by Martin, Indi
The two 'paramedics' walked toward the back of the lab and disappeared through a door Morgan had previously failed to notice.
“How was he?” asked Chaz.
Morgan concentrated for a moment before the question made any sense to him. “I don't know,” he answered thickly, having to make great effort to force his tongue to move in a speech-worthy fashion. “He's at the Johns Hopkins Burn Center.”
Chaz nodded. “Good.”
“In Baltimore,” finished Morgan, collapsing into a sitting position on the floor against the wall.
Chaz nodded again. “Great,” he commented, not seeming to find the additional information strange, but resuming his wary watch of Morgan.
Morgan groaned and cradled his head in an unconscious mirror of his partner's earlier pose.
⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼
Hours passed. Gina wasn't sure how many, as she was in and out of sleep. Even when she was awake, the first few times, the seconds stretched interminably as her head threatened to crack in two. Then, blissfully, sleep would take her again. Pain slowly subsided, and this time when she awoke, it had shrunk to a dull throbbing behind her temples.
'Hey,' a soft voice edged in through the dissipating veil of sleep. 'How's your head?'
“Better,” she whispered. She squinted her eyes opened, wincing at the bright lights. It was the silver man's voice, Victor, but she didn't see him at first. It took a moment for her to locate him, across the room. He winked at her.
'Good,' he said again, but his lips didn't move. It took Gina longer than it should have, forcing her sleep-sluggish mind to process the information, and to realize she was hearing him in her head. She squeezed her eyes shut again and concentrated on trying to respond like before.
'Whoa, no, don't,' said the voice, whispering within her mind. 'You've done enough today. Just rest.'
She opened her eyes again and saw Parker lying on the table closest to Victor. He looked down and closed his eyes, placing his hands above her. Gina felt a rush of jealousy, and blinked in surprise; she forced herself to look away and focus on whatever else was going on in the room.
Snyder was against the wall, head between his knees. She guessed he was snoozing, although it hardly looked comfortable.
Tinny electronic beeps caught her attention and she turned to see the young-looking red-headed kid playing on some handheld device, turning it this way and that, and making “Ooh” and “No!” and “Yeaaaah” sounds under his breath. “Hey Chaz,” she said, rubbing her temples more out of habit than out of actual pain.
His head snapped up. “Oh! Hey, Detective. Is this bothering you?” The sounds stopped as he shut the clamshell cover on the game.
“No, it's fine. What happened? Where's Marcus?”
Chaz sidled over and perched on the table next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder, as if they were old friends. Gina felt a smile play on her lips and let the space intrusion continue. “Charlie put 'im out, but he was really messed up. We took him to the hospital, the burn unit. Don't know if he'll be okay. Hope so.” He kept the game shut and looked at her, hands in his lap, seeming happy to have someone to talk to.
“Yeah, me too,” she replied thoughtfully. “What about Yori?”
Chaz smiled wryly. “He's always okay. He'll be back in a while, I bet,” he said cryptically.
Gina considered her words carefully. “He looked pretty messed up,” she lied, not actually remembering seeing him after the incident at all, though she had a vague recollection of him being near her. The aftermath was a blank sheet of white pain in her memory, and she winced recalling it. “What do you mean, 'he's always okay'? No one's always okay.”
Chaz shrugged, but his eyes moved to his lap. “He just is,” he said.
“Why?”
Gina let the question hang in the air for a full minute, ringing in the silence, until it became plain that Chaz either wouldn't or couldn't answer it. He shifted uncomfortably, moving slightly away from the buddy-buddy posture they'd had before. Gina looked over and saw Snyder's eyes watching something behind her intently, but his head was cocked in a way that she guessed he'd been listening to their conversation, too. She craned her neck around to follow Snyder's gaze.
Yori Hanagawa was walking out of the back room, through a door Gina had failed to notice; she wasn't sure how she'd failed to notice it – it was bright red, after all. But even after he moved away from it, it just seemed to fade somehow into the background, and she had to consciously concentrate in order for her eyes to pluck it out from the wall again.
