wouldn't feel so affected by it if his father hadn't died in the middle of the case. He had tried to tell himself that he had saved countless people by putting a bullet into the back of Robert Randall and sending Sam Marino back to prison.
Now, with the deaths of Jason Wilson and Lauren Mavis also resting heavily on his conscience, it was all coming back to him.
He turned the water in the shower to the coldest setting and let the cold water run over his body. The moment the cold water hit him, he shivered and felt himself refocus. He stood in the cold water for as long as he could bear it, then stepped out of the shower and onto the mat.
He dried off, feeling a bit more focused. He walked into his bedroom, still wondering where his family was. He felt a sense of foreboding, especially since it seemed like Frankie knew precisely where his family was.
He took out his phone and scrolled to a number. He looked at the number of the FBI therapist he had been assigned to for a few months, wondering whether it would be a good idea to give her a call.
He had a few missed calls from Johnson, but those could wait. He was sure Johnson was just checking up on him. He meant well, but it was, and Curtis had always hated the feeling of being micromanaged.
He got dressed and walked downstairs. Frankie was standing in the kitchen, waiting for him. The moment that she saw him, she gestured for him to follow her.
They walked out to the car and climbed in. Frankie drove them to the hospital. Neither of them said anything as they drove.
Chapter 38
They pulled into the hospital parking lot, and Curtis glanced over at Frankie as they parked.
"What happened?" he said.
"They're on the third floor," said Frankie calmly. "As far as I'm aware, nothing is urgent. You don't need to panic."
"What happened?" said Curtis, feeling like he was on the verge of breaking down.
"Just come with me," said Frankie. "I'll let Melanie explain everything. She can do a better job than I can."
They walked into the hospital and nodded to the receptionist. Frankie asked about the room where Melanie and Sophie were staying. She walked back to Curtis, and they took the elevator to the third floor.
They walked through the halls then turned a corner. Melanie was standing in the hallway, looking through a window with her hand held up to her mouth.
The moment Curtis saw her, he broke into a light jog.
Melanie looked up at him as he approached, and he could see she had been crying. He pulled her into a t
ight hug. She hugged him back. He could feel her tension and her fear.
"Curtis," she said, slowly pushing him away. "You came."
"Of course," said Curtis. "What happened? Where's Sophie?"
Melanie turned and pointed.
Curtis followed where she was pointing, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach.
On the other side of the glass was a small bed where Sophie was lying. A doctor was standing over her and taking some readings with a thermometer.
"What happened?" said Curtis.
"I thought it was nothing," said Melanie. "Her fever was getting worse, but the doctor had told me it was nothing to worry about. Then last night she had a seizure. She started convulsing, and I panicked. I tried calling you, but you didn't answer. I called 911. They brought her here. She stopped, and they're checking on her now."
"Oh my God," said Curtis, his eyes never leaving his daughter. "What now?"
"I don't know."
Curtis rubbed his eyes and sighed. He felt his mind drift to Jason Wilson and the promise he had made to him. Jason had a daughter, just like Sophie. That daughter was sitting somewhere in a room under the control of some mercenary group Curtis didn't know the name of.
Frankie had called the FBI and brought them up to speed on what Jason had told Curtis, but Curtis didn't think they would have the same connection. They hadn't seen the fear in Jason's eyes or heard the tremor in his voice as he had spoken about his daughter.
"Excuse me," said a voice behind them.
Curtis turned. A doctor was standing a few feet away. She was a middle-aged Indian woman with a penetrating gaze. Frankie stood a few feet back, trying not to get involved.
She held out a hand to Curtis. "You must be Curtis. I'm Doctor Patel. I'm in charge of your daughter's care."
Curtis shook her hand. "Thank you so much. What can you tell me about Sophie?"
"She had a febrile seizure," said Patel. "If she doesn't have another one, then we'll let you go at nine tomorrow morning." She checked her watch. "I suppose that would be in about eight hours at this point."
"And if that doesn't work?"
Patel sighed. "I hate to do it on someone as young as Sophie, but if she has another seizure, we will be forced to consider more invasive methods to check for other causes. I'm sure that isn't what you want to hear."
"Will she be okay?" said Curtis, turning and looking back into the glass.
"I can't promise anything," said Dr. Patel, "but we have a highly skilled team here. It might be expensive, however."
"We'll pay it," said Curtis. "Whatever you need to do, do it."
"Can I say something, Mr. Mackley?" said Dr. Patel.
He turned back to her.
"Try to get some sleep," said Dr. Patel. "Both of you. I'll get a room set up. It won't do you any good to just keep staring at Sophie all night. It's late, and you both look terrible."
"No,” said Curtis, looking into the room where Sophie was sleeping. "We’re going to stay here.”
Melanie nodded.
Dr. Patel nodded, as though she had expected such a response, then turned and walked away.
Curtis and Melanie both looked into the room.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," said Curtis.
"I know," said Melanie. "I called Frankie, and she told me what was going on. Are you okay? Did you save the hostages?"
Curtis shook his head. "Not all of them."
"He did his best," said Frankie, stepping beside them.
Melanie looked up at Frankie. "Thanks for bringing him safely to me, Frankie."
Frankie nodded, then turned to Curtis. "I'm going to meet with Johnson. Take some time off to take care of your daughter."
