CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Miles needed a moment to breathe. He made his way to the break room, hoping a few minutes alone with a cup of coffee might help him regain his composure. He was seething, angry, broken. And he found himself not wanting to be there at all.
He was relieved to find the break room was empty.
It was exactly what he needed. He went through the motions of making coffee, letting the familiar routine calm his nerves slightly.
The coffee maker gurgled as it brewed, and he stared out the small window at the parking lot below.
Cars moved in orderly patterns, people going about their normal lives while he struggled with a case that seemed to have no solution.
More than that, he felt like he was struggling with his purpose.
He’d so badly wanted to help with this case but he felt that it was literally tearing him apart.
He pulled out his phone, thinking he should text Elena.
Just seeing her name in his contacts always made him feel more centered, more connected to something real outside the chaos of work.
She grounded him in ways he was still learning to appreciate.
After the mess with Walsh, he needed that connection more than ever.
The coffee finished brewing, and Miles poured himself a cup. He took his first sip, feeling the warmth spread through his chest. He was about to start typing a message to Elena when his phone buzzed in his hand.
Elena's name appeared on the screen. The sight of it made him smile slightly despite everything that had happened. She had perfect timing, as always. His was momentarily flooded with a wave of love for her, anxious to marry her.
“Hey,” he answered, settling into one of the plastic chairs around the break room table.
“Miles?” Elena's voice sounded strange. Weak. Frightened.
Miles sat up straighter. “Elena? What's wrong?”
“I... I'm scared, Miles. Something's wrong here.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and Miles could hear her breathing heavily.
“What do you mean? Where are you?”
“I'm at home. I was working on my laptop and I started smelling something weird. Like. Flowers at first, but… then like a chemical. Sweet but wrong.” Elena paused, and Miles could hear her taking shallow breaths. “Miles, I know all about your case and it’s… I’m just… I'm scared it's happening to me.”
Miles felt ice form in his stomach. How in God's name could Elena be attached to this case at all?
But fear for her overruled everything else and her safety was the only thing his brain could latch onto.
"Elena, listen to me. You need to get out of the apartment right now.
Don't think about it, just go outside immediately. "
“I tried to get up but I feel dizzy. Really dizzy. And weak.” Elena's voice was becoming more distant, less focused. “My head feels funny.”
“Elena!” Miles was already on his feet, moving toward the break room door. “Stay on the phone with me. Can you make it to the front door?”
“I'm trying. But my legs...” There was a sound like something hitting the floor. “Miles...”
“Elena? Elena, what happened?”
“I fell down.” Her voice was barely audible now. “Miles, I can't... I can't get up.”
Miles was running through the corridors of the FBI building before he was fully aware of it.
Other agents looked up as he passed, but he didn't stop to explain. Pure terror was driving him forward. He was working on instincts he didn’t understand, his legs pushing, his heart feeling like it might explode at any moment.
“Elena, stay with me. Keep talking to me.” He burst through the exit doors into the parking garage. “I'm coming home right now. Just keep breathing and stay awake.”
“Miles?” Elena's voice was so faint he could barely hear it. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Elena? Elena!”
The line went quiet except for the sound of shallow, labored breathing.
Miles reached his car and fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking so badly he could barely get the key into the ignition.
The entire world felt like it was shrinking around him, even his own train of thought.
There was no rationale, no reason, no logic.
There was only getting to Elena, to his house.
“Elena, can you hear me?” He started the engine and backed out of his parking space faster than was safe. “Elena, please answer me.”
Nothing. Just the faint sound of breathing, getting slower and more irregular.
Miles floored the accelerator as he exited the parking garage, not bothering to stop at the security checkpoint.
The guard shouted something behind him, but Miles was already turning onto the main road.
Several horns blared at him, punctuated by the squealing of tires.
He switched his phone to speaker and set it in the cup holder so he could drive with both hands.
“Elena, I'm on my way. Just hold on.” His voice cracked as he spoke.
The breathing on the other end of the line was getting fainter.
Miles could barely hear it over the sound of his engine and the traffic around him.
He wove between cars, running red lights and taking turns too fast. Other drivers honked and swerved, but Miles didn't care about anything except getting home.
