The flight was short and when the plane landed, a light drizzle fell in the Virginia evening. A taxi, a walk, and a lock lead Dr Laine back to her town home. It was dark inside, the curtains drawn against the watery light and she stood in the entrance, surveying the familiar landscape of her home. What she knew now seemed to change everything yet nothing seemed affected, the furniture in the same place and the too loud hum of the refrigerator. Closing the door behind her, she dropped her bag on the black leather recliner and went directly to the freezer. 

Laine was not a drinker, never had been, but the last few nights seemed to put that to the test. She pulled out a bottle of vodka, Grey Goose Cherry Noire, something she had picked up on a whim. Now she poured it straight into a small glass tumbler and took a drink, wincing slightly. 

The quiet house rested around her, weighing on her shoulders and the darkness seemed to seep in, shadows drawing closer. She shook her head, knocking back the rest of the vodka and rinsed the glass before heading back to the living room. 

She lived alone, despite the areas popularity of roommates, she preferred her space. Her table was often covered in graphic crime scene photos and after one incident with a weak stomached roomie and a ruined laptop that finalized that decision. Laine flicked the lights on, a pair of lamps with grey silk shades sending soft illumination which just seemed to chase the shadows back. They curled in expectation, like prowling cats under chairs and in corners. She flipped the last switch that turned on the track lighting that lined the sides of the ceiling.

The room was bright now, the black leather furniture against crisp white rental property walls. Her stereo was next, the speakers thumping to life with whatever had been on her playlist before she left for West Virginia. An old Nine Inch Nails track, a haunting melody about longing and failure. She sank down on the couch to listen, kicking off her shoes and curled up on the plump cushions. Her eyes darted to the sliver of shadow under the entertainment center, a corner shelf and the bruise on her wrist responded with a throb of pain. 

Laine laughed softly at herself, at the anxious crawling in her skin. It was a typical response to trauma and she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. It would pass, the fear, tension, and anxiety at shadows and what they might hold. 

Heather Laine was not afraid of the dark. 

****

Her first night she slept soundly on the couch, exhaustion and cherry vodka combining to send her into a dreamless unconscious. The second night Laine lay in bed and woke up with a choking scream stuck in her throat and the pressing down of her chest. She could not move or speak and her mind wildly groped to find a reason. Marlene. She had come back to revenge herself. 

Once she could move, Laine rolled over, grabbing her phone from the nightstand. In the glow of the light she could see nothing on her bed and no evidence there had ever been. [i]Sleep paralysis,[/i] she told herself noting the time was still early, 1:11AM. 

It was not the first time she had experienced the condition and each time it was just as intense until it was over. No wonder people once believed in incubi and later alien abductions, the feeling of helplessness was terrifying. Laine sat up, tapping her phone to check any messages. There was ten unread messages on Facebook from her mother and she rolled her eyes, reluctantly opening them. The first was a question about a new dress she took a selfie in and then nine messages about why she did not ‘like’ the picture. It was still a decent hour in California so she replied. 

[i]Mom, sorry, been busy with work, will call tomorrow. Give my love to Dad.[/i]

Laine paused then added, [i] Love you, too.[/i]

She liked the selfie, her mother still a beautiful woman even in her fifties and she could tell there had been another round of Botox. Laine sighed and liked a few of her other posts, hardly looking at what they said. 

Laine brought up her work email and sent a message to her supervisor to let her know she was back in town and would be in the office tomorrow. She still needed to finish her analysis of the suspect in the Sofie Childress case. Delta Green or no, it was still an open homicide in the FBI’s jurisdiction and as far as she was concerned she was still working to help solve it. Her thoughts turned to Agent Michael Chan, dead now by his own hand, and her own encounter with Marlene. Had he seen something she missed or was he affected that deeply by just the presence of the black slab of stone. The strange, alien feeling that accompanied the crime scene was certainly palatable but was it enough to stick a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. 



********************************************************************
April 23, Seattle, WA

Rain fell in a steady rhythm at the SeaTac airport, the shades of concrete and sky becoming almost indistinguishable behind the hazy curtain. Dr Laine stood with her laptop bag slung over her chest, a black turtleneck covering to now faded bruise on her neck and pulled her small rolling suitcase along the row of taxis. The black pea coat was buttoned against the cold spring breeze, her old leather jacket had been tossed in the bonfire of the shed. She ducked her head against the rain, walking quickly to the first available cab. 

