One for the Records (Peregrine x Valiente)

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Peregrine, Dec 27, 2014.

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  1. The body had been found by a homeless man, who had retreated under an old bridge just outside of Paris to nurse at a cheap bottle of vodka. It had taken him nearly an hour to notice that his silent companion was not merely in a comatose stupor, but was actually dead. He had gone to the police more because he was interested in seeing if there was any reward money than because he cared about the dead body, but within an hour the bridge was surrounded by officers, and the homeless man was carted away to the drunk tank so that he could sober up before they got his statement.

    For someone who knew exactly for what he was looking, his signature was obvious. The forensics lady brought to the scene did not know for what she should be looking, specifically. What she could see was an odd set of circumstances, unlike any of the dead bodies the police normally found.

    The victim was a middle aged man, with neither the carefully tended hands of the wealthy, or the heavy calluses of a laborer. He was dressed in a plain, cheap cotton shirt and sweatpants, with no socks or shoes. Heavy rope burns on his arms and legs made it clear that he had been restrained, with old defensive wounds on the arms and torso suggesting that he had been taken just under a week ago. But the cause of death was quickly identified to be a suicide, with a single bullet entering the mouth from a low angle, and gunshot residue on his hands. However, a thorough sweep proved that there was no gun to be found anywhere on the scene. The body had been moved after death.

    When forensics gave her report to the leading detective, he was not happy with the results. He wanted clear cut answers. Was this a homicide or wasn’t it? Eventually, she was forced to rule suicide as cause of death, even though everything else on the scene made it look like a homicide. The report was quickly filed away, with all the evidence logged into the French Criminal Database.

    The moment the report was completed, it triggered an almost instantaneous reaction at the Interpol headquarters in Lyon, only 250 miles to the south. Five minutes later a phone call was buzzing through on the desk of one Amy Hastings, the rookie star only recently brought in from the United States FBI. Once she picked up the phone, a brisk, familiar voice would greet her.

    “Hastings, we’ve got another one. It’s him again. Get to the meeting room, now.”
  2. "Look sweetheart, I don't care if it ruins your life. I don't care if you lose his trust. The guy's going to be prisoned after your statement, so just state it already." Amy spit out as she leaned her hands on the metallic table between her and the witness. She was hunched over, her eyes dark as she pierced them into the guy's brown dull eyes. She was sick of his lies and wimpy excuses. She wanted real answers, and she wanted them now.

    Just then, the door opened to reveal her Guardian, John. He stepped in the room and sighed at the sight of Amy angrily staring at the guy who looked scared as shit. He sighed and stepped closer, pulling Amy away and turning her to face him "Leave him to me Amy, just go rest for a while. You need it." He said, speaking in a low voice.

    John was her guardian since she could remember. He brought her to the agent life, he taught her everything. And now, they had a case, in which her and her partner Roger, collaborated with John and his partner Kyle. Which Amy didn't really like, as John always had to act like a father; almost telling her to sir and wait and they'll do the job, she just had to 'rest' all day. But she never agreed and ignored his protests whenever she stepped up and did something that could put her in danger.

    But this time, she agreed. She needed the sleep. She needed to rest. She had been awake for over forty eight hours on this case of Aiden Stewart, a criminal they have finally found but needed the statement from the old man in the investigating room. She stepped away from John's grip and glared one last time at the old man before stepping out of the room. She took a deep breath and made her way to her office.

    As soon as she sat down, the phone rang, and she wasn't surprised at all. Being an Interpol Agent wasn't easy, she figured that out nine month ago when she first joined. She was used to getting no sleep at all for a couple of days, she was used to receiving calls at four in the morning. And she was even used to receiving threads. But she loved her work, and was as dedicated as hell, the threads never getting under her skin.

    She picked up the phone and didn't have to speak a word before her partner's voice went through. She mumbled a quick okay and hung up, sighing before she stood up, and made her way to the meeting room, her black heels clicking against the wooden floor as she fixated her black scarf over her white sweater and black skinny jeans. She didn't wear suit pants or even white shirts like the other women around here, and often got the stink eye from the girls around but she didn't care, boss was okay with her outfits and she didn't care about anyone else's opinion.

