Putting the Damage On
Nov. 28th, 2010 08:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whedonistRating: PG-13 to R ish…
Fandom: Spinoff of Nikki & Nora
Pairing: You’ll see and hear mention of Nikki/Nora, Bobby/OC and the rest are all OC’s paired with OC’s
Disclaimer: Uh…Nikki and Nora aren’t mine they have a cameo in two parts and are briefly mentioned here and there. The rest of the whack jobs in the piece are all my own doing. You can’t have them, but I don’t mind sharing. I passed kindergarten.
A/N: Okay a few things…There was a throw away comment a bit ago from a reader about doing a spin-off featuring Ann, Jill, John and the rest of the her people in Virginia. I took that throw away comment and ran with it. My sister, in her all her insanity, challenged me to participate in Nanowrimo this year. I thought about it…I write fanfic. I know I have it in me to complete 50K words, my longest story to date is around 89K, but the challenge was was I able to complete in a month. Most of the readership knows that I’ve got a A Thousand Oceans going and I’m working on a Buffy story, Let the Dominoes Fall what you probably don’t is that I’m a glorified number cruncher and work upwards of 60 hours, then there’s family stuff and I wanted to finish off my Masters (classes started the end of October). November was effing crazy. On the upside…The challenge is finished. I polished it off on Friday morning. So, while I’m trying to catch up with my other two stories, I offer you this as an interim installment on the A.U. that I’ve built with Nikki & Nora. It’s a spinoff. I hope it worked.
Also, yes, I know this is a ghastly long author’s note, but…this story hasn’t been reviewed by my beta. I wasn’t going to torture him with it seeing as how he’d have needed to accomplish the piece by the end of the month. And he’s quite capable, it just seemed mean. So all mistakes are really and truly my own. I hope everyone reads and enjoys.
Putting the Damage On
Ch. 1 – All the World
She stands in front of the bathroom mirror letting the few people she could tolerate, fuss over the last few touch ups to her person before we leave. One thought persists as I stand off to the side of the entry way to the bathroom.
She’s beautiful and she’s mine.
That thought is my mantra. I gaze down at the simple white gold band gracing my left ring finger. My mantra manifested. As I look up at her, she’s shooing the stylist and the make-up artist away from her coiffed hair and perfectly done make up. Finally, tiring of their fussing.
Said make-up artists turns to me and jabs his finger in my direction, “You, no kissing. Her lipstick is perfect.” He says this in a heavy Latino accent, trilling ‘r’s and all. My smirk forms of its own accord.
Right.
Like I’m going to not kiss my wife when she’s all coiffed and gorgeous.
I shake my head and push back my jacket far enough for the butt of my service weapon peaks out. He eeps and scampers away. My eyes trail after him rounding the corner out of the hotel suite’s bathroom until a not so subtle cough brings my attention back to the woman of the evening. She’s grinning at me.
Her clear, golden brown eyes showing her level of amusement just as much as the grin she’s wearing. I step forward and grab her left hand, pulling her to me. My arms fit snuggly around her hips, lock behind her and rest in the small of her back.
She pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear and leans in ready to kiss me. I pull back and shake my head. A pout forms on her full lips. “No, no pout, babe.” I shake my head firmly. “You’re Latin, make-up person said no kissing.”
“He,” she says as she grips the back of my neck and pulls us together so that our lips just barely touch, “can kiss my ass.” She smirks, pressing forward sealing our lips together in an all too brief kiss. When she pulls back, she swipes my bottom lip taking away some of the transferred lipstick. “But did you really need to show him your gun? That freaks people out.”
I only nod before being interrupted, “Are you two ready?” Lee Sherman asks from the doorway. I take in the suit on my high school friend and smile at him. He’s pretty handsome with his shaggy, dirty, blonde hair and impish smile. He still looks pretty much the same since the first day of high school when we met. It’s kind of weird.
“Tell your friend here to quit kissing me and I think we can leave,” I say letting my wife go.
“Ann,” she groans, “It’s not my fault you are all delicious in that tailored Ann Klein.” She smacks her lips, adding, “The lip gloss is yummy too.”
“You really should go shopping with us more,” Nikki Beaumont’s voice fills in from my right. I smile over at Nikki in her little black dress and heels. To her left sandwiched between her and Lee is her partner, Nora Delaney, decked out in a green strapless dress with her hair half up and half down. Her bright green eyes twinkle as she sends her own smirk our way. They all look damn good. I give myself a pat on the back for having good taste in friends.
“Uh, no,” I say stepping away from Jill and motion the trio to move out of the doorway so we can leave the hotel. “You and Jill do enough damage without me or Nora being present.”
The four laugh and all agree. We file out and to the elevator, light conversation marking our decent to the lobby where a limo is waiting on us. Jill’s hand slips into mine as we settle in for the short drive over to Mann’s Chinese Theatre and Hollywood Boulevard. My wife’s first movie premier’s tonight and I know she’s nervous.
Hell, I’m nervous and it has absolutely nothing to do with me.
As the limo comes to a stop, the five of us exchange glances and by unspoken agreement, Lee goes first followed by Nikki and Nora. The three leave us inside the private quarters of the limo. Jill squeezes my hand and I smile at her.
“You ready?” I ask.
She nods and sighs. “Are you?” Her question full of meaning, of late night conversations about where her career may be headed.
My response is a nod as I lean in and kiss her cheek. I pull back and offer the only thing I can, “I love you.”
She smiles at me, head slightly tilted. “Then let’s do this. I’ve got all I need right here.” She holds our linked hands up and I step from the limo first.
The flashing lights and noise assault my senses. Calling up years old techniques from the academy, I school my features and assist my wife in her emergence from the back of the limo. Her appearance sends a slew of photographers into a frenzy; the flashing lights and calls increase tenfold. I feel her tense briefly before her mask falls into place.
An easy smile graces her beautiful face and she pulls me closer, her arm snaking around my waist in a familiar embrace. Nikki, Nora and Lee stand off to the side and allow us to go first, providing the silent support both of us desperately need. It’s in this moment I’m thankful my wife insisted our closest friends be here with us.
I don’t need to look to know that they are on our heels as we make our way through the horde of reporters and camera men. We move stiltly up the entrance to the theatre. Jill stops and answers questions along the way, making us pause and stand still for photo opportunities along the way. I smile at the right times. I back off and let her stand alone when the need arises, but she never lets me go for long. In all too long a time, we finally make it to the front of the theatre where we’re pulled off to the side so that Jill can do a brief interview before heading inside.
I try to step aside, but her grip around my hips tightens when the woman grins at us. “Donna, from Entertainment Weekly,” Jill whispers in my ear before giving the reporter her full attention.
“Jill,” the woman practically squeals, “It’s so good to see you!”
My wife smiles, I think she has the smile screwed onto her face by now and answers, “It’s good to see you to. How have you been?”
“Great,” the reporter cheeses. The cameraman moves to the side, getting a shot of the three of us standing together as Donna makes the introductions, “This is Donna Rodriguez with Entertainment Weekly, here with the star of East End Girl, Quentin Tarantino’s new movie and…” It’s then that she finally notices me and her brow furrows slightly before her training kicks in, “Jill, why don’t you introduce us to your beautiful guest.”
“This is my wife, Ann,” Jill beams and then catching our group off guard, she proudly points out the rest, “and these are my friends, this is Lee, Nikki and Nora.” The three of them offer a small greeting before the camera zooms back in on Jill, Donna and I.
“This is The Ann?” Donna’s face brightens.
Truthfully, I’m a little scared.
“The last interview Jill and I did together, she wouldn’t shut up about you!” Donna exclaims.
I decide then this woman talks in exclamations.
“Guilty,” I laugh with them.
“Well, we’ll,” she points between Jill and I, “will catch up off camera later. “ Her face sobers again and she turns to the camera, nodding her readiness to the cameraman. “Donna Rodriguez with Entertainment Weekly, here with the star of East End Girl, Quentin Tarantino’s new movie, model turned actress Jillian Ness and her partner, Ann.” She turns to Jill fully and thrusts the microphone between the three of us. “Jill so good to see you again. Why don’t you tell us a little about this movie that pulled you from the pages of our favorite fashion magazines and onto the silver screen?”
“Good to see you again too, Donna. Well, the story is primarily focused around Jennifer Crush and the twists her life takes on one very fateful night.”
Donna bobs her head and hmms. “Can’t tell us anymore?”
“I would but,” Jill shrugs and amends, “It’s the whole purpose of the movie. It’s this reckless, wild child turning a corner of her life on this one night. Don’t want to give too much of it away.”
