Outcomes and Perspective- The Complete Alexis Parker Prequel

by G. K. Parks

  “It’s not fair, Mark. It wasn’t enough time.”

  “It never is.” A tear escaped his eye, and he rubbed it away immediately with the back of his hand.

  * * *

  That night, I didn’t sleep. The next night, I didn’t sleep. Eventually, my pattern turned into crying myself to sleep, oftentimes on the couch. Sam and Michael were dead. There was nothing I could do to fix it, and I would have given anything or done anything to change what was unchangeable.

  By the end of the week, I had attended two funerals. Both unbelievably difficult, but each time, I stood completely still, no longer crying or showing any emotion. I managed to turn it off in public, to appear numb. On the inside, the pain and guilt were unbearable.

  Every day, I went to work and found myself staring at Carver’s desk or Boyle’s office, waiting for one of them to return to ask me to do something. They never did. While the warehouse explosion was under investigation and my actions on that day were being called into question, largely due to my insistence that this was my fault, I was chained to my desk. It only made the agony and longing for my fallen friends that much worse.

  “Parker,” Jablonsky called, “in my office.” Following him, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the weight of the world on his hunched shoulders, and I knew he was hurting too. “Everyone in the office is being sent for a mandatory psych consult. I think we’re calling it grief counseling. Just a word of advice, try not to be so surly.” I shrugged noncommittally. “By the way, the internal investigation has concluded. You weren’t at fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He exhaled. “No one could have known. I thought it would be an easy op, which is why I gave it to you. I did this to you.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I insisted. The rage suddenly boiled to the surface again. “What’s happening to those bastards that sent us into the building without warning?” I snarled, finding it increasingly difficult not to visit the Farlows in lockup and put a bullet through each of their brains.

  “They’ll get what’s coming to them.” He handed me a card with my assigned time to speak with the FBI psychologist, Dr. Weiler.

  “I wish Carver was here, so I could bitch to him about how you think I’m insane.”

  Mark nodded, and I went back to my desk.

  * * *

  For the next two weeks, I was still working from my desk. Dr. Weiler hadn’t cleared me for field work and insisted that I continue to meet with him a few times a week. It was pointless since I never felt the need to be forthcoming in any of our sessions. Also, I didn’t particularly care for the forced therapy. It was one of the things I despised about this job.

  “Agent Parker,” Dr. Weiler said, and I looked up from the spot on the carpet where I’d been staring, “you have to open up. Mourning is a process. Don’t you want to start to heal? Don’t you want the pain to go away?”

  “No.”

  He looked baffled by my response. “Parker, if you want my approval to go back to work in a full capacity, you have to say something.”

  I was tired of this. Tired of the nagging, the bullying, the picking. I was tired of sitting at my desk, waiting for people who were never coming back. I had grown to hate this job, this man, and the person I had become. The price was too high to pay, especially after Boyle and Carver already paid the ultimate price.

  “Y’know what, Doc?” I stood up, angry for being forced to this point. Without it ever being explicitly said, I was given an ultimatum. “I don’t want to heal. I don’t want the pain to go away because it’s the only thing that I have left of Michael and Sam. I don’t need this. And I sure as hell don’t need you.” I stormed out of his office, hearing him protesting in the background that this wasn’t any way for a stable person to act. Who the hell ever said I was stable?

  I went to my desk drawer, pulled out my purse, and removed the envelope I placed inside the day my friends died. Continuing on my path, setting fire to the bridges as I went past, I knocked on the Director’s door, waiting for permission to enter. Once inside, I handed him the envelope and removed my service piece and credentials.

  “I quit,” I blurted out before he managed to open the seal.

  “Agent Parker,” he sounded stern, “you can’t quit.” He launched into a long-winded tirade on how this was a position granted to me by the US government and not some insignificant part-time job. Then he began explaining how I was a valuable asset and could not be replaced. Finally, when I failed to waver, he buzzed his assistant to get Jablonsky immediately.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I insisted, “because I quit. There’s my resignation, my gun, and my badge. I’m done.”

  “Jablonsky, did you know about this?” Director Kendall asked as Mark came into the office, completely unaware of what he was walking into.

  “Alex, let’s talk about this,” Mark suggested, but I shook my head.

  “Two agents aren’t coming back because of me, so there’s no reason in this world why I should still be here. Good day, gentlemen.”

  There was no point in arguing. It was what it was, and it was over. Quickly clearing out my desk, having minimal personal effects making it that much easier, I threw a final glance at Carver’s desk, wishing with all my heart that this was a nightmare I would wake up from.

  Fourteen

  My days and nights held no differentiation since I spent all of my time curled up on the couch, flipping through television programs that I didn’t have the focus to watch. Occasionally, I would shower, change my clothes, or seek out sustenance, but for the most part, I remained on the couch. It didn’t take a fancy Ph.D. to determine I was depressed, and it took even less to determine that I couldn’t give a rat’s ass. Now whether or not the depression was what made me not give a shit or vice versa, well some fancy credentials and extensive research might have been required to figure that one out, just like the chicken and the egg. Luckily, I didn’t care enough to worry about it.

