Reed

by Mariska Hutchence

  Back at the bus stop. This time, I’m waiting for something else. A few people have gone inside the field office, but no one I recognize. Mostly, they’ve been going out. Another hour or so and my position won’t be viable, since a brief chat with a fellow patron of the municipal mass-transit system let me know that the next bus, about twenty minutes from now, will be the last. If no one has noticed the guy sitting for hours at the bus stop, they probably will at some point.

  It's the not knowing that’s killing me. The handgun in the pouch of my hoodie is at least something, but if Duke really is planning to hit the field office, it’s going to feel really inadequate. I’m not really the shooting type. Nothing’s ever moved me enough to want to take another’s life, but my motivations; hell, my whole life has changed.

  When the last bus of the night blocks my view of the building, I use it as an opportunity to shrink back into the shadows, piling myself into the corner of an alcove next to the opening of an insurance office, offering ‘low rates and no credit check’ right on the front door. Other lives, I think.

  I’ve almost put together a plan of my own. If I could pull it off, it might work to just go in and ask to see an agent, pretending I have some important information. That might give me an idea if the agent at the desk is it or not. There’s still a pair of cars in the parking lot, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. The one seems personal, the other is just too unmarked to be anything but a Bureau vehicle. Disappointingly, another car pulls up and a man goes inside. Five minutes later, though, an older guy leaves, taking the unmarked with him. So…at least two, right?

  The night tests my patience, but I’m hoping that the newcomer will leave. So far, I’ve been disappointed. The only movement so far has been the inevitable appearance of the night people, but I can imagine that the size of my shadowed frame in the alcove is enough to discourage most that are just out for an easy score. I’m about to dismiss the latest passer-by on the other side of the street when I see the dim glow from what has to be a cell phone. There’s a streetlamp on that side, but it’s throwing shadows just right for me not to be able to make out any details. That loses its worth, though, when the figure approaches and enters the front door of the field office.

  The first gunshot is so muffled that I don’t even recognize it at first, but a moment later I’m on my feet, awkwardly pulling the gun from my hoodie as I cross the street, looking both directions as if looking for traffic. It pays off, though, as I see another person moving swiftly from down the street. I finish crossing, then walk straight past the front door.

  A quick glance back and this time I’m in luck, or at least in a relative sense. Gray’s face looks my direction, but I continue walking as he quickly opens the door and steps inside.

  I know it’s probably one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done, but I give him less than a minute before I follow him. The smell of gunpowder is the first thing, the sight of the body on the floor is the second.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Thursday Night – Des

  Of all the things I was expecting to see come through that door in my loneliness, the last one was Clark.

  “Hey, Des.” He says, trying to force a smile.

  “Clark.” I say, trying to keep emotion out of my voice.

  “Cisneros says that you’re cooperating.”

  “Yeah, there’s that.”

  “You know I still care about you, Des.” He says. If he’s waiting for a response, he doesn’t get one. I think he realizes that pretty quickly. “They’ve got a counselor coming for you in the morning, but Alex thinks it would be best if I talked to you first.”

  “For my Stockholm Syndrome?” I ask, dismissively.

  “You’ve been through a lot, Des.” He says, which I take as a yes.

  “I turned him in. You’d think that would be good enough.” I say.

  “He cares about you too, Des. Everyone does. It should tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “It should tell you something that I’m here. What do you think that means?”

  I stare blankly at him as he sits in one of the chairs at the table. I stand up from where I’ve been lying on the floor and take the other. “I know you care, Clark. I’m sorry that I’ve changed. I know that’s not fair to you.”

  “I just want to see you be happy, Des.”

  “Do you?”

  The words hang in the air for a long time before he speaks again.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” He asks.

  “It?”

  “About Reed Calhoun. Your kidnapping. At some point you need to talk to someone about it. Alex says you’ve been as tight-lipped here as you have been at home.”

  I notice how he still uses that word, home. “You really want to know, Clark?”

  “Of course I do.”

  Starting at the beginning, I recount the story, and from the exchanged looks, it’s probably much more therapeutic for me than it is for him. It reinforces my feelings for Reed, and I can see Clark wanting to interject at points, but I don’t let him.

  “…and then he just walked out.” I say, recounting the scene where Reed set me free. “He just said that, and he left me there. He knew what it would mean, and he did it anyway.”

  I can tell that Clark is a little shaken by it all, but I can see that he’s trying to decide what to say when he turns his head towards the door, alerted by the same sound that already has me out of my chair.

  “Get over to the side of the door, Clark.” I say. Something in the tone of my voice makes him move. I answer him before he even gets a chance to ask. “That was a gunshot. How many agents are here, do you know?”

  “Cisneros was leaving when I came in. I only know about the guy at the desk.”

  I try the handle of the door, gently. Locked.

  “Shit, Clark, how were you supposed to get out of here?”

  “I’m supposed to text the guy at the desk. I have his number here.” Clark says, fishing into his pocket.

  “I have the feeling he’s not going to answer.”

