by G. K. Parks
“Or not get shot in the face,” I said, feeling the tender spot on my forehead. The damage to my fingernails, the spider fractures, and my sprained wrist convoluted the telltale injury. “That disarming technique isn’t recommended because the pressure could easily tear tendons and seriously mess up your hand. If that’s what I tried, I didn’t have another choice.”
The phone rang, and Martin checked the display. “I have to take this. Are you okay here?”
“Yeah.” I realized I had a lot more to think about.
“Just the same,” he went to the sink and picked up the pizza slicer, “I’m putting this away.” He shoved it into a drawer and answered the phone, heading for the stairs.
“One more night of hell.”
Picking up a pen, I scribbled down the new set of facts. When my head hurt from thinking too much, I picked up my prescription bottle, swallowed a pill, and locked myself in the second floor guest suite. I wouldn’t risk another nightmare or Martin’s safety again. At least, I felt confident that I wasn’t a killer. That was an improvement from the way I felt upon awakening this morning. See, things were finally starting to look up.
* * *
The next day, Marcal gave me a ride to the federal building. I stopped by the crime lab, but Davenport and Ridley were out. From what I gathered, the footage was being scrubbed. Damn computers were never fast enough when I needed them. Annoyed, I stopped by Lucca’s desk to say hello, but he was in a meeting. The fact that he’d taken over most of my caseload was appreciated, but I felt irrelevant and useless. I hated that feeling. Finally, I was out of distractions and knocked on Jablonsky’s open office door.
“You showed up. Wonders never cease to amaze,” Mark said. He glanced at the elastic bandage that I had wrapped around my wrist. “It looks like you’ve been busy.”
“You knew.” I should have been surprised, but since this began, I had the strangest feeling that Mark knew a lot more than he was letting on. “I don’t like being kept in the dark.”
“It was for your own good.”
“Really? How?” The anger was uncontainable. “I’d love to hear what convoluted rationale you have this time.”
“Easy, Agent,” Jablonsky snapped. He focused on the open office door. “Don’t you have an appointment?”
I slammed the door shut and crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s really going on.”
“I don’t know.” For the briefest moment, his gaze shifted to a folder on his desk. It had police codes and tabs on it. “The forensic experts weren’t positive of the cause of your injury, and I will not put anything down in writing, even if it is speculation, because we don’t know what the ramifications are. Plus, telling you anything could have caused further trauma or created false memories, and you don’t need either of those things.”
“Oh for god’s sake,” I growled, “did you hit your head and fall into some psychobabble alternate reality? You know I don’t buy into any of that shit.”
“Just because you don’t see it as credible science doesn’t mean it isn’t.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m not your enemy, but we’ve done nothing but argue and fight. I know you’re frustrated and scared which is why I’ve cut you some slack, but I will not allow you to continue to take it out on me. I’m still your boss, and you will act professionally, at least in the confines of this building. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Good.” He plucked a post-it from the stack and held it out. “Go talk to a professional. Feel free to bash the prick in charge that keeps pissing you off. It’s confidential, so I won’t hear about it.”
“You would if it interferes with my ability to perform my duties.”
“Well, then make sure everything you say to him doesn’t conflict with what is expected of you. Dismissed.”
Muttering curses under my breath, I went out the door and to the elevator. Dr. Weiler had been the Bureau shrink I’d been forced to talk to when my last partner died and I resigned. Quite frankly, Weiler was a large part of my need to leave this building and never come back. Perhaps Mark was trying to force me to leave again. Hell, it was a damn good plan.
Emerging from the elevator, I went down the hallway to his office, glanced up to make sure the Dr. Phil wannabe hadn’t moved offices, and then cleared my throat. Weiler looked up, irritated by my presence. That made two of us.
“Agent Parker, have a seat,” Weiler said. “I was surprised that SSA Jablonsky scheduled this meeting for you.”
“You didn’t know I came back?”