"Welcome to Seattle, home of warm beaches and sunshine, where can I take you, Miss?" The driver quipped in a dry voice,the glanced I the rear view mirror when the well polished gem did not elicit a smile from his passenger. He was in his late fifties, heavyset with a florid face chapped from cold wind and his hands on the steering wheel looked calloused. She wondered briefly if he had worked the fishing boats until age caught up with him. 

"1110 3rd Ave, please," Laine replied, shoving down the handle of her suitcase and pushing it across the seat. 

"Right away." 

Laine leaned back, watching the city, gloom settling over it despite the landscaped daffodils and crocus blooming, the bright blossoms hanging low in the steady downpour. She swiped her new phone open and scrolled through her contact list, passing the members of Team UMBRA each under their own code name she made up. Then there was Special Agent Chan, she had his number still despite the brief few days before reality shifted forever. 

The agent had been only a couple years older than her, experienced but not jaded, with a quick intelligence and eye for detail. He had seemed to Laine a steady man with a level head, a wife and son and a mortgage. Perhaps he had been under more pressure than she saw, her attention had been on the case after all. And yet her mind kept turning back to the morning in Olympia and the black slab and how long Chan had lingered there. 

Her thoughts were interrupted as the driver pointed out the Space Needle as they entered downtown. 

"Thanks, it's not my first time in the city," she replied politely, not wanting to encourage conversation. 

Once he pulled to a stop outside the FBI field office she paid him and made no comment when he asked if she was a G-man. "Or is it G-woman? Uh, G-person?" He shook his greying head as she closed the door. 

"Just agent these days," she replied unbuckling her seat belt and grabbing her gear. 

Laine made a dash for the entrance, carrying the small suitcase rather than deploying the wheels. Once inside the guard gave her a suspicious look, opening her cases and running the metal detector over her once then twice as it beeped. She gave him a coy smile, "Piercings."

***

Once inside she found the Special Agent-in-Charge Angela Gino in her office. A blonde woman in her forties with a no nonsense air and thin pursed lips. "What can I tell you Doctor, the case isn't in our hands. I assumed you knew this."

Her tone said she assumed Laine had made sure it was moved. So she asked, "Seattle PD?"

"Your people took over," Gino replied, "At least that's what they said. They had all the paperwork anyway."

"All the evidence? Photos?"

"At an office in Washington they said, look Dr Laine, I'm a busy woman and you're obviously out of the loop.  Good day," she said, a hint of nervous energy in her voice and she rose from her chair to show Laine out of the office. 

Dr Laine started out then paused, "I'm sorry about Agent Chan, by the way. He seemed like a good guy, very sharp."

Something flickered in Agent Gino's dark eyes, sadness then suspicion. "We appreciate your thoughts."

Then she closed the door. 

Laine left the building, standing in the rain for a moment then popped the black umbrella open as she started walking down the street. Her phone was in her hand and her thumb scrolled along before finally tapping on the contact labeled [I]Mike Muir[/I].

Wherever he was, Joseph Donnelly's phone would light up with the incoming call.

The phone changed screens as Donnelley picked up, counting up the time of the call. A tired sigh that sounded as if the man had just awoken, an equally tired and droning voice coming from the other end, “Laine?”

His voice brought her back to the cabin and she paused a brief moment before replying, "Hey, yeah, it's me. Did I wake you?"

She watched the rain from the security of the umbrella, almost tempted to back out but the questions needed answers. "I just need a few minutes."

“Yeah?” He said, ignoring the previous question. A sound like shuffling came from the receiver before he spoke again, sitting up in bed maybe, “What is it?”

"I'm in Seattle, following up on the Sofie Childress murder," she said, stepping back as a car splashed through a puddle. "Only everything is gone. You wouldn't know where that box of evidence might have ended up?"

A long pause, a pregnant silence filled in the spaces their voices left empty. After a few moments, Donnelley sighed, “Laine, I know what I know.” He said, “I don’t know [i]that.[/i] I can tell you [i]someone[/i] does. It’s not your case anymore.”

