I pulled my coat closer, shivering not from the cold this time. "I'm good Sheehnan. Let's get this over with."
He nodded once, "I can only let you look for maybe ten minutes. The Captain is on his way and wants us to lock this scene up before the news crews begin swarming."
I followed Sheehnan through the garage where I was handed gloves, a mask, and a pair of booties. I listened, slipping on the booties over my converse. "I sent two of my guys over here after we had the meeting at Claire's. I told them to do the usual knock and talk. They came around eight tonight, following up on the DB who did a courtesy check that first night. They got nothing and even less with a few phone calls. One to Anderson's cell and the house number. One to his wife who called us back, telling us her husband had stayed home while she went on a weeklong cruise to Cayamo. She only noted that he had yet to call her back, but didn't think it was unusual since they are in the middle of a trial separation about to hit full blown messy divorce." Sheehnan directed me through a fancy granite covered kitchen, stopping in the middle of a wine room.
I had to swallow a few times as the smells began to hit me, the smells of drying blood and death starting to settle in. I looked over Sheehnan’s shoulder, a large living room was on the other side of the wine room we stood in. The distinctive clicks of a camera and the slight whine of a professional flash charging up, added to the sensory experience. Sheehnan faced me, his voice casting a deep treble over the rustling of thick plastic evidence bags, "One of the officers tonight, caught a glimpse of some blood on the floor. Peeking between the Venetian blinds gave him enough probable cause to do a welfare check and enter the house." He let out a shaky breath, "It's fucked up Kit. I ain't going to sugar coat it." He stood to the side and motioned to the living room.
I took a few steps to stand at the edge of the archway that separated the two rooms.
What I saw in the picture did nothing to prepare me in the least to what I saw laid out in front of me. I had to clench my jaw and squeeze the paper mask in my hand. Creating a tense connection in my body to prevent from throwing up.
What appeared to be a man's body was laying in the middle of the room. In an odd position with a large white sheet dotted with blood, covering the upper half where his head was. I scanned the room, looking away from the man to try to settle my stomach and my pounding heart. Pushing fear and adrenaline through my blood stream.
Blood was everywhere in the room. Making it clear this attack started out as a knock down drag out brawl, a brawl for survival on both parts. Blood splattered on the floor, the nice beige leather couches. Bloody hand prints on the wall, drawing my attention to the fireplace.
I sucked in a tight breath, my jaw clenching tighter as I read the words, "Enlightenment starts here." in blood that had turned a deep red brown as it dried. The phrase made me swallow down a few more times as the bile rose higher in my throat.
Sheehnan walked past me, stepping to the body where the large white sheet laid. He knelt down, crouching close to where it looked like the head was. "I covered this up for when the news snuck in." He picked up one corner with a blue gloved hand, standing up as he gently pulled the sheet away. "Let's say the picture I sent, doesn't do this justice."
I gasped, covering my mouth when the sheet was free from the body. Michael Anderson was dead in a large drying pool of his own blood. I looked away, collecting myself before I looked back at the body.
The first thing that caught my eye was his head, face. Anderson's chin was resting on the tip of his shoulder blade. His neck broken and twisted to an unnatural placement. I moved closer, careful about where I stepped. I was mesmerized by the freakish way and almost artificial way Anderson looked with his face somewhat staring up at me as he laid stomach side down. I crept closer, something catching my eye through all of the blood.
I crouched down to get a better look at his face, hoping it would match the one I met in the mall weeks before.
That's when I noticed Anderson had no face at all.
What I was staring at was a bloodied photograph of Claire's face stapled roughly to Anderson's. Poorly lined up just enough for me to see that Anderson had his face removed in order for the photograph to be the focal point. The thick industrial sized staples glared back at me. Edges of silver biting into patches of flesh and muscle. Some staples were bent as it met bone and refused to go any deeper. The whites of his eyes and hazel irises seemed to look right at me as they peered through the holes cut out in Claire's face. It was eerie and sent an immense amount of fear through me.