    Amy opened the door and stepped in, Roger already inside with a couple of other agents, papers already scattered everywhere on the table. She knew who they were talking about, she was filled in as soon as she joined interpol. And she spent nights going through his victims' files. Nights trying to figure him out, but came up with nothing. But today was different, today was the first time they received a new victim file while she was around. This was the first time his case was opened again since she joined, and honestly, she thought he was late to show up again. He, who she had no idea of his identity.

    "what did he do this time?" She asked as she sat across from her partner, the signs of her exhaustion long hidden, her stance sharp and serious.
  3. Robert was an older man, and very well respected after nearly two decades of reliable work. That was clear from the attitudes of the other two people in the room, and while each was focused on their own piece of the puzzle, each was also waiting for Robert to say something or give a piece of instructions. They all looked over briefly when the door opened to admit Amy, before just as quickly going back to the case file that had been spread out before them.

    Robert set down his own stack of papers neatly, tapping them slightly to align the edges, before he pulled out one of the wheeled chairs in order to allow Amy to take a seat. He handed her the top half of the stack, before spinning in his own chair to face her.

    When Robert and Amy had first met nine months ago, it had been clear that he hadn't been all that thrilled about being paired with the greenest rookie in the whole operation. But, unlike many agents who might simply have shut out any opinions from a junior agent, Robert had heeded her words and suggestions as he would have heeded any partners. Respect grew quickly between them, for his open nature and great experience, and for her quick, intuitive thinking and problem solving skills. At this point they worked together as fluidly as any team paired for years, despite the fact that they had only been together for three quarters of a year.

    However, the easy camaraderie that usually filled the air between them was gone now, replaced by a cold, hard, attention to the matter on hand. Robert had been chasing the Outsider, as he had come to be known by the Interpol agency, for just over nine years at this point. He left bodies all over the world, and never in the same country twice in a row. At one point, Robert had estimated that the Outsider left about one body a month, most of which were ruled suicides by the police and never made it to the Interpol database. It was only when he left particularly obvious markers, staged the body in a manner to draw attention, that Robert was given another chance to try and catch him.

    The weight of the estimated 130 dead lives from this man weighed heavily on Robert's shoulders as he looked down on the file. 131 now, he supposed. And they were no closer to finding him than they had been nine years ago, when Robert had finally seen the impossible pattern in a stack of unconnected suicides the world wide. But he forced this misery down, and began to speak in the smooth, measured voice he was known for, even in the most stressful of situations.

    "The police found this man, Patrick Trémaux, under a bridge about a mile from Paris. Like the rest of the Outsider's kills, this man ultimately took his own life, but judging by the marks on his arms, legs, and wrists, he fought valiantly to survive before finally succumbing to whatever torment the Outsider subjected him to. Other than the defense wounds and rope burns, there are no signs of physical damage to him." About seven years ago, the Outsider had expanded his repertoire, drifting further away from the butchery that had first allowed Robert to connect his cases. Now the chance that he would bring his captive to suicide by some means other than physical torment was far more likely than its alternative. Unfortunately, those with no obvious sign of injury other than the single wound that led to their death made it that much harder for Interpol to track his work.

    "This is as close to Lyon as he has been in two years. He practically gift wrapped it for us. That means he's getting cocky, and when people get cocky they get sloppy. We've just got to find the mistake."
  4. Amy barely gave two men a second glance before sitting down. She had learned not to speak to others if it wasn't necessary in Interpol. And also, not to ask who's who. This place, was as serious as anything can get. Everyone was serious, always. And when the Outsider gets thrown on top of all the cases. It just gets even more serious if that was possible.

    She sat and listened to Robert carefully as she flipped through the pages. Medical statement of time of death, cause of death. Pictures of the victim alive and well and where he was last seen before disappearing and then Pictures of his dead body. His bruises, his bullet hole, everything. And she didn't miss a beat to gather everything in her mind and still listen to Robert.