Donna laughs and follows up with, “Tell us a little bit about why you decided to take this role? From the industry buzz, you read over a few scripts before taking this one. Why the wait to transition and why this movie?”
“Well, it’s a big step and I didn’t want it to be for just any movie. Jennifer’s character, her story and the rest of the characters were just…” Jill presses her lips together, deciding on her word choice, “Rich. They were fully realized in what I read and besides, Tarantino? He’s hard to say no to.”
We share a brief laugh and Donna finishes, “Alright, last one before I let you go, what are you wearing tonight?”
Jill shakes her head, giggling. “De La Renta. I just couldn’t say no to this dress.” She motions downward and the camera pans down the length of my wife’s body clad in a royal blue gown. Her and Donna exchange pleasantries again before we move along.
We pass the entry way and into the lobby, the atmosphere much more subdued in here among the low buzz of chatter. I stand proud with the woman I love as she works the room until we have to take our seats.
Oddly enough, seeing her like this, happy and proud of the work she’s done, I’ve never been happier.
Tying the sash on the thick cotton robe the hotel provides, I let the hotel worker come in, wheeling in the tray of coffee and breakfast food I’d ordered. John Malone, my boss and partner, chats amiably in my ear as I sign the receipt to bill this morning’s breakfast to the room. I see him out and go back to the conversation, “So that puts us at two pendings and we go to trial on the Delong case next week. You think I need to call the A.U.S.A. before I get back?”
“Nah,” John answers as I hear some clicks in the background as he types. The phone muffles a bit and I hear, “Will I see you later?”
“John, I don’t…call me later and we’ll see,” the woman answers and I recognize the voice of his wife. I suppress the sigh and feel for him. Together nearly twenty years and last year…something broke. He usually stops my questions with a ‘We chose different things’ before getting silent and broody.
Her being with him this morning, I look at my watch and note that it’s only eight-thirty in Virginia, tells me that they spent the night together or she dropped by earlier.
“Okay, Bec. Talk to you later,” he tells her, the voice more than a little robotic.
Now the question is, do I push or not?
Screw it.
“She spend the night?” I ask, pouring myself a generous cup of coffee and adding a little sugar and cream.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I…I think we’re trying to fix things.”
Sitting on one of the stiff chairs in the sitting area of the suite, I sip the hot, strong coffee before asking, “Is that what you want?”
“What kind of fucking question is that Ann?” he snaps.
I choose to let the outburst go. I also decide it’s a good thing we aren’t having this conversation face to face, I press, “It’s a damn good one. Look, partner, I get it. I know you better than nearly everyone else. Hell, John, I’d bet I know you better than your wife right now. So do me a favor and cut the bullshit for five and fucking talk to me.”
I wait, rigidly sitting in my chair. The silence stretches for what feels like a small eternity before he answers, “I want it. I just don’t know what she wants. I don’t even know if she knows what she wants.”
I nod and relax a little. “Well, in the interest of myself and your staff, I think you two should take a holiday. Go away for a week or two and figure out.” I amend after a second of thought, “Without the distractions.”
“Go off the grid?” he snorts. “Yeah, right. That’s not gonna happen.”
Setting my coffee down on the end table, I mop my face with my hand and smooth the fly away hairs back off my forehead. “You could,” I encourage. “Look, we’ve two pending cases right?” I don’t wait on the answer. “I know we may have a dozen files sitting on our desks collectively that need to be reviewed and summaries written for submission to get back to the departments requesting our assistance. With one trial looming, I think now is the perfect time. It’s as slow as we’re going to get.”
“What if something comes up?” he grinds out.
I smile. His hero complex shining through and getting in the way of my trying to help.
“Luce, Travis and I can handle it.” I tease him, “You know we’re quite capable. Hell, I’m even allowed to dress myself most mornings now.”
“Ann, that’s not…you’re a bitch sometimes, ya know?” he gives as good as he gets.
“Yeah, you love me anyhow Malone.” I sober and get back on track, “Seriously though, take a week or hell be a rebel and take two. You being persona non grata in D.C. has freed you up a little so…”
He huffs two-thousand miles away and I don’t need to see him to know the vein in his forehead is pulsing just a little harder, knowing that I’ve won this round.
“So when I get back in three days, I expect to see you to say hello and then I want you out of my sight for at least a week. Take the pain in the ass you call a wife and try to get laid on a more regular basis.” He growls at that and I can’t help it, “You not getting any is painful for us all.”
“Shut up,” he snips, but his annoyance is nothing more than show. We’ve worked together too long for me not to know him as well as I know myself. We’re a lot alike.
We’ve yet to figure out if two pig-headed, egotistical, hero-complex having agents are the best fit for the Special Investigation Division for the F.B.I., but I guess the real question is if either of us gives a shit.
That answer is a big fat no.
“Alright. I’ll talk to Becca tonight and see. Maybe this will be good,” he finally concedes
“She will,” I confirm. ‘Cause I’m going to call her as soon as I hang up with him and get myself into a world of trouble.
“How’s things out there by the way?” He shifts and deflects the conversation with ease.
I shrug. “Honestly, a little overwhelming. This isn’t my thing, but…” I trail off.
“It’s Jill’s and she’s the best thing you got going for you Flemming. Well, besides me,” John ribs.
“Damn skippy. So, it’s what it is and I’ll be where ever she needs for as long as she needs.” I think I take the wind out of his teasing sails.
His voice gets a little more serious as he says, “That’s the way it should be.”
“Well, I like to think I’m quicker on the uptake than most. Besides, I have a great example of how not to do things.” My words intending to tease not hurt. I look up as one of the double doors to the bedroom open up and Jill comes out, glasses on, hair rumpled and looking too damn sexy in her robe.
“Yeah well, I may just start picking up a few things from you.” I hear papers begin to rustle in the background and a ‘good morning’.
Travis must have stopped by his house.
“Travis says hey,” John confirms.
I watch my wife shuffle over and plop herself in my lap. She kisses my cheek and then snatches the coffee. Rolling my eyes, I say, “Tell Travis, hey.”
“If that’s who I think that is,” Jill mumbles, laying her head against my shoulder, “Tell him I said good morning and to get the fuck off the phone with my wife. He doesn’t need to be flirting with you while you’re on vacation.”
John laughs in my ear as a rumble of my laughter shakes the two of us in the chair. Knowing what’s coming, I pull my BlackBerry from my ear and hit the speaker phone option. “You hear that, John?”
“Yeah. Good morning, Jill,” he says.
“G’mornin’.” My wife, never one to miss a damn thing asks, “There a reason why you have me up at such an ungodly hour?”
“Just trying to keep that thing you call your partner on her toes. Can’t have her getting lazy while she’s sunning it up in the land of fruits and nuts.”
My lips purse and I pout, “Hey, you two, I’m still right here.”
Jill sends me a smirk, but John says, “Unfortunately.”
“It’s too damn early for this type of abuse. I’ll read over the file from Louisville and send you my report later today,” I try to end the call before Jill really wakes up and they get meaner.
“Sounds good. Don’t bother with the assistant U.S. attorney. He can wait until you get back. Travis is giving me the evil eye which means we’re going to be late for a meeting. Take care you two and I’ll see you both soon.” Before disconnecting he says, “We’re proud of you, Jill. Knock those Hollywood fuckers on their collective, liposuctioned asses.”
Jill can only giggle and beam at his statement. She knows just as well as I do that’s the best anyone will ever get in the way of support and an ‘I love you’ from the guy.
“Bye, John,” I say and end the call.
I set the hunk of plastic and silicone on the end table, taking the coffee cup from my wife. Finally wrapping my arms around her, she burrows into me and I plant a kiss on top of her messy head.
“You gonna come back to bed now?” she yawns.
“Depends,” I purr nipping playfully at the tip of her nose.
She looks up at me and scowls. “We have to be at Miramax at ten. Don’t tease me, it’s too early,” she whines. My Jill is and was never much a morning person.
I hate it when she whines.
I cave. I cave like a piece of cheap, wet cardboard. She knows this and it’s completely unfair.
“Alright Princess. Let’s get you back to bed.” I debate on whether or not to try and carry her. Deciding to not ruin my back, I let her get off me as I stand and stretch.
“You’re losing the robe right?” she asks as a finger hooks in the opening of the front and she peers down. God she can be such a perv sometimes.
I shake my head and lead her back to our bed, secretly happy that she is a perv.
I, myself, have been accused of having the mindset of a fifteen year old boy. I think it’s a good fit. I move to shut the door and see my phone. Quickly, I walk back to it and dial a familiar number.