I stumbled back a step, my jaw clenching on its own. Looking away, I focused on his hands.
His hands gave me no reprieve from his face.
Anderson's left hand held photographs of Stansfield, Anderson's smiling face from the DMV and Michaela Verger. The photographs arranged and roughly stapled into the palm of his hand, his fingers broken to make room for the pictures to be seen clearly. The word "Sacrifice" scrawled in red across the images.
I stood up and backed away, my eyes drawn to his right hand. My Secret Service ID photograph set next to Claire's official Senate photograph. The same one was given to Anderson as a replacement for his face. In black marker on my photograph was the word, "Survivor." On Claire's, "Atonement."
I couldn't take anymore, stepping back and turning away from the gruesome scene. Looking back into the wine room to try to cleanse what I knew would be forever burned in my memory.
"Anything look familiar to you Kit?"
I nodded slowly, my jaw still clenched so tightly I could feel the muscles strain and beg to be released. The smells of blood and death where now beginning to overpower me. "The handwriting." I cleared my throat, "It's what I saw in the motel. The words sacrifice and enlightenment starts here." I started taking steps to the wine room, desperately trying to keep control and not run out of the house like I needed to. "It's Alistair's signature."
I felt Sheehnan’s hand on my shoulder, gently pushing me back to the kitchen. "You okay?"
I paused before shaking my head slightly, "No." I waited until we were in the kitchen before looking at Sheehnan, "He's obviously upset I survived." I leaned against the granite counter, breathing through my nose to calm down. I was upset. Upset at the idea Anderson's death was brought on by my survival.
Sheehnan broke my thoughts by sliding an evidence bag across the counter to me. "We found this stapled to his back when we came in."
I stared at the bag for a moment before picking it up. There was a large piece of letterhead with "From the Offices of Senator Claire Avondale." printed in black ink, screaming at me. It was her personal letterhead that she kept in her desk. Only she had access to that particular letterhead, I remembered the minor fact since Claire had made it a point to tell me that no interns were allowed to use the letterhead without her personal permission. I felt my stomach drop lower, Alistair's handwriting covered the sheet of paper.
"You play god and others pay for the mistakes. Four horseman to bring the apocalypse. One survived. In the end Jesus was crucified and so will she.
Bzzzzz bzzzzz bzzzz go the little drone bees. Revenge is imminent. I am beyond her science to be stopped."
I looked up at Sheehnan, confused, "This makes no sense at all."
Sheehnan nodded, reaching over to point at the end of the poorly written poem. A small paragraph in the same handwriting. I held the back up to the light, reading.
"Agent Witmer. You won't catch me until it is far too late. You will watch her as she dies in your arms and I watch from afar. She must and will pay for ruining our lives. No one is safe. I will take the ones she loves to suffer before she dies as she did me. The ex-lover, the best friend, the family, and then you. I will always be one step ahead of you."
I threw the evidence bag on the counter, the whisper of plastic hitting the counter softly doing nothing to take the edge off of my building anger. I folded my arms tightly across my chest, trying to hold in the rage and the need to scream. Trying to hold in the fea
r that was also building faster than I could contain it. "Do you have any DNA or any clues who this Alistair is?" I glared at Sheehnan.
"No. The mask you found was clean. The techs are pulling everything they can, but it's a remarkably clean scene in terms of trace evidence." He motioned over his shoulder to the living room, "Whoever tossed Anderson around is a goddamn superhuman. His neck twisted like that, requires more force than a human can produce with bare hands. Anderson is pretty much a pile of jelly, all of his bones are broken and shattered from hard impacts. The ME said it looked like he was thrown from a sixty story building."
My stomach began to twist and roll again. The gruesome scene and details were too much, mixing with the note Alistair left, the nonsensical poem and his direct statement to me. The lack of clues and hard evidence, it literally left me with nothing to go on and very little on how to keep Claire safe aside from locking her up in a fortress. My voice came out in a shaky half whisper, "How do I keep her safe from a ghost, Sheehnan?"
