Tellings of the Time: Complete series

6. 5

The door to my office opens up and a flushed Zoey rushes in, in a flurry of rainbow colored clothes and kicks. “Got them, quick, quick, come, we’ve got them!”

Chester gets up from the windowsill without hesitating for a moment and rushes to his desk. I’m right in his tracks, following him without asking questions. Beckett is just a few steps behind us.

“Live?” Chester asks Zoey.

“Yeah, I’ve sent you the link already.”

Chester lets himself fall into his desk chair as he twirls it around so that he’s facing his screens. He quickly rubs Kurt’s Funko head before he starts typing in the password to his computer. My eyes aren’t quick enough to follow, but my heart is beating like a maniac. A live feed is good. At the very least it means they’re still alive and we have a chance of saving them. And live data means live leads.

I snatch myself a chair from one of the desks close by and make myself comfortable while Chester opens the live feed on the top left screen. The sight is horrendous. I can see the number of people who are watching what happens increase by the second and my stomach churns. I’ll never get used to how many people will happily watch the sickness going on in this world.

And believe me that what we’re seeing is sick.

It’s the live rape of two little boys by two grown men. We can’t see the cowards’ faces, while we can see the total carnage they’re wreaking over these kids in Ultra HD. Because if you make money of assaulting and raping kids, it should at least be decent quality.

“I can’t get through,” Zoey says with a little voice, none of her usual bravado there to be found. “Security is too tight.”

“I’ll find a way in,” Chester answers calmly. He’s in his own zone right now. He starts clicking and typing while lines of code appear at such a speed my eyes can’t keep up. My eyes are glued to the top left screen where two boys are in agony. Beckett stands behind me, his hands on the back of my chair. His grip is so tight I can feel it indenting the cushions of the chair.

“Do we have to keep watching what is happening to those boys?” he asks with clenched teeth.

“We do,” Chester answers like it’s the most normal thing in the world to see how two boys get molested for a live digital audience.

“There’s… data there,” Zoey says. “Chester is working to get in, because there’s a trail there somewhere. But sometimes it’s easier to find a trace on the actual footage. Say like the camera shifts and we can see through a window and find a certain landmark to narrow things down. Another possibility is that there’s data coded in the actual images. And then there’s things to take into account about the people who are watching this. They could be an in, the amount of people watching and the way the connection and servers work. Everything is a possible in.”

I can hear Beckett swallow. “Okay, I get it, lots of words to convince me why we’re watching fucking kids being molested.”

I’d love nothing more than to turn around and make him see why the work we do is so important, because we are doing something about it. But I don’t have the fight left in me right now, I’m too tired and too depressed. I need to save my energy for these kids.

“This…” Chester starts, “is a very unconventional place on the dark web. How’d you find it?”

Zoey raises a brow. “Popped up in one of the alarms.”

Chester furrows his brows as he furiously keeps tapping on his keyboard. “I don’t have any set up for these parts of the dark web. Nor would they give off a signal with the search words we’re looking for. Send me the notification you got?”

Zoey rushes off to her own desk to ask what he asked.

“Abs, get the team in. I’ll have somewhere to go in a few minutes.”

I get up without asking questions, grabbing my phone to call my team in to get ready to go.

“How?” Beckett asks. “The tiny girl just said she couldn’t and you will have an address just like that?”

“Her name is Zoey. And because when I boast about being the fucking best, it’s because I am, not because some false sense of ego,” Chester answers, a little irritated without slowing down. “I’ve been gifted with a mind that can rival the great ones. I could’ve focused on theoretical Maths, but I chose to focus on this, knowing that what I do can actually make a difference. My name might not be remembered in a hundred years, but in the grand scheme of things, I think I’m doing the right thing. Now shut up, or follow Abby and gear up and go along with her. Make sure that what you’re seeing on that screen stops happening. If you’re too delicate to see it happen, do something about it instead of acting like an innocent bystander.”

