Criminal Minds/Buffy: The Vampire Slayer Fic: Quest for a Supervisor (2/?)
Title: Quest for a Supervisor
Author: étienneofthewestwind
Word Count: 5723
Rating: PG-13/FRT
Disclaimer: Aside from Karen Marie "Roger", I only own my twisting of the cannons and characters herein.
Summary: When a delusional unsub targets members of the BAU with his taunts, the disappearance of SSA Aaron Hotchner and his family is discovered. The remaining team members scramble to decipher the cryptic clues and save one of their own.
Note: This takes place at the end of Criminal Minds season one. The episode 'Machismo' which first aired April 12, 2006, had the Mexican Day of the Dead celebrations (October 31-November 2). So for the purposes of this story, ´The Fisher King´ takes place mid-December 2006. According to the Farmer's Almanac website, the temperature in Washington DC spiked into the low 70s °F (21-24 °C) for a couple days, so the characters who wore short sleeves aren't even a continuity error. CM cannon up to the season finale more or less matches the series, with minor tweaking of a few character's backstories. Buffy cannon and backstories have been folded, spindled and mutilated. However, this takes place in the equivalent of Buffy season seven.
*************
“Agent Anderson,” Strauss greeted one of the junior agents as the group got off the elevators. Brian Anderson was not on any of the profiling teams, though loosely associated with the BAU. He did local grunt work for those in the unit, and helped coordinate travel. “What’s the progress?”
The young man swallowed hard. “CSU just identified the head sent to Agent Gideon as Marty Harris. Agents Jareau and Gideon are on their way back in. The ERTs just finished processing the Brooks house. Apparently they found some weird things there-I’m not sure what that means, ma’am,” Anderson stated as Strauss opened her mouth, presumably to ask the same question that Elle was about to. “Agent Reid’s flight should land at Dulles within the hour. And we traced Frank Giles’ flight out of Jamaica. He flew to Fort Meyers, Florida, and then got on a flight to Arlington.”
“That son-of-a-bitch is local?” Elle blurted. “Sorry, ma’am,” she glanced back at Strauss, aware she did not sound sorry.
“For stating my sentiments?” Strauss sounded almost amused. She turned to Anderson. “Have we confirmed an address?”
“No, ma’am. They’re running local records and hotel registries now.”
“Good,” Strauss nodded.
“What do we have on Marty Harris?” Morgan asked.
“Fetish burglar; registered child sex offender. Also, Giles has an extensive criminal record: manslaughter; robbery; rape.” Behind them, the other elevator chimed and opened. Elle turned and saw JJ and Gideon walk out.
“If you two are sure you don’t need any more sleep-”
“Positive,” Elle growled, cutting Strauss off.
“Then start working the case. And Agent Gideon, I expect regular updates.” The woman turned and walked off toward her office.
“Everyone into the conference room,” Gideon ordered, as he walked toward it.
************
“So this guy is intent on playing with us,” Gideon started once the four of them- Elle, JJ, Derek and himself were seated at the round table.
“Then let’s return the favor,” Elle growled.
“He kept telling us to ‘save her’," Derek said, mentioning what had bugged him the most about the Jamaican scene before he heard about Hotch and his family. “Why? What her? Haley? Someone else?”
“Maybe her sister?” JJ asked. Everyone’s attention turned toward her. “Hotch’s file lists him as at home. He might not have expected Hotch and Haley to be there."
"They," Elle said. "One person couldn´t take three adults, especially when one´s a trained FBI agent who´d fight back."
"Not if the guy got to Jack," Gideon countered. "If someone held a gun or knife to my kid, I´d comply fast. I know the statistics on abduction, but I´d go with the hope that I could somehow gain the upper hand later."
"So you think it´s one guy?" Derek asked. "Jamaica, Brooks´ place, that´s a lot of work for one guy."
"The messages feel like the work of one person," Gideon answered, "though a subordinate is possible. It would certainly make the vandalism to Brooks´ house faster, if not easier."
"Was there any other damage besides the busted windows?"
"Both the front and back doors appear to have been kicked out. The-"
"Kicked out?" Derek cut JJ off. "Not in?"