    When he was done speaking, Amy looked up and narrowed her eyes "If the victim was shown to be restrained, his wrists obviously being tied back as mentioned how could he, when freed, kill himself and not flee?" She asked, not really looking for an answer from Robert, she was just throwing her thoughts out in the open.

    She shook her head at Robert's idea that the killer could be getting cocky and sloppy "He's been doing this for years Robert. I don't think the guy's even capable of getting sloppy." She turned in her chair toward the table and put the stack of paper down, staring at the picture of the dead victim when he was first found under the bridge "But cocky? Yeah. I agree with you on that one. He just put him in plain sight, it's like.. He wants us to find him that way.."

    Amy trailed off, her eyes not on the body anymore but rather on it's surroundings. And her next words were as calm and low as ever, barely audible and in a soft yet stern whisper "He wants us to find him there." She quickly stood up and looked over at Robert "Stay here, work on it, find out anything about the victim that can relate him to other victims, I don't really need to tell you what to do, you know exactly what to do here." She said as she looked through the stash of papers, searching for only one.

    Amy ignored Robert's question of where she was going for a moment before she found the paper and took it, reading it once before folding it in her pocket "I'm going to France. The crime scene to be exact." She responded and could hear Robert's sharp breath as he heard her words. She didn't understand why no one ever went to the crime scene before, why Interpol just got papers and pictures and tried to work with that only when it came to the Outsider. But she wasn't going to sit here and do so and find nothing. She knew the Outsider was way too smart to leave any sloppy evidence after him, or to leave anything that can connect the victims together. She knew she had to go. And Robert, or John, or whoever, weren't going to stop her.
    #4 Valiente, Dec 28, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 28, 2014
  5. "Hastings! Amy, wait, goddamit." Robert was up and out of his seat in a moment, moving out the room after her. A single glare was enough for him to halt the other two men in their tracks. and they reluctantly sat back down, picking up their portions of the reports again. He grabbed onto her shoulder, spinning her around to face him. "You can't just go gallivanting off like that. You know that there is procedure to this as well as I do, and anything you find without following procedure becomes inadmissible."

    He let go of her, trusting that she wouldn't immediately start walking again. If she did, of course, he was prepared to make a call that would keep her from getting out of the building. "What do you think you are going to do, all by yourself, that this entire agency hasn't been able to do in nine years? We will go. Of course we will. We always go. And I will be very glad to have you along, and get your new eyes on a very old, frustrating case. We will get the bastard, but if you go without proper authorization everything there will become useless.

    "So, come back to the room with me. Help me fill out the report we will send to Bergmann. As soon as he clears it, we will be on a plane to Paris, alright?"
  6. Amy looked up at her partner, who looked like more of a worried father as he spoke, but that was his way of talking usually. She rolled her eyes when he reminded her of the inadmissible evidence and groaned "I hate how this works you know." She muttered, pulling away from his grip and made her way back in the room, the men looking up briefly and almost in relief to see her walk back in and not out.

    She sat on a chair and turned to one of the guys, knowing him as Greg. She pointed at the stash of papers next to him and muttered "Could you pass me a sheet please? So we can fill out a report." But even before Greg was able to give it to her, Robert was back in and as he passed by, he took the sheet and a pen.

    "Wha- I was going to write the report!" Amy exclaimed, raising her hands in defense. But quicker than ever she heard him snicker and his words went something along the lines of being afraid She'd cuss at them or put in a word about her hating toward how the program works and Amy didn't bother argue his point because well.. It was valid.

    She sat and stared as Robert wrote everything down "I was wondering. Why would he leave the body of an old man wide open for the eyes to see and yet, somewhere so.. Poor and barely anyone walked by everyday. Hell, even the homeless man didn't notice him at first." She scoffed, having yet again thought out and wasn't waiting on a specific answer, but her words were now softer and more young than before, because she was tired and pissed at everything, the outsider, for ruining her resting time, the program, for waisting their time with paper work and just... Everything.

    And so she wasn't going to stay professional, she already had laid her head in the palm of her hand and stared boringly at Robert while wrote "If we ever do catch him, I'd love to give him a piece of my mind." She scoffed and laid back in her chair and titled her head impatiently.