Surprising the whole fucking universe, Beckett stops asking questions and follows me into the changing room. I walk to my own locker and start changing into the tactical gear that’s hanging at the ready for me. I’ve sent the guys a quick text that we have a lead, and it won’t take long before they’re here. They were working out in the gym in the office building. Beckett follows me in, looking kind of lost.

“There’s a set of clothes in the locker to the right. It’s Alex’s old set. There might be a hole in there somewhere, but you’re close to his size, so if you want you can take those.”

I start unbuttoning the blouse I’m wearing, revealing the green lacey bra I’m wearing beneath it. It won’t do a fucking thing in terms of support for my boobs, but I didn’t plan on going on a mission this morning and I felt like looking cute. Beckett’s eyes fall on it, some kind of heat flashing in his eyes before he finds his professionalism, turns around and starts undressing himself. When he’s down to his black boxer briefs, I glance over myself and admire the perfect roundness of his ass. Not the time.

By the time Scott, Dylan and Alex walk into the changing room, I’m already dressed again and am putting on my kevlar vest. I grab my 9mm Glock and quickly check it before I stick it in my holster. Hooking myself up to my earpiece, I am surprised by a very loudly cursing Chester.

“What the fuck is going on?” I yell through the earpiece. I’m pretty sure he can hear me from his desk as well, but what the hell do I care?

“He sent it! The fucking serial killer sent the notification! He sent it using a mock link from The New York Times. Only he changed it to ‘The New York Time’. How the fuck does he know these things? How does he find these kids when I can’t find them? How the fuck does he even know we’re looking for these two boys?”

“I don’t care!” I bellow, the look of the top left screen etched onto my brain. There’s a nagging feeling that understands where Chester is coming from, but this is not the moment to focus on that. I push all the worry I have about that nugget of information down and store it for another time. I can practically hear Robyn tell me that compartmentalizing like that isn’t going to help me in the long run. But right now, it’s all I’ve got. “We’re going to figure that out later. Right now, I need an address, and we need to get these boys.”

“Fuck!” Chester yells, and I can hear him both in real time and through my earpiece.

“Pull yourself together, Ches. Find them. Let us bring them home.”

During my little conversation with Chester, all the guys got ready. Beckett seems to fit right in, only missing an earpiece. I grab one of our backup pieces for him, earning me a questioning look.

“If you’re going to tag along, you might as well be fully in,” I explain like it’s the most natural thing to do. We all walk out of the changing room, waiting for the go ahead. Scott pulls Zoey aside and gives her a passionate kiss for all of us to see. Do I need to have some kind of rule about dating co-workers? And if so, does that rule apply to me and Chester as well?

“Get to the cars, I’ll have an address in a few minutes. I’m almost through,” Chester says, eerily calm.

“Beckett’s hooked up as well,” I say, as I point to my earpiece. The shadow of a smile appears on Chester’s mouth.

“I’ll be careful with what I say in that case.”

We’re all in the cars. Alex is with me and Beckett, Scott and Dylan have taken the other car. I’m behind the wheel myself, because I need to do something and I’m an excellent driver.

“Got it, send the locations to your GPS systems. Go, be safe,” Chester’s voice comes through the earpiece. I’m driving before I know where it is we’re going, there’s only on exit in the garage, so that part of the journey is clear. Alex looks at the GPS and what our destination is.

“Seems like we’re staying local. Just a little north of here.”

A shiver runs down my spine. It’s not just happening in my city, it’s happening right beneath our noses. I force the thought that we probably wouldn’t have found them without the help of the serial killer to the back of my mind. We’d have gotten there eventually. We’re going there now, saving them, that’s all that counts.

“When we get there, I need you all to secure the place. Let me get to the kids,” I instruct my team. They all agree.

“If these kids are so traumatized by men, why aren’t there more women on your team?” Beckett asks. I don’t know if it’s just to make conversation while we’re getting there, or if it’s because he’s genuinely curious, but it’s a sore subject with me.