  The door would open from the outside, but I’m not looking forward to that happening. Reed? The possibility creeps in but I immediately dismiss it. That’s just not his style. I hear footsteps outside of the door and I press my finger to my lips, Clark’s face just inches from mine.

  I hear the door across the hall opening. There’s a moment of silence before I hear it close again. A second later, I see the handle of the door to the interrogation room moving downwards. Gesturing to Clark to step back, I brace myself for what I’m going to have to do when that door opens.

  Another gunshot rings out, this time much closer, and I hear a grunt on the other side of the door, then rapid footsteps heading down the hall. A second glance over to Clark shows me that he’s out of the way, but I’m more worried about shock than anything else. The handle starts turning down once again.

  I see Clark’s eyes come up to the intruder as the door opens, a hand with a gun leading the way. I wait, hoping that the terrified eyes of my former boyfriend will wait just a moment longer before flicking over to me. I lash out, my hand finding the assailant’s at the same time I lunge forward, throwing out my hip and pulling him towards me. The move forces him off balance and we both go to the floor, my hand still on his. In the brief commotion, I manage to get my finger behind the trigger, though I’m actually stunned when I don’t feel it crunch down as he tries to fire.

  “Des?”

  It’s almost funny how I suddenly recognize the embrace, since it’s so different than the last one we shared. Reed pulls the hoodie down and I’ve never been so happy to see such a scraggly mop of blonde hair in my life. I give him the best smile that I can, but once again I find myself pressing my finger to my lips as I extricate myself and gently shut the door.

  “How many?” I whisper.

  “At least two, probably three. They’re here for you. I’m sorry.”

  I shut the big lug up with my fist g
ripping the front of his hoodie as I pull his lips down to mine. It’s brief, but it is more valuable to me than I would have ever thought possible.

  “You’re supposed to be out of the country by now.”

  Reed gives me that sheepish look that I love. “Did you shoot one of them?” I ask.

  He nods, and I think that it’s really bothering him. I can’t really blame him, though. I’ve wondered often how I will feel the first time, not even considering that it would never have to happen.

  “I think I just winged him, though.”

  “Do you think that will scare them off?” I ask, not happy at all with the shaking head that follows.

  “What are we going to do?”

  I turn around sharply, having forgotten about Clark.

  “Give me a minute.” I say, but it takes me less than that. “I’m going to see if it’s clear for us to head out the back door.”

  “Des…” Clark says, but I’m already turning the handle as Reed is handing me a gun. I recognize it. In the dim light, I can see the inscription; it belonged to Ellis.

  I step out into the hallway, closing the door gently behind me, but almost immediately hear voices. “…down there on the left.” I almost go back in but decide to go into the room on the other side of the hall instead. I flick off the light and close the door.

  The figure crosses right in front of the little square window, but I can see he is facing the door across the hall; the interrogation where Clark and Reed are still hiding. Reed is armed, but I don’t like his chances. Shit, I love the man, but I took him to the floor all to easily.

  He turns the door handle and backs up quickly as he pushes it open. Three rounds are fired rapidly and I’m fearing the worst, but I see my opportunity like a ray of sunshine. I pull the door open just as he’s retreating and off balance from the shots, pulling him hard by the back of the shirt into the room. I feel the round blow past my right ear as he falls into the room, the noise of the shots falling to nothing but a high-pitched whine in both of my ears. Two more shots echo in my head, but it’s more of a pressure change than a sound that alerts me. Two steps forward and I’m flinging the door shut, allowing it to lock from the outside by design. The little window blows out, raining glass down on my head as I scramble on my knees across the hallway.

  “He’s locked in there.” I say, breathlessly as Reed takes me into those powerful arms, which helps a little with the shaking.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, Des.” He says.

  “Yeah, I’m working on that.” I say. My ears are starting to clear a little bit, but the whine is still there, underneath.

  “Do you think we can make it to the back door?”

  “You know where it is. Take Clark and go. I’ll try to cover.”

  I stand up, my knees shakier than ever. He starts to say something, but I’m already out the door. I don’t even want to hear it. Creeping down the hall, I’m trying to listen for any sounds coming from the other gunman, but the howl in my ears is preventing that.

  Coming around the corner, she catches me by surprise, since I’m looking at eye level and she’s slumped on the floor against the wall. She’s down, but the gun pointed at me at arms-length negates that. The two of us just stare at each other in the dim lights and I imagine her line of fire is as clear as mine. I ask myself if I can pull the trigger, and I’m just hoping she’s asking herself the same question.

  “You must be Des.” She says. I can just make out her face but the words are finally becoming clear. I’m not sure what to say, but she keeps going after a second.

  “Are you worth it?”

  “Worth what?” I ask, confused.

  “Reed.” She says, the moment we both start hearing the sirens approaching.

  “I love him, if that’s what you’re asking.” I say, feeling the tension and the shaking in my trigger finger. I can see the dark spot growing on her shoulder even with the lighting the way it is. I see the gun lower and hear the rear exit door around the corner slam shut. Hopefully Reed and Clark.

  “Go then.” It’s almost inaudible, but I see her lay the gun down on the floor. “Go!” She shouts.