“It's okay, Chaz, I'll handle it,” he announced, sounding on the verge of an exhausted collapse. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his eyes seemed dull. His steps were labored. Chaz jumped off the table and jogged over to a stuffed-leather stool, rolling it back and motioning for Hanagawa to take a seat. Looking grateful, Hanagawa did so. Chaz walked back over to Gina's table, but perched on the very edge of it this time, a few feet from her.
She glanced back over to Parker and the lab-coated silver-eyes. Neither of their eyes were open, and neither seemed aware of the new addition to the room.
“Okay,” she said. “So...”
“No, wait,” interrupted Snyder. “Please, let me.” He stood and faced Hanagawa. “I saw you get shot through the chest. I checked for a pulse and didn't find one. Even though I had you on my shoulders, there wasn't any blood on me – and none on you either. That doesn't make any sense. Then, you get your arm all burnt up, pretty severely I'd say. We take Marcus to the hospital – in BALTIMORE,” he stressed, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Yet here you are, no skin grafts, no bandages. Arm looks fine.”
Hanagawa waited patiently for Snyder to summon up the courage for his question.
“What are you?” he asked, in an official sort of tone.
Hanagawa flashed his brilliant smile at Snyder, before answering in as reassuring tone as he could muster. “I'm a sort of indentured servant, you could say,” he started, turning his head back and forth to split his time between speaking to Gina and speaking to Snyder. “I owed a great deal of time in this service, due to some – well, some penalties and some favors, they're not important to know. A great deal of time.” He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. “We have bosses, too, you know. Everyone works for someone. Anyway, a job went wrong, and I ended up not making it one day.” He shrugged. “It happens.”
“Like, not making it into the office? What do you mean, not making it?” inquired Gina slowly, feeling stupid.
He looked her in the eye, and she shivered. “I died,” he said simply.
Gina met Snyder's eyes, and his features were expressionless. She was sure the disbelief was plain on her own face. He always had a better poker face than she did.
“How did it happen?” asked Snyder, and Gina fought back a smirk. He was using the same tone of voice he used to ask family members of the recently deceased about their loved ones, his hyper-empathetic voice. She quickly looked back at Hanagawa to keep from laughing at the absurdity.
“It doesn't matter,” he sighed. “It was pretty much my own fault, let's just leave it at that. But my contract wasn't up. So here I am.” Hanagawa shrugged again. “I can't die until my time is served.”
“How is that possible?” Gina asked, carefully and in a flat, un-accusing voice. “That doesn't seem possible.”
“Okay. Well, then I guess that explains why you didn't bleed when Gina shot you,” remarked Snyder, and Gina turned to him in astonishment. “Makes sense. You don't have that hole in your chest now. What happened to it?” Their eyes met again, and Gina realized that his expressionless face was not a mask for some sort of inner disbelief, and that his earlier tone had been sincere. She stared at him, eyes wide.
Hanagawa laughed sardonically. “Contract's never closed. For the bargain price of a few more days, months, or years of service, depending, I can get pretty much whatever I need – within reason. Including getting fixed back up. A hospita
l of my own, you could say.”
Snyder's face darkened. Gina could think of nothing to say. “Sounds like a deal with the devil, there, Yori,” her partner remarked questioningly.
The smile faded from Hanagawa's face. “I can see how anybody might think so, yeah. But we work for the good guys.” He gritted his teeth and looked down at his arm, pushing up the sleeve to inspect it again. “It's just that their methods are often uncannily similar.”
Gina felt a chill go down her spine, looking at his normal-looking flesh. She didn't want to know any more information, feeling that regardless of its veracity, knowing more put them in danger. “So,” she started, uncomfortably, “what happens to us now? Me and him? You just...let us go?”
Snyder glanced at her quickly, and almost imperceptibly shook his head. The chill came up again and forced her shoulders to twitch forward.
