Profiler/Charmed: Paralyzed Ambition (2)
Title: Paralyzed Ambition
Rating: T
Word count: 1,800
Disclaimer: Bailey Malone, Rachel Burke, John Grant, George Fraley, and Grace Alvarez are characters owned by Cynthia Saunders, NBC Studios, and Kronish and Company. Phoebe Halliwell, Piper Halliwell, Paige Matthews, Leo Wyatt, and Darryl Morris are characters owned by Constance M. Burge, Paramount, and Brad Kern. I am in no way affiliated with their creator and owners. No infringement is intended.
“George sent me over some information,” Bailey informed as the three settled down in a Starbucks Coffee shop.
Rachel was indulging herself in exotic blends of coffee that had taken forever to explain to the employee, Bailey had black coffee (quite saddened he hadn’t thought to pack some scotch), and John had gotten himself a regular bottle of water with his cheese Danish. “After all,” he had reminded, “the caffeine isn’t good for you.”
The three sat in a half-booth, half-table. They all sat in the booth half (they had pulled three tables together) so that all could see the laptop computer in the middle as Bailey read aloud, “Amber Cartier was born January 3, 1970. She’s an immigrant from France, here for Grad School.”
“A neighbor said she babysat kids in the area for extra cash,” John picked up, always in charge of victimology. “Parents said she was pretty much available every night of the year, give-or-take a few off. She hardly ever did anything for herself.”
“Do you know which days?” Rachel questioned.
“Nancy Stuart said it was like clockwork; the first day of every tenth of a year, practically. But she said during those days, it seemed like she wasn’t home even though her car was out front. The lights were off except for what seemed like candles - flickering and all.”
“And she remembered all of this perfectly?” Bailey asked, a little surprised.
“According to Rebecca Harding, Stuart is the street snooper. Makes it her business to know what everyone’s up to,” John drawled lazily. “Harding swore that Stuart has both video and written documentation of almost every day on every homeowner on the street going back for years.”
“Sounds like we found the gossip and the snoop to me,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes. “Get a life, people.”
“Turns out, Cartier dropped out of college three weeks before the end-of-term. That was a few months ago, though,” John informed. “Okay, so what I want to know is why someone would drop out of school with only three weeks to go,”
“And why was she a target?” Bailey asked. “Most likely, she would not have been in contact with former classmates, considering the ‘aloof’ description that the neighbors have given us.”
“It might be something that she did not even realize she was doing,” Rachel said. “Or it could be completely random.”
“But normally a random murder would be random murders, as in plural. There’s only been one,” John said.
“So far,” Rachel added.
John smiled as he shook his head. “You’re very ambitious.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“Only because my ambition always seems to prove you wrong,” she replied. John smirked.
“Alright,” Bailey interrupted, “I will get this information back to George. Hopefully he can find something to help piece everything together.”
x x x
“Kind of odd, isn’t it?” John questioned Rachel as the two drank beers at a table.
“What is?” Rachel asked, her hair brown in the dark-lit bar.
“We’ve been working together for a year and a half now. It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long.”
“Yeah, and all of you treated me like family from the moment I arrived. I really appreciated that. It is so hard being the new kid.”
“Actually, I gave you a really hard time at the beginning,” John said. “I’m really sorry for that.” He smiled apologetically. “I know what it’s like being the new kid. I moved around a lot as a kid.”
“Was your dad transferred around a lot?” Rachel asked curiously.
“Not exactly,” John said, before casting a look to change the conversation.
Rachel stopped. An awkward silence settled between the two, so she tried to lighten the atmosphere. “So you really don’t remember what happened that night at Quantico?”
“I’ll never drink fifty bucks-worth of beer again.”
Rachel smirked. “It is a shame. You made quite the entertaining alcoholic.”
“Really?” John asked, suddenly very interested. “What did I do?”
“It was more of what you said,” Rachel teased, then adopted a deeper, slurred voice. “‘Did you know... at Jim Henson’s funeral... Big Bird and Kermit sang It’s Not Easy Being Green... but if you think about it... Big Bird is yellow.’” John threw his head back and gave a screeching laugh while Rachel burst into a fit of giggles.
They were actually enjoying themselves outside of work, just like John was enjoying how good a friendship they were developing. But John’s cell phone rang, putting their night away from the blood and gore of the Violent Crimes Task Force on hold.
“Grant,” John said. “Okay, we’ll be there in a few.” John hung up and turned to Rachel, “Grace just finished examining the body. Bailey wants us back at the SFPD station pronto because George is sending over the information.”
“Let’s go, then,” Rachel said, getting up immediately. John laid a tip on the table before following the fiery redhead out the door to the car.