"Out," Gideon confirmed. "Both doorframes had the strike jambs splintered off, as well as damage to the hinges and hinge jambs. The back door also had a hole kicked through it. And had been previously kicked in."
"That´s... different," Elle said. "And the unsub or unsubs took the time to knock out every second floor window?" JJ nodded. "What the hell is the significance to that?"
“Beats me,” Derek admitted. “Could it be an intentional clue?”
Gideon sighed, and rubbed his head. “Perhaps. Let’s get what we have on the board.” JJ stood and walked over to the dry erase board on the north wall. She wrote down, Broken glass/Smashed windows/Break out(?). “I got a decapitated head, and a 1963 Nellie Fox baseball card." Head in the box and Nellie Fox 1963, joined the list of clues. "Reid got a skeleton key, along with a note," Gideon continued. "Did he happen to mention any specifics about it?" he asked as JJ wrote skeleton key.
"That someone would die unless Reid saved her. And that you could fill him in. Spence only called me because your cell was out of range at your cabin."
"Nellie Fox was one of the stars of the 1959 White Sox," Gideon mused. "I went to nearly every game that summer with my father. Fox was my idol. Is that a coincidence, or does the unsub know that somehow?"
"You were unit chief before Hotch," Elle said. "If he´s been planning this for a while, you might have been his original focus."
"Maybe still. You are in charge with Hotch gone missing," Derek pointed out grimly.
"He thinks he´s doing me a favor?" Gideon sighed loudly. "If so, that makes Hotch´s abduction planned. Why not leave a message at the scene?"
"And how did he know that Hotch would be at the sister´s?" JJ asked.
"He´s watching," Derek realized. "Followed him."
The room fell silent as JJ turned back to the board. She wrote, Abduction and Followed (all?).
"All?" Elle echoed. "Son of a bitch. He just might have." She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "If we´re treating everything as a potential clue, there’s my police raid and interrogation.”
“And the-”
“I found him!” Garcia slammed into the room, cutting off Derek’s comment about the headless corpse. “The hacker. His name is Giles. Frank Giles. He lives in Arlington, Virginia. Here’s his address.” She handed over a piece of paper.
*************
They vested up, and Jason called a SWAT team to assist the raid on Giles’ apartment. Within the hour, they busted down the door. Each room they cleared was empty until Morgan and Elle called Jason to Giles’ bedroom. A bearded man, wearing only plaid boxer shorts lay on a bed in the middle of the room. A medieval sword-a longsword, if Jason remembered his history classes correctly-had been pushed through the man’s chest, mattress, and into the top of the carpet. Words in blood covered the wall opposite the door, though instead of ‘save her’ the message read ‘Here thy quest doth truly begin’.
Once they cleared the apartment, Jason sent the SWAT agents out and called for a crime scene unit. As the ERTs took photographs, Jason stood at the door to the room. He searched for anything that would give him insight into the unsub’s mind. Elle and Morgan searched the room, doing the same thing. “His identification checks out,” Elle said as she handed Gideon a wallet. “That’s Frank Giles.”
No shit, Jason thought. They had all studied Giles’ mug shot before they left the BAU. The man on the bed had more resemblance to it than many criminals.
“There’s a big bag of money on the dresser,” Morgan said.
Jason glanced his way. Morgan had pulled a couple stacks of bills out of a bright blue duffle bag. “So the unsub paid Giles to kill Harris in Jamaica?” Jason mused. “And then the unsub killed Giles.”
“And left the cash?” Elle asked.
Morgan shrugged. “He’s apparently well funded.”
“And he likes to write things in blood on walls.” Elle walked forward to stare at the message.
“All sorts of cult and demonic significance to that,” Morgan said.
“‘Thy’?” Elle read aloud. “‘Doth’? ‘Quest’? Why start phrasing things like this now?”
“Maybe this is the first thing the unsub actually wrote,” Morgan suggested.
“No.” Jason walked into the room frowning. “The switch from Modern English signifies something.”
“What?” Elle asked.
“No idea,” Jason admitted. “But nothing this guy does is accidental.”
“Hey guys,” the tech examining body said. “There’s something etched on this blade.” She pointed at a spot a couple inches below the hilt.
Jason knelt next to her, grimacing as he did so. His knees were not as young as they used to be. “‘To learn of what should next be done; leave the blade till the hour be none’,” he read.
