Muffled Echoes

by G. K. Parks

  “It’ll take time, but Agent Cooper is checking into it.”

  “Well, according to Lucca, I was here. I don’t remember how I got here.” I turned around, heading back inside the garage and leading the way to the roped off exit on the south side of the building. “I remember tripping over the chain.” I swallowed. “I was in a rush to get somewhere.”

  “Were you being pursued?”

  “I don’t know.” I ducked underneath the chain and stood outside the garage. In daylight, everything looked more sanitized, including the surrounding neighborhood. “I’m not sure how I got to this spot.”

  “You must have been coming from that direction.” He pointed toward the backs of the neighboring buildings. “If you came from the main drag, you would have entered the garage through one of the normal doors,” he narrowed his eyes, searching for something, “unless you were observing someone else and wanted to sneak around.” His gaze settled on me. “What the hell were you doing?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “From now on, you won’t so much as scratch your ass without my permission. Is that clear?”

  Grumbling, I took a few steps toward the nearest alleyway. From what I could tell, it opened up on another street. “Do you have GPS and a map?” I asked. “I want to know where this leads.”

  He scrolled through the information and held out his phone. Glancing at the information, I hoped something would set off my internal buzzer, but it was just an alley that connected to another main road. Maybe I needed to see it for myself. Heading down the narrow path, I tried to remember if anything was familiar, but the surrounding brick walls and the smell of garbage and urine weren’t unique. It was an alley, just like any other.

  A third of the way through, the tight space widened slightly, and a few dumpsters pressed against the wall. Jablonsky stopped, opening one and glancing inside. While he was distracted, I continued on my way, noting the metal doors that cut the monotony of the brick wall. They were exit only, without exterior handles, but I had the vaguest memory of attempting to open a door.

  “Parker,” Jablonsky said, coming up from behind, “did you find something?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither. Do you want to turn back?”

  “Not yet.” Continuing farther on our path, we were stopped by a tall, chain-link fence. A padlock secured the door in place, keeping pedestrians from using the alleyway as a thoroughfare. A dumpster stood on the other side, close enough to aid in vaulting over the high fence. Another flash shot through my mind. “I was here.”

  “Okay.” Jablonsky radioed for a thorough search of the alleyway and surrounding areas. “With any luck, we’ll determine where you were.”

  “I know I jumped the fence.” I pointed to a piece of cloth that hung on one of the top metal spikes. “I’ll bet that matches what I was wearing the morning you found me.”

  “Do you remember it?”

  “Vaguely. It was dark, and I hurt. Everything was spinning.” Squinting, I fought against the fuzzy blur that blocked my memories. “I had to escape.”

  Jablonsky stood in front of me, prepared to catch me if I were to collapse or stop me if I had another freak-out. “Why?”

  Swallowing, I closed my eyes, forcing my mind to find the answer to that question. The sound of gunfire caused me to jump, and I reached for my weapon. Jablonsky grabbed my arm before I could remove the gun from its holster. He didn’t look alarmed, and I suspected what I heard had been in my mind.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Gunfire.”

  “You were escaping gunfire?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but I didn’t know what to say. Words wouldn’t come. I didn’t know what happened then, and I wasn’t even sure what was happening now. “My service piece is missing,” I said, trying to make sense of things.

  “We know. Do you remember what happened to it?”

  “No.” I shook off the questions and the fog, deciding not to try to force the facts to come to me. “Let’s go around and see if I remember anything from the other side of that stupid fence.”

  “Parker,” Jablonsky hesitantly asked, “are you sure you want to do this? Our team can handle it. You’re not on the case. You don’t have to be here.”

  “I was here before. I’m the only one that can tell you what happened,” I laughed bitterly, “if I remember.”

  We made our way back to the garage, and Jablonsky insisted on driving to our next destination. Something about my behavior in the alley had changed him from curmudgeonly boss into worried father. Frankly, he was the closest thing I had to a parent since mine abandoned me. It was sweet he was worried. Hell, I was worried, but I didn’t think hoofing it for a few blocks would make my problems any worse.