    For a while she stayed silent, staring at nothing. Until she smirked, as if figuring something, and with her eyes glued to thin air, as if spaced off, she spoke loudly and confidently "I think he wants us to go there. I think he doesn't leave evidence with the victim, but you can track back where the victim was tortured. I think that's his whole wicked scheme about. He left the victim for us there so we'd go around and not just to the crime scene, but to it's surrounding." She explained as she stared at nothing in particular, now having the three men stare at her, engrossed in her words as it seems.

    "I think he always meant for us to search around and not within. Because within would be totally obvious. But around, well that would be totally wicked. Like him. Like how he wants to be seen."
  7. Robert devoted himself quite dedicatedly to filling out the paperwork once he and his young protegee returned to the meeting room. He didn't blame Amy for being hot tempered. There were few in the building who still remembered him when he had been working for Interpol for the amount of time that Amy now had, but he had been quite the loose cannon at that point. Of course, the rules had been a little more bendable then, but he still could have used someone to keep him in line when he was about to put his job or the case on the line. He wanted to be able to do the same for her, without crushing her creative mind.

    He didn't look up right away when she began speaking, but by the time she finished she had his attention. Wanted them to look for him? The Outsider had never been one for showmanship. Unlike many serial killers, the Outsider had never seemed to have any interest in toying with the people trying to catch him. He had never seemed vain, or determined to prove how clever he was. It was part of what made chasing him so hard. He didn't want to interact. Robert was about to remind Amy of this, he even got so far as to open his mouth, before he snapped it closed again. Hadn't he been thinking, just moments before, about her creative mind. All the same, he had to make sure it was tempered with logic, too.

    "He's never seemed all that interested in interacting before. What would have changed?"
  8. Amy shook her head, snapping her eyes to Robert, back to normal as she spoke "I don't know, I mean, nobody knows but him. Maybe he's bored with just being so secretive. It's not like the victims are related or connected so maybe.. Maybe he's killing, and just killing isn't enough for him anymore." She tried to explain her theory.

    She sat up right in her seat and looked at the three men, one by one as they all had their eyes on her "Maybe he wants to twist his own scheme. He's a criminal, a wicked one. Being bored and wanting to torture isn't so far fetched, is it?" She asked, not expecting an answer in return.

    She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head again "It's just a theory Robert. One we can try and see through, I mean at this point, after nine years, what else can we do?" She scoffed and nodded at the sheet of paper "Are you finished already?" She asked and stood up "I need to go to my office, sort some papers out. Tell me when we get the okay." She muttered, a bit too tired right now.
  9. Robert shrugged, going back to working on the form. "At this point, Hastings, I don't think anything about the Outsider can surprise me. If you asked me ten years ago if I thought there was going to be a serial killer who would drive his kidnapping victims to suicide instead of actually killing them... I miss the simple cases." He let out a sigh, before signing quickly across the bottom and passing the form off to Greg. "Take a nap, Hastings. I'm sure the ride to Paris will be too crowded for a good sleep, and I don't want you operating on half power if your theory proves to be correct, alright?"

    No one at Interpol wanted to leave the Outsider killing sitting for long, and within a half hour the forms were signed, the jet was fueled, and the local Paris police who had done the work on the crime scene had been contacted. Although no one liked having the things in their jurisdiction taken over, they were perfectly happy to hand the case over this time. No one wanted to deal with an international serial killer. Robert brought all the files with him in a heavy leather satchel that he strung over his shoulder. No one really questioned him on it, even though he probably had every single sheet of paper memorized by this point.

    Robert knocked on Amy's door only ten minutes before they were scheduled to leave the building. He had considered giving her a bit more time to prepare, but ultimately decided that the half hour of sleep was probably the most worthwhile preparation he could give her. It would be worth her ire at the delay.
  10. Amy wasn't asleep when Robert knocked on her door. No, she hasn't been asleep all the while he left her. Her mind was too busy thinking about the Outsider. He was making everyone in Interpol go nuts. And his cases were just too.. Twisted.