“‘Hour be none’?” Morgan asked.
“‘Leave the blade’,” Jason repeated. “The blade’s supposed to reveal something at a specific time?”
“Well, the bed can’t be in the exact middle of the room by chance,” Morgan observed.
“Come on, are we in the middle of an Indiana Jones movie?” Elle asked. Jason blinked at the apparent non sequitur. “What, do we just wait for the magic shadow to reveal hidden clues?”
That could explain the lack of lamps. Jason looked up at the ceiling. No bulbs were in the overhead fixture. “There’s no other light source.”
“Midnight is 00:00 in twenty-four hour time, would that be none?” Morgan asked.
“No way those streetlights cast a shadow in here.” Elle gestured at the window.
“‘Hour be none’,” Morgan said, clearly trying to think of an answer.
“3 pm.” Jason turned to the bedroom door. Reid strolled through, his hands in his trouser pockets. “Guys, Garcia told me where to find you.” He frowned at the body before them while scratching his side. “She also said that Hotch is… Have you found any sign of him?”
“No,” Elle said flatly. “Just the signs of a demented wannabe dungeon master.”
Reid frowned in obvious confusion at that particular pop reference. Before he could question it, Jason asked him pointedly, “3 pm?”
“It’s medieval. The days used to be broken into hourly intervals, the canonical hours of the breviary: Prime, 6 am. Terce, 9 am. Sext, 12 noon. None, 3 pm. And Vespers, 6 pm.”
“Reid,” Elle said as she pointed at the young genius. “Do not ever go away again.”
“Guys, it’s 4:35,” Morgan said. “We can’t just leave the blade in until 3 pm tomorrow. For all we know, Hotch and his family are under a deadline.”
“We just need to block that window out,” Reid said. He turned to the tech. “Do you have any spotlights in your car?”
“Sure.” The brunette stood and walked out of the room.
“Thanks, Gina,” Elle called after her.
Fifteen minutes later, the team stood in the now dark room. Reid knelt in front of the window, shining the light from the apparent angle of the sun. He slowly moved it up, imitating the sun reversing course as Morgan tapped the yellow striped wall wherever the shadow fell-until Morgan hit a spot that sounded different. “It’s hollow,” Morgan reported. “No insulation behind the drywall, and it feels like the wallpaper’s been replaced.”
“Open it,” Jason commanded, though Morgan had all ready pulled out his pocket knife. Morgan quickly cut through the top of the hollow section and ripped the piece of drywall out. A small ledge had been nailed between the studs, and on the hidden shelf sat a wooden box. Six inches wide, three inches tall, and three-and-a-half inches deep, the box’s dark stain made it look like a miniature treasure chest. “Get it out here.”
“You sure that’s safe?” Reid asked even as Morgan lifted the box out of the nook.
“You think it’s a bomb?” Morgan asked. “If that were his game, he’d have blown it already.” Morgan set the box on a short end table.
“It’s not unheard of to ‘curse’ treasures to injure the person who removes or opens them without a specific ritual,” Reid persisted. “We know this unsub has worked us into his delusion. He might expect us to know the correct procedures. You sure you haven´t been scratched or punctured?"
"You sure this unsub isn´t the only one who´s seen too much Indiana Jones?" Elle asked.
"Who?" Reid asked as Jason knelt in front of the box. Unadorned, the thing had an old keyhole on front.
"Kid, what do you do for fun?" Morgan asked as he tried to open the lid. "It´s locked. Should I force it?"
"Shouldn´t we process the outside for prints before you risk damaging it?" the crime tech who had fetched the spotlight asked.
"Yeah, maybe test for possible trap-"
"Reid," Morgan turned to glare at the younger agent, "he wants us to-"
"Didn´t your note from the unsub include a skeleton key?" Jason asked Reid before the argument could get out of hand.
"Yes-Oh!" Reid fumbled in his pocket before producing the key. He knelt in front of the table and unlocked the box. As he swung the lid back, the sound of Shubert´s Trout Quintet filled the room. Jason identified the piece for the less artistically minded of the team. A single sheet of paper lay within the music box. Reid pulled it out and read, “‘Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight’."