He sighed, frustrated as I was. "You just do Kit. Take her out of town and tell no one where you are." He turned to face me, looking me in the eyes, "I will process the scene and talk to Janes. You do what you have to." Sheehnan took a deep breath, "If we get nothing from tonight. The last thing I can think of to do is bait Alistair. Draw him out."
I shook my head furiously, "No. No. We aren't going to put Claire on display for him to get to her. I will not use her as bait. No matter what." I pushed my hands deep into my jacket pockets, "It's bad enough he can get to her without us realizing it. That letterhead is from her locked drawer in her locked office at the Senate. He is already far too close and I don't want to make it any easier for him to get his hands on her." My voice was raising on its own.
Sheehnan stared at me for a moment before quietly picking up the evidence bag, "I understand, Kit. Just keep it in the back of your mind. It may be our only option." He grabbed my elbow gently, motioning to the front door we came in. "I will walk you out. The ME is about to take the body out, so the smell is going to get worse when they roll the body."
Sheehnan walked me back through the house and out to the Lincoln. The night air was welcomed the second I stepped outside and I took in multiple deep breaths, hoping to clear out the stale, thick smell of blood and death.
Before I climbed into the car, Sheehnan informed me that they had checked on Michaela Verger. The woman was currently in the south of France, still alive on a long winter vacation. She was expected to return home in the next few days and at that time she would allow the police to stop by for a quick look through and interview, giving Sheehnan and I both hope that we could pick up a new lead through her, and maybe prevent her from ending up like Anderson.
I drove away from the house, accelerating out of the neighborhood as fast as I could. The car windows down, letting the cold air flood the car and clear out my head. Yes Alistair's handiwork scared the shit out of me. His obsession with Claire and how he cared very little of who stood in his way, angered me. I was scared shitless and pissed off beyond belief. The only thing I knew to do was combine the two and use it against him. If I did, he would not win, I would.
As I stood over his dead body.
______________________
I slipped into the townhouse quietly and found Davey asleep in the living room, covered in afghan blankets, his gun poking out from underneath the tiny pillow he was using. His right hand clutched at the bottom like a child would with their precious favorite stuffed animal.
I attempted to tip toe past him, when I heard a soft, "Goodnight Kit. She's still asleep."
Looking back, I saw Davey awake with sleepy eyes, half smiling at me. He rolled over and closed his eyes, "Fill me in over those pancakes you were going to make for breakfast."
I threw him a silent salute and continued up the stairs.
Claire was still in bed, looking as if she didn't move a muscle in the entire time I was gone. I stepped into the dark closet, changing into pajamas before creeping to the bed.
I lifted the blankets to find Claire still naked, making me sigh and swallow down the desire to wake her up and have her remove my pajamas. I slid under the covers before the cool air hit Claire's exposed side.
My head barely hit the pillow when I felt the bed shift and her body press into mine, a warm hand finding the edge of my Purdue shirt, moving under it. Her palm warm on my stomach, Claire nuzzled into my shoulder, mumbling, "Mmm. No pajamas."
I looked down at the sleepy blonde, running my hand over her soft hair, "I was cold." Claire's hand moved further up, stopping to rest at the bottom swell of my breasts, "Closer. Warm." Her body pressed deeper against mine. I shifted more, allowing her to partially lie on top of me. Claire was obviously half in a coma and half out of one, mumbling incoherently while her hand made slow movements on my skin.
I laid there, awake. Wondering if this was Claire's attempts at sleep seducing me or if she was just so tired she couldn't function. Finally, the soft sounds of her snores told me she was out for the count. I smiled, kissing the top of her head, pulling the blankets up closer and pulling her closer to me so I could hold her tightly. The time on my phone flashed a little past three in the morning, the blonde would be up in three hours and we could leave as soon as she was ready.
I laid in the darkness, trying to scrub my mind of the crime scene. I wanted to get some sleep but I knew it would be futile. I had seen too much. It would take days for me to shake the images to the back of my mind, if at all.