    She opened the door and smiled when she was asked how her sleep went and briefly nodded "I slept amazingly. Shall we go?" She quickly asked and closed her office door behind her, seeing Robert's satchel and shaking her head at it "Really Robert? A Satchel?" She couldn't help but laugh slightly and pat his shoulder "Let's go old man." She teased jokingly and they both made their way out.

    On their way, Amy couldn't help but wonder about the outsider. Not his work, she knew she couldn't figure our his 'art' without figuring everything about the crime scene and it's surrounding. She wondered about his looks, his age for that matter! It's been nine years since he started killing people! How old could he be? Forty? Maybe even older.. He couldn't be young right? Amy thought that if he was younger then she'd have to give it to him, he was smart. Too smart.
  11. The plane ride was as uneventful as it was noisy and crowded. The little puddlejumper was normally used for small flights to untraveled airports, but it was what Interpol could get on short notice, and it was certainly better than walking. Robert's attention was divided between the window, a sheet of lined yellow paper on which he scribbled in short bursts, and Amy, although he did his best not to let her know. He wasn't new to the business, and he knew she hadn't slept, no matter how much she might need it. He didn't know what exactly to make of her theory on the Outsider. On the one hand, the killer had never been this blatant before, and that lent weight to Amy's theory. At the same time, he couldn't imagine that a person could change so suddenly and drastically at a moment's notice. The Outsider had always been cautious, intelligent. In his darker moods, when he was under the influence of a solid pint of brandy, he thought that, if he was going to be a serial killer, he would be one remarkably similar to the Outsider. No showing off, nothing unnecessary.

    Despite Amy's belief that the Outsider wouldn't get sloppy, Robert wasn't so certain. He had studied more serial killer cases than he was willing to admit, had taken time off work to go to lectures held by criminal profilers, and some of the best agents the world wide. And in every single one of them, at least those that managed to elude the police for a notable stretch of time, the killers got caught when they finally made a mistake, a seemingly insignificant mistake that give the police just enough of an edge to get the one step ahead that was needed. That was the problem with being on that side. He needed to get it right every time, and could only get it wrong once. The moment he started trying to toy with them was the moment when the chances of his making a mistake rose exponentially. He scribbled it on the top of his sheet of paper, to remind himself that his fight wasn't pointless. Nine years, over one hundred lives, and it may finally come together.

    The plane bounced onto the runway, and the various Interpol agents quickly disembarked, to be ferried to equally noisy, crowded cars. As was the case every time they managed to find an Outsider killing, every available agent was put on the job. They were met outside the crime scene by a small group of local police cars, who would act as the liaison between the French police and Interpol. After polite introductions were passed, they were led under the bridge.
  12. Amy was all but pleased with the flight. And was very relieved when they made it to land. After the small introductions, they were led under the bridge, having to walk, for five minutes before arriving to the scene.

    She looked around as they walked, not hearing a word the police said. She didn't care about what they had to say about the corpse and circumstances of it. She wanted to look around. And so when they made it to the scene, she detached herself from the other but not before stopping by Robert "I'm going to wander around. Take a look. I'll call if I find anything." She said quietly, not really wanting any other agent following her, and knowing Robert trusted her enough to let her go by herself. It's not like she was going to find the Outsider.

    She looked down, where a police officer pointed, as it was where the body was found. And in her mind, Amy could start imagining it. The body being dragged here. She followed her instincts, something which was crazy but always set her on the right track. And she followed the route, the alley. She made her way, walking for a minute of two, before finding herself in front of an abandoned warehouse.

    Curiously, she made her way in, by going to the metallic back door, which squeaked as she opened it and stepped in, cold air hitting her and she couldn't but shiver, adjusting her scarf around her neck as she looked around. The place was only a large vacant empty cold dump. Nothing special about it. Which was exactly why Amy could imagine it here "I can imagine the outsider torturing his victim here. This could work." She mumbled to herself loudly, her voice echoing through the warehouse.
  13. He had tracked her since the moment the report of the Outsider's crime had been made, all through the cramped plane flight and the car ride, as she wandered closer and closer towards him. The warehouse was a plausible first meeting location, primary because it had more blot holes than a prairie dog den. He certainly had no intention of getting caught. At least not yet. When she finally drew close enough to the warehouse that he was reasonably certain she was actually going to find him, his soul slipped silently back into his body. He straightened up, quickly straightening the cheap black shirt that clung to the line of his body, ran a finger through raven black hair, and slid his legs over the edge of the second story walkway, swinging them like a child on a carnival ride.