  “You called Martin,” I said as soon as I was nestled into the government-issued SUV. It was the best distraction I could think of to avoid the reverberating gunfire I kept hearing in my head. Two shots. Then another. “And he actually spoke to you this morning by choice. Does this mean you’re friends again?”

  “God, Parker, we aren’t children. I understand why you’d be confused though. Marty acts like a child.” He chuckled. “Wow, you had him pegged from the first night the two of you met. I should have listened to you then.”

  “You should always listen to me,” I declared, knowing that they were in the process of patching things up, “especially when I tell you I’m fine.”

  “You’re always fine, even when you aren’t. Thankfully, Lucca isn’t as easily bullied or fooled by your little routine.”

  “So he blabs to you, and you blab to Martin. I didn’t realize that the men I work with were nothing but bored washwomen.”

  “What happened yesterday afternoon?” Mark asked, illegally double-parking near the opening of the alley. “I want the truth.” I pressed my lips together and stared out the windshield. “Off the record.”

  “I just lost it for no reason. I was searching my car for clues as to my destination, and everything was okay. Then I looked inside the trunk, and it just hit me.”

  “What did?”

  I didn’t want to vocalize what I remembered, but it could be important. Or more than likely, I was batshit crazy. “This image of a body, bloody and wrapped in plastic.”

  “Whose?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t see through the blood.” I struggled to keep my emotions in check. “It seemed so real, but it could be my imagination or a scene from some movie I watched. I don’t know.”

  “Was that it?”

  “Yeah, it startled me, and I backed up. I hit the no-parking post after hitting my side on the car door, and I went down for the count. Lucca kept insisting it was a panic attack, but I don’t think it was.”

  “What do you think it was?”

  “A moment of weakness.”

  “No,” Mark chuckled, “I meant the image of the body. What do you think that was? Was it a memory?”

  “It might have been a sign that I watched one too many episodes of Dexter. After all, I do have a vivid imagination.” My denial was more for my benefit than Mark’s. If the macabre image that surfaced in my mind was real, that meant someone was dead and I’d been close enough to see the aftermath. It could be the reason I was running and why I was injured. “Didn’t you say I shouldn’t jump to conclusions?”

  “I might have, and if I didn’t, it’s sound advice. You should follow it.” Mark opened the car door. “Now let’s check out the rest of the alley.”

  Ten

  The other half of the alley was ordinary. Aside from the fence in the middle, there was nothing memorable about it. On the way out, Jablonsky thought he spotted a possible blood trail and requested an evaluation by our already overworked crime scene technicians. He was determined to make progress, even though I was ready to give up.

  It was mid-afternoon by the time we headed back to the car. The lab techs had found some blood drops that had seeped into the concrete. Samples were taken for comparison, an
d the piece of cloth that hung from the top of the fence had been retrieved for further analysis. If anything, they’d determine that I was in the alley.

  “We’ll be able to update our parameters,” Jablonsky said. “Our primary objective at this point is to determine where you were. Once we know that, it’ll be easier to figure out what happened and who’s responsible.” Before I could voice a protest, he gave me a stern look. “It’s basic investigation techniques. We work most cases like this. See, you’re not so special.”

  “What should I do in the meantime?”

  “Go home. Go to Marty’s. It doesn’t matter, just go somewhere safe.” He held the car door open, and I hoisted myself into the SUV with my good arm. He shut the door and went around to the driver’s side. “If it were solely up to me, I’d leave the detail in place. I know you hate having them outside your door, but it’d make me feel better. Unfortunately, it’s been over seventy-two hours. There’s no basis to keep them at your beck and call. However, if anything changes, I’ll have them back there so fast, you’ll think they never left.”

  “Thanks.” I stared out the windshield. “You said Cooper was checking into the police angle.”

  “He volunteered,” Jablonsky said. “Why?” He shifted his gaze to me, but he knew the reason for the question. “I’ve contacted OCU, but they don’t think Vito’s behind this. Do you really think he’d make a play for you just because you’ve been reinstated?”

