May I: Shut Down

Cal walked through the building doors, having wanted to turn around over a dozen times and head back to the hospital. His thoughts had been on how he could get her to open up—having just reached the first week mark since the attack, then Sophie.

They had hardly spoken—and when they had talked, it was all small talk. Yesterday morning, after she had told him about her abusive her boyfriend that happened almost fifteen years ago, he could feel the anger burning in her words. However, the look on her face was expressionless.

In fact, most of this week had been directed to anger—and he had to tell himself that this was just a stage. It was apparent yet to the human eye, but Gillian was starting to fall apart, and it was time to consult someone about this.  He realized that he could no longer depend on his opinion alone.

He should have done something sooner, but he thought that he could help. Instead, he was getting nowhere with her. It was the same way as it had always been.  She was pushing him away, and he knew it. He had always known it, but it didn’t seem to matter at the time, as much as it did now.

“I’ve been calling your phone for the past half an hour. What’s going on between you and Foster?” Ria Torres inquired, following behind him as they walked down the hall. He gave her a questioning look, as if he were asking her, “Does this look like any of your business?”

“It’s not—” She took him off-guard, by answering his question. Suddenly, he questioned if he had said that out loud, but she said nothing further. He continued to walk down the hall to the computer lab, catching her expression from the corner of his eye.  

“Say whatever it is that you’re thinking.”

“It’s just that you haven’t been yourself since Foster was attacked—“Torres began to explain; her expression changed at his reaction of Foster’s name. “You’re thoroughly frustrated that she hasn’t told you anything.” Cal’s eyebrow rose in irritation as he stopped to face her.

“She doesn’t have to say anything. She’s been through a lot—and you know just as well as I do that expression speak louder than words.” Despite the fact that Gillian was going through a lot right now, what he just said was a lie. He did wish that she would say something about the attack. “Should we go in, or are we just going to sit out here all day?”

“No—” Ria gave a slight shake of her head; eyes drifting down the hall. She almost thought about telling him that she would meet him in there, but he foiled that plan when he held the door open.

“Good. Shall we?” He didn’t move until she had gone in—almost as if he knew what she was up to.

 Ben Reynolds, Deputy Director Messer and Eli Loker were in the middle of discussing something when they walked in. Other agents were also standing around and conversing about life matters—even letting out a laugh or two.

“Show me what you’ve got.” Cal licked at his lips, turning his attention towards the screen and not towards Ben, who was looking him over. Momentarily, everything grew silent at his arrival, until Loker began explaining the video feed from the bus.

“These are the two suicide bombers—moments before detonation. Their body language . . . is paradoxical.”Loker paused the feed where Jamal Bata was walking down the aisle of the bus.

“You should try using smaller words that mean more.” Reynolds spoke up with irritation.

“Terrorists usually are afraid of being spotted, so they keep their heads down and avoid making eye contact.” Cal chimed in, as he walked to the front of the room.

“Right—but check out the video from the bus. Jamal’s got his head up. He’s making eye contact with the other passengers. And look at the mall bombing.” Zooming into the video feed, Loker pointed out. “He’s flirting with that woman. He’s got a classic head tilt. He’s squared his hips to face her. He’s leaning in.

“Yeah.  Maybe he pulled her in to kill her.” Deputy Director Messer suggested, stepping forward.

“No, there’s nothing on his face. He’s too relaxed for a suicide mission.” Cal defused the thought with ease.

“So, you’re saying that he didn’t know?” Reynolds piped in, with growing concern. If it was true—they had been looking at this wrong from the beginning.

“Rasheed didn’t fit the profile. He had no history of violence.”  

“Well, that would explain why Torres didn’t see any anxiety when she talked to him.” Eli pieced together, looking around the room.   

“So, no anxiety.” Cal went through the tape again, of Jamal Bata putting in his earplugs and then paused the feed again. “No determination.” Then looked down at the other paused screen— Rasheed standing next to the girl at the mall.  “These are the faces of innocence. . . not suicide bombers.”

---

It took her a few minutes to think about it—the exhaustion kicked in as she walked slowly walked down the hospital hall. Wiping at her eyes, she ignored the sympathetic looks and took the elevator down to the main level.

By the time Gillian had gotten there, she scurried off to the bathroom and emptied the contents of her stomach into the nearest stall. She avoided her reflection when she washed her hands, and headed straight towards the sliding doors—where she sat down on an empty bench.

She could feel sobs rising through her body, and she knew deep down that this wasn’t normal. Grabbing her phone out of her purse, Gillian stared at it. She had promised Cal that if the doctor told her anything that she would call him—but she could barely get the words out when his phone went to voicemail. . .so she hung up.

Another five minutes went by and she called again, straining out the words. “Cal, I need you to call me.” Then she hung up and dialed another number. “Yes, can I please speak to Anna Keller?”  

She’s in a meeting with a client. Can I have her call you back when she gets out?

“Yes. Have her call Gillian Foster. She has my number to reach me.” Gillian sighed, deeply rubbing at her forehead, as if there was an itch she just couldn’t scratch. She was surprised when she looked up to see Cal walking towards her.

I will have her call her as soon as she gets out of her meeting, Gillian.

Gillian stood from the bench, wavering slightly, then decided that it would be better to sit back down. “Thanks.” By that point, she was blinking back the tears, as her phone fell into her lap—and she felt him sit beside her.

“You sounded distraught on the phone, so I came.” Cal offered quietly. She mustered a smile, but still felt so guilty for pushing him away. “I take it you have some bad news to tell.”

Wiping away her tears, Gillian nodded. “I just called you  about ten minutes ago, so you must have already been on your way here when I called.”

“I was actually on my way to talk to a man who may know something about the bombings. How are you holding up . . . with everything?” She watched him, with a careful tilt of her head. What? Do I have something stuck to my chin?”

“The way you hesitated on the way you said ‘I’. You actually meant to say ‘we’.”

“Okay. So I locked Reynolds in the car.” Giving the slightest hint of a smile, she raised her eyebrows at him. “And Torres too. They think I’m stopping in to see a friend. Well, technically a friend of a friend.”

“Ava.”

“Yeah. Heard anything yet?”

“No.” Gillian took in a deep breath, and looked away. “Sophie and I went to see her—” The words caught in Gillian’s throat, with a sparkle in her eye. “—a couple days ago. She just looked so frail—like she could shut down at any time.”

“Just think of it this way . . . Ava won’t be hurting anymore. And she knows that her daughter will be well taken care of.”

“I know.” As the wind blew around them, Gillian folded her arms into her body. Since the rainstorm last night, it was a cooler day.

“Let me give you a ride home. If either Torres or Reynolds gives you a hard time—we could just lock them in the trunk.” Cal smiled, holding his arm out to her. She had to stifle a laugh; imagining Cal and her trying to wrestle them down.  Once she had stopped laughing, he helped her up from the bench.

“Thanks, I really needed that.”

“Just as long as you promise not to shut me out completely.” He smiled brilliantly as they walked through the parking lot.