Having remained concealed during the attempt to negotiate for a peaceful resolution, Jack sprang up like an excited groundhog from behind the short wall. Grabbing the still-transmitting radio, he bounded down the stairs toward Seth, calling to put the bomb squad on alert as he went. Bending to one knee, he crouched next to his staggered comrade. Putting one hand gently on his shoulder, Jack eased the still-aimed pistol out of the officer’s hands with the other. “You did what you had to. It’s what I’d of done. He was prepared to move on with or without the rest of us,” he whispered in the low consoling tone of someone who’d been there before.
Heavy soled boots broke the relative silence as the rescue team stormed the area. Moving with precision, they escorted the remaining hostages to safety. One of the teachers looked gratefully at Seth, silently mouthing the words “thank you” for what he had done. However, the gesture barely registered as Seth’s gaze remained fixed on the broken man heaped in front of him.
Holstering his sidearm, Jack positioned himself between Seth and the dead man’s body, breaking the macabre staring contest. “Let’s get you out of here.” With an air of respect, he guided the young officer shakily to his feet. Guiding his toward the exit, he kept his arm around his shoulders until they were out of the building. Though blinding, the sunlight did little to warm the chill grasping his entire being.
Ducking beneath yellow police tape, Seth blinked with the realization that the crime scene now belonged to someone else. He stopped and wiped one hand across his face to brush away the glaze of cold sweat. “I’ll be ok from here. Thanks, Jack,” he said, his voice weak and barely audible.
Unconvinced, Jack frowned at the shaken man. “Alright, but we don’t need you wandering off. Hang out here while I go turn in my piece to evidence.” Holding Seth’s arm, he drew him into a sitting position on a partially shaded section of the library steps.
The rough stone felt cold and unforgiving to Seth as he sat down, but he had no desire to feel comfort or be consoled. Looking slowly up at Jack, defeat dominated his thoughts. “As evidence of what I did, you mean.” Covering his face with his hands, he slumped forward, elbows resting on his knees.
Understanding the feeling, but not sharing the sentiment, Jack shook his head. “Evidence that you did your job, Seth. Lord knows I’ve been through this a few times myself. It comes with wearing the badge,” he said, tapping the small silver shield pinned neatly to his shirt.
“Yeah, I suppose it does.” The realization struck a chord as Seth clasped his hands together tightly and stared down in contemplation.
Looking over down at the crowd of officers, FBI agents, and reporters swarming behind temporary wooden barriers, Jack caught a glimpse of the department psychologist, working his way in their direction. “I’ll keep the shrink off your back for a while. You’ll feel better once the shock wears off. Stay here.” Moving swiftly to intercept the counselor, he slouched his shoulders heavily and pretended to have something emotional to talk about.
Appreciative as Jack lead the counselor away, Seth reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his police badge. Focused intently on the polished metal glinting in the sun, he swore it was weightier than he remembered. Just a few months ago, the day he received the badge was one of the proudest moments of his life. It represented a symbol of authority. It embodied the ideal of keeping the peace in a society seemingly hell–bent on its own destruction. The inscription To Serve and Protect was boldly embossed across its center. “Yeah, right,” he said, pitching the shiny piece of nickel-plated metal down the stairs in front of him in disgust.
Leaning back on his elbows, he stared aimlessly into the sky. Where there were once visions of endless possibility, the world now appeared to be nothing more than a vacant canvas. In a matter of moments, he had lost that which had driven him. Countless hours of intense training and study to become a negotiation specialist, just to prove he wasn’t cut out for the job was hard to swallow. He had always imagined what it would be like to talk someone away from the edge and be the hero, but never considered the crushing void in one’s chest that accompanied failure. Be it inability, lack of experience, or just bad luck, it forced him into ending the life of another human being, and could have led to the loss of many others. In his mind, there was no way to reconcile the simple fact that his career as a negotiator was over before it began. Just as the abyss was threatening to swallow him up completely, the sun blinked out from something having eclipsed its rays, throwing his face into shadow.