“Most women don’t receive the training I made sure I got myself. Yeah, there’s women in the police force, in the army, in the FBI. There’s even active campaigns to get more women to join. Which they should, we’re invaluable for work like this. But by the time they’ve gone through training they’ve been brainwashed to think they’re worth less than their male counterparts.”

Alex is nodding furiously. He knows I’ve been trying to get more women on our team, because most of the perpetrators are men and these kids are traumatized by them, but I can’t find anyone who qualifies. They’ve had the confidence trained out of them. I’m all for gender equality, but in some cases, gender does matter. If these kids don’t trust men, but can somehow still trust a woman, we’ll go with a woman every time. The most important thing is that these kids feel safe.

Beckett seems to think about what I just said, which is fine by me. I focus on the road and get to the address in record time. We get out of the car and make our way to the house. It’s just a normal three-story brownstone. Nothing about the outside of the house would give away what’s happening inside.

“We’re here. Is the feed still live?” I ask Chester.

“It went down about three minutes ago.”

I can practically hear him grinding his teeth.

Shifting my attention to my team and Beckett, I make sure to look at them all independently. “Okay, Alex kicks down the door. We secure the kids. The kids are our priority. There’s at least two adults here, but probably more, helping behind the scenes. Be prepared. Call me when you find the kids and I’ll be the first one here.”

They all nod.

“Ches, call the EMTs. These kids are going to need medical attention.”

“On the way,” he answers.

So, that’s all the practicalities. Let’s go get them. I take a deep breath and then nod my head in the direction of the door. Alex takes the lead, and with one expertly aimed kick, he kicks in the door. That might seem easy whenever you see it happen on TV, but it actually takes quite a lot of strength and skill. Seems like they didn’t invest in fancy locks.

We all enter, guns aimed.

“FBI entering now, work with us and no harm has to be done!” Beckett yells, because he still is an agent after all and he has to make himself known. Being private contractors, we don’t have the exact same protocol to follow, but making yourself known is something you want to do if you want a case to stick in court.

I hear rustling from one of the rooms on the other side of the building. A guy comes running out of a room into the hallway at full speed, trying to get past us. I don’t know if this is one of the molesters or not, but I take great pleasure in planting my elbow in his face and making him go down. Dylan takes over, aiming his gun at him while he’s down and we go further into the house.

The first door we open leads to a living room which looks empty. Alex and Scott clear the room while Beckett and I keep eyeing the hallway.

“Nothing here, boss,” Scott says.

We proceed and I open the next door. I try to suppress, my feelings when I see a room without windows with a huge bed in the middle of the room. There’s a desk on one side of the room with a professional camera, a laptop and some serious lighting. The room appears to be empty, but we have to clear it anyway.

Going through the room, I don’t find anything. Just when I want to clear it, I hear something coming from beneath the bed. How the fuck did I fail to check beneath the bed? Gun at the ready, I crouch down, and find a man lying flat on his stomach. The moment his eyes find the barrel of my gun, his look turns defeated.

“Got one,” I yell while Alex makes his way through the room, my gun never leaving that asshole.

Sometimes, there really are monsters under the bed.

Alex pulls him out from beneath it and cuffs him. The man is pale and sweating profusely. I guess he’s only courageous when he’s at least twice the size of the person he’s facing. The man snarls, and it takes all my restraint not to put my fist into his face, multiple times over.

“Where are the kids?” I demand of him.

“Flew off to Neverland,” he says with a fucking chuckle. Anger boils inside of me, and I really have to remind myself that authorities are not okay with me ramming the butt of my gun into his face. Before I can talk myself off the ledge, Beckett punches the guy in his face.

The sound it makes is like angels singing.

“I’d thought you were a by-the-books kind of guy?” Alex asks.

“Yeah, well, chuckling after raping kids is sanctioned by getting punched in the face. It’s the law. It’s just written down somewhere in the fine print,” Beckett says with a scowl. I think I just got a whole new level of respect for the guy.

