Tellings of the Time: Complete series

10. 9

It’s after dinner time on the fourth of the month. The third has come and gone without anything of significance happening. Well, something did happen. A girl was taken. We just don’t know who yet. We couldn’t prevent it. And now it’s a new waiting game for a missing persons report to come in and we can find out who he took.

I’m sitting on the floor in the living room, haven’t even bothered to turn the TV on, swirling the contents of my third glass of whiskey. It’s not even a good one, but I’m not really drinking it for the flavor anyway.

Yesterday was fucking awful. I fought the urge to go drive around to see if I could prevent the killer from taking another girl, but I understood that was no use at all. Remy joined us after work, but I was in a foul mood. He, Chester and I ended up in the living room, all trying to fall asleep but getting exactly zero hours of sleep in. My mind kept trying to figure out how the hell I was supposed to sleep while some girl was being abducted and killed.

The most soothing thought that I had was that at least she wasn’t tortured.

This morning Ches and I went to the office while Remy went home. He had been quiet for a few hours, leaving me with the impression he fell asleep sometime during the morning. I made Alex give me a killing workout and I achieved absolutely fucking nothing all day. My mood has been worse than PMS on steroids.

And now I’m home, having a belly full of sandwiches Chester made us for dinner and a nice buzz of whiskey going through my veins. I really fucking hate this and I don’t even care that I’m acting like a kid who can’t handle losing a game.

The doorbell buzzes and sends an alert on my phone, making my adrenaline spike and reaching for the device. It shows Beckett on our doorstep, and I don’t know to be relieved or let down that it isn’t another brown package.

I pick myself up off the floor and make my way to the door to open it, showing me an equally tired looking Beckett. His green eyes seem less vibrant with the dark circles beneath them. Even his outfit is less formal than it usually is. While I’ve seen him in civilian’s clothes, it’s the first time I’ve seen him in just a black t-shirt and stone-washed denim.

“Got a sec?” he asks by way of greeting.

“Sure,” I say, opening the door and letting him in.

He looks around, not knowing where to go, and I lead the way to the living room in silence. I sit down on the same spot on the floor I just got up from and grab my glass, holding it with two hands as if I’m warming them to a cup of tea. Beckett sits down on the couch opposite of me, looking around the room curiously before he settles on looking at me.

“What’s up? Did you find anything?”

“No, we have no leads on number three.”

And it’s like I’m a bull and a red flag is being waved in my face. I lose the plot. I simply lose it, no longer in any rational state of mind. My vision blurs and I throw my glass right next to Beckett’s head against the wall behind him, where it shatters into a thousand pieces. Beckett jumps up in surprise, his eyes huge, looking like he’s so fucking innocent it only enlarges my rage.

“What the fuck?” he bellows, looking over his shoulder to where there is now a nice whiskey colored spot on the white wall. He turns back to me, his stance defensive, but I don’t give a fuck.

“She’s not a number!” I yell at the top of my lungs, my muscles trembling and my fists balled. “She’s a someone. She has a mother. And a father. Maybe she has siblings. She has friends! And not only does he rob her of her life, he’s ruining all of the lives of the people she knows and loves. And for what? For FUCKING what? For some bullshit reason he made up in his head. Don’t you dare make her into a damn number. Don’t you dare make her into just a victim. She’s a person and he stole that from her.”

God, I wish I had another glass to throw at him.

“Don’t take that from her too,” I end in a more civilized tone, coming to my senses a little.

Perhaps it’s the fact that my vision is clearing up, perhaps it’s that my verbal vomit has an effect on him, but the color of his eyes seems to change from dark green to light green. Maybe it’s just the alcohol in my system fooling me. Whatever it is, he lowers his defenses, opening up his composure.

“I never intended to do that. Even though I don’t know who she is yet, she’ll never be just a number.”

I’m not sure whether I believe him yet.

“I came over because it’s driving me nuts not knowing, waiting. I thought maybe we could go grab a bite to eat and share our misery.”

That leaves me stunned. He came over here to see if we could share our misery? What do I even say to that? Do I have any reason not to? It can’t be worse to feel helpless together than feel useless alone, right?

“Okay,” my mouth says before my head can catch up.

“Okay,” Beckett repeats, de-escalating the whole situation.