As if from the heavens themselves, Jerome’s deep voice resonated from above. “I think you dropped something.” His FBI jacket smelling slightly of perspiration, he leaned down to hand over the recently discarded emblem.
Disinterested, Seth looked away. “Consider it a souvenir.”
Rearing back slightly, Jerome looked up at the clear, blue sky as if expecting to see what had been so interesting to the young officer. “I don’t suppose saying that you saved a lot of lives today would matter much right now, but it’s a fact,” he said with truthful admiration in his voice. “I’m Special Agent Jerome Perkins and I know what went on in there. I know who you are and what you had to do.” With a look of compassion, he held up the scuffed badge to admire it.
Taking a deep breath, Seth turned to face Jerome. “Sure, something to be proud of,” he said sarcastically. “Kinda like shooting a man in the face as a negotiation tactic.” Unflinchingly cynical, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought.
Putting his hands on his hips, Jerome gazed out beyond the crowds to admire the tall Greco-Roman pillars and other intricate architecture of the old Carnegie Library across the street. Now a junior college, its broad steps were full of curious students gathering after canceled afternoon classes. “From what I could hear, you gave him all the chances you could. It’s not your fault he didn’t give you any in return.” His attention drew back toward the chaotic masses moving about the parking lot as he spoke his mind and held out the badge a second time. “It would be a shame for the Huntington Police Force to lose an officer with your potential.”
Holding up his hand as if shielding his eyes from Medusa’s stony gaze, Seth hadn’t reconsidered. “No thanks, I’m not going back to being a negotiator. Not after this.” Conviction in his voice made clear that this was not a reversible decision. Something within had changed and wouldn’t be undone.
With his hand outstretched in the hope that the promising officer would take the badge back, Jerome made a more straight forward appeal. “Your training had to cover the fact that deadly force would sometimes be unavoidable. I know it’s difficult to accept in this moment, but—”
Cutting him off before finishing the thought, Seth waved his hand dismissively. “I had him engaged. It was textbook and I still couldn’t close the deal.” Grinding his fist into his upper thigh, he wanted to feel something, anything other than what he was going through.
Closing his hand around the badge, Jerome titled his head with curiosity and sat down next to him. “What do you mean?” he asked, setting the badge on the concrete step between them. He was no psychologist, but he knew better than to keep contradicting someone as they tried to work through a trauma.
Shrugging his shoulders in exasperation, Seth thought it should have been obvious to a trained FBI agent. “I had solid eye contact. He didn’t appear to be drugged out, so I should have been able to connect with him, but the guy never broke, didn’t even blink.” Struggling to understand how proven tactics could have been so ineffective, he came to the only conclusion he could fathom. It was him who had made the fatal error that could have cost several lives, including his own. Trust in others was important, but losing trust in himself was devastating.
Letting out a low whistle, Jerome reached into his jacket pocket. “Let’s put aside the point that a rookie negotiator would never have been put into this situation in the first place, shall we?” Revealing a white business card, he spoke as he handed it to Seth. “You did everything by the book,
and it still went south. Is that it?”
“What do I need this for?” asked Seth. He took the card and examined it. “It doesn’t say here you’re a psychologist, so what are you even talking to me for?”
Releasing a short laugh at the suggestion, Jerome had never been confused for a counselor in his entire life. “Far from it son. Call that number and you’ll be the one helping me out.” He gave Seth a firm pat on the shoulder. If you really are set on taking your career in a different direction, consider it an open invitation to try something that won’t let your training go to waste.” Standing up with a grunt, he brushed away the grit from the back of his tan slacks.
Squinting into the sun, Seth peered up at Jerome. “I don’t see how joining the Bureau would make sense. Same thing different place.” He motioned to the badge still resting on the step next to him. “Sounds like trading one piece of tin for another.”