“Well, that depends on what you want to do, Detectives.” Hanagawa flashed a toothy smile at them, and Gina shivered again; if the smile was supposed to set them at ease, it hadn't had the desired effect. “My partner was rather fond of you, thought you had excellent potential.” This was delivered at her, Gina realized. “I'd say you proved it tonight. Victor was able to unlock a little, but I dare say with practice and training, you would make an excellent telepath.”
Snyder blinked uncomprehendingly at her. Gina felt surprise rising to her own features as well. The word was foreign, but not unknown; one of those urban legend, conspiracy theory sort of words. Ghost stories. She hadn't considered it, even in light of what had happened. “A.. a what?” she stammered.
“I can't train you, of course. That was never my gift. Nor Charlie's. She's a TK.” he continued as if he hadn't heard her. “Sorry, that's a 'telekinetic.' As for you,” he turned to Snyder.
Snyder stiffened as though anticipating a blow.
“She didn't sense any potential in you. I think you're a fine detective, but I don't know that you're anything more, either. I'm sorry.” The apology was delivered formally, and without emotion.
“What does that mean?” he asked tonelessly. Gina watched the exchange, biting her lip concernedly.
“It means you can go home, Morgan.” Gina was surprised to hear Hanagawa use Snyder's first name, and do so warmly. He sounded like he was imparting happy news. “Go home and pick back up where you started. I will personally ensure that none of this will threaten your job in any way, except of course having to find a new partner.”
“Whoa,” interrupted Gina. “What?”
Hanagawa blinked at her. “Well, I would assume you would be interested in joining our organization. We would welcome your talent, and offer training for it.”
Snyder laughed. “Training her? Good luck on that.”
Gina glared at him. “Maybe so.”
“The job's not really that different from the one you've already been trained to do, and the stuff you'll learn...” he looked up, wistfully. “Well, you won't learn it anywhere else, I assure you.”
Looking over, Gina saw the wry sideways-smile still pasted on Snyder's face, and she felt a sudden urge to walk over and smack it off of him. “I'm sure my department wouldn't really miss me,” she muttered, all of the wounds inflicted by her almost-entirely-male set of co-workers flashing in her mind like a flip-book.
Snyder walked resolutely over to her and grabbed her by the elbow, dragging her off to the side of the room. Astonished, Gina walked with him, glancing back at a bemused but silent Hanagawa. “What are you doing?” he hissed.
“Aw, are you upset that they don't want you?” she chimed in response.
Anger lit up his face, and she stepped back, uncertainly. “Holy god, you stupid woman, do you know how many rules I've broken over the last few days? Do you know how many years I struggled to get to where I am, that it was the only thing I ever wanted to do? To be? And I put all of that on the line to make sure you weren't heading off to get yourself killed. Now you can't tell me you're honestly thinking of waltzing off with these... people? You don't even know who they are, who they work for.”
Gina's eyes flashed. “I can take care of myself. No one ever believes that. They all think that because I'm some, as you put it, 'stupid woman,' that I need a big, strong man to watch over me.” She pushed him away roughly with both hands. “I don't! I don't need you, or anybody else. And yes, I do want to know what the hell all of this is about. I don't have anything to lose. If a homicide detective in Oklahoma is all you ever wanted to be, then go, with my blessings, and enjoy your life.” She turned on her heel and walked back to her perch on the metal table. Because the room wasn't large, it was apparent that the others had clearly heard their argument. Hanagawa was intentionally looking away, and Chaz was watching her with wide, concerned eyes.
“What if I wanted to stay?” he bellowed. Gina rolled her eyes.
Hanagawa grinned warily and spread his hands. “Like I said, you're a fine detective. We may be able to make use of you. I don't know. I merely thought you might prefer to return home.”
Snyder stood, slumped slightly, his hands hanging listlessly at his sides. His eyes didn't waver from hers. “Gina,” he said, softly.
Gina turned away, confused and angry.
