Fic: "Silent Lucidity
Jan. 13th, 2005 01:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalNotes: In Nomine, PG-13 for mild language
They had let him keep his badge, which he supposed was a good thing. Not his gun of course, that was evidence now, but at least he had his badge, for however much longer he’d be able to keep it. As for his job, he was on paid administrative for… the duration, he supposed.
They’d finally let him go home around 11 pm. By 3 am he’d given up on sleep and gone downstairs to fix himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t want to risk looking at CNN, so he settled for yesterday’s crossword in the Post.
At 4 am there was a knock on the door.
“Agent Jonathan Prester?” the man at the door asked. He was heavyset, perhaps in his early sixties, and wore a suit that was sufficiently rumpled that Prester figured he hadn’t gotten much sleep this evening either. His eyes looked tired, but his face was cool, collected. Somebody who knew how to handle themselves when the s--- went down. Prester could envy that.
“Yeah?” Prester answered. Parked on the street was a black SUV with the engine running. Suddenly he wished they’d let him keep his gun.
The heavyset, tired man flashed a badge at him. “I’m Special Agent Tayler, with the CIA’s Homeland Security division. May I come in?”
Whatever the hell happened, or is going to happen, I do not want to get involved in a turf war, Prester thought. “If I tell you to get lost, what will you do?”
“Leave, and you won’t ever see me or anyone from my department again,” Tayler said.
“That’s all?”
Tayler sighed. “It’s been a very long night, Agent Prester, and from the looks of things my morning is going to be worse. So I’m not going to bother with idiotic threats. You don’t talk to me, then the review process that’s going on between you and your FBI superiors will go forward without any interference in either direction from us, and the chips will fall where they may. If you do choose to talk to me, I can assure you of only two things: You’ll have answers to some, though not all, of your questions, and your life will be as awful as mine is.”
I want to know Prester thought automatically. It was why he’d joined the FBI in the first place. Not to catch criminals, though he did get… had gotten satisfaction from that. It was the unraveling of the puzzles that had always been what had attracted him to his job, finding out the secrets that the criminals had hidden. “How do you know what questions I want asked?” he said.
“I’ve got a fair idea,” Tayler said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a conversation like this with someone. May we continue this inside?”
Prester motioned him through the door, and Tayler sat down without invitation on the couch. Preseter settled himself on a lounge chair, wondering if he should have offered the man coffee.
“I’m very sorry to hear about your partner, Agent Prester,” Tayler began. “From the records I’ve reviewed, he was a good agent.”
“He was the best,” Prester said automatically. But the faint praise tasted like ashes in his mouth. “Tom… Tom was good at his job, great at it, but he was never one of those guys who worked all night and let his family hang. He did his job, above and beyond what was called for, but he was there for his wife and kids…” Prester’s voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes.
Tayler sighed again. “I had a chance to review the security tapes from the warehouse, Agent Prester. It was all there to see. You had to shoot him. He’d left you no choice. I can’t believe that anyone else would ever say different.”
“I had pepper spray.”
“And he had a gun to that girl’s head, and she was already bleeding,” Tayler countered. “You had no choice.”
Prester rubbed his eyes, wishing he could have slept. “No, I suppose not. Try telling that to his family.”
“Try telling that to the girl’s family, if she had been the one who’d died,” Tayler said. His face changed, the tiredness being cast aside for more important matters. “Agent Prester, prior to the raid on that warehouse, had you noticed anything different about your partner’s behavior?”
“Um, well, yeah. I mean… he was doing some weird stuff the day before the raid.”
“Such as?”
Prester shook his head. “He bought a pack of matches, I mean he didn’t even smoke, and started lighting them up and trying to burn his own fingertips. Then he called his wife and… heck, Tom didn’t usually bother raising his voice, even when he was interrogating a suspect. I never thought I’d hear him using language like that with Denise. I asked him what was going on, but he just laughed it off, like it was some sort of weird joke. I swear, if I hadn’t known him like I did, I’ve have thought he’d started snorting crack cocaine.”
Tayler nodded. “So he wasn’t himself?”
“Hell no, he wasn’t himself. I just don’t see how he could have gone crazy like that and no one noticed it before then. It was like… it was like it was a man wearing Tom’s face, an evil twin or something, but it wasn’t Tom.”
Tayler was silent for a long moment. Then he rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, “For what little it’s worth to you, Agent Prester, your partner wasn’t in control of his own actions when you had to shoot him. He wasn’t insane, nor under the influence of psychoactive drugs.”
“So what happened to him?”
“Well, he wasn’t being affected by drugs, but he was under the influence of something, or someone, rather.”
Prester blinked. “He was being blackmailed?” Had Tom been trying to give him some weird call for help with his bizarre behavior and he'd just missed it?
“Not blackmailed, Agent Prester, influenced, or controlled rather.” Tayler’s face was grave.
“Controlled by what, how?”
Tayler took in a deliberate breath. “Let me put it to you this way, Agent Prester. Do you believe in God?”