"Well that was worth it."
Elle´s sarcasm grated, but she had a point. Jason frowned as he studied the music box. Its lid was a good inch thick. Yet its depth…
"There." Jason pointed. "The lid. Little tab right under the lock."
Morgan pulled on the tab, and a panel swung out. Inside a long lock of blonde hair was threaded through a DVD labeled "Thy Quest".
*************
The wind picked up, blowing Roger’s red-dyed hair in front of her eyes. She shivered as she brushed the hair back behind her ears. Should have brought my gloves, she thought as she shoved her hands into her coat pockets. Missouri had treated its residents to a warm front the past couple days, but the climate had started to shift. It was wintertime in the Midwest, after all.
She walked to the edge of the roof, and leaned against the parapet wall. With the moon almost completely waned, the campus below was lit solely by lampposts. The quad was a mass of shadow that spoke of mysterious and primal forces that made her feel more alive than daylight ever could. As long as Roger could remember, she had loved the night, but lately…
Nighttime brought a sense of danger beyond any she had ever felt and a desire to defeat it. The resulting restlessness had cut into her sleep to the point where she had to catch up in the daytime. So far, her grades had not suffered, though she had fallen asleep in a few lectures. And failed to wake up from a nap until after an Urban Sociology exam. Fortunately her professor had allowed her to make it up. The man was either the most easy-going professor on the campus, or he believed in coddling college kids as if they were still in high school. Certainly his exams were the easiest of all her classes.
Not that she would complain when her grade-point benefited.
With a sigh, Roger looked at her watch. 3 am. She really should try to get some sleep before her last final in the morning. Or study some more, even if the class was Urban Soc. There were only so many cartwheels and handstands one could do a rooftop in a single night, after all.
The scrape of another´s footstep sounded behind her. Roger silently groaned to herself. She was only supposed to use her key to the building when she needed to set up the auditorium, not to go onto the roof.
Instead of a security officer, or even another member of the university´s stage crew, Roger saw a pair of black-robed men standing behind her. They wore brown belts and their eyes appeared to be gouged out. She opened her mouth to ask what role they were playing when the implausibility of any dress rehearsal this time of semester (or night) hit her. One of the pair pulled out a dagger with a distinctive curved blade, and realization struck.
Roger had dreamt of these guys for weeks. And they had always-
Without permitting herself to think, Roger reached back and laid her hand on the parapet wall with her fingers gripping the side over the roof. She immediately jumped up and threw her legs over the wall as the robed figures rushed at her. As gravity and momentum yanked her feet down to the ground, her hand slipped over the top of the parapet wall, until only the tips of her fingers were on top of the wall, desperately clinging to the structure. The two robed figures stood at the wall. One lifted the dagger up, the point aimed at her hand…
Roger’s left hand grabbed the top of a line of red brick that jutted out from the rest of the wall as part of the decorative design. She released the parapet wall just as the dagger slammed down where her fingers had been. She now hung from about the height of the roof, franticly trying to find purchase with her feet. Unfortunately, her steel-toed work boots were larger than her climbing shoes, and transmitted little tactile info. She thought she might have set her left foot on something, but the brick designs did not jut out enough for her to effectively hold any weight with her feet. They barely accommodated her fingertips. She ran her right down the wall, searching for the next outcropping of bricks. As it passed in front of her face, she noticed that the parapet had scraped off more skin and nail than she realized. She found a hand hold and lowered herself another three feet. Roger quickly dropped her left hand the approximate height to grab the top of the next handhold.
As she dropped further down, Roger shook her right hand. The shock had worn off, and the tips were beginning to burn. Meanwhile, her left shoulder protested the strain of supporting all her weight, while the muscles in her arm and hand started to cramp up. She grabbed the next line of brick, and eased herself down, wincing as the pain in her fingertips ignited. Roger quickly scrambled for the next hold, glad this part of the building was only three stories tall. The odds of her making the climb from any higher-
The brick under her left hand broke off as she dropped her weight onto it. Roger fell, scraping her left cheek against the building, and landing on her feet. She barely remembered to bend her knees into a crouch and roll onto her side. As she scrambled to her feet, her right ankle protested. Two thuds sounded behind her. She turned and saw the robed men from the roof.