"Are you sure?" said Curtis. "With everything going--"
"I'm sure," said Frankie, walking away. "Take care of her family."
Curtis watched his partner walk away, feeling like he should be going with her.
"Oh," said Frankie, turning back to him. "I almost forgot. Nolowinski spoke to Marino. She has an article in the New York Times tomorrow morning. You should know, so it doesn't blindside you."
At that point, there was nothing that Frankie could have said which would have shocked Curtis. He merely nodded, accepting it without any emotional reaction at all.
Frankie turned and walked out of the hospital.
Curtis looked back at Sophie and felt pulled in two directions, between promises and obligations. He felt useless in the hospital. There was nothing he could do. Unlike out in the field, where he was the expert.
He didn't know if anyone would be able to save Jason Wilson's daughter, and he didn't know if they would get the arrests needed to solve the case. There was someone else working behind the scenes that hadn't made themselves known just yet.
"I'm glad you're here," said Melanie, leaning against his chest.
"Yeah," said Curtis, looking in at his daughter. "Me too."
Chapter 39
Frankie took a deep breath as she parked in the parking garage below the FBI head offices.
She looked at the passenger seat. She was used to Curtis sitting beside her, half distracted. She would always need to make sure he was focused on the task at hand before they went up to meet with Johnson.
Now, at almost midnight on the same day as the standoff and hostage situation at the rest stop, she was alone.
She took a deep breath and focused her breathing, then stepped out of the car. She was thankful that the FBI offices were less busy than usual, although it would have looked very busy compared to any regular office this late at night. Many agents had gone home to sleep, but anyone dealing with a situation in a different time zone, or who was deep into research or work, would still be here burning the midnight oil.
She walked through the bullpen, which was still fully lit and would be visible for a few blocks in each direction from outside and walked into Johnson's office.
She still hadn't yet figured out when Johnson slept, or how often--if ever--he got out of the office.
He had glasses on and was reading through a folder filled with pages when she entered and took a seat across from him. He looked up and met her eyes for just a moment, then looked back down.
Frankie sat across from him for a few minutes, without checking her phone or looking away from him, knowing he would view such things as disrespectful.
When he finished reading the pages, Johnson placed the folder on the table and looked at her.
"Frankie," he said. "How are you doing?"
She had never known how to respond to questions like that. She had never been able to ascertain whether or not Johnson actually cared.
"I'm well," she said. "I'll be better once we get this case wrapped."
"Yes," said Johnson, leaning back in his seat. "This does seem like quite an interesting case. Who would have thought that the alleged suicide of an army general could leave us sitting here, talking about how that general's sister killed her brother's killer before a SWAT team gunned her down?"
Frankie nodded. "I think we need to keep tracking down the information that Curtis was given by Jason Wilson."
"We're looking into it," said Johnson. "How is Curtis?"
"Not well," said Frankie. "I think this entire case has been hard on him, and now that his baby is in the hospital, I think he should be pulled off the case. To be perfectly honest, I don't know if he should have been on the case at all. I know he was cleared by the therapist, but I have some issues with that."
"He was cleared," said Johnson sternly, "and he wanted to be part of the case. There was nothing I could do to stop him. He's a phenomenal agent, and he got Jason Wilson out of that building. The fact that Lauren Mavis managed to sneak in a gun was something that no one could have anticipated."
"I should have," said Frankie.
"Stop being so hard on yourself," said Johnson. "Accept that sometimes we make mistakes. Like how Curtis made a mistake with Debra Coleman and her lawyer got her out of here."
"Where is Coleman now?"
"She's at home," said Johnson. "We have a team watching her."
Frankie nodded. "I think Curtis is on the verge of having a breakdown," she said. "All these things piling up one after the other isn't healthy for him."
"He'll be fine," said Johnson. "I've been keeping a close eye on the both of you since you got back from Blind River."
Frankie was about to chastise him for not taking it seriously but decided against it. She could sense that she had run into a wall and that Johnson wasn't going to budge.
She sighed. "What have you found about Natasha's article?"
"Not much about the article itself," said Johnson. "I spoke with the warden at the prison in Florida. I know him from way back, and he owes me a few favors. It's the main reasons I put Marino in that prison. Marino and Nolowinski spoke for almost six hours, and both left the interview with broad smiles on their faces. It was a private interview so he couldn't tell me the exact content."
"That doesn’t help," said Frankie.
"We need to wait until it's released," said Johnson. "My source told me that the story would be available on the New York Times website at five AM." He checked his watch. "That's in about five hours."
"Not exactly enough time to head home," said Frankie, leaning forward. "By the time I get home, I'd just say hi to Will then turn around and come back. Will would be sleeping anyway. I'll go to the couch in my office and take a nap. I'll meet with you back here in a few hours."
"Or . . ." Johnson smirked and stood. He walked over to the cabinet along the wall and slid it open. He moved aside a few thick law books and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. It was half empty. Frankie wondered how long that bottle had been there. She had never seen Johnson drink and certainly had never seen him drunk.
From a drawer beneath his desk, Johnson pulled out whiskey glasses and held up the bottle to Frankie.
She hesitated for a moment, thinking she probably shouldn't be drinking during this case, but then decided against it. She had always wondered what Johnson was like outside the office, and she had a few questions she wanted to ask him.
This might be what she needed.