  It had been a month since I left my job. Mark would visit or call every few days to check on me and suggest I come back to work. I was stubborn, and I wanted nothing to do with the only career I had ever known. Not only was I mourning the two obvious losses, but I was also mourning the loss of the life I had. The one that I wanted and tried so hard to achieve. In a single moment, everything changed. Until it happened, I never believed it could.

  There was a knock on the door, and I sighed, not wanting to be bothered to answer. “Parker, I know you’re in there,” Mark yelled from the other side. “I’ve brought you dinner, and I won’t leave until you let me in.”

  Relenting, I answered the door and retreated to the couch. “I’m not hungry. You should save yourself some time and effort and stop coming by. I’m not suicidal. I’m just sad.”

  “You’re telling me,” he snorted. “Look at you; you’re just skin and bones, not like there was much more to work with before either. But I swear,” he shook his head, annoyed, “I’m surprised that TV remote hasn’t been permanently implanted in your palm.”

  “They can do that now?” I asked sarcastically.

  “No.” He brought over a carton of orange chicken and shoved it into my free hand. “When are you coming back to work?”

  “I’m not.” I dug into the carton and began eating automatically. No thought went into the process. “I resigned.”

  “Like I’ve said, the paperwork is not being filed. You’re on a leave of absence. Hell, you had so many sick days and vacation days accumulated that you can take a few months off without a problem. And since this is a temporary leave of absence, there’s no reason not to tack on some extra non-paid days if you need more time.”

  “Mark,” I began to protest, but he put up a hand.

  “You’re acting like a spoiled brat. You’re being selfish. Everyone else is getting their ass off the couch and going to work and making a real difference in this world. What the hell are you doing except making a dent in the sofa cushion?”

  “Get out,” I snarled. But he wasn
’t backing down. It turned into a screaming match, and I found myself standing inches from him as we fought bitterly. “Go.”

  “Do you think hiding here is going to bring either of them back? Is this what Michael would have expected you to do?” he bellowed, and I slapped him hard across the face. He took a step back and rubbed his cheek. “There’s the Alexis Parker I know,” he said, grinning proudly. “She would stand and fight, not cower in the corner.”

  “I don’t know what to fight for,” I admitted. His words jolted me from my self-induced pity party. “Not anymore. I can’t go back to work. Seeing what was there and isn’t anymore, it’s too much. It hurts too much.”

  He nodded, comprehending the emotional toll being at the office took. “I have something for you. Carver left it for you actually, but you weren’t ready before. I think you might be now.” As I stood in a daze, he left my apartment and returned ten minutes later with a small box. “Did you know he was planning on leaving the OIO as soon as we finished the Farlow case?” I shook my head, finally understanding what Carver was planning to tell me all those weeks ago. “This was left with all the doomsday instructions he had written. He made it very clear he wanted you to have this, but you better not have been kidding about not being suicidal.”

  “If I was, I’d have done it already,” I said, wearily studying the container. By the time I looked up, Jablonsky had left, giving me privacy and solitude.

  Inside the box was a nine millimeter, almost identical to my personal handgun. It had been Michael’s. Next to it was documentation, transferring ownership to me, and there was a note. Unfolding the piece of paper, I took a deep breath and began to read.

  Alex, in the event that I am no longer your partner, I wanted to make sure you were never left without adequate back-up. On our first assignment together, you saved my life, and I hope at some point you feel the favor has been returned. This job has been one hell of a ride. ~Michael

  I spent the rest of the evening cleaning and polishing Michael’s handgun and mine. Maybe resigning was for the best. Carver intended to do it, and instead, I was the only one left who could. Something changed, and I felt the shift. Whether it was Mark forcing me to fight or receiving one final message from Michael, I couldn’t be sure of the impetus. That night, I slept in my bed, once again reliving the nightmare of the warehouse explosion and hearing Michael’s words in my ear, as if he were in the room with me. “It’s okay, Alex.” It was the beginning of getting back to some semblance of okay.

  * * *

  Little by little, I started to forge a new normal. Although, oftentimes I still preferred the comfort of sleeping on the couch, remembering falling asleep on Michael’s shoulder. Only now, I was starting to take back control of my life. Every day, I spent hours training, running, lifting weights, shadowboxing, whatever. Then I’d spend countless hours searching for jobs in private security. Being a rent-a-cop wasn’t a top priority, but I hoped to find some work as a security analyst, consultant, or investigator. There had been dozens of applications that I submitted, but the only time I’d get a response was to say I was either overqualified or underqualified for the position.

  Money was still coming in on account of my accumulated personal days, but that would end soon enough. Maybe I should do something else entirely. On a whim, I perused the classified section, disgusted with the lack of options and even more disheartened by the number of things I wasn’t qualified to do. I had no idea how to be a plumber, a nurse, or how to construct a building.

  Mark stopped by, as he did weekly, and we ate dinner while he spoke about his current investigation, and I complained about my lack of employment options. His eyes held a strange glint, and I waited for an elaboration that never came. He simply shook his head, helped me clear the table, and called it a night.

  A few days later, he asked if any of my pending prospects panned out. I laughed at the ridiculousness of the question since I didn’t seem qualified to do anything now that I was no longer a government employee.