“So what are you thinking?” asked John curiously as he started up the engine.
“I am not sure,” Rachel said. “I feel like this was done out of rage.”
“We don’t know for sure yet if she died before the stabbing stopped. Besides, who would want to kill a babysitter?”
“I don’t know!” Rachel began to raise her voice, clearly frustrated. John noticed her anxiousness by the pace in which she was talking as it began to accelerate. “I don’t know who would want to kill a babysitter, John. But do you know something? I don’t know how people find it in themselves to kill, either!”
John hesitated before adding, “I think it’s more of what they don’t find.” He stared at her for a second, and then shrugged. John was a unique character, Rachel had always thought. At times he could be a complete asshole, but then there were moments that Rachel could see vulnerability. It was like the John she went to work with every day was a shell, and inside was a caring man afraid of pain. “Well, I trust your brain just as much as your coffee-making skills,” John said.
“You don’t like coffee. You think that it is the work of Satan.”
“But I still trust the fact that you make good coffee,” John grinned. “So what about the crime gives you the idea of rage?”
“Well, getting stabbed is quite a painful way to die, especially the way she was stabbed: in the stomach. The killer avoided the organs, so consequentially she probably bled to death.”
“Which means that she was still alive after the fifteen wounds from the knife?”
“Maybe. She was probably just unconscious, so the killer stopped. The sick bastard probably stood over her and watched her bleed to death.”
“You think he stuck around after that?”
“Why not? She’s single, alone. No one would miss her until she wouldn’t show up to a babysitting appointment.”
“But the brutality and overall feel of the scene suggests he was in a hurry.”
“In a hurry to render her defenseless, to inflict fatal wounds upon her body - it doesn’t suggest he was in a hurry to get out of there.”
“Well, that puts me to bed at night.”
Rachel laughed half-heartedly before straightening up. “I want to go back to her house and see what I can find out about her from her possessions.”
“Well, we’re not even a minute away from the station. We’ll talk to Bailey after we run through Grace’s analysis of the body.” Rachel nodded lightly before laying her head back on the seat.
“Tired?” he asked her.
“Exhausted,” Rachel sighed. “I don’t even think my insomnia will keep me up tonight.”
John smirked as he pulled into the San Francisco Police Department’s parking garage. “If anything, we can visit Cartier’s house in the morning. It’s not like it’s going somewhere.”
“If car keys can sprout legs and walk, then so can houses.”
“Speaking from experience, of course...?”
“Don’t I always?” she said playfully as they headed into the building.
The SFPD was definitely jam-packed. It reminded John a little of Disney World: you could only walk five feet until you inevitably bumped in to another person. Phones were ringing off the hook, and papers covered both the desks and floor. “What a mess,” John remarked to Rachel before spotting Bailey. “There’s Bail,” John pointed. Bailey was hunched over George Fraley, the VCTF’s computer hacker - a very coveted worker.
“I thought you said George sent over information,” John said as he approached his boss and friend.
“He did... with himself.” John smirked yet again, unconsciously tracing a scar below his eye as a result of a suicidal yet successful, heroic attempt at saving a little girl from a serial sniper.
“How is little George doing?” Rachel asked her friend excitedly.
“He is doing okay. I tell you, Grace did not want to leave him with any sort of babysitter while she was at the lab. She actually took him with her!”
“Rachel was upset that they moved the body, but I guess in a way it was a good thing. We got Grace’s report back so fast. I thought it’d be a few days,” John informed.
“Grace was dying for a reason to leave the house anyway,” George said.
“So what do we have?” Bailey intervened.
“She definitely died from loss of blood,” George said, at which John and Rachel eyed each other. “Grace determines that she did not pass out until twenty minutes or so after the stabbing stopped. Ten of the fifteen wounds pierced the stomach organ, but luckily it was unable to penetrate the silver lining of it, which in turn kept the acid from-”
“Yuck,” John grimaced. “Stop talking.”
George made a face before getting back on track. “All stab wounds do not even measure an inch long, but Grace says the blade seems jagged, but not a broken kind of jagged. She thinks that the blade is some sort of odd design, almost... crooked.”
John could see that the wheels in Rachel’s head were turning. She was staring at a copy of the results in front of her, but her eyes were glazed over as if she were in another reality. She opened her mouth as if she was going to speak, but clearly changed her mind as she closed it, her lips forming into a tight line. “Bailey, if it is okay with you, I would like to take John and head back to the crime scene. I want to get a better feel of who she was.”
“In the morning,” Bailey said, and John shut his mouth as if he were about to say the same thing. “For now, let’s all get some sleep. George, you must be exhausted from the flight.”