Stepping into the bedroom as the phone rings, Jill looks at me with a raised brow. I hold a finger up asking for a moment more of patience as Rebecca Malone picks up, “Doctor Malone.”
“Becca, it’s Ann,” I reply.
“Good morning Ann,” she huffs. Becca is usually terse on the phone. I quit taking it personally years ago.
“Hey, I need a favor…” I shut the bedroom door and pray that she’ll see reason.
My friends flank me sitting on a couch on a soundstage at Miramax studios. A few feet away Jill sits in a chair that’s usually found on a movie set and a reporter, his name forgotten before it was mentioned, sits across from her. They’ve been discussing the movie for about twenty minutes. My girl handles herself well, but I tune into the conversation when the subject shifts, he asks, “Jill, do you think being an out celebrity figure has impacted your career?”
I bristle. I shouldn’t, but our relationship was an issue for the first few years of her career. I’m not looking to go through that round of bullshit again.
For her part, Jill smiles, shaking her head gently. With a slight edge, she asks in return, “Does being heterosexual impact other women in my position?”
Lee, Nikki and Nora all perk up at the way the conversation has shifted.
“I think I’d have to ask heterosexual women in your position to really get a good response,” he laughs, but goes right back to the line of questioning, “Being out though has had to impact you. Even when you first started your career as a model in the early Nineties and then you came out in Ninety-Four with your partner. It wasn’t as acceptable then as it is now, did you struggle?”
Jill’s lips form a thin line as her brow furrows. Her face lets me know how she’s trying to handle the question. “I’ve addressed most of this in previous interviews so I’m hesitant to do that here, but I’ll say this, it’s never been about being ‘out’ or ‘in’ with me. I’d like to move past a dialogue of gay or straight. It’s dichotic and counterproductive to the struggle for equality.” Her hands clasp across her top knee and she continues, “Was it a struggle in the industry, sometimes, but that was hardly the most challenging aspect. My marriage is also something that I’d never hide. Like my wife has said, I respect her and the bond that we share too much to deny its existence for a bigger bank account.” She sends me a smile then, her eyes locking onto mine. “It will never be a choice. So in those terms, it’s a no brainer and not even a contest.”
The interviewer takes it on the chin well and follows up, “Admirable. So then, given that young women see you in magazines and billboards and now the theatre, do you think your personal relationship with,” he looks down briefly at a note card in his hand, “Ann, influences others to live openly?”
Again I bristle and skirt my eyes to Nora and then to Nikki. This subject an area of contention in their relationship. For their part, Nora’s face is a mask and Nikki’s mouth’s quirked up in a tiny smirk.
“I never set out to be the Lesbian Poster Model, but I think that seeing other people like yourself when you feel like an outsider…sometimes, well…I hope it gives a certain amount of strength to allow anyone to be free and live as they like. If they get that from me, great; if not, then I hope they find the strength elsewhere.”
The man nods and finishes up, “Well stated. I think we’re good.” Both stand and stretch, Jill seeking me out. I stand, walk over to them and Jill’s arms snakes around my waist as she kisses my temple. I grin at her and stick my hand out in greeting, “Ann Flemming.”
“Mike,” the man with the hipster haircut and clothes takes my hand giving it a few quick pumps.
I can’t help the initial, gut reaction that takes over and the word ‘tool’ flashes across the billboard in my mind. Jill must see it, because the hand that’s gripping my hip tightens.
She never lets me have any fun.
“It’s good to meet you, Ann,” Mike says. “I’ve seen pictures of you two together and you make a hot couple.”
My jaw clenches, Nora and Lee both shoot me glances, but it’s my wife that rescues me, “Well, she’s more than just a pretty face. Although, the eye candy doesn’t hurt.” I swivel a playful glare in her direction and she winks.
Rolling my eyes, I’m about to respond when my hip vibrates.
Crap.
I pull the phone from my left hip pocket and answer, “Flemming,” I break away from my wife and go off to the side.
“Ann,” John’s voice comes through the speaker, “How’s the day?”
“Jill’s just finishing up an interview and then we’re dropping her off at another hotel downtown for a roundtable with the cast. What’s up?” My free hand gets tucked under the arm that’s holding the cell phone. I shoot an apologetic glance over to my friends and wife.
“Well, uh, Luce was running the weekly search through ViCAP and something pinged in L.A.” he explains. “I was hoping that you could swing by their headquarters, a Hundred West First and pick the file up?”
I roll my eyes. Things ping on Luce’s search all the time. It’s why the F.B.I. put together the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, otherwise known as ViCAP. “Why the rush?” I ask because usually the locals just FedEx the reports to us so we that we can review and offer opinion. Sometimes those opinions are enough to help local departments make an arrest and sometimes they aren’t.
“Truth?” he asks, knowing damn well that it’s a stupid question.
“Uh-huh,” I answer. Of course, I want the truth.
“There was a similar case that popped a few months back. We flagged it, but nothing’s ever come of it. This is the first time I’ve seen a similar report from any other department.”
I should have been clearer and told him to give me an answer that I was going to like. See this is the thing about my job. We’re a vague unit inside the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Special Investigations handles hard to solve murders, kidnappings and serial killings. I started work as a profiler for this unit in Ninety-Five, twelve years ago. My boss and partner, Director John Malone, also allows his team, me, Special Agents Lucy Walker and Travis Washington, the ability to assist on other units and agencies investigations, while handling our own case loads.
For the most part this works. On occasion, when John gets a bug up his ass or when something hits him the wrong way, he focuses all of his attention on one case or most of the time a set of cases. The tone I hear now tells me that that’s where this is headed, so I goad, “And the terms ‘vacation’ and ‘no work type stuff’ mean nothing to you?”
He sighs. “Just swing by and pick up the file.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask; my free hand now on my hips as my foot beats rapidly on the floor.
“Ann,” he tries to soften his tone, “when you get the file, you’ll see. Please?”
I pull the phone away from my ear. He never ‘pleases’ me. In fact in the entire time that we’ve been working together, I can count on one hand the number of times he’s asked that of me. I bring the phone back to my ear and say, “Okay. Who am I asking for?”
Sometimes with John it’s all about picking your battles. This isn’t one I’m going to fight. If he thinks it’s that important, I’m done questioning.
“Commander Manuel Castillo,” he answers. “Should you put Jill on the phone now or later?”
I smile. I can’t help it. “Don’t worry about her. I’ll take care of the woman, but if I get hurt, you’re paying the hospital bills.”
“Deal,” he agrees too readily and then says, “I need to, uh Becca agreed to go away, but with this new case…”
“No,” I shake my head, “you aren’t doing this. Look,” I sigh and run a hand through my hair,
“I’ve got Nik and Nor here. What about you get me that other file that flagged tonight. Have it waiting at the hotel for me around seven p.m. and I’ll review with the girls. Call me tomorrow and we’ll give you an honest opinion. If it’s serious, we’ll discuss you not taking time, but if it’s something the team and I can handle, you go and leave the house unattended.”
“I…Ann,” he stammers. I get it. I mean sort of. He and Rebecca were so solid and then it just crumbled and he really hasn’t been the same since. The fact that he’s spent more time in our spare bedroom then I care to admit is a telling sign. He needs this and fuck, if I’m being honest with myself, I need this. I need my partner back.
“Seriously, this isn’t up for a discussion. John, I let you have your way when I think that I’m not right or when I figure it’s not worth the fight, but dammit, don’t make me dig my heels in here.”
“Okay,” he lets it go and I release the breath that I was holding.
“Good, now I’m going to go and make good with my wife; call your wife and finalize the plans.” I shoot a look over at the woman in discussion and she looks only slightly annoyed with a side of amused.
I can work with that.
“Deal. Tell Jill I owe her one.” He doesn’t wait for me to say anything else as the line goes dead.
I pull the phone away and scowl at the blinking screen. I swear that’s one of his most annoying qualities. He can’t even wait for me to say goodbye.
I huff as I stuff my phone back in my pocket. Plastering on a cheesy grin, I approach my wife, palms held up in a look of surrender. Her eyebrow cocks and the three supposed friends of mine snicker.
I’m so screwed
“And people on set questioned where I got my dark sense of humor,” Jill grumps from her seat on the couch in the hotel suite.
I’d retort, but I’ve nothing to really add to that. I can’t deny that my work is hard to look at, nor can I deny that it has trickled into my home life. With our schedules, if I’m out of town, Jill will actually travel with me if her schedule permits. So needless to say, she’s seen some fairly disturbing shit.