TBC
They had let him keep his badge, which he supposed was a good thing. Not his gun of course, that was evidence now, but at least he had his badge, for however much longer he’d be able to keep it. As for his job, he was on paid administrative for… the duration, he supposed.
They’d finally let him go home around 11 pm. By 3 am he’d given up on sleep and gone downstairs to fix himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t want to risk looking at CNN, so he settled for yesterday’s crossword in the Post.
At 4 am there was a knock on the door.
“Agent Jonathan Prester?” the man at the door asked. He was heavyset, perhaps in his early sixties, and wore a suit that was sufficiently rumpled that Prester figured he hadn’t gotten much sleep this evening either. His eyes looked tired, but his face was cool, collected. Somebody who knew how to handle themselves when the s--- went down. Prester could envy that.
“Yeah?” Prester answered. Parked on the street was a black SUV with the engine running. Suddenly he wished they’d let him keep his gun.
The heavyset, tired man flashed a badge at him. “I’m Special Agent Tayler, with the CIA’s Homeland Security division. May I come in?”
Whatever the hell happened, or is going to happen, I do not want to get involved in a turf war, Prester thought. “If I tell you to get lost, what will you do?”
“Leave, and you won’t ever see me or anyone from my department again,” Tayler said.
“That’s all?”
Tayler sighed. “It’s been a very long night, Agent Prester, and from the looks of things my morning is going to be worse. So I’m not going to bother with idiotic threats. You don’t talk to me, then the review process that’s going on between you and your FBI superiors will go forward without any interference in either direction from us, and the chips will fall where they may. If you do choose to talk to me, I can assure you of only two things: You’ll have answers to some, though not all, of your questions, and your life will be as awful as mine is.”
I want to know Prester thought automatically. It was why he’d joined the FBI in the first place. Not to catch criminals, though he did get… had gotten satisfaction from that. It was the unraveling of the puzzles that had always been what had attracted him to his job, finding out the secrets that the criminals had hidden. “How do you know what questions I want asked?” he said.
“I’ve got a fair idea,” Tayler said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a conversation like this with someone. May we continue this inside?”
Prester motioned him through the door, and Tayler sat down without invitation on the couch. Preseter settled himself on a lounge chair, wondering if he should have offered the man coffee.
“I’m very sorry to hear about your partner, Agent Prester,” Tayler began. “From the records I’ve reviewed, he was a good agent.”
“He was the best,” Prester said automatically. But the faint praise tasted like ashes in his mouth. “Tom… Tom was good at his job, great at it, but he was never one of those guys who worked all night and let his family hang. He did his job, above and beyond what was called for, but he was there for his wife and kids…” Prester’s voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes.
Tayler sighed again. “I had a chance to review the security tapes from the warehouse, Agent Prester. It was all there to see. You had to shoot him. He’d left you no choice. I can’t believe that anyone else would ever say different.”
“I had pepper spray.”
“And he had a gun to that girl’s head, and she was already bleeding,” Tayler countered. “You had no choice.”
Prester rubbed his eyes, wishing he could have slept. “No, I suppose not. Try telling that to his family.”
“Try telling that to the girl’s family, if she had been the one who’d died,” Tayler said. His face changed, the tiredness being cast aside for more important matters. “Agent Prester, prior to the raid on that warehouse, had you noticed anything different about your partner’s behavior?”
“Um, well, yeah. I mean… he was doing some weird stuff the day before the raid.”
“Such as?”
Prester shook his head. “He bought a pack of matches, I mean he didn’t even smoke, and started lighting them up and trying to burn his own fingertips. Then he called his wife and… heck, Tom didn’t usually bother raising his voice, even when he was interrogating a suspect. I never thought I’d hear him using language like that with Denise. I asked him what was going on, but he just laughed it off, like it was some sort of weird joke. I swear, if I hadn’t known him like I did, I’ve have thought he’d started snorting crack cocaine.”
Tayler nodded. “So he wasn’t himself?”
“Hell no, he wasn’t himself. I just don’t see how he could have gone crazy like that and no one noticed it before then. It was like… it was like it was a man wearing Tom’s face, an evil twin or something, but it wasn’t Tom.”
Tayler was silent for a long moment. Then he rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, “For what little it’s worth to you, Agent Prester, your partner wasn’t in control of his own actions when you had to shoot him. He wasn’t insane, nor under the influence of psychoactive drugs.”
“So what happened to him?”
“Well, he wasn’t being affected by drugs, but he was under the influence of something, or someone, rather.”
Prester blinked. “He was being blackmailed?” Had Tom been trying to give him some weird call for help with his bizarre behavior and he'd just missed it?
“Not blackmailed, Agent Prester, influenced, or controlled rather.” Tayler’s face was grave.
“Controlled by what, how?”
Tayler took in a deliberate breath. “Let me put it to you this way, Agent Prester. Do you believe in God?”
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-01-13 07:47 pm (UTC)... Speaking of installments, how's Sinking coming along? :)
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Date: 2005-01-13 08:00 pm (UTC)Anyway, I'm glad you liked this little thing. I'm not sure how far I'll go with it (just got one more scene planned in my head) but it's interesting so far.