    He listened to her softly spoken words with a bit of a smirk on his face. The Outsider. The name had amused him since the moment Interpol had made it up, almost nine years ago. It was more true than they knew, which was what made it even more amusing. He was sure they had given it to him because his victims were left in every country in the world, marking him as outside any nationality, or perhaps it was because he had gone outside the bonds of civilized decency. What he knew they had not guessed was that he was an outsider because he no longer even fully belonged to the human race.

    When he chose to speak, he didn't hesitate, didn't wonder if he was making the right choice. The Outsider knew exactly what he was doing. Ice blue eyes locked onto the back of her neck, boring a hole. "You are trespassing," he told her, in flawless French.
  14. Amy wandered around the warehouse for a while. She silently inspected it as if it was the crime scene itself. At one point, she even crouched and frowned as she saw scratches on the wall, human scratches. But just as she was about to touch it, a husky, flawless and confident voice rang through the warehouse and had her up straight on her legs in seconds.

    His words hit her like a brick. Her heart pounded but not of fear, mainly of shock. She wasn't sure who he was. She wasn't sure if her thoughts were correct. She could feel his eyes boring into her neck. And she wanted nothing more than for him to stop staring. It was getting under her skin already.

    His words, were as if affirming her assumptions, talking about the warehouse as if it was his. She slowly turned and her eyes directly locked on his. He was dangling his legs over the edge of the second story, a sly smirk on his face and not a single hesitation in his eyes as they locked on hers. She knew right then that he wanted to be found. She knew this was all a part of his plan now.

    But no matter, she couldn't help but examine his face, his features. Right an hour ago, she was wondering how he looked like and now, he was just in front of her. And to say she was stupefied would be an underestimation. She didn't think he's actually be or look that young. Not over twenty five, that's for sure. He looked so.. Young and.. She'll be damned, he was handsome. His raven black hair, and piercing blue eyes only made him the more intimidating. She never thought someone as handsome as that, smirking so charmingly, could yet give away an aura so.. Fearful.

    "This was all a plan of yours, wasn't it, outsider?" She asked, her voice loud and confident, not missing a beat as she kept her eyes fixated on his. She emphasized on his nickname from Interpol, just to send him the message that she knew who he was. But yet, she had no idea what to do, should she call Robert or not yet? Should she flee or stay ? Her legs only did what was on their own mind though and took a few steps closer to the staircase which led to him. But stopped at the edge of it. And just by keeping the staring match, she knew not to call, not yet anyway.
  15. He laughed slightly, unconcerned with her assumption. It was, after all, correct, and there was no point in pretending otherwise. However, his legs went still as he leaned forward, crossing his arms on the lower part of the safety railing, and resting his chin on them. The whole time, it seemed his eyes never broke contact. "Honestly. It took you so long. I've been leaving you a body a week for nine months. Nine months, Amy! If I had to make it any more obvious, you would have found the body on the steps of ICPO Headquarters. Frankly, I'm disappointed." He studied her for a further moment, before letting out a faint tsk.

    "No matter," he finally continued, getting to his feet in a single, lithe movement. "What's done is done, and what's not done... well, that only matters in regrets." His steps were oddly silent as he walked a few paces towards the staircase. The inside of the building was made of old metal, and all logic said that every time his feet set down it should have sent a reverberation of echoing metal through the warehouse. Instead, it was like his feet weren't even touching the ground. Or like he was a ghost, able to pass through the world without actually impacting it.
  16. Amy listened to him carefully. Even raised an eyebrow when he said he was disappointed. She couldn't believe it. She was his torture victim. She was his all time victim now, the one he wont kill, but simply torture.

