When Mackenzie finally arrived at her apartment, she closed the door behind her and simply stood there for a moment. The final eight hours of her day had been surreal-like some of the dreams she'd had in high school of becoming an FBI agent had finally been granted and she wasn't sure how to handle it. More than that, she also felt the threat of it all being torn out from under her because of a split second's poor judgment.
And behind it all was the case. Whether she remained on it or not remained to be seen, but there was still someone out there that had killed two women and tossed them aside in public landfills. If she was taken off of the case after getting a peek into the case without the chance to properly solve it, she wasn't sure how she'd react.
With a shuddering sigh, she stepped into the apartment. She looked at the few boxes of things she had not yet unpacked-they were pushed into the far corner of the living room where she guessed she'd one day put a TV-assuming she stayed in Quantico after the tumultuous afternoon she'd had. She had planned on unpacking those three boxes tonight but was too tired…yet, at the same time, far too exhilarated to even think about unpacking boxes of belongings containing items from what she was already thinking of as her old life.
With her wits once again regained, she placed the folder Bryers had given her on the coffee table in front of the couch. It was still littered with a few things that had been unpacked but not yet put away. She figured there was no sense in assuming she'd be yanked from the case. It was better to be proactive rather than brooding and defeated.
Besides…Bryers had been his usual quiet self on the way back from the station. The suspect had been taken into custody and that was all that she knew. If any information had come forth about the suspect, his history, or what he had planned to do with sixteen-year-old Jen, no one had bothered to inform her.
Mackenzie started looking through the scant information on the body of Susan Kellerman and the other body that had been discovered three months before, a nineteen-year-old named Shanda Elliot.
But she couldn't even keep her mind focused enough for that. She would look at the facts in front of her and then try to make sense of how her life had drastically changed in the last half a day or so. She toyed with putting on some coffee, but it was nearly nine o'clock by that point and she wanted to make sure she was good and rested for tomorrow.
Bryers had asked her to meet him in the reception area at the FBI Building, which was, in and of itself, a pretty big deal. The fact that he wanted to meet her at eight o'clock to start the day as soon as possible meant something else though…what, she wasn't sure. But she got the feeling that if today was a test of sorts, tomorrow would yield that test's results.
With one final scan of the material in the folder, she decided to call it a night. She closed the folder, set it to the side (away from the scattered detritus of her former life), and stood up from the couch. As she made her way to the small bedroom she had learned to call home over the last several months, her cell phone started ringing. It was in her hand when it rang and the suddenness of it made her jump, proving that she did indeed need to catch up on her sleep.
She looked at the display and saw that it was Zack calling. It was funny, but it actually took her about two seconds to make a connection-and it made her feel wonderful.
Zack? Who is Z-oh yeah, him…
They'd spoken only twice since she moved: once during her very brief time in Dallas and once about three months ago. Both conversations had been depressing and filled with accusations and pity from Zack's end. He had moaned about their need to move on while also talking about how she had been a coward for running away like she had. He hadn't said as much, but she had deciphered the true meaning behind it all; she had wounded his stupid male pride because how dare a woman so badly alter the course of his lazy and lackluster life? He was heartbroken and had no idea how to handle it because he'd never made himself open and vulnerable.
She ignored the call and breathed a sigh of relief when she did not hear the beep to let her know that she had a new voicemail.
She went into the bedroom, headed into the even smaller bathroom, and got ready for bed. As she settled under the sheets moments later, she thought of Zack for a moment and how easy it was to escape the ghosts of your past so long as you were able to control the frequency of their haunting.
Of course, she also knew that there were sometimes ghosts that hung on forever, until they felt like someone latched to your back, dragging you down and reminding you that they'd be there forever and there was no hope for escape.