“I didn’t know you wanted to.” He gestured at the sofa. “I’ve been informed of your recent incident. Have they made any progress?”
“The techs are working on it.” I studied the couch for a moment. I’d had enough training to know the basics of body language and nonverbal communication. I also knew how Weiler worked. It was a chess game between us, or at least that’s always how it seemed. Tired and annoyed, I lay down on the couch and stared at the ceiling, hoping to confuse him with this submissive position. “The hospital speculated I sustained a concussion. They aren’t sure if my memory loss is caused by the physical trauma or something emotional, but they think I might remember some or all of it eventually.”
“Have you remembered anything?” Weiler asked. He rolled his chair around from behind his desk to appear more open and picked up a pen and notepad.
“Bits and pieces. It comes in flashes. Sometimes in dreams.”
“How can you be sure it’s reality and not a fabrication of the mind?”
I shrugged. The short answer was I couldn’t. The long answer was it felt different, but I couldn’t elaborate my feeling into words. “Isn’t reality nothing more than a fabrication of the mind?”
“I don’t believe you were sent here to debate philosophy.” Dr. Weiler dropped his glasses onto his legal pad and let out an audible sigh. “Agent Parker, this is for your benefit. Frankly, I have better things to do with my time. If you don’t want my help, go away.”
Biting my lip, I considered his words. “It’s been a struggle, handling this.” I turned my head and glanced at him. “I find it hard to trust people and myself. I’ve been arguing with everyone. I’m angry that this happened, and I’m even more enraged that I can’t remember how it did.”
“That’s normal.”
“Great, I’m normal. Can you write me a note or something?”
“How have you been sleeping?”
“Okay, except when I have a memory. It’s like I’m reliving a snippet of what happened. It’s not pretty.”
He nodded, standing and crossing the room to the bookshelf. He skimmed through a few titles, pulled out a book, leafed through the pages, and returned to his chair. “Obviously, if you’re remembering what happened, whatever trauma you endured is being repaired. In essence, your brain or psyche is healing. That’s good.”
“Wow, I was normal, and now I’m good. Next, you’ll tell me I’m excellent.”
“Sarcasm is a defense mechanism,” he said, just to knock me down a few pegs. “Have you considered hypnosis to assist in recovering the missing pieces?”
“You just want to make me cluck like a chicken.”
“That would be sarcasm.” He closed the book and placed it on the edge of the desk. “You’re afraid of what you forgot. Frankly, you ought to be. If your mind blocked it out, there had to be a reason.”
“Thanks, Doc.” I sighed. “Yeah, I know. Sarcasm, bad.”
“Agent Parker, it is possible that injury or substance abuse could be the cause of your fog rather than repression. When you’re asleep and your conscious mind is turned off, your subconscious continues to function. That may be the reason you remember things in dreams. In essence, your subconscious wants you to know what happened. Whether you like it or not, you’ll probably recover most, if not all, of what happened. With hypnosis or some guided meditation, I can help you get there f
aster in a safe environment. It’s up to you.”
“Let me think about it.” I sat up and eyed the book on his desk. “Can I borrow some reading material?”
“Absolutely.”
Fourteen
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said to my empty apartment. I’d read through a few chapters in the psych book and decided to follow the meditation advice listed. Frankly, if I completely lost it again, no one needed to be around to witness the mayhem, especially Dr. Weiler.
Locking my handgun in the safe, I scanned the area for other dangerous items. I was terrified. Luckily, I was alone. The chances of intentionally hurting myself were nonexistent. But I’d done a fine job clawing at my own bandages, so it didn’t hurt to hide the sharp objects, just in case.
After leaving the OIO building, I called Martin. We had a conversation. It could have gone better, but needless to say, he was giving me space until my head was on straight. The sooner I got this over with, the sooner life could get back to normal. I liked the status quo. I’d give anything to return to it, even buying into this mumbo jumbo.
Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly and sunk onto the sofa. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on my breathing and heartbeat. Whatever thoughts entered my mind, I acknowledged them as nothing more than thoughts and allowed them to pass, making sure not to dwell on any of them. I couldn’t force my memory to return. I had to be patient. After five minutes of trying not to think and failing because I was thinking about not thinking, I sat up.
“This is crap,” I hissed, glaring at the book.
Flipping on the television, I channel surfed for a while, quickly growing bored. It was impossible to sit by and do nothing when there was a puzzle that needed solving. My notes were at Martin’s, but I’d exiled myself from his place. Starting over, I took a vastly new approach and went with nothing but my gut. By the end, I hadn’t reached any new conclusions. Someone was dead, and I had been there. That explained so much but left a million unanswered questions.
I needed to find the body. Taking a seat at the computer, I typed in a few search parameters, looking through a list of recent missing persons, murder victims, and unidentified John Does. At least my federal agent status was good for something. However, no one fit the bill of what I remembered. I dialed O’Connell and asked if homicide had been called to investigate any deaths involving GSWs. Of course, they had, but none of the bodies were encased in plastic wrap or fit the description I provided.
Hanging up, I remembered one shot, dead center, between the eyes. Come on, I coaxed my mind to obey, give me something else. Closing my eyes, I clung to that image, dismissing the irrational emotional response it elicited. I was safe. A memory couldn’t harm me. The man was bound to a chair, but he was sideways on the floor. Blood ran from the head wound in a single line down his face. He remained unblinking in a state of absolute terror. I inhaled slowly, scanning my mind for other details.
“Oh, god.” My eyes shot open at the image of his detective’s shield. “He was a cop.” From the way his jacket hung, it obscured his badge number. I didn’t recognize him. From the angle, I must have been standing over him. A gun lay on the ground a few feet from his body.
“Knock, knock.” Jablonsky’s voice outside my front door startled me, and I screamed. “Parker?” he yelled from the other side of the door. “Parker, are you okay? Answer me.”
“Hang on,” I replied, hoping he wouldn’t knock my door down to get inside. “You scared me.” I threw open the door, gave the gun in his hand a brief look, and hugged him.
“What’s wrong?” He stepped inside, checking for intruders. “I figured after our tiff in my office, you wouldn’t let me in. Did Weiler give you happy pills or something?”
“No,” I closed the applications on my computer and dropped into the chair, “I was remembering details. We have a problem.”
“Now what?”
“The dead guy, he’s a cop. Was a cop.” I rubbed my head. “He had a badge beneath his jacket. There was a gun, his gun, I guess, on the floor near him. I was standing over him.”
“Are you sure you didn’t find him that way?” Jablonsky asked, no longer pretending my memories were fictional misrepresentations.
“It’s doubtful. The blood was still dripping.” My stomach lurched, and I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat.
“What about the informant?”
“What?”
“You were meeting with a CI and his handler. Presumably, the dead cop would have been his handler. So where’s the CI? He’s probably our shooter.” Mark looked at me. “He must have attacked you.”
“Attacked?” I shook my head. “Back up a second. You believe me? You aren’t insisting that I’m crazy?”
“You’ll always be crazy. You have to be to do what you do, but that’s beside the point.” He removed a USB drive from his pocket. “We found you on the DOT footage. We know what happened to you before you ended up outside that parking garage. Davenport is backtracking further to locate your original location, but it’s progress.”
“Am I alone? Maybe we can ID the men with me and figure out who was killed.”
“Alex,” he plugged the drive into my computer, “it’s just you. We have the plates. Lucca’s running down the owner.”
Before I could ask any further questions, Mark clicked on the video file, and black and white footage filled my monitor. Traffic and pedestrians were sparse, and I looked at the timestamp. It was almost two a.m. A dark colored SUV drove down the street. Without slowing, the back door opened, and something fell out.