I hate that. I hate that she’s exposed to this. I don’t even think I should be, but it’s the job. The crazy thing is, is that I love my job. John just says it’s ‘cause I’m nuts. I say it’s because I’m a masochist. Jill says it’s six of one and half dozen of another so why argue a moot point.
She’s smart that wife of mine.
It’s Nora that responds to Jill’s comment, “It’s a defense mechanism, Jill. If we don’t laugh, we’ll cry or we’ll go ape shit crazy. Laughing’s usually the best.”
She’s smart too, that best friend of mine.
Instead of actually participating in the conversation, I go back to the responding officer’s police report. The file that we picked up from Commander Castillo was not so much a file, but a banker’s box. He also kindly informed me that the body is still on ice, but set to be released, pending any major breaks in the case, to the family tomorrow. We just got to the file in under the wire.
Usually, we get files where we don’t have a body to work with. I hate that. Our department has their own medical examiner and she’s highly underutilized. This time, if we move forward, I think we’ll have something to work with; so I go back to the file, chewing on my lower lip.
The responding officer’s report is typical, very standard. A call came in at twenty-two-oh-eight on Tuesday, September Thirty at 767549 West Via Paloma. The caller identified himself as the husband, Alfred Sheridan, of Maria Sheridan. The officer, Kyle Bustamante, came to the scene with E.M.T.’s. Kyle secured the scene, talked the husband down a little and handed the man to one of the E.M.T.’s to treat for shock.
The body was found in the master bedroom, laying face up in the bed. Kyle’s report gets more robotic from there. I glance over at the crime scene photos to actually take in the scene for myself. And this is where Jill’s comment from earlier comes in. I’ve seen a lot in my time with the Bureau. The worst is always kids, but thankfully, those cases are few and far between. I can count the handful of times we’ve had to deal with kids, but then again, what
I’m looking at isn’t much better.
The body of the vic is laying face up on the bed. If you were just coming into the room and glanced at the body, you’d think they had a towel over their face, but that’s not so. The close up of the corpse in the initial stages of decomp are still very recognizable. Except for one minor detail. The skin on the woman’s face has been cleanly excised. What you actually see in the photo, is the tissue underneath. Clean lines of muscle tissue and tendons glare back at the lens. With no lips, the victim’s teeth are clearly exposed. The eyelids, a piece of anatomy used to respect the dead, are missing. Usually closed eyelids hide the lifeless eyes from our sight. With her’s, you can’t. The woman’s ocular cavities are clearly visible, the orbs protruding from the face. You can see where the skin was removed around the hairline, down in front of the ears and under the jaw. The flesh of the neck is still intact.
The forensic photographer did well in capturing the position of the body. Supine, with her hands clasped serenely over her waist. Her left hand placed atop the right. Nothing else out of place, not even her hair, which had been combed back into a ponytail. The report states that the husband was able to identify the wife by a small palm tree tattoo on the top of her foot.
My lips purse and I finish off Officer Bustamante’s report. The responding Detective’s, Adrian Ting, is very similar. The investigation really didn’t go anywhere. Alfred Sheridan had a rock solid alibi; he was upstate in San Francisco for work. He returned that evening from a flight into L.A. and found his wife like that. No signs of forced entry. No signs of an altercation. Mr. Sheridan said everything was as it should have been…except for his wife dead with her face missing on their bed.
I snort, see this is where the inappropriate humor comes in, ‘cause it’s not funny but…
It’s damn absurd.
I mean to put myself in that position to come home and find Jill…I shudder. No, we will not go down that road. The occasional nightmare I have is good for me. I don’t need my wife’s face on the body of the victims any more than my nightmares allow.
Nikki looks up at me, at my half snort half growl. I shrug at her and she holds up the file that John had delivered. The first case that flagged for him. Nikki and Nora agreed that they would look over that and then we’d convene to give our assessment.
Thank God, they’re here. Having two other detectives here with me is a Godsend. I watch them with their heads together reading over the same report. Nikki pointing to one thing then Nora pointing at something else. The ease that they share is visible and even a little admirable. John and I don’t work that well together and we’ve been partners for twelve years. Of course, the little snarky voice in my head snickers and reminds me that John and I don’t live together and do not have sex. They do.
With them as work partners for the New Orleans Police Department, I can kinda see why Nora’s stayed in the closet for as long as she has, but…what they’ve gotten into together, it’s near career suicide. Not because they’re gay, although in NOLA I’m not sure how well that would go over, but more because they’re partners.
Although as taboo as it is, thing are different, way different now than they were ten years ago. It also doesn’t hurt my ex-girlfriend turned best friend, Nora, that her old partner turned boss knows about the two of them. Dan’s an all right guy. He’s letting them operate under their own private version of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,’ which I suppose is fair enough. They could all be in some serious hot water with I.A.B. if it ever came out. Not to mention it would call into question the majority of their cases.
It would be pure bullshit and a witch-hunt, but their careers would suffer. Both women are too good at what they do and they care too much for that to happen. It shouldn’t.
Doesn’t mean it won’t.
“You done?” I hear Nora ask.
I shake my head and blink. I must have been staring. I stick my tongue out at her and glance around the room. Lee and Jill are pointedly ignoring the images around them and watching something…I stare at the T.V. a moment before I recognize a rerun of Buffy on the screen. Rolling my eyes, I look back over at the two detectives.
“Yeah, I was waiting on you two,” I answer blandly, dropping the paper from my hands and looking at the photographs we have tacked up on a wall. The outline from the mirror that was hanging in that spot clearly visible due to the discolored wallpaper that surrounded it.
“Well?” Nikki asks.
“Well?” I reply.
We all roll our eyes and Nora goes first. “The victim from this case, Margaret Talbert, from Duluth, Minnesota. Blonde hair, brown eyes, thirty years old. Was reported missing by her family on Saturday, June Eighth, of this year. Nothing came of the missing persons report. Her body was discovered a short time later at the beginning of July…” She looks down at the file and flips a few pages over. “Report says body was discovered by a father and son on Seven-oh-two. That’s a little less than a month in hot, humid weather.” Her nose crinkles and mouth pinches.
“It may not have been that bad. Hopefully,” I say. I mean that long out, exposed in the woods over some of the hottest months. “Scavengers?”
Nikki nods. “Report indicates a few; her body for the most part was intact.” Nikki looks pointedly at the photos we have up and amends, “Well, as intact as a body can be without the face. She was identified by an old sports break on her left femur.”
“Why was the face gone?” I ask. Not really wanting an answer, but…I feel obligated.
“M.E. concluded that facial skin was removed prior to death. The scavengers got to the eyes and the remaining soft tissue,” Nora answers.
“Fuck.” It’s all I really have.
Well there’s more, but I think that sums it all up.
“Is this enough to cry serial, Ann?” Nikki asks, chewing on her lower lip. I’d smile at the habit, considering she picked it up from Nora, but I’m out of smiles for the next twenty minutes at least.
My mouth screws to the side as I stand. Planting my feet in front of the wall holding the photos I take in each scene. The photographer in Duluth wasn’t as thorough, but considering…I really shouldn’t expect it.
There are large discrepancies, placement of the victim, eye color, hair color, location of the body, but the link, namely the missing face, well that’s big. I mop my face with my right hand and rub my eyes. I need to work through this. “Okay, let’s run down a list of commonalities, age and race are both a match. What was the cause of death for the first victim?”
“Inconclusive,” Nikki calls out.
“Alright, cause of death on the second was heart failure. Both of their faces were removed, both M.E.’s were confident enough in their findings to say that that was done while they were alive.”
“Pleasant,” Nora snarks.
“Sugga,” Nikki starts.
“The differences,” I cut in, turning to face them, “are…?”
“Location is huge,” Nikki fills in.
“Hair and eye color are another,” Nora supplies.
“Also,” Nikki picks up right after Nora’s words die out, “From the little bit of training at the F.B.I. field office, serial killers don’t move around like this. Not usually. S.O.P.’s usually profile them with sticking to a safety zone. An area that they feel most comfortable in. We’ve got one body in Minnesota and one in California. Last map I checked put them in different parts of the country.”
“There’s that,” I agree with her, resting my hands on my hips, my right fingers patting out a random rhythm on my hip. “But, it really does depend on how nomadic the killer is. Which,” I pause, loath to actually voice my professional opinion, “If these cases were to land on my desk from the same office, I’d attach the word ‘serial’ to the killings.”
“So, now what?” Nora looks at me, already knowing the answer.
I shrug. “Call my partner and go from there.”
I hear Jill groan from the living area. Lee gives her a pat sympathetic grunt while the other two just shrug right along with me.