“Home is through those doors,” continued Hanagawa in a softer voice. “Just like they got Marcus to the hospital, they can get you home. Then tomorrow, you can take a day off, maybe, or head back into the office. Work hard. Catch crooks. It is a worthwhile profession, Detective. Very important work.” Hanagawa was almost cooing at him now, his voice virtually oozing with sympathy. Gina remained facing away, petulant.
She heard the doors slide open, a whisper of metal, and she heard him step inside.
Gina Harwood turned to look just as the doors closed, getting only a glimpse of Morgan Snyder as he disappeared behind the metal.
21
Morgan stepped into the elevator doors, his feet moving while his mind worked through the fog of what was happening. There was too much information being thrown at him, and none of it jived with his personal reality. The doors slid closed behind him, and he turned to get a last glimpse of his partner, but the metal obscured her as it smoothly ran along the tracks.
He looked around. For the most part it looked like a common elevator, but the five buttons to the side of the rear doors were not marked. He furrowed his brow. He hadn't thought to ask for instructions before he walked inside. For that matter, he didn't remember the paramedics having worked anything in the elevator before it appeared at the burn center. Turning, he saw a numbered keypad next to the doors he'd entered; his hand hovered over them for a moment, but he had no idea what number to enter. His hand dropped back to his side.
The whisper of opening doors made him turn, and Morgan was staring into the hallway of his apartment complex. Startled, he stepped forward, and the doors whispered shut behind him the second he left the compartment. Whirling around, he pressed up and down frantically to recall the elevator, panic rising within him, sure he'd made the wrong choice.
The elevator doors creaked opened. No rear doors. Four floors, clearly marked. Dingy and grim. Normal.
Experimentally, he went up one floor, and down one floor, then returned to his own. It was just a common elevator.
He heard a strangled cry escape his lips, and the sound was foreign to him.
Feeling defeated, he walked down the brightly lit hallway. He fumbled for his keys, which were clipped to his belt loop, and entered his apartment. It was a sparsely furnished pad; he flicked on the light and stared at the living room. A black leather sofa, a giant television with excellent surround sound, his DVD collection and a smattering of books on the one tall bookshelf in the corner all stared back at him, silent and familiar.
He switched off the light again and shuffled to the bedroom, falling into bed and into a dreamless sleep.
⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼
Only three days in to his requested week of vacation, Detective Morgan Snyder returned to work. Harwood's stuff w
as gone, cleared out of the small office, and an older man, John Lewis, was sitting in her space. Dully, Morgan stared at him for a few moments, before he realized Lewis was telling him the Chief wanted to see him. And staring at him oddly.
He set his jaw and walked to the Chief's office, not bothering to knock before opening the door and striding to one of the chairs.
“Snyder,” nodded the Chief, not seeming concerned by Morgan's lack of protocol.
“Chief,” he nodded back. His voice felt creaky, having been only sparsely used over the last twenty-four hours. Most of the time had been spent sleeping. The only conversation he'd held was with the drive-thru lackey, ordering a king's portion of tacos, burritos and nachos from Bueno. So this, even though familiar, felt strange and unreal.
“I guess you know that Harwood's gone,” grumbled the Chief. Morgan wondered for a moment if his voice was ever not gruff, even with his wife or kids.
“No, sir, I didn't,” he replied slowly, wondering what story had been concocted to cover her disappearance. Not for the first time, he winced involuntarily, wondering if she was alright.
“Hm.” The Chief frowned. “I was advised you'd been told. I figured she'd say something to you, anyway.”
Not trusting his voice, Morgan simply shook his head.
The Chief's frown deepened into a scowl. “FBI poached her right out of our hands. She took some sort of job. I didn't even know she was interested.”
Morgan's scowl matched the Chief's. FBI. It figured. “Neither did I.”
This seemed to assuage his boss, and Chief waved it off. “I know you'd have told me, Snyder. I don't hold you responsible,” he said in a forgiving voice, his patented way of making it clear the addressee should hold himself responsible anyhow. “Lewis is your new partner. He's been angling for homicide for a hundred years or so.” The Chief chuckled at his own cleverness.
“Yep, he's pretty old,” replied Morgan flatly.