I look at the shattered glass on the floor and start walking to the supply closet. Beckett follows me without asking questions, grabbing the dustpan and tin while I take out the vacuum cleaner. Together, we clean up the mess I made in silence.

“Ready?” Beckett asks when we finish.

“Sure, just let me tell Ches I‘m heading out.”

Walking to his office, I wonder why I feel the need to tell him I’m going anywhere. It’s not like we’re joined at the hip and I need to tell him everything, but at the same time I’d like to know where he is too if he’s supposed to be home.

“Hey,” I say while I step into his office, Beckett hot on my heels. Chester looks up from one of his screens and takes off his headset, his eyes red rimmed from lack of sleep and probably rubbing them too much. “I’m going out with Beckett for a bit.”

Chester cocks his head, looking around me and finding Beckett, before he gives him a curt nod and puts on his headset again. “Bring her home safely, Becky.”

“Stop calling me Becky,” Beckett snaps.

“Never,” Chester says.

“Becky’s there? Kick him in the balls for me, Abby.” Remy’s voice coming from Chester’s computer suddenly says.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask Chester.

“I’m trying to get Remy sufficient in gaming. He sucks at it.”

I snort. Making Remy play games with Chester can go all kinds of wrong, but at least they’re doing something together. “No ball kicking tonight, Remy. But kick Ches’s ass in gaming for me please. His ego is big enough as it is.”

“I’m afraid his ego will be getting bigger. I really suck.”

“Yeah, you do,” Chester answers while wagging his eyebrows with the innuendo before he starts playing his game again.

“Okaaaaay,” Beckett says, “and that’s our cue to leave.”

I’m chuckling as I take Beckett to the front door, letting him lead the way to his car. My eye falls on my own pick-up truck, and I kind of want to drive it so I’ll have the option of going away whenever the hell I want to. But there isn’t a doubt in my mind that Beckett won’t let me drive after drinking, and I guess if there’s any rule to follow, no drunk driving is a good one.

We get in one of those big SUV’s and Beckett immediately buckles up like the good boy he is. I just follow his lead.

When he starts the engine and drives off, his eyes are glued to the road. There’s no music on, which is making me feel a little nervous. The silence is too uncomfortable, so I bend forward and start the music myself, putting on some playlist that’s already there. ‘Summer of ‘69’ by Brian Adams starts playing, and I guess it’s not the worst. It’s better than the deafening silence in any case.

“So, Remy made up with you guys?” Beckett asks, slightly bobbing his head to the music. Is this his playlist? I don’t know what to think of that. I hadn’t really thought about his musical preferences before just now.

“Sort of,” I answer, putting my feet on the dashboard and hugging my bended knees. I get a look of disapproval, but don’t really give a fuck.

“I’m sorry my actions made your life harder,” he says, eyes on the road, not showing anything that’s going on inside him. The last thing I ever expected of Beckett was an honest apology, but this sure feels like one.

“Well, we’ll figure it out.”

“But you’re not back together or anything?” he asks flatly.

I sigh. “It’s complicated…” I answer when I think of the whole situation with Chester and Remy. “My whole love life is kind of complicated right now. I don’t even know if we were ever really together or if we were just involved.”

“You looked really together in the car park of the shooting range,” he says with a small voice, making me blush.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have looked, perv,” I say in a teasing tone, because the seriousness of this conversation is making me confused. Fuck, I really need a new therapy session with Robin with everything that’s going on. “Where are we going anyway?”

“There’s a good diner right outside of the motel we’re staying. They have the best milkshakes,” he answers while he expertly drives us to wherever the fuck it is we’re going.

“Didn’t peg you for a sweet tooth.”

“How come?” he asks with a raised brow, his head cocked.

“You drink your coffee black, you take care of your body. Just didn’t think sugar would be your thing.”

“You sure you don’t want to become a profiler?” he asks with a crooked smirk.

“Nope,” I say while making the p pop. “I’ll keep saving kids.”

We ride in silence for a moment, while the music changes to ‘Hunger Strike’ by Temple of the Dog. I’m not really getting a vibe for what his taste in music exactly is.