When his green eyes meet mine, I can’t help but smile at him.

“Scott found another one, he’s being cuffed as well. No kids though,” Beckett elaborates.

Panic starts to rise. “Have we looked everywhere?”

“Yeah, house is mostly empty,” Beckett answers while watching the criminal like a hawk when he tries to wriggle his way out of Alex’s hold. I guess he feels like he’s fucked. Rightfully so.

“What do you mean by mostly empty?” I ask him. These kids have to be here somewhere. The feed didn’t go offline that long ago and I’ll be damned if I let some kids slip through my fingers again. Especially after they’ve been through what we just saw happening.

“There’s a couch and a TV in the living room, then there’s the bedroom with the camera and other than that there’s a kitchen with a table and some chairs. That’s it. I don’t think this is where they permanently reside.”

Fuck.

“Ches,” I say through my earpiece. “Do you have any cams showing the kids coming out of the house?”

“Nobody came out on any of the cams I have on the building. And I’ve got a lot. Distrusting neighborhood, people try to protect their shit.”

They’ve got to be somewhere in the house. For a second my mind wanders to a certain basement and a whiff of lime reaches my nostrils. Following Beckett, we make our way through the house, so I can see for myself that it’s exactly as he told me. Panic is setting in. We are not losing more kids.

We end up in the kitchen that indeed only holds some standard cabinets, a table, some chairs and a fridge. Fuck, they’re gone. I can’t believe it, we lost kids again. Three minutes.

Three fucking minutes!

I kick the table leg out of frustration and swear out loud until I feel a hand on my shoulder. When I look up, I stare into two emerald green eyes that mirror every single ounce of frustration and sadness I’m currently experiencing.

My eyes start to burn, partly because of today, partly because of the whole fucked-upness of that damn serial killer, my estrangement from Remy and not sleeping for shit. But I refuse to cry or break down. This is not the time. There are two kids out there who desperately need my help. I’ll be damned if I waste my energy on crying instead.

“We’ll find them,” Beckett tries to soothe me, but I refuse to hear him.

My eye falls on the fridge in the corner of the kitchen. There’s a fucking lock on it. Motherfucking assholes locked up the food? Fucking hell, people are so twisted. I’ll never be able to wrap my mind around it.

And then my mind clicks, like the last piece of a puzzle falling into place.

Why the hell do you need to lock a fridge when you don’t keep the kids in the house?

I scrunch my eyebrows, looking around Beckett, who observes me but doesn’t seem to understand. The plug to the fridge lies beside the electrical socket, which is odd. Something about this fridge is hinky. When I observe it more closely, there seems to be a hole in the side of it.

Without speaking about my suspicions, I grab my lockpicking kit and start working. It’s nothing fancy, just a regular lock you can get at any hardware store. It’s no more than a nuisance for anyone who knows their way around a lock.

Beckett, thank the lord, is not giving me crap about lockpicking. Maybe seeing what those kids went through is enough to make him a little less uptight about the damn rules. If he starts giving me a hard time right now, I’ll kick his ass.

When the lock finally gives in and clicks, my heart starts racing. I don’t dare to hope yet, but at the same time, I’m praying to anyone out there willing to listen to me to let these kids be in there.

Two sets of scared blue eyes stare at me when I open the doors, and before I know it, I fall to my knees. They’re still undressed and dirty, definitely in pain and scared out of their minds.

“Hey guys,” I say with a croaking voice. “My name is Abby. We’re here to get you out of here and go someplace safe.”

Somewhere in the distance, I can hear Chester whoop in my earpiece, but it isn’t registering. I get overwhelmed by a sense of relief when I reach out my hands for them to grab.

One of them shoots a nervous glance over my shoulder to where Beckett is standing. I can hear him shuffling out of the kitchen.

“I know he looks scary,” I willingly give them, “but I promise he’s one of the good guys.”

