Version 2.0 v2-1

by C. M. Adams

  Kaitlyn was brought into their home when Birdie was only three. Brian wasn’t even part of the picture at that point, but their parents thought that after the complications of bringing Birdie into the world, they wouldn’t be able to conceive again. Of course, as soon as Kate was taking her first steps, Leslie became pregnant. Well, this was the story the children were all told as they were growing up, anyway. Birdie had no real recollection of her mother ever being pregnant. Then again, she was four by the time Brian was born.

  What she did remember, was holding baby Brian for the first time. Where she was, she couldn’t now recall. But she remembered that baby-smile, which was likely just gas. But a smile nonetheless. She loved him from that very moment; no contest.

  Birdie dug through the boxes of Brian’s things, finding most of his clothes gone. Undoubtedly, Kate had taken them. Birdie simply rolled her eyes and continued. Most of this stuff didn’t need to be kept, but it wasn’t her problem. She just wanted to make sure that the important things, things that her mother knew nothing about how to take care of, would be secure. One of those things was Brian’s computer.

  Thankfully, Agent Sinese put the laptop in its case before packing it away. The case could likely be dropped off of a three-story building and still be okay. Brian had spent a pretty penny on it. Birdie, now, was glad that he had.

  Picking up a few trinkets and the case, Birdie headed back to her car. Proud of her success at avoiding family, she didn’t press her luck. She headed home. It was hard not to recall the last time she’d pulled away from this house and taken this route back to Georgetown, though she’d not been the one driving at the time. It’s funny how you can recall simple, seemingly insignificant conversations that didn’t seem very important at the time, weeks later… and likely never forget them ever again.

  Thanks to traffic, it took a little over two hours to get home. Birdie immediately started a pot of coffee and headed into the living room where she’d set the laptop case on her coffee table. Flipping open the latches, she opened it and pulled out the computer, opening it as well, and pressed the power button before going back out into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee, as it booted up.

  As she put her three spoonfuls of sugar and three spoonfuls of cream into the cup, broken music started playing from the living room. It sounded a bit like a scratched up CD playing some pop song she was sure she’d heard somewhere before; maybe close to a decade ago. She finished stirring her coffee, and made her way back out to the couch. As she sat, she noticed the laptop still hadn’t booted all the way; it was a black screen with a loading symbol. The song still played brokenly, and she wondered what Brian had been doing on this machine before he’d shut it down.

  Birdie squinted, having a strange thought as she placed her cup down on the coffee table beside the computer. She lowered the top of the laptop a bit, noticing that this didn’t seem like the laptop Brian had been working on when they were up in Manchester for that weekend. Upon further inspection, she noticed some broken pieces on the sides. This was his older laptop…

  Birdie had been through that entire lot of stuff at her parents’ house. There was no way she missed a computer. And there was no way Agent Sinese would have opted to put the old-looking computer in this case, as opposed to the nice new one that… well she’d assumed, anyway, was beside Brian’s body.

  Still, she decided to call and confirm. She paced the living room, with her phone pressed impatiently to her ear, waiting for Ashton to pick up.

  “Agent Sinese,” came the familiar voice on the other end.

  “Hey. It’s me,” Birdie replied.

  “Farran! Good to hear from you.”

  “Yeah, you too. Hey, listen,” she got right to the point, “When you packed up Brian’s computer, do you remember finding any others lying around?”

  “You mean laptops? Nah, just the one. The one that was… on the couch,” he hesitated. “I put it in that special case, like you said. Did it myself and made sure it was safe in that unit. Why? Was there more than one?”

  “No… well, yes. There was. The one you packed is his old one. It… it won’t even boot up. It doesn’t make sense to think he was using this one. But that aside, where in the hell is his pride-and-joy laptop?”

  “I swear to you, I didn’t see any other computer there, Farran. I wouldn’t lie to you; especially not about this.”