“You’re right though. I’m not really a sweet tooth, don’t like sugar all that much. Except for milkshakes. I’ve got two younger brothers. They’re quite a bit younger than me, so every now and then when my mother and father would go out, I’d babysit them. The first thing we did when they’d walk out the door was make milkshakes. It was our deal so that they’d be good. Most of the time they didn’t listen at all, but I didn’t care.”

A smile covers his face as he seems to be lost in the memory of taking care of his sisters.

“Sounds like you had an awesome youth,” I reply with a half smile, a pit in my stomach when it makes me remember what I’m missing myself.

“I had. I was really fucking lucky. My mom and dad are still as in love as they were in high school. My brothers became really amazing men. But sometimes, when I haven’t been home in a while and I miss them, I crave milkshakes.”

I find myself nodding in agreement. It’s the same as me cooking whenever I miss my parents. I like hearing about him, because I realize I know absolutely nothing about the man sitting next to me. Before this ride I didn’t know he was into old school rock ballads, or that he has an awesome family somewhere in the country. All I knew is he’s a hothead, a good shot, a stickler for the rules and really fucking gorgeous.

“And you’ve found a diner with good milkshakes, meaning you’re missing them at the moment?”

He hums. “I’ve done back to back operations for the last six months. No time off at all. There’s been a lot of milkshakes lately.”

We drive up to an old school diner named Betty Boots. There’s a sign of a naked pin-up girl, covering up all her private bits, wearing nothing but bright blue cowboy boots. Seeing it gives me a weird sense of normalcy.

Beckett parks the car and jumps out of it, quickly making his way around the car to open my door. I raise my eyebrow to him, because what the hell? Did he just time travel from the eighteen hundreds and become the perfect gentleman? He answers my confusion with a crooked smile.

When we enter the diner, we are seated at the end of the establishment by a waitress. The inside of the diner is just as old school as the outside. Plastic tables and bright red couches line the windows. Napkins, ketchup and mustard already on the table.

Another waitress comes to our table, handing us both an enormous menu, telling us her name is Wendy and she’ll be our waitress for the night before asking us what we like to drink.

“Which milkshake is the best?” I ask Beckett.

“I love the vanilla milkshake, but the strawberry is really good as well.”

“Okay, I’ll have a strawberry milkshake,” I say to Wendy which she quickly scribbles down on her notepad before Beckett orders a vanilla one. She puts her notepad in the front pocket of her old school apron and I have to admit I’m kind of digging the vibe of this whole diner.

“So, do I get to profile you based on your choice of milkshake?” I ask teasingly.

He smirks. “Give it your best shot.”

“Ordering a vanilla milkshake must mean you’re really vanilla as well.”

There’s a glint in his eyes as he looks at me long and hard. He doesn’t answer me in any way other than cocking his head and winking at me. The wink somehow makes me feel like it’s suddenly very hot inside the diner.

I open up the huge menu to distract myself from Beckett, finding a variety of all-American classic fare accompanied by photos of the dishes. Yes, I’m very critical when it comes to food, but seeing one of these menus always makes me happy. It reminds me of the diners Mom and Dad used to take me when we were road tripping on vacation. It must be showing on my face, because I find him studying me again.

“What’s making you look so happy?” he asks me, his own menu already closed again.

“The menu reminds me of my parents. We used to go road tripping whenever we went on vacation. We ate at a lot of diners that had menus with pictures.” My eyes deliberately stay glued to the menu as I tell him, because I don’t know if I want to see how he looks at me when I tell him.

He doesn’t respond, which I guess is for the best, because the smile has been replaced by a thick throat.

Wendy returns to our table with two huge milkshakes and to take our orders. Beckett chooses a burger and I opt for the cheeseburger, because come on, cheese makes everything better.

I take a sip of my milkshake and I have to admit it’s really good. “Fuck, that’s good,” I groan. I take my straw out of the milkshake, suck it empty when it’s hovering in the air and then shamelessly stick it into Beckett’s shake so I can taste the vanilla one as well. And it’s even fucking more awesome.

All the while he just quietly observes me.

“So, two brothers?” I ask to break the silence.

“Yeah. My mother likes to joke that’s where my FBI training started. Says if I hadn’t become a behavioral science specialist I should have become a cop. I’ve been dealing with criminals all my life,” he says with wide eyes and leans back, lost in memory. “A lot.”