“Elena, please. Please stay with me.”
The breathing stopped.
“Elena? ELENA!”
Silence. The call was still connected, but there was no sound coming through the speaker. Miles screamed her name again, his voice raw with terror and desperation.
He took a corner too fast and nearly sideswiped a parked car. His tires squealed as he overcorrected, and for a moment he thought he was going to crash into oncoming traffic. Somehow, he maintained control and kept driving, tears streaming down his face.
The phone line went dead.
Miles looked at the screen and saw the call had ended. He tried calling back immediately. It rang four times and then it went straight to voicemail.
“No, no, no,” he whispered, trying the number again as he drove. “Please pick up. Please.”
Nothing. Elena's phone was off or dead, and Miles was still fifteen minutes from home even driving like a maniac. He pressed harder on the accelerator, running another red light and narrowly missing a delivery truck.
His mind kept replaying Elena's voice getting weaker and more distant.
The sound of her falling. Her final “I love you” that now sounded like goodbye.
He couldn't lose her. Not like this. Not because some psychopath had decided to target him through the person he loved most. How the hell was she part of this?
How had this case reached into his life and punched him squarely in the heart?
Miles turned onto his street going fifty miles per hour in a residential zone. He slammed on the brakes in front of his house and jumped out of the car without bothering to turn off the engine or close the door. He ran up the front steps, fumbling with his house keys and nearly falling down twice.
The smell hit him as soon as he opened the front door.
Sweet and wrong, just like Elena had described. Chemical and unnatural. Miles recognized it immediately from the other crime scenes, but experiencing it in his own home was like a physical blow to his chest.
“Elena!” he screamed.
He then made a decision that he knew was absolutely reckless but in that moment, with Elena’s life on the line, it wasn’t hard to make—not even close.
He took in a deep breath and rushed into the house.
She was lying just inside the front door, as if she'd been trying to exit when she collapsed.
Her laptop was on the floor nearby, still open, papers scattered around it.
Elena lay on her side, her long black hair spread across the hardwood floor, her face pale and still. Her eyes were open, unblinking.
Miles dropped to his knees beside her and gathered her into his arms. Her body was limp and lifeless. No breath spilled from her lips, and there was no pulse when he pressed his fingers to her neck. Her dark eyes stared at nothing.
“No, no, no,” Miles sobbed, holding her against his chest. “Elena, please. Please wake up.”
But she was gone. The fluorine killer had reached into Miles's personal life and murdered the woman he was supposed to marry in five months.
Had taken her away while Miles was sitting in an FBI break room, completely unaware that his world was being destroyed.
The killer had made this personal in the most devastating way possible.
Miles held Elena's body and screamed until his throat was raw.
And then, realizing he had expelled all the air he had saved up, inhaling in that one large breath, he knew he had to leave her.
If he stayed in her with her, he'd be just as dead as she was within just a handful of seconds.
He ran outside and collapsed into the yard.
He sucked in huge lungfuls of fresh air and, with shaking hands, he pulled out his phone and called Vic.
She answered on the first ring.
“Miles? Where did you go? Hayes is looking for you. Someone saw you rushing through the—”
“Vic,” Miles choked out between sobs. “He killed her. He killed Elena…”
“What? Miles, where are you?”
“I'm at home. Elena called me and said she smelled something chemical. I tried to get her to leave but she collapsed and...” Miles couldn't finish the sentence.
He thought he heard a gasp, as Vic also understood just how impossible this sounded. Then, after a single beat, she said: “I'm sending a hazmat team and ambulance to your location right now. Miles, you need to get out of that house immediately.”
“I am. I’m outside.” Just admitting it made him feel like a coward—like he’d left her behind.
His saw that his neighbors were starting to emerge from their houses, drawn by the sound of his screaming and the sight of his car abandoned in the street with the engine still running, the door ajar.
“Vic… come quick please…”
“Already on the way. You stay put.”
He dropped his phone and started to cry. He screamed and he wept and the world seemed to quake around him. A neighbor came over and all Miles could do was tell them not to go into his house. And even through that, he screamed and cried.
And he continued to do so until the sound of fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars filled his street.