  “I don’t know. Sure, when Director Kendall offered me my job back, I thought accepting would be suicide because of the threat, but Vito went completely silent after that. Some time passed, and when I finally agreed to return, the threat didn’t seem real anymore. But anytime something happens, the first thought that runs through my mind is: ‘This is it. Vito’s making good on his threat.’ I’m starting to feel like a dead man walking.”

  “Alex, I wouldn’t have asked you to return if I thought his threat was credible. We took measures to safeguard against a retaliatory attack and a preemptive strike. You should be safe.”

  “Then why did you contact OCU?”

  He took a deep breath. “It doesn’t hurt to be thorough.” He glanced at me, knowing that whatever happened had spooked me. “Don’t make any rash decisions, Special Agent Parker. We’re still compiling intel. We have a case to work.”

  “Funny, I’m not authorized to work any cases since I’m on medical leave.” I focused on the buildings that passed by. “Call if you make any progress or if you need help determining Shade’s next move, but other than that, I intend to take advantage of my downtime.”

  “The hell you are,” Mark griped. He knew me better than that. “Just promise you’ll stay out of trouble.”

  “Absolutely,” I said, stepping out of the car as soon as it came to a stop in front of my apartment. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

  “Well, at least Marty will be happy.”

  * * *

  Martin’s estate was large, secluded, and definitely too quiet for my current state of mind. By the time I packed a bag, grabbed the remaining sandwich from my fridge, and contacted Marcal, Martin’s personal valet and driver, to give me a ride to the house, Martin had already left for work. And he wondered why I chose to stay at my place for the duration of his company’s internal audit. Rolling my eyes, I dropped my bag in the second floor guest suite, which was a recreation of my apartment, and put my pill bottle on the kitchen counter.

  I hadn’t taken any in the last two days, and I considered flushing the contents. But maybe I’d fall on hard times and need to hock the painkillers on a street corner. It was a distasteful joke, and I scolded myself for thinking it. Far too often, things like that actually happened. Addiction was rampant in this country, especially since the pharmacy-grade narcotics were far superior to most of the street-level shit. It was depressing to think how far we’d fallen as a society. Well, even Rome fell, so whatever. I wasn’t in the business of philosophical discourse or political ideology; I was paid to enforce the laws as a tool of the man or whatever the modern day hippies were calling the federal government. Wow, I needed to stop watching movies from the 1960s.

  Restless as always, I performed a preliminary walkthrough of the estate, avoiding most of the third floor and the ghosts that resided there. The fourth floor housed our bedroom and Martin’s office. The place was pristine, and I indulged in a shower and a change of clothes before returning to the main level. The second floor contained the living room, kitchen, and dining room. However, I’d been given the run of the downstairs office, so to show my gratitude, I decided to do something productive.

  “Dammit,” I swore, annoyed by my practically illegible writing, “it had to be my right wrist. God forbid it was my left.” Erasing the chicken scratch on the whiteboard, I tightened my grip on the marker and started over.

  On the first board, I jotted notes about the flashes and dreams I’d had since the incident. On the next board, I listed the limited number of facts we had. Then I chronicled the items that were undergoing analysis. Lastly, I struggled to remember the evidence that had been collected and catalog it appropriately. Since I wasn’t allowed access to my own case, or any case, I didn’t have copies of the files or information that Lucca and Jablonsky had brought to my apartment during their preliminary investigation. Luckily, I remembered most of it.

  Picking up the phone, I dialed the hospital, hoping they could supply facsimiles of my medical records. Of course, it was after five, so the records office was closed to civilians. Without my OIO credentials, I’d have to wait until tomorrow. Frustrated, I scanned through my handiwork, shut my eyes, and screamed. Why was this so complicated?

  Dropping into a chair, I leaned back, forcing myself to see the forest amidst all the damn trees. Think logically. Getting up, I went to the board, writing numbers next to the facts and memories until I had a decent narrative.