He starts talking about his childhood, and what kind of mayhem his brothers got up to until Wendy arrives with our plates. The burgers are as huge as the milkshakes, melting cheese dripping from my bun and my mouth waters. It almost looks too big to eat with my hands and get into my mouth, but I pick it up and try to anyway. And it’s to freaking die for.

Once again, Beckett observes me.

“You like your food,” he states.

“Yeah, duh,” I answer very ladylike with a full mouth.

He smiles, picks up his own burger and starts devouring it too.

“So you live in a fucking castle with Chester?” he asks once his mouth is empty.

“Na-uh, this isn’t going to work. You already know everything about me, and I know absolutely nothing about you. Tell me about you. Who is Beckett Sanders? Outside of work obviously.”

He takes another bite before he answers me. “Without work? A nobody. I’m married to my work it seems nowadays.”

“So that’s it? After this job you just go on to the next job?”

He shakes his head. “No, not this time. Winny has a baby on the way. After this job she’s going home for a few months. I might pick up some jobs joining other task forces, but I’m going home for a bit first.”

“Winny’s pregnant?” I blurt out, because I did not see any sign of that.

Beckett starts laughing out loud. “No, Winny is not, but her wife, Caroline is.”

“Oh,” is the marvelous answer I come up with. I didn’t know that. Just like with Beckett I know nothing personal about Winny. “But what do you do when you get home?”

He shrugs. “Watch some baseball games, go see some friends I guess. Work out. Read. Study. I like to pick up new courses in my spare time.”

“That doesn’t count, that’s just more work,” I counter mid-bite.

“I like to read,” he says, a tone softer than his usual voice, almost as if he’s shy.

“What kind of books do you read?” I’m expecting him to say thrillers or crime novels.

“A little bit of everything. Some literature, some fantasy, some science fiction. There’s an occasional thriller in there too. Some romance.”

As he says the word romance, he lifts his emerald eyes up to me, looking at me through his eyelashes. He really is too pretty for his own good.

“Do you ever have relationships, with the way you’re always traveling?” I ask while I take out my straw again and steal some of his vanilla shake.

“Nothing serious, mostly hook-ups.”

The milkshake goes down the wrong windpipe. I was not prepared to hear him say he only has hook-ups. For some reason he seems way too serious to simply hook up with someone.

“I think this is the first date I’ve been on since I was in high school,” he says with furrowed eyebrows.

“Wait!” I blurt out. “This is a date?”

He squints his eyes at me as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m shitting him or not. Which I most certainly am not. Nothing about this said date to me. He asked me out for something to eat to share our misery. Perhaps the only sign that this is a date in his opinion was that he opened the car door for me.

“You’re serious,” he says while his cheeks turn a nice shade of pink. “You really didn’t realize this was a date?”

“What? No! I would’ve changed my clothes if this was a date. Put on some deodorant. Brushed my fucking teeth. Not thrown a glass of whiskey at your head before we headed out.” My heart starts racing. Since when do I accidentally go on dates?

“I thought asking you out for a bite to eat was clear,” he says with a pained face.

“Well, maybe you should add ‘on a date’ somewhere in the sentence for future reference,” I say still a bit stunned that this is a date.

Beckett takes a bite, the pinkness of his cheeks evaporating, slowly chewing it before opening the conversation again.

“What would you have changed into if this was a date?”

I scoff, that’s what he wants to know? “My fancy leather pants instead of my work clothes.”

“Not even a dress for a date?”

“Hell no, the only time I’m wearing a dress is when we have to go to one of those events because we need a donation to keep FIX Foundation running.”

“You pulled it off at the shooting range the other day,” he says sincerely.

“Are you sure you even noticed the dress, or was it the gun action that looked good?”

The pinkness returns again. “No, it most certainly was the dress. The gun action I’ve seen before, I already knew that looks good on you.”

My own cheeks warm up, so I focus on finishing my burger, avoiding answering the question. We finish our meals in silence, because we just managed to make this whole evening weird. I do make annoying slurping noises trying to get all of the milkshake, because it’s goddamn delicious and I take getting just a few more drops over being annoying.

From the corner of my eye I catch Beckett laughing.

“Good, right?”

“This diner is amazing,” I conclude.

We talk a little about subjects that really don’t hold any substance to it until we get the bill, which Beckett insists on paying, because according to him ‘it’s a date after all’.