Laine glanced up at the leaden sky then nodded, unsurprised by his answer. "I understand this whole thing is in a green file folder somewhere but I'm still working on a suspect profile. This isn't just about one victim, Donnelley."

She paused and tucked her hand into her coat pocket, thinking for a moment then she said, "Don't tell me I flew out here just to enjoy the weather. I also have some questions I'm working on in an agent's suicide, nothing official but..."

Laine sighed then continued, "How are you, by the way?"

Donnelley huffed through his nose, “Don’t do that.” He said, a little more stern than he might have wanted, but he corrected himself in step, “I’m… fine.”

He took his moment on the other end. A slight sound of static coming through before he continued, “If you’re asking what I know you’re asking,” he said, “No. Not unless he knew and wanted to spill. He would’ve been snatched up just like the rest of you otherwise.”

He let that sink in. It wasn’t until after he yawned that Laine heard his voice, “I’m sorry. If they were close.” There was a sincerity to his voice, “Happens a lot.”

"I'm not putting you on the couch again, Mr Donnelley," Laine replied, smiling slightly. "I asked in genuine concern after our weekend in the mountains." 

After his explanation, Laine said, "Not close but Agent Chan worked the Childress case, I went with him as a consultant. He spent more time around that stone than anyone else. We were all spooked but..."

She started walking again, the sound of her boot heels clicking on the wet pavement seemed too loud in her ears. "He just didn't seem like he was at that point. And if this thing pushed him too this I can't help but think well, about the cabin."

Her hand unconsciously raised to her neck, rubbing where she had been grabbed. “Yeah.” Donnelley said, “That was more of an introduction than I would’ve given any of you.”

“But not all of it was up to me. I still remember my first. But,” he paused a few beats, “But you handled yourself about as well as anybody on their first. Just remember Laine, look at the sunrises.”

Laine stood on the corner of 3rd and Spring, waiting for the light to change. She listened to Donnelley, his tired voice and wondered briefly how many he had given those same words of encouragement and how many of those were still alive and with all their marbles. 

"I handled it well after I ran shrieking and tearing half my clothes off," she said, huffing a soft self effacing chuckle. "I should have listened to you, lesson learned."

At his mention of sunrises she looked over the buildings, the very tops shrouded in low clouds as the rain still fell though it has started to slacken. "Sunrises will probably have to wait until I'm back in Virginia."

Laine crossed the street and kept heading west, her mind turning over the things he told her and the sound of his voice, "Late night?"

“Couldn’t sleep.” Though he didn’t tell her why. He didn’t feel anybody needed to know. Maybe he felt she didn’t want to. Whether it was what he got up to during the night before or otherwise. “Just, uh… unwinding.”

"I've had a few of those myself lately," Laine admitted, omitting the details of the sweat soaked sheets and racing heart when she would bolt awake. "I could use some strong coffee. No sleep on the red-eye."

After a moment she grinned to herself unable to keep the curiosity of what a man like Donnelley would do to relax, "Unwinding? So nice hot bubble bath with some mystic yoga music playing?"

She could hear the smirk in Donnelley’s voice, “Only the best for [i]this[/i] girl.” Donnelley said, “Listen, we both got shit sleep. I’ll let you go try at it again.”

Laine looked out at the small coffee shop across the street, making for it, avoiding both cars and puddles. "I'll be trying at it again but not sleep. If you're in the area in the next few days, let me know. I'll buy you a vente mocha with extra foam. And Donnelley, I don't spook easily."

She stood under the awning, collapsing her umbrella one handed, shaking it out.

“‘Course not. Figured there’s a reason I’d keep you around.” He chuckled, letting it gutter out before he added, “Who knows though, might see me, might not. Keep in touch.”

And the call ended.

Laine shook her head,a half smile touching her lips as he hung up and she put the phone in her pocket. Inside the coffee shop it was warm, a few people already settled in with their laptops writing the next Great American Novel or tapping away at their phones on some money grabbing game. 

"What can I get you?" The barista asked, a tall lanky man with a beard and a bun of fashionably messy hair bundled at the back of his head. He gave her the once over, a hint of interest dampened with wariness. 

"Just a regular coffee, dark roast, black and one of those chocolate croissants, please," she said, "I'll be needing refills, too."