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Rating: T
Word count: 1,800
Disclaimer: Bailey Malone, Rachel Burke, John Grant, George Fraley, and Grace Alvarez are characters owned by Cynthia Saunders, NBC Studios, and Kronish and Company. Phoebe Halliwell, Piper Halliwell, Paige Matthews, Leo Wyatt, and Darryl Morris are characters owned by Constance M. Burge, Paramount, and Brad Kern. I am in no way affiliated with their creator and owners. No infringement is intended.
“George sent me over some information,” Bailey informed as the three settled down in a Starbucks Coffee shop.
Rachel was indulging herself in exotic blends of coffee that had taken forever to explain to the employee, Bailey had black coffee (quite saddened he hadn’t thought to pack some scotch), and John had gotten himself a regular bottle of water with his cheese Danish. “After all,” he had reminded, “the caffeine isn’t good for you.”
The three sat in a half-booth, half-table. They all sat in the booth half (they had pulled three tables together) so that all could see the laptop computer in the middle as Bailey read aloud, “Amber Cartier was born January 3, 1970. She’s an immigrant from France, here for Grad School.”
“A neighbor said she babysat kids in the area for extra cash,” John picked up, always in charge of victimology. “Parents said she was pretty much available every night of the year, give-or-take a few off. She hardly ever did anything for herself.”
“Do you know which days?” Rachel questioned.
“Nancy Stuart said it was like clockwork; the first day of every tenth of a year, practically. But she said during those days, it seemed like she wasn’t home even though her car was out front. The lights were off except for what seemed like candles - flickering and all.”
“And she remembered all of this perfectly?” Bailey asked, a little surprised.
“According to Rebecca Harding, Stuart is the street snooper. Makes it her business to know what everyone’s up to,” John drawled lazily. “Harding swore that Stuart has both video and written documentation of almost every day on every homeowner on the street going back for years.”
“Sounds like we found the gossip and the snoop to me,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes. “Get a life, people.”
“Turns out, Cartier dropped out of college three weeks before the end-of-term. That was a few months ago, though,” John informed. “Okay, so what I want to know is why someone would drop out of school with only three weeks to go,”
“And why was she a target?” Bailey asked. “Most likely, she would not have been in contact with former classmates, considering the ‘aloof’ description that the neighbors have given us.”
“It might be something that she did not even realize she was doing,” Rachel said. “Or it could be completely random.”
“But normally a random murder would be random murders, as in plural. There’s only been one,” John said.
“So far,” Rachel added.
John smiled as he shook his head. “You’re very ambitious.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“Only because my ambition always seems to prove you wrong,” she replied. John smirked.
“Alright,” Bailey interrupted, “I will get this information back to George. Hopefully he can find something to help piece everything together.”
x x x
“Kind of odd, isn’t it?” John questioned Rachel as the two drank beers at a table.
“What is?” Rachel asked, her hair brown in the dark-lit bar.
“We’ve been working together for a year and a half now. It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long.”
“Yeah, and all of you treated me like family from the moment I arrived. I really appreciated that. It is so hard being the new kid.”
“Actually, I gave you a really hard time at the beginning,” John said. “I’m really sorry for that.” He smiled apologetically. “I know what it’s like being the new kid. I moved around a lot as a kid.”
“Was your dad transferred around a lot?” Rachel asked curiously.
“Not exactly,” John said, before casting a look to change the conversation.
Rachel stopped. An awkward silence settled between the two, so she tried to lighten the atmosphere. “So you really don’t remember what happened that night at Quantico?”
“I’ll never drink fifty bucks-worth of beer again.”
Rachel smirked. “It is a shame. You made quite the entertaining alcoholic.”
“Really?” John asked, suddenly very interested. “What did I do?”
“It was more of what you said,” Rachel teased, then adopted a deeper, slurred voice. “‘Did you know... at Jim Henson’s funeral... Big Bird and Kermit sang It’s Not Easy Being Green... but if you think about it... Big Bird is yellow.’” John threw his head back and gave a screeching laugh while Rachel burst into a fit of giggles.
They were actually enjoying themselves outside of work, just like John was enjoying how good a friendship they were developing. But John’s cell phone rang, putting their night away from the blood and gore of the Violent Crimes Task Force on hold.
“Grant,” John said. “Okay, we’ll be there in a few.” John hung up and turned to Rachel, “Grace just finished examining the body. Bailey wants us back at the SFPD station pronto because George is sending over the information.”
“Let’s go, then,” Rachel said, getting up immediately. John laid a tip on the table before following the fiery redhead out the door to the car.
