Isolated

Chapter 74

Chapter 74

We were numb, yet restless. Restless enough, we hardly received any sleep last night. Francis didn't get any at all. It resulted in us staying mostly quiet throughout the next day. Talking about anything took too much emotional effort. So instead, we let our shitty predicament sink into our heads. It motivated our brains to spiral into a sorrowful state. Not to mention, there wasn't much that could be said or done until our new agent got here.

He was apparently supposed to show up sometime today. Hours of waiting in our motel, depressed and sad, we couldn't take much more. The TV was our only distractor and it was a piss-poor one. Thankfully for Francis, his distraught was defeated by his body's need for sleep. He went into the adjoining room by himself and passed out around 5:30 in the evening. As for the rest of us, we didn't have that luxury. Stuck in our heads, restless and even pacing occasionally, we waited.

After placing bets on whether the agent would show up or not tonight, I lost 10 bucks. The digital clock was nearing 7:00 when pronounce knocks against the door alerted us. Jackson answered, and a man joined us. Excuse me, I mean a ginger joined us. His naturally red hair was trimmed neatly, framing his round face well. Freckles also spotted his nose and cheeks. They moved with his skin when he produced a small smile. He also looked rather young to be in the FBI; maybe mid 20s.

"Hey guys," he said, blue eyes taking turns on us. "I'm Agent Weston Rossgram." Then, he awkwardly proceeded to approach each of us and shake our hands. "I'll be taking the place of Agent Tate, may she rest in peace."

Shaking his hand, it was already obvious how different he was compared to Agent Tate. From his sad knowing smile, the informal introduction, politeness.... The man gave off a laid-back vibe; he didn't seem strict. Maybe this dude would cut us some slack. Hell, we even got a first name from the guy.

Jackson noticed too. He critically eyed up the man. "Wonderful, another fucking kid to deal with," he mumbled from where he was perched in the chair. Louder, he asked, "This wouldn't happen to be your first case, would it?"

The man – Weston – didn't allow his smile to falter. "Actually, it is. I've finished training months ago, but until now, they didn't think I was ready."

Gee. Wonder why. Showed how much the FBI really cared about us. Then again, they assumed we wouldn't be needing an agent anyway. Thanks to Reid's note, the FBI probably figured we wouldn't dare look for the headquarters anymore.

"Well, I'm thrilled the FBI finally found you competent enough," Jackson grumbled sarcastically.

Though he was new to the FBI and still had a soul, he wasn't stupid. Smile dropping, he stared blankly at Jackson. He didn't say anything. Instead, he rested his hands on his hips. The movement caused his fleece to raise slightly and expose a gun latched to his side. I was liking this guy already.

Directing his attention to me, Weston took a deep breath. "Um, Albany. As you know, I will be here to report to if you find any more evidence leading us closer to Reid Taylor's location. You have just over a week until our deal expires and we'll be forced to arrest the three of you."

Hmm. Maybe he was stupid. "Don't you know about the note? We're done searching."

He took a deep breath. "I know about the note and am aware of what happened. I... I can't imagine. I was informed you likely would ignore our deal – with good reason. I know you probably won't be needing me or contacting me. But the deal you have with us is still in place so I'm here."

This wasn't sounding good. Not only did he not bring up anything about helping us, but he was speaking about a deal that I didn't care about anymore. Did that mean there was no help?