It’s a hazard of the job.
Next>>>
Fandom: Spinoff of Nikki & Nora
Pairing: You’ll see and hear mention of Nikki/Nora, Bobby/OC and the rest are all OC’s paired with OC’s
Disclaimer: Uh…Nikki and Nora aren’t mine they have a cameo in two parts and are briefly mentioned here and there. The rest of the whack jobs in the piece are all my own doing. You can’t have them, but I don’t mind sharing. I passed kindergarten.
A/N: Okay a few things…There was a throw away comment a bit ago from a reader about doing a spin-off featuring Ann, Jill, John and the rest of the her people in Virginia. I took that throw away comment and ran with it. My sister, in her all her insanity, challenged me to participate in Nanowrimo this year. I thought about it…I write fanfic. I know I have it in me to complete 50K words, my longest story to date is around 89K, but the challenge was was I able to complete in a month. Most of the readership knows that I’ve got a A Thousand Oceans going and I’m working on a Buffy story, Let the Dominoes Fall what you probably don’t is that I’m a glorified number cruncher and work upwards of 60 hours, then there’s family stuff and I wanted to finish off my Masters (classes started the end of October). November was effing crazy. On the upside…The challenge is finished. I polished it off on Friday morning. So, while I’m trying to catch up with my other two stories, I offer you this as an interim installment on the A.U. that I’ve built with Nikki & Nora. It’s a spinoff. I hope it worked.
Also, yes, I know this is a ghastly long author’s note, but…this story hasn’t been reviewed by my beta. I wasn’t going to torture him with it seeing as how he’d have needed to accomplish the piece by the end of the month. And he’s quite capable, it just seemed mean. So all mistakes are really and truly my own. I hope everyone reads and enjoys.
Ch. 1 – All the World
She stands in front of the bathroom mirror letting the few people she could tolerate, fuss over the last few touch ups to her person before we leave. One thought persists as I stand off to the side of the entry way to the bathroom.
She’s beautiful and she’s mine.
That thought is my mantra. I gaze down at the simple white gold band gracing my left ring finger. My mantra manifested. As I look up at her, she’s shooing the stylist and the make-up artist away from her coiffed hair and perfectly done make up. Finally, tiring of their fussing.
Said make-up artists turns to me and jabs his finger in my direction, “You, no kissing. Her lipstick is perfect.” He says this in a heavy Latino accent, trilling ‘r’s and all. My smirk forms of its own accord.
Right.
Like I’m going to not kiss my wife when she’s all coiffed and gorgeous.
I shake my head and push back my jacket far enough for the butt of my service weapon peaks out. He eeps and scampers away. My eyes trail after him rounding the corner out of the hotel suite’s bathroom until a not so subtle cough brings my attention back to the woman of the evening. She’s grinning at me.
Her clear, golden brown eyes showing her level of amusement just as much as the grin she’s wearing. I step forward and grab her left hand, pulling her to me. My arms fit snuggly around her hips, lock behind her and rest in the small of her back.
She pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear and leans in ready to kiss me. I pull back and shake my head. A pout forms on her full lips. “No, no pout, babe.” I shake my head firmly. “You’re Latin, make-up person said no kissing.”
“He,” she says as she grips the back of my neck and pulls us together so that our lips just barely touch, “can kiss my ass.” She smirks, pressing forward sealing our lips together in an all too brief kiss. When she pulls back, she swipes my bottom lip taking away some of the transferred lipstick. “But did you really need to show him your gun? That freaks people out.”
I only nod before being interrupted, “Are you two ready?” Lee Sherman asks from the doorway. I take in the suit on my high school friend and smile at him. He’s pretty handsome with his shaggy, dirty, blonde hair and impish smile. He still looks pretty much the same since the first day of high school when we met. It’s kind of weird.
“Tell your friend here to quit kissing me and I think we can leave,” I say letting my wife go.
“Ann,” she groans, “It’s not my fault you are all delicious in that tailored Ann Klein.” She smacks her lips, adding, “The lip gloss is yummy too.”
“You really should go shopping with us more,” Nikki Beaumont’s voice fills in from my right. I smile over at Nikki in her little black dress and heels. To her left sandwiched between her and Lee is her partner, Nora Delaney, decked out in a green strapless dress with her hair half up and half down. Her bright green eyes twinkle as she sends her own smirk our way. They all look damn good. I give myself a pat on the back for having good taste in friends.
“Uh, no,” I say stepping away from Jill and motion the trio to move out of the doorway so we can leave the hotel. “You and Jill do enough damage without me or Nora being present.”
The four laugh and all agree. We file out and to the elevator, light conversation marking our decent to the lobby where a limo is waiting on us. Jill’s hand slips into mine as we settle in for the short drive over to Mann’s Chinese Theatre and Hollywood Boulevard. My wife’s first movie premier’s tonight and I know she’s nervous.
Hell, I’m nervous and it has absolutely nothing to do with me.
As the limo comes to a stop, the five of us exchange glances and by unspoken agreement, Lee goes first followed by Nikki and Nora. The three leave us inside the private quarters of the limo. Jill squeezes my hand and I smile at her.
“You ready?” I ask.
She nods and sighs. “Are you?” Her question full of meaning, of late night conversations about where her career may be headed.
My response is a nod as I lean in and kiss her cheek. I pull back and offer the only thing I can, “I love you.”
She smiles at me, head slightly tilted. “Then let’s do this. I’ve got all I need right here.” She holds our linked hands up and I step from the limo first.
The flashing lights and noise assault my senses. Calling up years old techniques from the academy, I school my features and assist my wife in her emergence from the back of the limo. Her appearance sends a slew of photographers into a frenzy; the flashing lights and calls increase tenfold. I feel her tense briefly before her mask falls into place.
An easy smile graces her beautiful face and she pulls me closer, her arm snaking around my waist in a familiar embrace. Nikki, Nora and Lee stand off to the side and allow us to go first, providing the silent support both of us desperately need. It’s in this moment I’m thankful my wife insisted our closest friends be here with us.
I don’t need to look to know that they are on our heels as we make our way through the horde of reporters and camera men. We move stiltly up the entrance to the theatre. Jill stops and answers questions along the way, making us pause and stand still for photo opportunities along the way. I smile at the right times. I back off and let her stand alone when the need arises, but she never lets me go for long. In all too long a time, we finally make it to the front of the theatre where we’re pulled off to the side so that Jill can do a brief interview before heading inside.
I try to step aside, but her grip around my hips tightens when the woman grins at us. “Donna, from Entertainment Weekly,” Jill whispers in my ear before giving the reporter her full attention.
“Jill,” the woman practically squeals, “It’s so good to see you!”
My wife smiles, I think she has the smile screwed onto her face by now and answers, “It’s good to see you to. How have you been?”
“Great,” the reporter cheeses. The cameraman moves to the side, getting a shot of the three of us standing together as Donna makes the introductions, “This is Donna Rodriguez with Entertainment Weekly, here with the star of East End Girl, Quentin Tarantino’s new movie and…” It’s then that she finally notices me and her brow furrows slightly before her training kicks in, “Jill, why don’t you introduce us to your beautiful guest.”
“This is my wife, Ann,” Jill beams and then catching our group off guard, she proudly points out the rest, “and these are my friends, this is Lee, Nikki and Nora.” The three of them offer a small greeting before the camera zooms back in on Jill, Donna and I.
“This is The Ann?” Donna’s face brightens.
Truthfully, I’m a little scared.
“The last interview Jill and I did together, she wouldn’t shut up about you!” Donna exclaims.
I decide then this woman talks in exclamations.
“Guilty,” I laugh with them.
“Well, we’ll,” she points between Jill and I, “will catch up off camera later. “ Her face sobers again and she turns to the camera, nodding her readiness to the cameraman. “Donna Rodriguez with Entertainment Weekly, here with the star of East End Girl, Quentin Tarantino’s new movie, model turned actress Jillian Ness and her partner, Ann.” She turns to Jill fully and thrusts the microphone between the three of us. “Jill so good to see you again. Why don’t you tell us a little about this movie that pulled you from the pages of our favorite fashion magazines and onto the silver screen?”
“Good to see you again too, Donna. Well, the story is primarily focused around Jennifer Crush and the twists her life takes on one very fateful night.”
Donna bobs her head and hmms. “Can’t tell us anymore?”
“I would but,” Jill shrugs and amends, “It’s the whole purpose of the movie. It’s this reckless, wild child turning a corner of her life on this one night. Don’t want to give too much of it away.”