I also couldn't shake that Alistair had raised the ante, waiting for us to make the next move, play our next hand. I sighed, listening to Claire's heartbeat, letting the simple thump of her consistent heart beating to calm me and give me the strength I would need to keep going.
I had to find Alistair first and I would do everything in my power to do so.
I walked through the house, making sure I had set all of the security systems correctly. Locked up my lab and hid what needed to be hidden. Closing the door on the lab, I could hear Davidek and Kit laughing in the kitchen as they finished loading up the Cadillac. Davidek offered to drive us to the airport, he was heading back to Los Angeles for a few days while Kit and I escaped to Connecticut.
I looked around the basement one more time before climbing the stairs to the kitchen. Kit catching my eyes and grinning as soon as she saw me. Her smile was genuine, but I could see there was something in her eyes that told me she was thinking too much. Something was bothering her and it went beyond the fear of meeting my parents.
I had woken up at the usual six a.m. to find Kit in her pajamas and I naked. I found that strange since I was pretty certain we both passed out together naked after the vigorous shower that lead to other things in my bed. Even through a sleepy haze, the way she held onto me told me other things. I asked if she was okay as we both dressed, and was rewarded with an, "I'll tell you later." comment.
Later, when I went to shower and pack, Davidek and Kit went to the basement, both wearing their tight lipped fake smiles. The same ones both used to hide behind when they indulged in shop talk. Agent shop talk. It would have normally infuriated me, but my behavior the night before didn't give me the right to stomp my feet and demand answers. The only thing I could think of was that Danny had come up with new clues or leads from the two houses of Michael and Michaela. Sending my two protectors into agent mode.
Kit handed me a cup of coffee in a travel mug, "You ready, Claire? Our flight leaves in a half hour. Sam said that it should be quick with the clear weather."
I smiled, taking a small sip, "Sounds good." I followed her to the garage. Bending to pick up my bags, Davidek rushed forward and grabbed them. "Take it easy, Senator. You still have that injured arm." He raised his eyebrows, motioning to the security cameras. "The press showed up an hour ago. Hovering for the first exclusive comment."
I groaned, shifting the coffee to my left hand and cradling my right arm like it was still injured. "Take the back alley out. I'll sit in the b
ackseat and hide."
Kit and Davidek nodded in unison, ushering me to the Cadillac, both taking the front while I hunkered down in the back, shoving a huge pair of sunglasses on my face to hide behind.
As Davidek started the car, I looked over at Kit, "Did you send out the press release?" She leaned in the seat, facing me with a smile, "Last night before you took your stitches out. Then again this morning." She held up her phone to show the bold front page headlines. "I told the media we were moving you to the Naval Hospital in Bethesda for further treatment." Kit winked at me, "I have a couple of friends in the Navy that will ensure the media doesn't pick up on the truth or poke around at that hospital."
I took another sip of coffee, this one larger as I felt the effects of the serum begin to wear away. I pulled out my own phone to scroll through what the newspapers were saying about my incident. "So do you two want to tell me what Danny found or will I have to call him myself?"
It was as if I sucked all the air out of the car with one sentence. Kit's smile faded and Davidek's foot slid off the accelerator, making the car lurch at the stop light at the end of my street.
Kit glanced at Davidek before sliding back in her seat, her demeanor shifting completely from easy going to tense. She looked down at her phone as she spoke, "There was a murder last night. Sheehnan called me about it." Kit pushed her sunglasses on, "We can talk about it later."
I stared at Kit, refusing to accept her pushing it to later, "Where was the crime scene?" I asked softly but firmly. I knew she wanted to keep me safe, but excluding me out of important information would not be helpful. Stansfield was a key example of that.
Kit sighed, setting her phone in the console, turning back to look at me, "Michael Anderson's house. Sheehnan's patrol officers found him dead last night in his living room." Kit's inability to look at me in the eyes and hide behind her sunglasses told me much. There was more to the simple announcement of a crime scene and a dead body. The dead body of a man who accosted me a few weeks ago.
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