  “I know someone who needs some help. He’s been receiving threatening phone calls, and there’s been some corporate espionage involved,” Mark clarified. “I’m not sure it’s anything you’d want to handle, but he’s getting desperate. Can I pass your name along?”

  “That’s what I’m left with?” I asked. “Maybe I can get a job if you know a guy who knows a guy who’s desperate.” I shook my head. “Sure, worse case he can reject me like everyone else.”

  “It’s not a friend of a friend. It’s my friend,” he insisted. “Submit your résumé to Martin Technologies, and I’ll make sure they schedule an interview for you within the week.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Now that an actual job opportunity was presenting itself, I wasn’t sure I wanted it. The couch was starting to look appealing once more, but maybe I was just scared of screwing up again.

  “Parker, you didn’t fuck up here. You’re still one of the best agents I’ve ever seen, and there will always be a place for you at the OIO. But give this a chance. I can’t guarantee you a job, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to try to get back out there. With any luck, you can resolve this issue for Marty within a couple of weeks. His name will be a great résumé booster, and then you can find something permanent to your liking.”

  “Marty?”

  “James Martin, CEO of Martin Technologies.” Mark paused, trying to come up with a better way of explaining who this guy was. “The fifty year old scotch I got with my last divorce, that was from him.”

  “What the hell,” I replied, resigned to taking this unintended avenue, “at least he has good taste in scotch.”

  Enjoy this preview of Likely Suspects, the first full-length Alexis Parker novel:

  One

  “Yes, I’m Alexis Parker. Pleased to meet you.” I extended my hand and watched my reflection in the mirror. To say I was nervous for my interview this morning was a bit of an understatement. After turning in my letter of resignation to the Office of International Operations, I hadn’t been able to get so much as a call back from anywhere else, despite the dozens of applications I submitted. I wasn’t ready to admit my leaving the OIO was a bad idea; the job required too much bureaucracy and red-tape for my liking.

  I had spent four years of my life working investigations, chasing art thieves and smugglers, and I had nothing to show for it except a fairly sparse résumé and a meritorious service award. I sighed and continued to get ready, straightening my long brown hair and putting on the proper amount of makeup to look professional and serious without being over the top. I didn’t want the guys at the Martin Technologies security office to confuse me with either a clown or a call girl.

  I’m twenty-nine, single, and unemployed. Who wouldn’t want to hire me, I thought bitterly, especially when I’m such a great catch. The truth of the matter is I always had what one would have considered a bright future. I’m fairly intelligent, well-educated, and decent enough looking. The problem is I lost my focus and drive to stick with one thing, which would probably explain my current lack of employment.

  Before I could continue farther down the path of figuring out how my life had gotten so derailed and my internal thought processes could reach the combustible point, my cell phone began vibrating across the vanity. I flipped off the flat iron and looked at the caller ID. Martin Technologies read the small display. Taking a deep breath, I hit answer, fearing my scheduled interview had been a clerical error.

  “Hello?” I said, fumbling with the now unplugged flat iron I was trying to wrestle into the bathroom cabinet.

  “Ms. Parker, please,” the woman on the other end sounded annoyed.

  “This is Alexis Parker.” Two could play at this game.

  “Ms. Parker, I am calling on behalf of the Board of Supervisors at Martin Technologies in regards to your nine a.m. interview. Mr. Martin would like to be privy to the interviewing process, and he requests your interview is moved to,” the voice paused, as if rereading a memo to make sure the details
were accurate, “10:15 today.”

  “That’s fine.” I was relieved my interview had only been rescheduled and not canceled.

  “Okay,” the voice hesitated again, “I will update the security office in the lobby to be prepared for your arrival at 10:15 instead of nine. Do be prompt. Mr. Martin does not like to be kept waiting.” And with that, the call clicked to an end.

  “Nice talking to you, too.” I hit end call, wishing this was a landline so I could have slammed the receiver down. I took another breath and looked in the mirror. I was an experienced and capable investigator. I should be able to handle some security consulting work for a corporation, I tried to reassure myself.

  At nine thirty, I walked out my front door with my résumé and copies of my degrees in hand. What else would Mr. Martin of Martin Technologies need in order to properly assess my qualifications for the job? A certified copy of my birth certificate, a blood sample, and maybe my last will and testament? Perhaps these were just details the woman who called this morning had failed to mention during our brief conversation. No, I’m not going to be bitter and annoyed because of someone’s lack of phone manners or the rescheduled interview. Some things are just not worth it.

  I began thinking of how I had come to apply for the job at Martin Technologies in the first place. Mark Jablonsky had put in a good word with Mr. Martin, the company’s founder and CEO. Mark had been my training officer at the OIO and insisted this potential opportunity would fit my personality and interests like a glove.

  Mark and Mr. Martin were friends or colleagues of some sort. The actual connection was still a mystery, but Mark assured me I would at least get a chance to interview based on his recommendation alone. Initially, I resisted, thinking this was just another sign of quasi-nepotism, or at the least favoritism, running rampant in the workplace. However, after several weeks and no other job opportunities, I figured what the hell. It was at least worth looking into.