  “I know that… God, I know that, Sinese. That’s not what I meant for it to sound like. It’s just… it’s really weird, you know? It’s creeping me out a bit. There were family photos and… his life’s work… everything, on that machine. Now it’s just disappeared? What if… what if he wasn’t alone?” she thought out loud. “What if all of those drugs… weren’t just for him? What if someone took his computer?”

  “Now calm down, Farran. We don’t know that. He could’ve left it somewhere.”

  “No way. Brian wouldn’t let that thing out of his sight. It was like his baby. He had a special spot in the back seat for it, and everything. You saw that case. He didn’t just leave that computer somewhere.”

  “Okay, okay, I believe ya,” he said in a calming voice. “We don’t have a scene to process, though. We’ll have to do a search based solely on the computer possibly having been stolen.”

  “Right.”

  “Did he have Lo-Jack, or something like that?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to look into it. I’ll have to go through his records and see if he’s got the documentation stored. I’ll need the serial number… we can put it through the database; notify pawn shops. Actually, maybe we should be checking the pawn shops already?”

  “I’ll make those calls, Birdie. Just text me the info; every detail you can remember about what it looked like, make and model, and the numbers you get from the company. I can take it from there.”

  “What, you think I can’t handle calling shop owners?” she raised a brow.

  “You know that’s not it, Farran,” he countered. “You’re emotionally involved; too close to this. I’m covering your ass, here. Both of ours, actually. Let me take care of the grunt work so you’re not risking getting kicked off the case that you’re not even officially on, anyway.”

  Birdie wiped a hand down over her mouth and dropped her hand to her collarbone, where she absentmindedly scratched at it; something she did when she was stressed or nervous. “Okay,” she conceded. “But you let me know what’s going on, Sinese. Even if it’s nothing. Don’t leave me sitting here wondering.”

  “You know I wouldn’t.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yeah, ya do. Now go… drink some tea or do some yoga. Whatever it is you do when you need to relax.”

  She let out a small laugh, “Neither of those things.”

  “Oh right, I forgot. You don’t relax,” he said, lightheartedly.

  “That’s not true,” she defended.

  “I’ve never witnessed you relaxing. Pictures, or it didn’t happen.”

  “I like how you assume you’d be so lucky as to witness me relaxing,” she retorted.

  “Ha!” he laughed. “Touché, Farran. Touché.”

  “Get back to work, Sin,” she playfully bantered.

  Ashton’s heart lifted a bit at the use of her nickname for him, which he hadn’t heard since before Brian’s death. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “I’m still the Senior Agent in this partnership. Don’t make me pull rank.”

  “I think you just did. Fine, fine… Back to work. I’ll call you later.”

  Birdie smiled and ended the call.

  Weeks went by with no result on where the computer was. Even with Birdie’s relentless personal investigating, she found nothing. The frustration, renewing the intensity of the loss of her brother, threw her into a state of self-loathing. Even being back at work wasn’t helping.

  “Hey, Farran,” Ashton approached Birdie’s desk, and sat on the edge of it beside her chair. She looked up at him from her empty stare at the
computer screen perched on her desk. “You okay?”

  She shrugged. “Guess so.”

  “You don’t seem okay.”

  “Oh really?” she replied, in an indignant tone. “I’ve been doing my best to be okay for months now. You telling me I failed at that, too?”

  “What’re you talkin’ about?” he furrowed his brows.

  “Oh, don’t act like you don’t know,” she retorted, turning her gaze back to the screen.

  Sinese glanced around the room, noticing other agents glancing at them eavesdropping on the conversation that had become louder than he’d meant for it to be. He glanced back down at Birdie and grabbed her arm as he pushed up from the desk.

  “Hey!” she tried to pull out of his grasp.

  “Come on,” he sternly replied. “We’re gonna talk. Preferably, someplace where it’s between us, and not the whole building.” She struggled the entire trip up the hallway, trying her hardest not to make a scene in front of the agents they passed by.

  Once he got her into an empty office and closed the door behind him, Birdie ripped her arm out of his grasp. “What the hell is wrong with you, Sinese?” she growled.