We walk back to the car, and my heart stops for a second when there’s a brown envelope beneath his windshield. Fuck. I know exactly what this means.

Beckett notices the envelope mere seconds after I do, walks to the back of his car and grabs a box with gloves. He really is married to his job. Or maybe it’s just that this is his government supplied car and it’s stocked with everything he might need. He holds the box out to me, so I can put on a pair of gloves too.

Once they’re on I rush to grab the envelope from beneath the window wiper. It’s addressed to ‘Abby’. Not my full name, not some address printed on a label. No, the abbreviation of my name, written in blue pen and big letters. It looks like it was written down in a rush, or maybe he just has bad penmanship.

I rip the envelope open, and I see that Beckett wants to say something about it. Fuck proper procedure, forensics aren’t going to find any traces on it. They haven’t been able to so far and this killer isn’t one to suddenly start messing stuff like that up.

A new polaroid picture falls out, a new set of dark eyes on the face of a girl with raven black hair stares at me, and my heart cries for her. There are tears in her eyes while she looks at the camera in fear for her life.

You’d think I’d get used to seeing these photos, but really, I don’t.

I turn the photo over, expecting not to find anything, but in small tidy lettering, completely opposite to the bad lettering on the envelope, the back says ‘xoxo The Time’.

My hand is shaking when I hold the envelope and the photo out to Beckett.

“Who the fuck does he think he is? The Gossip Girl of serial killers?”

Beckett takes them out of my hands and looks everything over, before grabbing an evidence bag and putting them in it. He doesn’t reply to my comment, he just goes back to being a professional, even if he did think we went on a date this evening and I got to see his human side as well.

“I’ll get this to the FBI as soon as I can, then we’ll have a name for you,” he says softly. Then he walks to the door on the passenger”s side of the car and opens it for me. When I sit down, I give him a half smile. Guess we’re going with this being a date after all.

He drives me back, and this time the silence isn’t uncomfortable. I’m lost in thought while the image of the girl that fell victim to the killer flashes behind my eyes. Before I know it he’s parking right next to my car, opening the door for me again.

This time it manages to make me really smile, despite everything that’s going on in my head. When he answers my smile, everything feels lighter for a brief moment. Without thinking I lean forward and kiss his cheek.

“Thanks for the dinner. I’m definitely going back to taste all the other milkshakes.”

“Maybe I can join you for it?” he asks with none of his usual bravado.

“Sure,” I answer. “It’s a date,” I add with a wink when I start walking towards the door. When I look back, he’s watching me walk away with a bigger smile on his face than I’ve ever seen him with.

“I’ll let you know when we get any information on the girl in the picture.”

“Deal.”

He gets back in his car and drives off while I open the door. Once I’m inside, I release the longest sigh in the history of mankind. Just when I think I need to find Chester, I hear laughter coming from the living room. Laughter is an improvement over all these depressed feelings we were experiencing.

When I reach the living room, I find Chester and Remy in just sweatpants sitting on the couch. Both have wet hair as if they’ve just showered. They’re fighting for the remote and seem to be having a wonderful time.

“Done with gaming?”

“Yeah,” Chester answers, making use of the distraction I’m providing to overpower Remy and grab the remote. “He really sucked.”

“Then I told him that if I was really sucking, I’d rather suck for real,” Remy adds while wagging his eyebrows at me.

I laugh out loud, climb over the back of the couch, and wiggle myself right in between them. “Well, I’m glad that you guys made up. I went on an accidental date and then as dessert we got an envelope with a picture of the girl he took this time.”

Both their faces fall flat.

“Do you want me to start all my systems up so I can help the feds along as soon as something comes online?” Chester asks.

I think about it for a second, but quickly dismiss it. I think what we need is some quality time together to scare away the monsters that are living inside our heads.

“No,” I say, grabbing the remote from Chester’s hands, “I need both of you to be here and watch reruns of Forged in Fire with me. And tomorrow, when we’ve all had a crappy night because we slept on the couch, we’ll help the FBI to catch this killer.”

Both of them seem to agree with this and make themselves comfortable on the couch.

“How did you go on an accidental date?” Remy asks, leaning forward and taking my shoes off for me.

“Oh God, it was so awkward,” I start before I tell them everything that happened since I left the house earlier that evening.