“So what are you thinking?” asked John curiously as he started up the engine.
“I am not sure,” Rachel said. “I feel like this was done out of rage.”
“We don’t know for sure yet if she died before the stabbing stopped. Besides, who would want to kill a babysitter?”
“I don’t know!” Rachel began to raise her voice, clearly frustrated. John noticed her anxiousness by the pace in which she was talking as it began to accelerate. “I don’t know who would want to kill a babysitter, John. But do you know something? I don’t know how people find it in themselves to kill, either!”
John hesitated before adding, “I think it’s more of what they don’t find.” He stared at her for a second, and then shrugged. John was a unique character, Rachel had always thought. At times he could be a complete asshole, but then there were moments that Rachel could see vulnerability. It was like the John she went to work with every day was a shell, and inside was a caring man afraid of pain. “Well, I trust your brain just as much as your coffee-making skills,” John said.
“You don’t like coffee. You think that it is the work of Satan.”
“But I still trust the fact that you make good coffee,” John grinned. “So what about the crime gives you the idea of rage?”
“Well, getting stabbed is quite a painful way to die, especially the way she was stabbed: in the stomach. The killer avoided the organs, so consequentially she probably bled to death.”
“Which means that she was still alive after the fifteen wounds from the knife?”
“Maybe. She was probably just unconscious, so the killer stopped. The sick bastard probably stood over her and watched her bleed to death.”
“You think he stuck around after that?”
“Why not? She’s single, alone. No one would miss her until she wouldn’t show up to a babysitting appointment.”
“But the brutality and overall feel of the scene suggests he was in a hurry.”
“In a hurry to render her defenseless, to inflict fatal wounds upon her body - it doesn’t suggest he was in a hurry to get out of there.”
“Well, that puts me to bed at night.”
Rachel laughed half-heartedly before straightening up. “I want to go back to her house and see what I can find out about her from her possessions.”
“Well, we’re not even a minute away from the station. We’ll talk to Bailey after we run through Grace’s analysis of the body.” Rachel nodded lightly before laying her head back on the seat.
“Tired?” he asked her.
“Exhausted,” Rachel sighed. “I don’t even think my insomnia will keep me up tonight.”
John smirked as he pulled into the San Francisco Police Department’s parking garage. “If anything, we can visit Cartier’s house in the morning. It’s not like it’s going somewhere.”
“If car keys can sprout legs and walk, then so can houses.”
“Speaking from experience, of course...?”
“Don’t I always?” she said playfully as they headed into the building.
The SFPD was definitely jam-packed. It reminded John a little of Disney World: you could only walk five feet until you inevitably bumped in to another person. Phones were ringing off the hook, and papers covered both the desks and floor. “What a mess,” John remarked to Rachel before spotting Bailey. “There’s Bail,” John pointed. Bailey was hunched over George Fraley, the VCTF’s computer hacker - a very coveted worker.
“I thought you said George sent over information,” John said as he approached his boss and friend.
“He did... with himself.” John smirked yet again, unconsciously tracing a scar below his eye as a result of a suicidal yet successful, heroic attempt at saving a little girl from a serial sniper.
“How is little George doing?” Rachel asked her friend excitedly.
“He is doing okay. I tell you, Grace did not want to leave him with any sort of babysitter while she was at the lab. She actually took him with her!”
“Rachel was upset that they moved the body, but I guess in a way it was a good thing. We got Grace’s report back so fast. I thought it’d be a few days,” John informed.
“Grace was dying for a reason to leave the house anyway,” George said.
“So what do we have?” Bailey intervened.
“She definitely died from loss of blood,” George said, at which John and Rachel eyed each other. “Grace determines that she did not pass out until twenty minutes or so after the stabbing stopped. Ten of the fifteen wounds pierced the stomach organ, but luckily it was unable to penetrate the silver lining of it, which in turn kept the acid from-”
“Yuck,” John grimaced. “Stop talking.”
George made a face before getting back on track. “All stab wounds do not even measure an inch long, but Grace says the blade seems jagged, but not a broken kind of jagged. She thinks that the blade is some sort of odd design, almost... crooked.”
John could see that the wheels in Rachel’s head were turning. She was staring at a copy of the results in front of her, but her eyes were glazed over as if she were in another reality. She opened her mouth as if she was going to speak, but clearly changed her mind as she closed it, her lips forming into a tight line. “Bailey, if it is okay with you, I would like to take John and head back to the crime scene. I want to get a better feel of who she was.”
“In the morning,” Bailey said, and John shut his mouth as if he were about to say the same thing. “For now, let’s all get some sleep. George, you must be exhausted from the flight.”
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