  “I could ask you that question,” he retorted, standing his ground in front of the door.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me! You just dragged me down here, in front of everyone!”

  “Listen to yourself!” he stepped close to her face, intimidating her with his glare. She couldn’t even explain the feeling that came over her that caused her to clam up. “There’s clearly somethin’ going on with you. I know you don’t like to talk about stuff, but now it’s affecting your job. You need to start talkin’, and I mean now.”

  Her eyes darted back and forth between his as she absorbed the seriousness in his tone; a seriousness he usually reserved for the most intense of interrogations with criminals. “I can’t,” is the first thing that escaped her lips.

  “You can’t what?” his lowered his tone a bit.

  “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do the job,” she confessed, her eyes shifting somewhere beside him before meeting his again.

  “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” he shook his head, confused by her words, but his face softened.

  “How can I?” she continued. “How can anyone expect me to enforce a law against something that I couldn’t even save my own baby brother from?”

  “Farran—”

  “I’m serious, Sin. It’s a joke for me to stay here.”

  “No one thinks that,” he laid a hand on her arm, but she shook it off out of frustration.

  “I don’t care what anyone thinks,” she countered. “It’s not about them. It’s about me, and I know I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to.” Birdie looked him in the eye as if awaiting some kind of approval or blessing.

  Ashton’s brows furrowed, almost meeting in the middle. His face was a mix of emotions that perhaps even he couldn’t pinpoint. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, not really knowing how to respond for a while. “Maybe you could transfer to a different department if you really feel that way.”

  Birdie’s lips curled up a bit at the corners of her mouth, and she looked at him with slightly sad eyes. “I need to get out of here,” she shook her head. “I need to leave this place; this city. Staying here… it’s done nothing but remind me.”

  Ashton looked hurt. “Is this for real?”

  After looking at him for a long moment, Birdie nodded…

  2013…

  “Artie, stop!” Birdie shouted as she rounded the corner of the warehouse, gaining ground on him. Her voice was commanding; feminine yet not high-pitched at all. And from the chase, it was slightly gruff. It was she who had to stop, as her eyes focused on Artie standing maybe a few yards away aiming a pistol at her. She put her hands up, showing him that he wasn’t in any danger, and also trying to give him some sense of calm. “Artie, listen to me,” she said, catching her breath. “You don’t have to do this.” Something wet hit her hand, and she realized it had started to rain. Sometime between the beginning of the chase, the sky had begun to gray with clouds.

  “Shut up!” he shouted as his eye and jaw twitched. “I’m not gonna be locked up, you hear me? This ain’t even the city! No way I’m being taken in by you!”

  “Just listen, okay?” her gaze shifted back and forth between his eyes and the barrel of the gun. “No one was after you, until you ran.”

  “Liar!” his hands shook around the gun and he compensated by tightening his grip.

  “I’m not lying. Just put down the gun so we can talk, Artie.”

  “I don’t wanna talk. I want you to go away and let me live my life!” he spat as he shouted.

  “The kind of life you’re living isn’t allowed. Not here. Please, just put down the g—” but Birdie’s sentence was cut off by the sudden sound of gunfire, and a burning, white-hot pain in her chest. Her eyes widened, keeping fixed on Artie’s, who looked shocked standing there with his mouth hanging open.

  “Oh god…” Artie whimpered, eyes filling with tears at what he’d just done. “I… I’m sorry. I’m…” his eyes were fixed somewhere on her chest, and Birdie looked down at herself. There was blood now pouring from the small hole beside the name tag on her jacket.

  Suddenly lightheaded, she dropped to her knees. Her head picked back up to look at Artie, who held that gaze for just a moment before he took off running again. She watched him for a few moments, knowing she couldn’t catch him and didn’t have time to pull out her own weapon. It was getting harder to breathe, and she laid back on the concrete sidewalk, placing a hand over the wound. The rain quickly picked up, spotting her uniform.

