+18 eps. 17-21 - After a hard case that takes the team to DC in order to catch a blackhat and prevent a bombing, all hell breaks loose on their return to Boston , when the ghost of the Libra killer comes back to torture Brock seven years after the m...
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It was one of the worst nights of his life, just like he expected.
For a moment, he felt tempted to go out and find a liquor store or a bar. But he didn't. He knew he needed to stay in control. Else, memories and emotions would take completely over and he might just lose it. That simple. Staying lucid and sober was the only way to not crumble down to pieces.
It'd been a hell of a week, from Boston to DC, to Augusta, back to Boston. He was drained, but the stress wouldn't cut him any slack. And he was somehow grateful for that. Because sleeping meant dreaming. And he didn't feel in shape at all to face what he would surely find in his dreams.
He didn't harbor any hope of being able to stay awake all night. But maybe if exhaustion just knocked him out as late as possible, he would sink into sleep so deep that nightmares wouldn't torture him too badly.
Not like he needed to be asleep for them to haunt him. He wasn't that lucky.
The very idea of somebody taking on the Libra's deeds was enough to fill him with anguish and excruciating pain.
It was a sunny noon in Idaho and his phone buzzing while he took off his Kevlar. It was Georgia, pale and cold on the Coroner's slab. It was the sound of the soil shoveled down on her coffin. It was the rain falling on the Libra, sprawled on a dirty alley, as the son of a bitch begged for mercy after failing to stab him. It was the feeling of losing his mind. It was the ozone-like smell of blood filling his home. It was the disgusting but so necessary heat of cheap liquor down his throat.
He forced himself to eat something and sat at the table with his computer. A Libra copycat was bound to make it to the news, so that would be a good first approach to the case, until he got the file. But he searched all the local news sites he knew, even the more informal and alternative, and also those openly gore-oriented, and didn't find the slightest mention to it. There were chronicles about a few homicides over the last days, a couple of them had been women. But not even a hint about any of them being related to the Libra.
He frowned, leaning back in his chair. How did she do it to keep it from the press?
That simple pronoun sent his focus out the window and himself up to his feet. To the kitchen, it seemed. Good moment for a tea, then.
He put the kettle on the burner and snorted. No use in trying to pretend he wasn't still furious. He rested both hands on the counter and let his head down between his shoulders, feeling again a chill of pure anger down his spine.
How could she did something like this? Gillian, of all people! And he thought she cared about him... There you go, Brockner! That's what you get for dropping your defenses and letting people in, any kind of close!
He'd gone up to the fifth floor with the excuse of fetching the Maine files. But actually to see her. Because he'd bet on a chance to spend a little while with her, maybe share a coffee at the staff kitchen, tell her about his case. She was always so brilliant, that only talking with her about it might have turned out in some new idea or approach.
His hands clenched into fists on the counter. He'd welcomed her to his home. He'd wanted to spend time with her! He'd trusted her! How could he be such a blind idiot?
And yet, a small, stubborn part of him cried out loud. No, no way! He had to be wrong! She'd been the one pushing him up and on ever since they met. She'd taken any chance she got to make him feel he was still good at doing their job and tell everybody about it, even praising him for things actually she'd done. And she would crush anybody who would suggest otherwise. She'd done all kinds of crazy things because she knew he had her back, putting her life in his reluctant hands every time. She'd surrendered to him her pride and her natural condition as a leader, to follow his lead with a thrilled smile on her face. She'd scared him and pissed him to no end. And surprised him. And moved him. And charmed him. She'd thrust right through all of his heavy armor to show him his heart was still beating and he was still alive.
And now this? How could she betray him like this? He looked up, shaking his head slowly, amazed at how naïve he'd turned out to be. He still couldn't stomach what she'd said and done a few hours ago. The way she'd faced up to him. That cold, patronizing contempt in her eyes and her words.
Was this who she really was? Had he been so damn wrong about her from day one? Because it was no act. Nothing she could've practiced a couple of times in front of her mirror to pull it off like that. He was perfectly aware of the effect he could have on people, yet she hadn't even flinched at his anger. Not once.
Through the steady whistle of the kettle he'd been ignoring, he heard a sound alert from his computer. An incoming email. Then his phone buzzed. Great! Anybody else felt like disturbing his vacations in hell? Only the bell was still quiet. He pushed himself away from the counter and around the breakfast bar to fetch his phone. On his way, he shot a poisonous glare at the intercom. It'd better not even think about ringing. On second thought, his Glock was on the bar. So bring it on. It could ring alright.
He saw it was Cooper calling and let out an annoyed sigh. Here you go, Brockner. You messed with the Bureau's new golden child. Let's see how well it plays out for you. He picked up on his way back to the kitchen, and fixed his tea while he talked.
"Cooper...," he said.
The Iron Lady didn't waste her breath on diplomacy. "You suspended Gillian?"
Her rabid bark shooed his private rant off, allowing him to reply in his flattest tone. "Yes, I did."
"She's a part of my staff! If you wanted to sanction her, you should have come to me first!"
"I'm sorry. You weren't around. You'll have my report first thing tomorrow. Anything else I can be of help?"
"Her sanction won't be effective without my approval."
And you're not gonna approve it, I know. "That's your call, Cooper. Like you said, she's your agent. But I'm taking this case and she won't be working it."
Cooper snorted and disconnected. Brock sighed. Sure as hell next call would be Cassidy's. And then Wright. And the Deputy Director. And the Director. Fine for him. He wasn't in any hurry to go to sleep, so he could stay up all night, taking their angry calls.
He took his mug to the table. He was sitting down when his phone buzzed again, and he realized he'd left it on the kitchen counter. That was quick even for Cassidy, he thought, standing up to fetch it. He didn't check the call, convinced it would be the Section Chief.
"Hey, man, did you read my email?"
Brock scowled. Russell? "Not yet." He strolled once more to the table and leaned in to his computer. "What is it? The Maine files?"
"The copycat file. Take a good look at it, 'cause there are things related to the Libra that weren't included in the original case. Maybe you can find something to get ahead of this bastard."
Brock narrowed his eyes. He'd suspended Gillian and pulled her off the case, yet Russell sent him the file and called him about it? "Okay."
"I'll be up a while longer, if you need to call."
"Okay."
He disconnected and stared at the phone, as if waiting for the thing to answer his questions. Then he got it. Were he able to track Russell's call, Brock could bet his right hand he'd called from Brighton. From Gillian's place—and he would've been wrong, because they were still at the field office. What was she up to now? Enough of Gillian already, Brockner. Get to work.