With a slight shrug, Jerome admitted that he couldn’t completely refute the young man’s point, but he knew better than to assume that a person’s training didn’t make a difference. “True, you could face this again, no matter what area of law enforcement you choose.” Turning away, he stepped to the sidewalk and lingered there for a moment. “The Bureau isn’t interested in putting square pegs into round holes. Give it a chance though, and we’ll take what’s good in you and make it what’s best in you.”
Giving himself no quarter from the barrage of self-admonishment, Seth had nothing to offer except doubt. “I just don’t feel like I’d give you much to work with.”
Catching a glimpse of Kirkpatrick and her hostage rescue team pass by in full gear, Jerome wondered if they were expecting a second bomber to leap from the bushes. Sour expressions betrayed their collective disappointment at having missed out on the action. “No Mr. Alexander, I think you’ve got it backward. We need people who don’t want to pull the trigger, but will if they have to, just like you did today.” Continuing down the sidewalk, he looked back over his shoulder just as he was about to meld into the fringes of the crowd. “Oh, and one more thing, Officer,” he said as the young man looked despondently up at him. “True monsters never blink. Try to remember that,” he said as he disappeared into the swirling masses.
Looking back into the clear sky, Seth contemplated the dizzying events of the day. Feeling as if someone was looking at him, he brought his gaze back toward the crowd. A particularly contemptuous gaze was being leveled at him by a fierce-looking, red-headed woman carrying an automatic machine gun. “I don’t think she would be afraid to pull the trigger,” he mumbled to himself. The statement sunk in as he realized what Agent Perkins had been trying to tell him. Somehow it gave him comfort that, even if there came a time when he would need to pull the trigger again, he would never truly want to. A sentiment apparently not shared by everyone.
Still holding Jerome’s business card, Seth immediately focused on the words ‘Servare Vitas’. Having been one of the few cadets who had taken Latin as part of his college course selection, he translated it quickly. “To save lives,” he whispered.
As quickly as the envisioned picture of his life had been stripped away, the empty canvas had its first brush stroke of color applied just as suddenly. “Special Agent Alexander has a nice ring to it.” Hearing himself speak those words proved more than a little surprising to him. Standing up, he brushed the grit from his jeans. Taking a deep breath, he walked down the steps, leaving the library, and his badge, behind him.
Chapter 2
Born Identity
Madison, Wisconsin
Spring 1996
“GOOD GOD! YOU….YOU...SON OF A BIIIIAAGGHHH!” Pain fueled rage seethed from behind Lily’s clenched teeth as she gripped the bar on one side of her hospital bed. With her other hand, she grasped her husband’s wrist with enough pressure to turn his hand white from lack of blood-flow.
Wanting nothing more than to ease her pain, and that of his numbing hand, Carl hunched closer to her bedside. “Honey, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” With pale blue eyes, he looked consolingly into his wife’s haggard face.
“YOU can DIE a SLOW, PAINFUL death for EVER, EVER touching me, Carl!” she fumed. “MY MOTHER WAS RIGHT!” The innocent aura of her auburn hair, brilliant green eyes, and cherub-like-freckles were rendered inert by the sheer menace in her voice. As the contraction passed, she melted back into her pillow, exhausted.
Two nurses who had been methodically preparing the delivery room took pity on the browbeaten young man. As an act of mercy, one nurse injected an additional dose of medication into the catheter at the base of the delirious woman’s spine. “There now,” she whispered, “that should help take some of the edge off.” After placing a cool washcloth on the young woman’s sweat-drenched forehead, she went back to other duties.
Disheveled blond hair fell in front of his eyes as Carl raised his head momentarily to watch one of the nurses. She was moving a cart full of glistening metal implements across the room and into position near the foot of his wife’s bed. “Do you think I could get a shot of that, too?” he asked, only half joking. His attempt to break the considerable tension was quickly lost among the beeps of monitors and whispers of the efficient hospital staff scurrying about the room. Turning his attention back to confront the considerable torment on the face of his love. At least he hoped she was still his love. Following the incessant condemnation and animosity, she exuded toward him over the last twenty-six hours, he couldn’t be certain.