The smallest of the two boys suddenly jumps forward, ignores my hand, and wraps his arms around my neck as heart-throbbing sobs start to leave his mouth. His brother quickly follows, my arms filled with the two broken but saved boys.

I hold them so tight they imprint on my heart, which they’ll forever hold a piece of, even when I’ll eventually have to let them go.

I walk through the hallway with the black and white pictures of dancers on the wall. For some reason I found myself compelled to come to Remy after we made sure those boys were in the right hands. The first time I was here, they were just pictures of random people. Now as I walk past, I recognize Remy’s hands on the waist of a girl being lifted – I see the back of his leg, as a dancer gets twirled around. In one of the pictures, Nour–h beams as she takes center stage, an outstretched arm reaching for her – Remy’s. Ever since I walked through the doors the first time, things got personal. I got to know Remy. As a person, as an artist, as a friend, as a lover. And the distance I sho–ld be keeping from him feels like an impossible task. I need to find out if there’s anything left to salvage between us.

Music comes from the room at the end of the hallway, and I gather all my bravery to open the door just a crack so I can peek inside. Stan by Dido and Eminem blasts through the sound system, and Remy dances through a half lit and otherwise empty room. His movements are big, and powerful. They ooze feelings – raw, unkempt, larger than life. He’s a sight to behold and I actually hold my breath as he uses the whole room. Jumping, spinning, rolling over the floor. When the song comes to an end, I stand in the doorway, frozen.

“Go away,” Remy says as he walks to the side of the room, grabbing a towel and wiping his face.

“I didn’t try to spy on you…”

“But you did so anyway. Go away, Abby. I don’t want to see you.”

I swallow hard, turning around to leave. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice thick as I pull the door closed behind me. I’d love to be the tough chick I usually am, but Remy has seen the softer side of me, has seen all of me, and I can’t pretend with him. Forcing myself not to start running, I make my way to the exit through the hallway when the door to the dance room opens.

“You may be sorry, but I’m fucking angry!” Remy yells. “I’m so fucking angry I can’t see anything besides that. All I feel is rage. How the hell can you betray me like that?”

I just stand there. My mouth open, my eyes watery. “What did you expect me to do, Remy?”

He throws his hands in the air while he suspires through his nose. “Anything else. Everything. Nothing! I don’t know. I expected you to believe me. I expected you to know me better than this. I was ready to give you the world, and then you crushed my soul because you believed I was a killer.”

My heart pangs when I hear him mirror the words my Aunt Viv said when she told the story about my mother and her magic words to steal the moon, but my aunt always wanted someone who could give them the world instead. Remy wanted to give me the world, and I believe I would have let him.

My eyes lock with those vibrant blue eyes of his. They’re not empty, they’re so full of everything I’m surprised emotions don’t fall out of it. Sadness, anger, hurt, desperation.

“I wish I could turn back time,” I finally answer, never leaving his eyes.

“Cher would be so proud of you,” he spits out in a missed attempt at humor. “That might be a good thing too, because if we would be turning back time right now, I’d make it so we’d never met.”

Life would be easier like that, but never having had him in my life is an idea that’s too depressing. I sigh. It’s a sigh that holds so much more than just air leaving my body. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have let Beckett talk me into believing Remy actually killed those women. I should’ve relied on my gut feeling, knowing there was nothing hinky going on with Remy. And I should rely on what it is I’m feeling now. This isn’t something I can fix. This needs time.

Time is quickly becoming my least favorite word in the English language ever.

I can’t fix this, and the solution for the world of hurt I’m in isn’t here. So I do the only thing I think will help right now. I leave.

“If you ever find a way to forgive me,” I state, “or figure out what it is I need to do for you to forgive me, let me know. I’ll be here, right where I’ve always been. Even if you never change your mind. Goodbye Remy.”

Without waiting for his answer, I turn around and leave. I can’t say I’m leaving whole, because I leave a part of myself with him. Somewhere it’ll always be. I’m damaged, I’m broken and not even all the king’s horses and all the king’s men could put Abby Wilder back together again.