Roger turned and ran, ignoring the pain in her ankle. As she entered the quad, she saw another robed figure in front of the columns. She started to veer left, then reconsidered and rushed straight at the third man. At the last minute, she ducked to the side, grabbed his arm and pulled him off-balance, seizing his dagger as he stumbled. She kicked her steel-clad toe into his groin-a move that her ankle did not appreciate any more than her opponent did-and hit the back off his head with her first. He fell motionless to the ground. Roger glanced back and saw the other two advancing.
She turned and ran to the other side of the quad. She could hear the other two behind her. Roger tightened her grip on the dagger, despite that fact it made her entire skin feel slimy. If they got any closer, she might have to try to use it.
Pain filled her right shoulder as Roger stepped into the street and nearly collided with a campus security patrol…
Haley sat upright, gasping. Beside her, Aaron brought his seat up, and reached across the aisle to grab her shoulder. “Another one?” he asked.
Haley nodded. “Last night. I think she made it. But doesn’t know her potential-she doesn’t know the need for it, Aaron. She’ll-” Haley swallowed hard as he squeezed her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. Or himself. He knew the survival odds of a Potential remaining where she was. She turned to the back of the vehicle. Jack slept snuggly in his carrier/car seat. A familiar head of blond curls dozed by him. Haley spun to face the driver’s seat, and the brown hair visible over the headrest. “Faith´s driving?”
*************
When they first started playing the DVD back in the BAU conference room, it displayed a few seconds of static. Then the screen turned a dark blue. As the color moved to the side of the screen, JJ realized that it was the clothes of the unsub, who had stood in front of the camera. The frame focused on a brown leather office chair behind a desk with medieval figures on top: a knight on horseback, a swordsman on foot, and some sort of wagon or catapult-the screen did not show enough of the contraption for her to be sure. The office appeared to be in a vintage house, with a fireplace partially obstructed by a lamp at the edge of the screen. The unsub walked unevenly between the lamp and fireplace toward the chair.
“Looks like he’s injured or something,” Morgan commented as the man sat in the chair. His face was obstructed from view.
“I assure you, you will all understand in the end why it must be this way,” the shadowed figure spoke. “You might even thank me.”
“Don’t hold your breath, scumbag,” Elle commented. Spencer frowned and rested his chin on his palm as he stared at the video, determined to catch every last detail.
“You know now you’re on a quest. A young girl’s life depends on the successful completion of it.”
The image on the video changed to show a teenager on a bed in what looked like a homemade cell. When she became aware of the camera, she began throwing items from the cell at the unsub behind it.
“She’s not Haley or Brooks,” JJ said as Strauss entered the room from the front door. Spencer figured she wanted an update on the case. Garcia had said that she had been riding Gideon for every change in detail.
“Then who the hell is she?” Elle commented.
“Does the sister have kids?” Morgan asked.
“…An see, she’s quite beautiful,” the unsub’s raspy voice filled the silence after Elle’s question. “And in distress. Now please listen closely for there is one rule, and this rule must be followed. The one rule is: Only the members of your team may participate in the quest. Jason Gideon.”
A still photo of Gideon walking from an SUV filled the screen. As the video zoomed away from Gideon, Spencer could see Hotch by the driver’s side.
“Aaron Hotchner.”
A different photo of Hotch, his face turned toward the side.
“Derek Morgan.”
Morgan’s photo showed him in his bullet proof vest.
“Elle Greenaway. Spencer Reid.”
Both his and Elle’s photos appeared to come from the same case, but different parts of the neighborhood.
“Jennifer Jareau. Penelope Garcia.”
JJ’s photo could have been taken off any press conference news feed, but Garcia’s photo appeared to be shot when she was out running errands. Spencer did not like the implications.
“A quest must be completed in the proper way or it isn’t a quest, is it? That’s it. One rule. Simple.”
Spencer frowned. The unsub’s words reminded him of the guys at Cal Tech that thought dealing with wizards and demons was a live-action Dungeons & Dragons game. Did this guy expect the BAU to find his actions as nothing more than a fun treasure hunt? think Elle nailed him earlier with the DM remark…
“Now, you will be receiving an item soon that will hold the final clue you’ll need to finish the quest. You will find you will also need a book which has inspired many an adventure like mine. Believe me when I tell you I truly hope to see you all soon. It will mean a successful end to this adventure… for all of us.”