"Sure, on the house," he said, though all regular coffee had free refills likely but Laine gave him a smile of gratitude and he grinned in return. "I'll bring it over, and I recommend the booth at the far corner. A little secret, it has the best WiFi."

"Thanks, um..." She glanced for a name tag but it was a local place and he wasn't wearing one. She did not recognize him from the last time she had been here with Chan and a local detective when Sofie Childress' abandoned car had been discovered in the parking lot.

"Austin," he said, still grinning. "Like the city."

Before retreating to the corner booth she said, "Oh, well thank you, Austin. Very much appreciated."

Setting her laptop up in the corner booth, Laine ruminated over Donnelley's words. [I] It's not your case anymore.[/I] 

Like hell it wasn't. She stubbornly furrowed her brow, tapping her black painted nails on the table as her computer booted up. She had said she should have listened to him but she told herself that was in physical situations. This was different and self delusional reasoning was a powerful force. 

She pulled up her personal files, things she collected for her thoughts on the profile of a killer. Under the Childress file she had copies of pictures she took on her own camera, not a standard practice so it the Agency did not know and what they did not know DG could not confiscate. Her photos were not as high quality as the crime scene unit but the distinctive black slab under the pale body of dead Sophie Childress was visible. Laine cursed herself for not getting better pictures of it but that was what Chan and his team were doing. 

She zoomed in, the stone looked featureless and smooth, no light reflecting and no shadow darker than its own color. Laine wondered if it was still there, in the small glade among the temperate rainforest. Moving the mouse, she zoomed in on corpse of the college girl. Her long hair matted with blood and the frozen expression of horror on her face, mouth open in a silent scream. 

Dr Laine gazed at it for awhile, the world around her fading away as she recalled the shambling corpse of Marlene. If they had not found Sofie, would that have been her fate or was Mrs Baughman a special case?

“Jesus.”

Laine snapped out of her thoughts and looked up at the stunned expression of Austin the barista. She folded down her laptop screen enough for it not to show. [i]Resurrection of some kind but not holy,[/i] she thought wryly. 

“Sorry about that, I’m working on a case.” 

“No shi...really? You’re a cop?” he seemed wary again as he set her coffee and pastry on the table. 

“Heather Laine,FBI. A profiler actually,” she said, hoping it would sway his judgement. 

“Like the tv show?”

“Uh...something like that. You have heard of Sofie Childress? She came here often, her car was found here after she went missing,” Laine said, watching his expression. 

He furrowed his brow, then rubbed at his ear, the multiple piercings clicking faintly, “Yeah, I heard about her.” 

“I didn’t see you here that day.”

“I was off work, sucks though. She was pretty cool,” he offered, then started to back away as the door chimed with another customer shaking off the rain. 

Laine could see something bothered him and she leaned back, giving him a warm smile. “Maybe we could talk about it later. After your shift?”

“Um, sure, yeah,” Austin replied, bumping into the table behind him before turning to hurry back to the coffee bar. 

She opened her computer back up and started typing notes, things she remembered from the case and discussions with the detectives working it. One was dead but the local PD still might have information, if their files had not been raided as well. Laine picked up her phone and called the Seattle headquarters. 

“Can I speak with Detective Gary Smith? Tell him it’s Dr Heather Laine, FBI, ” Laine asked the operator and waited until she heard the heavy baritone of the senior detective. 

“Smith here, didn’t expect to hear from the feds again. What did you want?”

There was shortness to his voice but it was natural from the hours spent in his presence during the search for the victim. “I’m just checking in, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

Silence then a reluctant grunt she took as acknowledgement.

“I’m still working on a detailed profile and I was wondering if I could look into your files there on the Childress case, anything would be helpful,” Laine said, picking up her cup of coffee to take a sip as she waited for his answer. 

On the other end there was a snort of derision, “Files? Feds already cleaned us out, took everything. Might want to check with your buddies in Washington.”

“Everything?” Laine asked, setting the cup down and sloshing a bit of the hot liquid onto her finger. Wincing, she added, “Nothing is there, not even for local use. We don’t know if the suspect is local.”

“Like I said, check with them. I’m surprised you didn’t know, Dr Laine. Figured you’d be the first after Chan’s suicide,” Smith replied, his tone changing slightly from annoyed to interested. 

“I was on leave last week,” she said quickly, “Thank you for your time, Detective. I’ll be in touch.”