    She followed his movements as he straightened up and came closer. What surprised her, wasn't that he was actually coming closer, letting her see him fully, but rather that his steps were almost like .. Flying. She could see his feet touch the ground as he walked, but even her heels made loud echoing noise as she walked and she weighted nothing with her slim toned body. Now him, he was a man, he was a freaking man. And yet, his footsteps were like feather on the floor, no noise, no echo, nothing.

    Amy frowned and looked into his eyes as he walked toward her, and she didn't even step back, for some reason, he didn't scare her. "Are you telling me that your frequency of killing these past few months were because of me?" She asked, scoffing at the end "You could've called, you know, normal people do that. But I guess an outsider like you just wouldn't do with a call, would you?" She asked, her voice confident, stern and sarcastic.

    She put a hand on the railing next to her, but took no further steps on the staircase, just stood at the edge of it's first step "Why me though? You know I can just call you out right now, right, outsider?"
  17. "Call me out? What are you going to do to me, little lioness? You haven't even drawn your gun yet." He came to a stop at the top of the stairs, and stared down at her as she stared up at him. He couldn't help but smile at her, at the frustration on her face, the tension in her body, as she imagined all the lives that were now, by her reasoning, on her. 39 bodies, the first one dropped the day she joined Interpol. He may have taken them, may have granted them the opportunity to take their life when the time came, but she was the one who hadn't caught him in time to save their lives. She was the one who didn't know their names, where they lived, how old they were, what gender they were, because she hadn't even heard about them until this moment. He knew it wouldn't be enough. But it was the first crack, and when all the cracks came together Agent Amy Hastings would tumble, and no one would be able to put her together again.

    "No, I'm not concerned," he continued, crouching down on the top of the stairs with his hands on top of his knees. A single strand of dark hair fell across the front of his face. "You want to know why? Because there's a teenage girl in a tall brick building at the corner of Jean Juares Avenue and Turgot Street, and she has been in a great deal of pain for a very long time. But in the next half an hour, she is going to realize that her bindings aren't quite as tight as they usually are, and she has just enough reach to grab the gun that is sitting in front of her, but not enough to untie before my promised time of return. And she will choose death over continued pain." He smiled, flashing the kind of smile that, under a different set of circumstances, would have caused many a girl's heart to melt.

    He stood up again, running a hand along the top of the railing. "This is a funny old building. It was made in WWII, and was intended to be used as a secure communications facility, but the Nazi's invaded before it was completed, and the few people who knew about it were killed. It blocks radio waves quite efficiently.

    "The only way you can save her is if you run, very fast, right now, to a point where your radio works again. But," he paused to smile again, "That means letting me go. I wonder if her life is worth that to you. I wonder what her poor, worried parents would have to say.

    "Your choice, Amy."
  18. His words were like dumping hot water on Amy as she stared at him in purse shock. He wasn't serious, was he?

    She narrowed her eyes on him as he spoke, memorizing the girl's address. He wouldn't lie about something like that, because in all honesty, she knew he was capable of that. He was capable of using people and killing them only for his own pleasure of seeing Amy get tortured.

    Amy wasn't sure what to do. His smile, his dazzling handsome smile looked nothing but wicked and twisted.

    She didn't know what to do. Save the girl? Or get the outsider? She stood there for a second, before stepping back and shaking her head "I know for a fact that this will not be the last you plan on making me see you. And I cannot stop you right now, I know you won't let that happen. You're not dumb. So if I don't go, I won't be able to het you either."

    With that said, Amy turned and ran. She ran all the way to the crime scene and didn't stop when the agents called after her or when she heard robert call after her. She ran, his voice echoing through her head, reciting the address back to her over and over again. In fact, she knew where that was. The place where the girl was held. She knew exactly where it was. And it wouldn't take long for Amy to get there, but even as she ran to her car, got in and drove like a mad man all the way to the address she was given, she knew deep down that there was a 99% chance the girl would be already dead when Amy arrives. She knew that, and yet, she went and left the outsider.
    #18 Valiente, Dec 28, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 28, 2014
  19. Robert was the first to notice Amy's figure sprinting towards the cars. It took him a couple of seconds to register what exactly it was, in which one of the agents who had come with him continued to talk about something he could no longer understand and he blinked. When he finally recognized Amy's lithe form, he swore quietly, before bolting to the edge of the bridge himself. "Hastings," he bellowed, hands cupped around his mouth to amplify the sound in her direction. She didn't even so much as slow.