Reaching over, Mark paused the footage, clicked on the magnification button, and hit play. “That’s you.”
“Holy shit.”
I watched as my body hit the ground, bouncing and tumbling until the rolling came to a stop. The SUV didn’t slow until it was half a block away. By that time, I had crawled out of view. The SUV abruptly stopped. But it had passed through the intersection, and with the changing light, it couldn’t backtrack.
“They circled around less than two minutes later,” Jablonsky declared. “They must have been looking for you. From the evidence inside that alley, you must have gone through there to get away from whoever was driving. Obviously, they didn’t plan on your quick exit.”
“The dome light,” I said in awe as a rush of memories emerged. “I remember being preoccupied with a dome light. I was afraid it would light up and alert them, but they already knew.” Biting my lip, I looked down at my hand. It was connected to the SUV, but I couldn’t figure out how. Blinding pain shot through my skull, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “It’s right there. I can almost see it.” Slamming my palm against the desk, I let out a growl. “I don’t remember his face. Too many pieces are missing.”
“It’s okay. We have a lot to go on right now.” He looked at me. “I’m surprised you aren’t more dinged up. Most people don’t jump out of a moving vehicle and walk away with scrapes and bruises.”
“I’m great at rolling. Can’t you tell?” I rewound the footage and watched it a few more times. I remembered excruciating pain, a door handle, and the rough fibers of the floorboard. “Lucca’s tracking the SUV?”
“Yes, and Davenport is working on tracking it through the city’s grid. Hopefully, we’ll know something solid tonight.”
“What about the cop that was killed?” Now that I remembered him, I couldn’t get the image of the blood from the gunshot trickling across the bridge of his nose out of my mind. “You should contact the PD. They might have a better lead.”
Mark assessed me for a moment. “They’ll want to question you. Are you sure you can handle that?”
“They have a right to know what happened. His family should be aware.”
“It’s been days, Alex. They must realize something’s wrong. It’s not like we have answers or hard evidence. What can you possibly tell them? Shit, we don’t even know who was killed.”
“I was there.”
“Did you do it?
” he asked, catching me by surprise. “Agent Parker, you say that you remember a man being shot and that he had a badge. Did you shoot him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dammit, that’s exactly why contacting the police at this point is suicidal. I know you have a few friends in the major crimes unit, but most of the cops remember you as a snitch that turned on one of their own. They won’t offer you any favors, and until they have the person responsible in custody, they’ll blame you.”
I knew it was true. The system was flawed, and even my federal agent status wouldn’t exempt me from the police department’s need for justice. The worst part was I didn’t know if I was responsible. From what I knew of the situation, the cop was on the ground and his gun was nearby. He could have failed to announce, and we exchanged fire. Although, that didn’t explain why he was bound to the chair. Obviously, someone else had been nearby that wanted me dead, given the SUV that I narrowly escaped from. The cop could have been a casualty or the impetus for my capture and escape.
“You didn’t kill him. We don’t have hard proof, but the circumstantial stuff is all in your favor. Just give us some time.” Mark gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Are you feeling better about things?”
“A little, I guess. It was bad enough when I was the victim, but the stakes are much higher now. We need to find the asshole responsible.” I got out of the chair on shaky limbs. These revelations were proving to be too much for me. “Isn’t there something we can do?”
“It would help if we knew why you were meeting with a cop.”
“I don’t know. I’ll pull my notes, and we can see if something surfaces. I’ve gone through them, but that was before my memory started to return. Maybe I’ll find something I missed.”
“Let’s get started. I’ll order Chinese.”
Rifling through my notes and documents, I searched for a clue as to why I needed a detective’s help. Most of my current caseload involved analysis, monitoring surveillance updates, and performing the usual tasks that accompanied crimes. Frankly, the last couple of weeks prior to the incident had been rather dull. Lots of paperwork and hanging out in the office. The only open case on my desk with teeth dealt with Shade.