“Uh huh, not sure what about but we’re always [i]thrilled[/i] to help the FBI.” 

The line went dead and she set her phone down, rubbing her the bridge of her nose under her glasses. It wasn’t her case anymore, she reminded herself and it seemed like it was not anyone’s case. What would they do with the evidence. Work it, destroy it? She looked at her phone and resisted the urge to call Donnelley back and ask for his local contacts. It would do no good as he was not a man to give anything without purpose. He was a spook, a mystery, and the right person she needed for this task. [i]It’s not your case anymore[/i]

“I’ll never learn my lesson,” Laine muttered and took a bite of the chocolate croissant. It had smelled divine but now tasted like cardboard. 

It was evening when Austin the barista clocked out and met Laine in the parking lot. She leaned against the wall, smoking a Djarum and offered him one from the black package. 

As she lit it she asked, “How long have you worked at the Bouncing Bean?” 

Austin took a drag, his sinewy tattooed arms exposed from the rolled sleeves of his cardigan. “Like a year or so, I took some time off to do a tour with my band, just down the coast. I just came back two weeks ago, Marla held my job. She’s pretty cool for a boss.” 

“Did you know Sofie?”

“I guess, I knew what she liked to drink. Ordered the same thing every day, a medium nondairy chai latte. We talked about music, she saw the band a few times, and...”

He shifted, turning his arm down in a manner that caught Laine’s eye. A tattoo among the field of colorful ink swirls, dark black and hard lined unlike the rest of his work. 

“And?” she encouraged him, looking up at him, holding his gaze. 

“We kinda, might have messed around a couple times. It wasn’t anything serious you know. Just hung out,” Austin said, then took a long drag, blowing the smoke through his nose. “It really sucked hearing she was killed. And those pictures...Jesus. She didn’t deserve that. What kinda psycho does that?”

“That’s what I am trying to figure out,” Laine said, then flicked her ashes. “Did she ever seem scared or think someone might be following her?” 

Austin shrugged, then surreptitiously pulled his sweater sleeves down. “She never said, I don’t think so.” 

Dr Laine looked him over, then nodded, “Thank you, Austin. I appreciate your time.” 

“Sure. Hey, if you don’t have anything else to do, my band’s playing tomorrow night. The Eternal Lie. We’re playing at Rick’s Records. Kind at this cool hole in the wall club slash record store,” the barista offered, looking her over, his eyes lingering on her chest now that her coat was unbuttoned. 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Laine said.

****

It was past 3AM and Dr Laine lay awake in the hotel bed, staring into the darkness. After a few days in Seattle she was still nowhere closer to answers than she had been when she arrived. Leads were cold and evidence, everything that had been processed and recorded, was gone into the shadows. 

Sleep refused to settle in, everytime she dozed an errant thought woke her. Rolling over she thought about Donnelley and his unwinding. It probably involved a lot of alcohol. 

Laine raided the minibar, taking two small Jack Daniels bottles out before running a hot bath. Sitting on the edge of the large tub, she knocked back the shots of bourbon and then turned on her phone to play a list of dark slow music. 

The water settled around her body, warm and embracing as Laine leaned her head back on a folded towel. Already she felt tensions loosen in her back and neck. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply the steam of the hot water, lightly fragrant with one of the rosemary and lavender bath bombs she bought earlier in the day. 

Suddenly she smelled rot, decay and a hand with grey skin and flesh pulling away from the fingers shot out of the water and seized her neck. Laine tried to scream but could not, the hand on her throat in a death grip. In the water she could see a face rising up. Marlene Baughman. The dark tendrils of her hair seemed lighter as her face broke the surface and Laine tried to scream again when she saw not the dead wife's face bit that of the younger, blonder, Sofie Childress. Accusing dead eyes stared into her own as the corpse in her tub throttled her. A thick wet voice came from Sofie. "[I] Clyde.[/I]"

With a splash and a gasp, Laine woke kicking and  thrashing in the tub. Her hand went to her neck but there was nothing. 

"Fuck," she whispered raggedly, her teeth chattering. The water was cold by now so she climbed out and wrapped herself in a hotel towel. Wet hair and all, she bundled herself into the bed, hot tears stinging her eyelids as she burrowed under the covers. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the darkness.

(to be continued)