    "Goddamit!" he spat, before taking off after her. By the time he made it to the cars she was already off and speeding away, the lights on her car flashing and the sirens whining. He cursed his age and the pain in his knees, but got into the car and went after her immediately. All the way the cuss words continued to fall out of his mouth like a river. She never thought. What on earth was she doing? How many times had they been over this? She didn't get to just go racing away, and now he was going to have to go racing after her, and try and protect her from whatever sort of fallout was going to come from her actions. Because there was going to be a fallout. That was certain.

    He nearly missed the spot where she parked, but in France people always got out of the way of police cars immediately, and that made it significantly easier on him. They had driven nearly twenty minutes from the crime scene, and Robert's fury at her had only grown greater the longer they drove. He parked his car on the sidewalk with the sirens on, uncaring of what message it sent, and hopped out of the car, only to see the tail end of Amy's brown hair going inside a red brick building on the street corner. He growled like a bull, and took off after her. The rest of the team would, theoretically, only be a couple minutes behind him, having the luxury of moving at a more reasonable pace because they didn't have to keep up with a speeding lunatic.
  20. Amy didn't even notice her own partner following her to the building. She noticed nobody, her eyes imagining how she would find the girl. Because she knew, even if the girl would be found alive, she wouldn't be in a good health or mind.

    When she arrived to the building, she only thought of parking the car in the middle of the road and rushing out, not even caring about the empty parking spaces just a few steps ahead, no, she had no time to park a car, but she only rushed out and ran inside.

    The building was an old abandoned hotel or motel or something. Downstairs a furnished, old and dusty lobby was set but Amy found the stairs and quickly ran up. The outsider did not tell her which floor the victim was, so Amy went through every room door, bursting them open one by one.

    First floor came empty and as Amy ran up to the second floor, she cursed loudly "Goddamnit! Hello?!" She yelled, maybe, if the victim was still alive she's hear Amy's voice and stop the suicide "If you can hear me, I'm here to help! Hang in there!" Suddenly she heard a thud. Coming from the same floor she just arrived to, the second.

    Amy looked both ways and decided on one, rushing and bursting one after the other open. It took her three doors before she arrived to a door and tried to open it but failed. It was locked, or restrained or whatever. Amy looked at her watch, only to see she was exactly fifteen seconds late.

    Fumbling to open the door, she kept yelling for the girl to hang in there. And just when Amy backed away, and attacked the door with a heavy kick which pushed the door to the floor. And at that moment, Amy went completely pale.

    The girl's eyes pierced through Amy as she was laid on the floor in her own pool of blood. She coughed blood, and a hole in her abdomen poured blood as well. She was dying, having lost way too much blood, almost drained out, and Amy was smart enough to know it was beyond repair. She looked at the clock again "Thirty seconds late. Thirty seconds." She mumbled to herself as she rushed to the girl and cradled her "Hey, hey sweetie, we're here. Don't give up please, we're here, you're safe." She tried saying, she tried even though the girl was obviously on her last breath.

    Then, the girl looked up at Amy, took a sharp intake of breath "Co-" that was all she could get out before her eyes pierced through Amy, but her body froze, her breathing disappeared, and her heart stopped.

    Amy froze in place, what was it she was going to say? What did she have to say that was so important? Amy's mind went crazy with all the questions running through it, and the guilt. She felt guilty as hell, if she was just a little bit faster.. She could've saved her dammit!

    With that in her mind, she left the girl and laid her back on the ground softly, closing her dead eyes in the process before standing up, her white sweater now all bloody as well as her skinny jeans and her hands. She stood, an emotionless mask on her face, her eyes as cold as ever, no tear, nothing. She stood and just then, saw Robert, but she couldn't care less right now. She walked right past him and up to the roof. She couldn't deal with his shit right now, or the police. She needed air, and the roof was perfect for that.
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