  I turn, but before I get around the corner I hear another shot, just as I feel a burning sensation in my shoulder. She wouldn’t have had time to pick up the gun, so I rush to the door. There must be someone else.

  Clark and Reed are outside and I hear their words cut off when I come out of the door, pressing it shut.

  “There’s one more. You need to go!” I shout at both of them.

  “Des, I…” Reed says, coming closer to me, just as a bullet breaks out the glass.

  “Just fucking go, Reed. Just go. I love you, but go. You know where I’ll be.” I can hear the crying in my own voice.

  Reed looks at me longingly, but the sirens are almost here. I watch him scramble over the fence and disappear into the darkness, leaving me alone with Clark. I swing to the door, gun raised, but there aren’t any more rounds and it doesn’t open.

  “What did he say to you?” I ask Clark.

  “He asked me if I loved you.” Clark says, stunned.

  I have a brief moment, wondering if Reed is going to do what had crossed my mind only hours ago; letting him go so his life can be normal. Surprisingly, Clark fixes it.

  “I said yes, if you’re wondering.” He says, and it fills me with sadness; not only for me, but for him as well. “So you should go too.”

  I stare at him, tears streaming down my cheeks in the moonlight. “Go be with him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Thursday Night – Reed

  There’s no cars in the driveway, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s not stopping me though. I know my emotions are too amped up for this, but they’re not stopping me. I kick in the front door, gun in hand, swinging it from left to right as I turn on the light. In thirty seconds, I’m confident there’s no one there, so I head to the back bedroom for the second time. Another thirty seconds and I’m out the front door again, bag in hand, sliding into the driver’s seat.

  It’s going to take me a while, but I’m going to get there, and this will help. I haven’t counted it, but usually it’s about a hundred-thousand; more than enough to ease my passage. The only way I can think, though, is through Duluth. Third time’s a charm, right?

  The long drive has me replaying every single moment of the night over and over again, and I’m nothing but impressed by the woman I’ve fallen in love with. I should feel embarrassed by the way she took charge of the situation and my own relative sluggishness, but there’s nothing but pride. By the time I arrive in Duluth, the image of the willowy red-head with gun in hand actually makes me want her more. Yes, it was fucking sexy. Why should that be so hard for a guy to admit to himself?

  None of the ships are familiar and I curse my luck, but I’m not going to let it stop me.

  “Hey brother, you got a smoke?” I ask as I pass the guard at one of the gangplanks.

  He seems to take pity on me. Either that, or it’s the boredom of the job, but he presents a cigarette and lights it for me.

  “You guys heading out soon?” I ask.

  “They are. I’m local. Should be pulling out in an hour or two.” He says.

  We shoot the shit for a moment and I try to take his lead, building his empathy. I flick the spent cigarette towards the ship where it sinks down into the water with a hiss. I reach back into my back pocket and pull out a roll of bills. I come straight to the point.

  “So how much would it take to get you to go take a piss over there?” I ask, nodding to the shadows.

  He looks at me and makes me doubt for a moment, but his eyes keep going to the roll of bills. “That would do it.” He says.

  I chuckle and toss it to him. He catches it in one hand, hefts it, then reaches into his pocket and tosses back the pack of smokes, the lighter tucked into the cellophane.

  “It’s gonna be a cold night.” He says as he walks away.

  ___


  I feel the engines firing up less than an hour later. I’ve been keeping my eyes out for the customs guys, but they probably already inspected before I came aboard. Most people would probably be surprised at how lax things are in the shipping industry, especially on the northern border. I don’t have any clue where I’m going, but the longer I can stay aboard, the better. I pull the bag up under my head, staring up at the stars from between the containers. When they finally start to move, I smile and close my eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thursday Night – Des

  My shoulder is killing me, but a quick stop at a gas station told me that the bullet had only grazed me. I’ll have a nice little scar, and should probably get some stitches, but priorities have to lie elsewhere.

  It’s the same guy at security, and he laughs as I approach.

  “Back for more fun, I see.” He says, just waving me by before I even present my badge.

  I put on a smile, trying to throw a little flirt into it. “Yeah, they’re still thinking he’ll be here.” I say. “They’re allowed to be wrong once in a while. You gotta work all night?”

  He looks at me, a little stunned. “I get off at two, if you want to…”

  “I’ll swing by.” I say, leaving him a little speechless. I feel bad about it, but the hope is it will buy me enough time.

  The ease at which I get on the plane shocks me, and I’m nursing my shoulder as the flight attendant comes by. “You look like you need a drink, love.” She says, looking at me with a friendly smile.

  “That I do. How long before we take off and you start serving?”

  “They should be sealing the doors in a minute.” She says, but then looks down at me again, her bright blue eyes flashing at me. “What’s your poison?”

  “Vodka rocks.” I say as she departs.

  “Long night?”

  I look over to the window seat and there’s a guy there, early twenties, his dingy brown hair done up in dreadlocks.

  “Indeed.” I say. “Are you headed to Guatemala, or are you getting off in Houston?”