One of the nurses moved to stand at the foot of the bed. She promptly switched on a tall, metal lamp which resembled a large ice-cream scoop, flooding harsh white light into Carl’s eyes. Seeing the man react like a vampire caught in the sunrise, the nurse hastily grabbed the gooseneck and adjusted the lamp to direct the light over the lower half of his wife’s body.
“Sorry about that, Mr. Baier,” said apologized quickly. The second nurse leaned in to examine his wife, or at least the parts concealed beneath the thin sheet that was pulled over her propped-up knees. “You’re almost fully dilated….I’ll let the doctor know.” The statement came across as nonchalant as if she were an auto mechanic who was just taking a look under the hood. “It won’t be much longer now,” she promised with a reassuring smile.
— 9 Excruciating Hours Later —
“What the hell is your version of a long time? Never mind, I don’t want to know,” groaned Carl, his typically sensitive nature giving way to a less evolved state of mind. Slumping noticeably on the unforgiving metal stool he had been perched upon for much of the last two days, he quietly longed for years past when a waiting room was the place where fathers-to-be could smoke cigarettes and watch bad reruns until the doctor came in and asked him to christen the newborn. Alas, it was not meant to be. He pondered how we came to live in a society which encourages involvement and sharing of pain. What in God’s name were we thinking? No man could ever hope to bear the pain of childbirth. Men, for all their bravado and brave fronts, would weep more inconsolably than the child they were bearing should they feel the slightest fraction of the inherent pain.
Despite the long, arduous journey it was time for the final approach. A metamorphosis was about to take place. They would no longer simply be Lily and Carl Baier. Forevermore they would be known as ‘The Baier family’.
“I love you, Lily.” Although he had spoken them countless times before, Carl felt as if he had invented the words on the spot, just for this moment.
To his surprise, and despite her great pain, Lily sincerely, albeit breathlessly, returned the sentiment. “I love you, too, Carl.” The pain began melting away as the realization of the moment set in.
As if waiting for those key combinations of magic phrases, the child entered a world of harsh light and thin, frigid atmosphere. Perhaps as a true blessing, the child’s vision was not yet developed enough to make out even the most basic of details seen in human expression; because the face of the doctor would not have been one of warmth and welcome, but rather a flushed sco
wl, a looming reflection of an ensuing hurricane of human emotion. The suddenly pale and defeated physician appeared to brace himself and audibly mumbled, “Damn…not again.” Mechanically, he cut the umbilical cord and held the baby upside down, then briskly slapped the baby’s bottom and unceremoniously handed it off to one of the nurses as it began to cry.
“What’s wrong?!” asked the dazed new parents in unison, their voices leery, as they strained to see their child through the nurses stooped over their baby.
The senior nurse finished the APGAR and quickly wrapped the fragile infant in a sterile white blanket. “It…it’s a girl,” she stammered softly, turning toward the new parents and holding the child up under the harsh light of the adjustable lamp.
Muted clanking of medical implements being nervously shuffled around, hushed whispers of the nurses, and the subtle whimper of a child tasting its first breaths were the only indicators that time itself had not ceased to progress. As the young couple gazed at the child being presented before them, reality set in with a resounding thud. Lily’s mouth fell open in shock and she began to shake her head in astonishment. “This is a trick,” she frowned. Brushing away a lock of hair which had fallen in front of her eyes, she howled with despair. “That’s not my baby!” Her voice sounded so panicked, so desperate, that one nurse immediately began to weep, her own instinct as a mother having been touched like an exposed nerve. “What have you done with my baby?” Lily cried accusingly, reaching for Carl’s hand, only to discover that it was out of reach.
Carl had unconsciously recoiled into the shadows of the small room and pushed his back against the cold concrete of the far wall. Finding that he could push no further, he allowed his back to slide downward toward the floor where a state of shock forced him into a fetal position. Grasping his legs, he buried his face in his knees. Unable to react further physically, only his mind yet had room in which to retreat. The one thought repeating in his head was to wonder how his life had progressed from greatest moment to surreal nightmare in an instant.
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