“Why go after Hotch and his family,” Elle asked, “if it wasn’t part of his plan?”
“Maybe he didn’t,” Spencer suggested, rapidly bringing all eyes to him. “We assumed the abduction of Hotch and his family and our cryptic messages were connected because of the timing. But what if they’re separate cases entirely?”
“Aw, man,” Morgan said. “If it’s not this guy… It’s going to make finding Hotch that much harder. Between his years at the Bureau and his prosecutor days, he´s bound to have made enemies."
Assuming that´s even why they were targeted, Spencer thought, but did not say. The whole team had worked enough cases to known the varied ways a person could become a target. “So what do we do now?” he asked.
“Work the case,” Gideon said flatly from where he stood at the back of the room. Then he turned around and walked out, slamming the back door behind him.
“Agent Gideon!” Strauss called after him as she strode through the room and out the door.
Spencer stared at the other three. They stared at him and each other. After a few seconds, Morgan cleared his throat. “Well, you heard him. Let’s get the new clues up on the board and reexamine the photos of Brooks’ house. Determine once and for all if they fit in.”
“Wait,” Elle protested. “We’re going to play this guy’s game?”
“Do we have a choice?” Spencer retorted.
“I’ll get video to enhance the shots of the girl,” JJ said quickly as she stood. “The DNA on the hair could take a while,” she added as retreated from the room.
*************
“Agent Gideon!” Erin called sharply as she followed the man across the bullpen catwalk. To her right, she could see the darkening sky through the windows. He gave no sign of hearing her, save not slamming his office door until she followed him in. Gideon sank into the leather chair behind his desk.
“I have nothing left.”
“Excuse me?” Erin blinked as studied the veteran profiler. He looked exhausted. If she remembered correctly, the man had recently come back from some sort of mental breakdown. If he was on the verge of another collapse… Well, that would explain the shift in leadership of the unit to Hotchner. But if Hotchner relied on Gideon’s input as much as rumored, she would have to take a closer look at the team’s cases if-when they found him.
Gideon shook his head. “Reid nailed it. Even if that girl is somehow related to the Brooks family, that DVD was made post-abduction with the presumption that Hotch would be here. There’s a slim chance one or all of them somehow spotted something when he intended to set up a clue, but I doubt it.”
“Two different cases.”
“Both of which require the full focus of the team. This… questcrafter clearly wants to draw us into his fantasy, and playing along may be the best chance of rescuing that girl. Hotch and his family are more lives at risk, but that investigation has lost critical time, and with a different unsub, they have a lower chance of long-term survival. Meanwhile, the other unsub has proven willing to kill to get our attention. I have to choose.”
“No,” Erin said, making a decision she had sworn never to do. She folded her arms over her chest. “You don’t. Follow the case sent to you and find the girl on that DVD.” She turned and opened the door.
“So it’s that easy?” Gideon asked before she could leave. “You can give up on three civilians and one of our own just like that?”
“Your team’s the best shot at rescuing that girl. The same can’t be said for investigating Agent Hotchner’s case.”
Erin stepped out while Gideon called, “You just sent the last available team to Georgia.” She strode purposely out of the BAU’s hub and to her own office. Once there, she picked up the phone and grabbed a cell number out of her contacts. As the other phone rang, she took a deep breath.
*************
"I know I´m putting you in a tough spot," Faith said as she walked out from the kitchen. The twenty-something brunette had her arms crossed over her chest. "But I really needed to see you, and I won´t be long. I know you need to report me, and I won´t argue that, ´cause I don´t want you jammed up on my-”
Faith broke off when Aaron Hotchner wrapped his arms around her. "I´ve been so worried," he said, voice rough with emotion. "Ever since-" The black-haired man pulled back and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Faith, Wesley called and explained about LA and why you-” He squeezed her shoulders. "I understand your reasoning, but your life is complicated enough without being on the run. If things can´t be straightened out, I´ll defend you. The only good case they´ll have is the escape, and-”
"I know," Faith stepped back and grabbed the older man´s left wrist, squeezing lightly. She took a deep breath. “I know,” she repeated softly. “And I swear I’ll turn myself in if I sur-Something big’s going down. More than typical, I mean. The Bringers are moving-”
"Bringers?" Aaron interrupted. "As in the acolytes of The First?"