Donna laughs and follows up with, “Tell us a little bit about why you decided to take this role? From the industry buzz, you read over a few scripts before taking this one. Why the wait to transition and why this movie?”
“Well, it’s a big step and I didn’t want it to be for just any movie. Jennifer’s character, her story and the rest of the characters were just…” Jill presses her lips together, deciding on her word choice, “Rich. They were fully realized in what I read and besides, Tarantino? He’s hard to say no to.”
We share a brief laugh and Donna finishes, “Alright, last one before I let you go, what are you wearing tonight?”
Jill shakes her head, giggling. “De La Renta. I just couldn’t say no to this dress.” She motions downward and the camera pans down the length of my wife’s body clad in a royal blue gown. Her and Donna exchange pleasantries again before we move along.
We pass the entry way and into the lobby, the atmosphere much more subdued in here among the low buzz of chatter. I stand proud with the woman I love as she works the room until we have to take our seats.
Oddly enough, seeing her like this, happy and proud of the work she’s done, I’ve never been happier.
Tying the sash on the thick cotton robe the hotel provides, I let the hotel worker come in, wheeling in the tray of coffee and breakfast food I’d ordered. John Malone, my boss and partner, chats amiably in my ear as I sign the receipt to bill this morning’s breakfast to the room. I see him out and go back to the conversation, “So that puts us at two pendings and we go to trial on the Delong case next week. You think I need to call the A.U.S.A. before I get back?”
“Nah,” John answers as I hear some clicks in the background as he types. The phone muffles a bit and I hear, “Will I see you later?”
“John, I don’t…call me later and we’ll see,” the woman answers and I recognize the voice of his wife. I suppress the sigh and feel for him. Together nearly twenty years and last year…something broke. He usually stops my questions with a ‘We chose different things’ before getting silent and broody.
Her being with him this morning, I look at my watch and note that it’s only eight-thirty in Virginia, tells me that they spent the night together or she dropped by earlier.
“Okay, Bec. Talk to you later,” he tells her, the voice more than a little robotic.
Now the question is, do I push or not?
Screw it.
“She spend the night?” I ask, pouring myself a generous cup of coffee and adding a little sugar and cream.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I…I think we’re trying to fix things.”
Sitting on one of the stiff chairs in the sitting area of the suite, I sip the hot, strong coffee before asking, “Is that what you want?”
“What kind of fucking question is that Ann?” he snaps.
I choose to let the outburst go. I also decide it’s a good thing we aren’t having this conversation face to face, I press, “It’s a damn good one. Look, partner, I get it. I know you better than nearly everyone else. Hell, John, I’d bet I know you better than your wife right now. So do me a favor and cut the bullshit for five and fucking talk to me.”
I wait, rigidly sitting in my chair. The silence stretches for what feels like a small eternity before he answers, “I want it. I just don’t know what she wants. I don’t even know if she knows what she wants.”
I nod and relax a little. “Well, in the interest of myself and your staff, I think you two should take a holiday. Go away for a week or two and figure out.” I amend after a second of thought, “Without the distractions.”
“Go off the grid?” he snorts. “Yeah, right. That’s not gonna happen.”
Setting my coffee down on the end table, I mop my face with my hand and smooth the fly away hairs back off my forehead. “You could,” I encourage. “Look, we’ve two pending cases right?” I don’t wait on the answer. “I know we may have a dozen files sitting on our desks collectively that need to be reviewed and summaries written for submission to get back to the departments requesting our assistance. With one trial looming, I think now is the perfect time. It’s as slow as we’re going to get.”
“What if something comes up?” he grinds out.
I smile. His hero complex shining through and getting in the way of my trying to help.
“Luce, Travis and I can handle it.” I tease him, “You know we’re quite capable. Hell, I’m even allowed to dress myself most mornings now.”
“Ann, that’s not…you’re a bitch sometimes, ya know?” he gives as good as he gets.
“Yeah, you love me anyhow Malone.” I sober and get back on track, “Seriously though, take a week or hell be a rebel and take two. You being persona non grata in D.C. has freed you up a little so…”
He huffs two-thousand miles away and I don’t need to see him to know the vein in his forehead is pulsing just a little harder, knowing that I’ve won this round.
“So when I get back in three days, I expect to see you to say hello and then I want you out of my sight for at least a week. Take the pain in the ass you call a wife and try to get laid on a more regular basis.” He growls at that and I can’t help it, “You not getting any is painful for us all.”
“Shut up,” he snips, but his annoyance is nothing more than show. We’ve worked together too long for me not to know him as well as I know myself. We’re a lot alike.
We’ve yet to figure out if two pig-headed, egotistical, hero-complex having agents are the best fit for the Special Investigation Division for the F.B.I., but I guess the real question is if either of us gives a shit.
That answer is a big fat no.
“Alright. I’ll talk to Becca tonight and see. Maybe this will be good,” he finally concedes
“She will,” I confirm. ‘Cause I’m going to call her as soon as I hang up with him and get myself into a world of trouble.
“How’s things out there by the way?” He shifts and deflects the conversation with ease.
I shrug. “Honestly, a little overwhelming. This isn’t my thing, but…” I trail off.
“It’s Jill’s and she’s the best thing you got going for you Flemming. Well, besides me,” John ribs.
“Damn skippy. So, it’s what it is and I’ll be where ever she needs for as long as she needs.” I think I take the wind out of his teasing sails.
His voice gets a little more serious as he says, “That’s the way it should be.”
“Well, I like to think I’m quicker on the uptake than most. Besides, I have a great example of how not to do things.” My words intending to tease not hurt. I look up as one of the double doors to the bedroom open up and Jill comes out, glasses on, hair rumpled and looking too damn sexy in her robe.
“Yeah well, I may just start picking up a few things from you.” I hear papers begin to rustle in the background and a ‘good morning’.
Travis must have stopped by his house.
“Travis says hey,” John confirms.
I watch my wife shuffle over and plop herself in my lap. She kisses my cheek and then snatches the coffee. Rolling my eyes, I say, “Tell Travis, hey.”
“If that’s who I think that is,” Jill mumbles, laying her head against my shoulder, “Tell him I said good morning and to get the fuck off the phone with my wife. He doesn’t need to be flirting with you while you’re on vacation.”
John laughs in my ear as a rumble of my laughter shakes the two of us in the chair. Knowing what’s coming, I pull my BlackBerry from my ear and hit the speaker phone option. “You hear that, John?”
“Yeah. Good morning, Jill,” he says.
“G’mornin’.” My wife, never one to miss a damn thing asks, “There a reason why you have me up at such an ungodly hour?”
“Just trying to keep that thing you call your partner on her toes. Can’t have her getting lazy while she’s sunning it up in the land of fruits and nuts.”
My lips purse and I pout, “Hey, you two, I’m still right here.”
Jill sends me a smirk, but John says, “Unfortunately.”
“It’s too damn early for this type of abuse. I’ll read over the file from Louisville and send you my report later today,” I try to end the call before Jill really wakes up and they get meaner.
“Sounds good. Don’t bother with the assistant U.S. attorney. He can wait until you get back. Travis is giving me the evil eye which means we’re going to be late for a meeting. Take care you two and I’ll see you both soon.” Before disconnecting he says, “We’re proud of you, Jill. Knock those Hollywood fuckers on their collective, liposuctioned asses.”
Jill can only giggle and beam at his statement. She knows just as well as I do that’s the best anyone will ever get in the way of support and an ‘I love you’ from the guy.
“Bye, John,” I say and end the call.
I set the hunk of plastic and silicone on the end table, taking the coffee cup from my wife. Finally wrapping my arms around her, she burrows into me and I plant a kiss on top of her messy head.
“You gonna come back to bed now?” she yawns.
“Depends,” I purr nipping playfully at the tip of her nose.
She looks up at me and scowls. “We have to be at Miramax at ten. Don’t tease me, it’s too early,” she whines. My Jill is and was never much a morning person.
I hate it when she whines.
I cave. I cave like a piece of cheap, wet cardboard. She knows this and it’s completely unfair.
“Alright Princess. Let’s get you back to bed.” I debate on whether or not to try and carry her. Deciding to not ruin my back, I let her get off me as I stand and stretch.
“You’re losing the robe right?” she asks as a finger hooks in the opening of the front and she peers down. God she can be such a perv sometimes.
I shake my head and lead her back to our bed, secretly happy that she is a perv.
I, myself, have been accused of having the mindset of a fifteen year old boy. I think it’s a good fit. I move to shut the door and see my phone. Quickly, I walk back to it and dial a familiar number.