***
Mackenzie walked into her parents' bedroom. The smell of blood clung to the air and her nine-year-old self already knew the smell for what it was before she saw it all over the bed sheets and walls. She saw her father on the bed and her dream-self didn't even flinch. She stepped to the side of the bed, barely giving her father a glance; in dreams she'd had before she always looked at him and she knew it would be the same now. Dead eyes and an almost unbelievably black hole in the top of his head. The gun he supposedly used to do it to himself was somewhere on the bed, hidden among the twisted sheets like a coiled snake, watching.
Mackenzie walked past her dead father and to the window that sat just slightly to the left of the bed. She pulled the drawn curtain aside and looked out. She could see something in the front yard, some shape shrouded by shadows. A car approached from the driveway, splashing headlights across the figure. It was a woman, tied to a post, stripped to her underwear and fighting to get away.
The car pulled into the yard and parked behind the bound woman, casting an almost Christ-like shadow across the yard. Another figure stepped out of the car and stood in front of the headlights. He looked impossibly tall and from where Mackenzie stood, he seemed to not have a face. He paid the bound woman no mind and headed directly for the window. Mackenzie stood her ground, taking in more of the man's detail as he got closer to the window. His eyes were pitch-black and when he grinned at her, it seemed to stretch from ear to ear.
Mackenzie knew then that it was the Scarecrow Killer. More than that, it was the man that killed Susan Kellerman and Shanda Elliot. They were one and the same, the personification of the human corruption she had tried to understand since the night she walked in to discover the dead body of her father.
"Come get me," the dark figure said to her, placing an enormous and scarred hand on the window. The entire house seemed to rattle with the simple touch. "I'm waiting…"
Mackenzie took a step back and collided with something solid. She turned around and found her father there. He was standing up, his dead eyes looking down at her. He opened his mouth to speak to her and a strangled whisper came out.
"I'll always be dead, Mac," he said, reaching out to her. "No matter how hard you fight, I'll always be dead."
His hand fell on her shoulder and even through her shirt, she could feel that his dead flesh was impossibly cold.
"Daddy…" she said.
Mackenzie jerked awake at 4:32 and knew right away that she would not be going back to sleep. The tank top she wore to bed was soaked in sweat and her heart was hammering away in her chest. She got out of bed quickly, as if the bed itself had conjured the ghastly nightmare.
She took a shower and brewed a pot of coffee. She drank two cups while looking over the notes on the Kellerman and Elliot cases. She also made notes of her own concerning the suspect they'd apprehended at Dupont Circle Station and the fiber she'd spotted at the landfill.
Just before six, her phone dinged as she received a text message. She checked it and saw that the message was from Ellington:
You'll be getting an e-mail in the next few minutes that is going to sound scarier than it is. Remain calm. If you need to talk to someone when it's all said and done, reach out to me.
The message was cryptic beyond belief but she restrained herself from responding back with questions. She couldn't deny that the message made her terribly nervous, though. She looked at the third cup of coffee she had poured for herself and decided to pour it down the sink. She busied herself by getting dressed and fixing her hair, doing everything she could to not stress out about the way yesterday had ended and the alarming text from Ellington.
When she opened her mail on her phone twenty minutes after receiving Ellington's text, she found that she had a new mail waiting. It was from Deputy Director Justin McGrath, a man she had never met but had heard plenty about. Ultimately, he oversaw the bulk of active agents and their assignments. From what she understood, there were only one or two positions above him within the hierarchy of the Bureau.
Now more nervous than ever, she opened the e-mail. She found right away that the e-mail had been written by McGrath directly and not an assistant or secretary as most e-mails were from someone higher up. The message was plain, simple, and terrifying.
Ms. White,
It is crucial that you meet me in my office at 7:00 a.m. sharp. I have also made this same request of Agent Bryers.
She read the e-mail only once. That was all it took. There was no sign-off of any kind. Not a thank you or a see you then. Her nerves were like electric wires and a pit of worry formed in her stomach. If she had not already showered, she would have gone for a run just to relieve some tension. But she then recalled Ellington's text, telling her that there may be no real need to be scared.
Easier said than done, she thought as she headed out the door, wondering if this might be the last day she had to entertain the dream of becoming an agent.