Faith nodded solemnly. "They’ve been showing all over the world. I don´t know what´s going down, but I need to be able to move when it does. I can´t risk getting held up." Faith released Aaron´s wrist and met his eyes. "I know it´s not what you wanted. D-”
Aaron again caught her in a bear hug. "I´m proud of you," he whispered in her ear. "Your calling hasn´t been an easy one, but you´ve risen to it. I know you have a good heart and do good. I-I´d be lying if I said I wanted that for you, or…” Aaron choked back a sob. “You´ve had it rough and deserve so much. That´s why I push to give you some good things in life.
"But above all, I want you to have one. If you died-" Aaron swallowed hard as a tear escaped each eye. "Just promise me you won´t. The First´s not something to be trifled with."
"I know." Faith hugged Aaron back, careful not to squeeze too hard. "I won´t be alone in this."
Aaron nodded. "Good. Fai-"
A buzzing accompanied by a gasoline-like scent filled the room. "What the hell?" Faith asked.
"The wards are breached," Jessica said coming into the room, a taller blonde on her heels. With the resemblance to Jess, straighter hair, and baby she hastily thrust into Aaron’s arms, she could only be Jess’ sister, Hayley.
Aaron´s wife and Faith’s sealed sister-slayer.
Which was weird for her to think about, given that Aaron was like-
Suddenly the room was filled with Bringers, and the thought that mattered was finding the best possible weapon…
The bus drove over a pothole, shaking the seats and rousing Roger. She blinked as the unfinished dream melted away into the gray of the seat before her and the backpack on her lap. Roger stretched her arms above her head and twisted her neck from side to side. Then she turned and stared at the passing buildings as the bus made its way through the town. A quick glance at her watch told her it should be one of the Texas stops.
At least she had no more transfers to worry about.
Though what the hell she would do once she reached Albuquerque still loomed over her.
She glanced down at the healing scrapes and cuts on her hands, without doubt that the ones on her face and shoulder looked worse. It seemed the stuff of insanity: people she dreamed about appeared to attack her. No wonder the campus police thought she was delusional when she made the mistake of mentioning that part. Still, she had a knife wound in the back of her shoulder. How the hell did they not see that as corroborating her assault report? And that “failed suicide” theory-she could spin a much better cover than eyeless monks.
Okay, so it was crazy, but it still happened.
And the latest dream: not another solitary girl hunted down and killed by those freaks, but a family. People that she instinctively felt were critical to the future of, well everything. Just what did it mean?
“Bringers,” she softly whispered to herself. It was as good a name to call the deformed monks as any.
The bus slowed as it pulled into the station. While a handful of passengers departed, Roger stood and stretched her legs. Fifteen minutes and one new passenger later, the bus pulled out of the terminal, actually on schedule. As the bus made its way back to the highway, Roger groaned. She never did well sitting still for extended periods of time, and Albuquerque still three hours away. Unfortunately, it had been the only destination at the bus stop that her mother would accept without question. Well, besides the usual “But Karen, we hardly see you anymore” guilt trips.
Not that she did not want to see her folks and siblings. But once her mother saw her face, she would demand an explanation. Then she would stick her nose into the investigation and find out that Roger had split when the campus-and city-cops wanted her committed for “observation”. Then she would raise holy hell about the shoddy investigation skills, or…
Roger swallowed as the sun slipped past the horizon and hugged her bag closer to her. She did not think her mother would dismiss the attack so easily, but the attackers and the dreams of their other victims… She could not stand the thought of her family, especially her authoritative mother thinking that she had gone nuts. The thought of that look in her eyes was worse than an embarrassing pressure put on the local police.
Her hand brushed against the cell phone in her bag. She had left a message on the home line. With both her folks being workaholics, it was no surprise that she had not heard from either of them. Still, when they heard Albuquerque, they would think she was visiting Lisa. Hopefully her face would heal by her promised Christmas visit. She just needed to figure out what she was going to do with herself for the next week…
Part 3