  It occurred to her to fish her cell phone out of her pocket and call for back-up. Though in reality, the only thing she needed right now was an ambulance. All she told the dispatch, however, was that the suspect was running North on Pier Drive, and that he was armed. She didn’t end the call but let the phone, covered in her own blood, drop down beside her in what was now a pool of satiny red.

  She looked up at the sky, but didn’t see it. She only felt, and thought to herself, “So this is what it feels like to be dying.” She thought of her brother; about how he was in this position on his back when he stopped breathing, as well. And as her eyes grew heavy and the world around her grew fuzzy, she thought, “This isn’t so bad…”

  TWO

  The sky was suddenly dark and blurry. But it was unnatural. It was more of a deep red-burgundy color. Birdie had never seen anything of the sort.

  The ground beneath her seemed softer; the air, stiffer. Everything was out of focus, and there was a strange, yet not altogether unappealing smell attacking her senses. She blinked a few times before remembering, “Oh yeah. I’m dead.”

  If she’d been saved, she thought, she’d have awoken to white walls and the smell of antiseptic. Of course, who knew that Heaven or Hell, wherever she had ended up, would smell a bit like jasmine and honey?

  “Are you finally waking up?” a feminine voice sounded from somewhere beside her.

  Birdie squinted and turned her head toward the voice, blinking a few more times until the face came into focus. The woman looked young; perhaps a few years younger than Birdie. She had the most golden-blonde hair she’d ever seen, which seemed surreal against her dark, glowing skin. Though it could be said that Birdie’s eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the atmosphere of… wherever she was.

  “Are you… an angel?” Birdie asked, her voice a bit raspy and dry.

  The woman began to laugh. The laugh itself was a bit absurd, and quite contradictory to the beautiful features of the woman who possessed it. “That never stops being funny!” she said.

  “Please,” a male voice sounded before he walked into view, meeting Birdie’s eyes. “Don’t encourage that awful sound,” he raised his brows and gave a small smile. The man looked more like he was in his forties. He was tall and lanky with very light skin, as if he didn’t frequent the outdoors much. His e
yes were an unreal shade of blue.

  “You ain’t in Heaven, doll-face,” the woman told her.

  “So I’m in Hell… Shouldn’t it be, I don’t know, hotter?”

  “You’re not dead, sweetheart,” the man told her. “Well you were, technically, for a while. But now you’re not,” he stated, with a matter-of-fact tone. “My name is Emmett. The angel,” he made quotations with his fingers, “To my left, is Teresa.”

  “Call me Reesy,” she elaborated.

  “I’m Birdie,” she introduced hesitantly, as she propped up on her elbow to take the bottle of water Emmett was handing to her.

  “We know, honey,” Emmett replied. “Amber ‘Birdie’ Farran. Born October 31, nineteen and seventy-nine. Died March 12, two-thousand and thirteen. Reborn March 14, of the same year,” he smiled and turned to walk toward the counter, his hands floating about in the air beside his shoulders as he did so. Birdie felt the corner of her mouth turn up fondly, as she looked after him.

  “Oh, don’t waste your time,” Reesy shook her head playfully, as she wrapped what looked like a blood-pressure cuff of some sort around Birdie’s arm. “He bats for his own team,” she winked.

  “As if it wasn’t obvious,” Emmett said over his shoulder, then turned his head to meet Birdie’s eyes, momentarily. “But thanks for the flattery.”

  “I wasn’t…” Birdie let out a small laugh at the thought that they’d assumed she’d been checking him out. “This… this is insane,” she pushed herself up to sit, swinging her legs over the side of the table. “Where am I?” A sudden wave of dizziness washed over her, and she felt the world begin to tilt.

  “Whoa there, princess,” Reesy stood and grabbed onto Birdie’s shoulders to steady her.

  “Not a princess,” Birdie replied, a bit out of breath. “What’s wrong with me?” she tried to steady herself so that she could shake her off.