Stepping into the bedroom as the phone rings, Jill looks at me with a raised brow. I hold a finger up asking for a moment more of patience as Rebecca Malone picks up, “Doctor Malone.”
“Becca, it’s Ann,” I reply.
“Good morning Ann,” she huffs. Becca is usually terse on the phone. I quit taking it personally years ago.
“Hey, I need a favor…” I shut the bedroom door and pray that she’ll see reason.
My friends flank me sitting on a couch on a soundstage at Miramax studios. A few feet away Jill sits in a chair that’s usually found on a movie set and a reporter, his name forgotten before it was mentioned, sits across from her. They’ve been discussing the movie for about twenty minutes. My girl handles herself well, but I tune into the conversation when the subject shifts, he asks, “Jill, do you think being an out celebrity figure has impacted your career?”
I bristle. I shouldn’t, but our relationship was an issue for the first few years of her career. I’m not looking to go through that round of bullshit again.
For her part, Jill smiles, shaking her head gently. With a slight edge, she asks in return, “Does being heterosexual impact other women in my position?”
Lee, Nikki and Nora all perk up at the way the conversation has shifted.
“I think I’d have to ask heterosexual women in your position to really get a good response,” he laughs, but goes right back to the line of questioning, “Being out though has had to impact you. Even when you first started your career as a model in the early Nineties and then you came out in Ninety-Four with your partner. It wasn’t as acceptable then as it is now, did you struggle?”
Jill’s lips form a thin line as her brow furrows. Her face lets me know how she’s trying to handle the question. “I’ve addressed most of this in previous interviews so I’m hesitant to do that here, but I’ll say this, it’s never been about being ‘out’ or ‘in’ with me. I’d like to move past a dialogue of gay or straight. It’s dichotic and counterproductive to the struggle for equality.” Her hands clasp across her top knee and she continues, “Was it a struggle in the industry, sometimes, but that was hardly the most challenging aspect. My marriage is also something that I’d never hide. Like my wife has said, I respect her and the bond that we share too much to deny its existence for a bigger bank account.” She sends me a smile then, her eyes locking onto mine. “It will never be a choice. So in those terms, it’s a no brainer and not even a contest.”
The interviewer takes it on the chin well and follows up, “Admirable. So then, given that young women see you in magazines and billboards and now the theatre, do you think your personal relationship with,” he looks down briefly at a note card in his hand, “Ann, influences others to live openly?”
Again I bristle and skirt my eyes to Nora and then to Nikki. This subject an area of contention in their relationship. For their part, Nora’s face is a mask and Nikki’s mouth’s quirked up in a tiny smirk.
“I never set out to be the Lesbian Poster Model, but I think that seeing other people like yourself when you feel like an outsider…sometimes, well…I hope it gives a certain amount of strength to allow anyone to be free and live as they like. If they get that from me, great; if not, then I hope they find the strength elsewhere.”
The man nods and finishes up, “Well stated. I think we’re good.” Both stand and stretch, Jill seeking me out. I stand, walk over to them and Jill’s arms snakes around my waist as she kisses my temple. I grin at her and stick my hand out in greeting, “Ann Flemming.”
“Mike,” the man with the hipster haircut and clothes takes my hand giving it a few quick pumps.
I can’t help the initial, gut reaction that takes over and the word ‘tool’ flashes across the billboard in my mind. Jill must see it, because the hand that’s gripping my hip tightens.
She never lets me have any fun.
“It’s good to meet you, Ann,” Mike says. “I’ve seen pictures of you two together and you make a hot couple.”
My jaw clenches, Nora and Lee both shoot me glances, but it’s my wife that rescues me, “Well, she’s more than just a pretty face. Although, the eye candy doesn’t hurt.” I swivel a playful glare in her direction and she winks.
Rolling my eyes, I’m about to respond when my hip vibrates.
Crap.
I pull the phone from my left hip pocket and answer, “Flemming,” I break away from my wife and go off to the side.
“Ann,” John’s voice comes through the speaker, “How’s the day?”
“Jill’s just finishing up an interview and then we’re dropping her off at another hotel downtown for a roundtable with the cast. What’s up?” My free hand gets tucked under the arm that’s holding the cell phone. I shoot an apologetic glance over to my friends and wife.
“Well, uh, Luce was running the weekly search through ViCAP and something pinged in L.A.” he explains. “I was hoping that you could swing by their headquarters, a Hundred West First and pick the file up?”
I roll my eyes. Things ping on Luce’s search all the time. It’s why the F.B.I. put together the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, otherwise known as ViCAP. “Why the rush?” I ask because usually the locals just FedEx the reports to us so we that we can review and offer opinion. Sometimes those opinions are enough to help local departments make an arrest and sometimes they aren’t.
“Truth?” he asks, knowing damn well that it’s a stupid question.
“Uh-huh,” I answer. Of course, I want the truth.
“There was a similar case that popped a few months back. We flagged it, but nothing’s ever come of it. This is the first time I’ve seen a similar report from any other department.”
I should have been clearer and told him to give me an answer that I was going to like. See this is the thing about my job. We’re a vague unit inside the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Special Investigations handles hard to solve murders, kidnappings and serial killings. I started work as a profiler for this unit in Ninety-Five, twelve years ago. My boss and partner, Director John Malone, also allows his team, me, Special Agents Lucy Walker and Travis Washington, the ability to assist on other units and agencies investigations, while handling our own case loads.
For the most part this works. On occasion, when John gets a bug up his ass or when something hits him the wrong way, he focuses all of his attention on one case or most of the time a set of cases. The tone I hear now tells me that that’s where this is headed, so I goad, “And the terms ‘vacation’ and ‘no work type stuff’ mean nothing to you?”
He sighs. “Just swing by and pick up the file.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask; my free hand now on my hips as my foot beats rapidly on the floor.
“Ann,” he tries to soften his tone, “when you get the file, you’ll see. Please?”
I pull the phone away from my ear. He never ‘pleases’ me. In fact in the entire time that we’ve been working together, I can count on one hand the number of times he’s asked that of me. I bring the phone back to my ear and say, “Okay. Who am I asking for?”
Sometimes with John it’s all about picking your battles. This isn’t one I’m going to fight. If he thinks it’s that important, I’m done questioning.
“Commander Manuel Castillo,” he answers. “Should you put Jill on the phone now or later?”
I smile. I can’t help it. “Don’t worry about her. I’ll take care of the woman, but if I get hurt, you’re paying the hospital bills.”
“Deal,” he agrees too readily and then says, “I need to, uh Becca agreed to go away, but with this new case…”
“No,” I shake my head, “you aren’t doing this. Look,” I sigh and run a hand through my hair,
“I’ve got Nik and Nor here. What about you get me that other file that flagged tonight. Have it waiting at the hotel for me around seven p.m. and I’ll review with the girls. Call me tomorrow and we’ll give you an honest opinion. If it’s serious, we’ll discuss you not taking time, but if it’s something the team and I can handle, you go and leave the house unattended.”
“I…Ann,” he stammers. I get it. I mean sort of. He and Rebecca were so solid and then it just crumbled and he really hasn’t been the same since. The fact that he’s spent more time in our spare bedroom then I care to admit is a telling sign. He needs this and fuck, if I’m being honest with myself, I need this. I need my partner back.
“Seriously, this isn’t up for a discussion. John, I let you have your way when I think that I’m not right or when I figure it’s not worth the fight, but dammit, don’t make me dig my heels in here.”
“Okay,” he lets it go and I release the breath that I was holding.
“Good, now I’m going to go and make good with my wife; call your wife and finalize the plans.” I shoot a look over at the woman in discussion and she looks only slightly annoyed with a side of amused.
I can work with that.
“Deal. Tell Jill I owe her one.” He doesn’t wait for me to say anything else as the line goes dead.
I pull the phone away and scowl at the blinking screen. I swear that’s one of his most annoying qualities. He can’t even wait for me to say goodbye.
I huff as I stuff my phone back in my pocket. Plastering on a cheesy grin, I approach my wife, palms held up in a look of surrender. Her eyebrow cocks and the three supposed friends of mine snicker.
I’m so screwed
“And people on set questioned where I got my dark sense of humor,” Jill grumps from her seat on the couch in the hotel suite.
I’d retort, but I’ve nothing to really add to that. I can’t deny that my work is hard to look at, nor can I deny that it has trickled into my home life. With our schedules, if I’m out of town, Jill will actually travel with me if her schedule permits. So needless to say, she’s seen some fairly disturbing shit.