  It was after seven when I left the OIO building in order to meet with a confidential informant. At some point, I was indoors, presumably consuming alcohol. The meeting went badly. Maybe a man was leaning over me, and I felt trapped. Something happened, and I ran outside to escape or possibly get help. I went through the alleyway, hopped a fence, darted into a parking garage, came out on the other end, and lost consciousness.

  “Great, too bad I don’t remember any of it.” My eyes honed in on the facts that weren’t included. “When did I lose my weapon? Where did I lose my weapon?”

  Aggravated, I swept the items off the desk with my casted arm and went in search of car keys. Martin had a fleet of vehicles in the garage. After grabbing a set for one of the few automatics, I climbed behind the wheel, intent on coming up with a destination. When nothing useful surfaced, I decided to return to the scene of the crime.

  Evening had settled, bringing with it a growing darkness. I drove past the garage, turned onto a cross street, and drove toward the mouth of the alleyway. No crime scene tape or government-issued cars were in the vicinity, so the techs must have concluded their work for the day.

  Parking beside a hydrant, I gave the luxury vehicle a look, knowing it would be targeted by traffic cops. Reminding myself not to be long, I opened the door, hoped the vehicle wouldn’t be towed, and took off down the block. It was a street like any other, but maybe the dark would make the surroundings seem familiar. It didn’t. It looked like every other street. I passed a liquor store and stopped.

  Opening the door, the smell of spirits and aged wood hung in the air. A wave of nausea hit me, and I stepped outside, seconds away from vomiting. Breathing through my nose, I forced my stomach to obey my commands. Apparently that leftover sandwich had spoiled. The cool air helped to settle the sudden queasiness, but I returned to the car anyway.

  What the hell is wrong with you now, Parker? Swallowing a few times, I prayed that I wouldn’t be sick. After a few minutes, I started the car. Something wasn’t sitting right, and I had a feeling it was more than just the sandwich.

  More annoyed than
when I left, I took a sharp left and headed to the nearest precinct. Finding a visitor space in the back with the patrol cars, I slid into the spot and studied the surroundings. None of it was familiar. As far as I knew, I’d never been to this precinct before. After a few minutes of internal debate, I decided to let the officers inside know just how crazy I was.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” the desk sergeant asked.

  “I hope so.” I gave her a winning smile, unsure how to pose the next question. “Have you received any inquiries from the FBI or OIO recently?”

  Her eyes shot up, assessing me quickly to determine if I posed a threat or if I was a lunatic. “I’m not sure,” she said, uncertain if she wanted to give an actual answer. “May I have your name?”

  “Federal agent Alexis Parker. I’m with the OIO.” I smiled again, hoping that she wouldn’t ask to see my ID.

  “Right.” I knew what that tone meant. “Why don’t you just wait over there, Agent Parker?” She pointed to a chair in the corner.

  Resisting the urge to insist I wasn’t a nut job, I slowly removed my wallet and handed her my license. “I’d show you my credentials, but it’s a long story. If you want to verify my identity, call Agent Jablonsky.” I gave her his number and my ID number. “I’ll be right there.” Pointing to the chair, I offered a pleasant smile and took a seat. Damn, I should have left a note for Martin that way he could spring me from the loony bin if the men with butterfly nets were called.

  “Okay,” the desk sergeant said, lifting up the phone. I didn’t know if she was playing along, calling for back-up, or if she actually intended to phone Jablonsky. Mark would be pissed that I wasn’t keeping out of trouble, but he expected as much. I’d hate to disappoint him. “Give me a second.” A few minutes later, she waved me back to the desk. “What do you need, Agent Parker?” She handed back my license, eyeing the cast on my arm.

  “I know this sounds insane, but bear with me. I was supposed to meet with a police informant a few nights ago. There was an incident. I’m not entirely sure what happened, but circumstances led me to believe that this might be the proper precinct. Is there any way you can check and see if I issued a request or who the informant’s handler is?”