I hate that. I hate that she’s exposed to this. I don’t even think I should be, but it’s the job. The crazy thing is, is that I love my job. John just says it’s ‘cause I’m nuts. I say it’s because I’m a masochist. Jill says it’s six of one and half dozen of another so why argue a moot point.
She’s smart that wife of mine.
It’s Nora that responds to Jill’s comment, “It’s a defense mechanism, Jill. If we don’t laugh, we’ll cry or we’ll go ape shit crazy. Laughing’s usually the best.”
She’s smart too, that best friend of mine.
Instead of actually participating in the conversation, I go back to the responding officer’s police report. The file that we picked up from Commander Castillo was not so much a file, but a banker’s box. He also kindly informed me that the body is still on ice, but set to be released, pending any major breaks in the case, to the family tomorrow. We just got to the file in under the wire.
Usually, we get files where we don’t have a body to work with. I hate that. Our department has their own medical examiner and she’s highly underutilized. This time, if we move forward, I think we’ll have something to work with; so I go back to the file, chewing on my lower lip.
The responding officer’s report is typical, very standard. A call came in at twenty-two-oh-eight on Tuesday, September Thirty at 767549 West Via Paloma. The caller identified himself as the husband, Alfred Sheridan, of Maria Sheridan. The officer, Kyle Bustamante, came to the scene with E.M.T.’s. Kyle secured the scene, talked the husband down a little and handed the man to one of the E.M.T.’s to treat for shock.
The body was found in the master bedroom, laying face up in the bed. Kyle’s report gets more robotic from there. I glance over at the crime scene photos to actually take in the scene for myself. And this is where Jill’s comment from earlier comes in. I’ve seen a lot in my time with the Bureau. The worst is always kids, but thankfully, those cases are few and far between. I can count the handful of times we’ve had to deal with kids, but then again, what
I’m looking at isn’t much better.
The body of the vic is laying face up on the bed. If you were just coming into the room and glanced at the body, you’d think they had a towel over their face, but that’s not so. The close up of the corpse in the initial stages of decomp are still very recognizable. Except for one minor detail. The skin on the woman’s face has been cleanly excised. What you actually see in the photo, is the tissue underneath. Clean lines of muscle tissue and tendons glare back at the lens. With no lips, the victim’s teeth are clearly exposed. The eyelids, a piece of anatomy used to respect the dead, are missing. Usually closed eyelids hide the lifeless eyes from our sight. With her’s, you can’t. The woman’s ocular cavities are clearly visible, the orbs protruding from the face. You can see where the skin was removed around the hairline, down in front of the ears and under the jaw. The flesh of the neck is still intact.
The forensic photographer did well in capturing the position of the body. Supine, with her hands clasped serenely over her waist. Her left hand placed atop the right. Nothing else out of place, not even her hair, which had been combed back into a ponytail. The report states that the husband was able to identify the wife by a small palm tree tattoo on the top of her foot.
My lips purse and I finish off Officer Bustamante’s report. The responding Detective’s, Adrian Ting, is very similar. The investigation really didn’t go anywhere. Alfred Sheridan had a rock solid alibi; he was upstate in San Francisco for work. He returned that evening from a flight into L.A. and found his wife like that. No signs of forced entry. No signs of an altercation. Mr. Sheridan said everything was as it should have been…except for his wife dead with her face missing on their bed.
I snort, see this is where the inappropriate humor comes in, ‘cause it’s not funny but…
It’s damn absurd.
I mean to put myself in that position to come home and find Jill…I shudder. No, we will not go down that road. The occasional nightmare I have is good for me. I don’t need my wife’s face on the body of the victims any more than my nightmares allow.
Nikki looks up at me, at my half snort half growl. I shrug at her and she holds up the file that John had delivered. The first case that flagged for him. Nikki and Nora agreed that they would look over that and then we’d convene to give our assessment.
Thank God, they’re here. Having two other detectives here with me is a Godsend. I watch them with their heads together reading over the same report. Nikki pointing to one thing then Nora pointing at something else. The ease that they share is visible and even a little admirable. John and I don’t work that well together and we’ve been partners for twelve years. Of course, the little snarky voice in my head snickers and reminds me that John and I don’t live together and do not have sex. They do.
With them as work partners for the New Orleans Police Department, I can kinda see why Nora’s stayed in the closet for as long as she has, but…what they’ve gotten into together, it’s near career suicide. Not because they’re gay, although in NOLA I’m not sure how well that would go over, but more because they’re partners.
Although as taboo as it is, thing are different, way different now than they were ten years ago. It also doesn’t hurt my ex-girlfriend turned best friend, Nora, that her old partner turned boss knows about the two of them. Dan’s an all right guy. He’s letting them operate under their own private version of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,’ which I suppose is fair enough. They could all be in some serious hot water with I.A.B. if it ever came out. Not to mention it would call into question the majority of their cases.
It would be pure bullshit and a witch-hunt, but their careers would suffer. Both women are too good at what they do and they care too much for that to happen. It shouldn’t.
Doesn’t mean it won’t.
“You done?” I hear Nora ask.
I shake my head and blink. I must have been staring. I stick my tongue out at her and glance around the room. Lee and Jill are pointedly ignoring the images around them and watching something…I stare at the T.V. a moment before I recognize a rerun of Buffy on the screen. Rolling my eyes, I look back over at the two detectives.
“Yeah, I was waiting on you two,” I answer blandly, dropping the paper from my hands and looking at the photographs we have tacked up on a wall. The outline from the mirror that was hanging in that spot clearly visible due to the discolored wallpaper that surrounded it.
“Well?” Nikki asks.
“Well?” I reply.
We all roll our eyes and Nora goes first. “The victim from this case, Margaret Talbert, from Duluth, Minnesota. Blonde hair, brown eyes, thirty years old. Was reported missing by her family on Saturday, June Eighth, of this year. Nothing came of the missing persons report. Her body was discovered a short time later at the beginning of July…” She looks down at the file and flips a few pages over. “Report says body was discovered by a father and son on Seven-oh-two. That’s a little less than a month in hot, humid weather.” Her nose crinkles and mouth pinches.
“It may not have been that bad. Hopefully,” I say. I mean that long out, exposed in the woods over some of the hottest months. “Scavengers?”
Nikki nods. “Report indicates a few; her body for the most part was intact.” Nikki looks pointedly at the photos we have up and amends, “Well, as intact as a body can be without the face. She was identified by an old sports break on her left femur.”
“Why was the face gone?” I ask. Not really wanting an answer, but…I feel obligated.
“M.E. concluded that facial skin was removed prior to death. The scavengers got to the eyes and the remaining soft tissue,” Nora answers.
“Fuck.” It’s all I really have.
Well there’s more, but I think that sums it all up.
“Is this enough to cry serial, Ann?” Nikki asks, chewing on her lower lip. I’d smile at the habit, considering she picked it up from Nora, but I’m out of smiles for the next twenty minutes at least.
My mouth screws to the side as I stand. Planting my feet in front of the wall holding the photos I take in each scene. The photographer in Duluth wasn’t as thorough, but considering…I really shouldn’t expect it.
There are large discrepancies, placement of the victim, eye color, hair color, location of the body, but the link, namely the missing face, well that’s big. I mop my face with my right hand and rub my eyes. I need to work through this. “Okay, let’s run down a list of commonalities, age and race are both a match. What was the cause of death for the first victim?”
“Inconclusive,” Nikki calls out.
“Alright, cause of death on the second was heart failure. Both of their faces were removed, both M.E.’s were confident enough in their findings to say that that was done while they were alive.”
“Pleasant,” Nora snarks.
“Sugga,” Nikki starts.
“The differences,” I cut in, turning to face them, “are…?”
“Location is huge,” Nikki fills in.
“Hair and eye color are another,” Nora supplies.
“Also,” Nikki picks up right after Nora’s words die out, “From the little bit of training at the F.B.I. field office, serial killers don’t move around like this. Not usually. S.O.P.’s usually profile them with sticking to a safety zone. An area that they feel most comfortable in. We’ve got one body in Minnesota and one in California. Last map I checked put them in different parts of the country.”
“There’s that,” I agree with her, resting my hands on my hips, my right fingers patting out a random rhythm on my hip. “But, it really does depend on how nomadic the killer is. Which,” I pause, loath to actually voice my professional opinion, “If these cases were to land on my desk from the same office, I’d attach the word ‘serial’ to the killings.”
“So, now what?” Nora looks at me, already knowing the answer.
I shrug. “Call my partner and go from there.”
I hear Jill groan from the living area. Lee gives her a pat sympathetic grunt while the other two just shrug right along with me.
It’s a hazard of the job.
Next>>>
