Triple Digits

Claire Miles

This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening.
The entire flight back to Mid-City was a blur for her, as was getting into a police car sent by Gregory Dunfield to collect her and Corey from the airport. He left to go examine the crime scene her house had become, after a twenty minute argument between him and Dunfield about where Claire should go in the meantime.
In the end, she was kept at the police station, guarded by four armed officers that stood in the hallway outside. They had put her in an interview room, the door locked and the cameras switched off, and given her a blanket and a cup of black coffee. She couldn't bring herself to drink it. If she did, she was going to be sick again. Tears slipped continuously down her cheeks.
Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she rocked back and forth in her chair, trying to let the world fade away. Let Helix be okay.
But what about herself? The killer had promised to kill Claire.
Scanning the one-way glass in front of her, she wondered if she was being watched.
Footsteps echoed, and she searched the room instinctively for a weapon to defend herself, only for the door to open, Corey striding in. He looked exhausted. A duffel bag hung from his arm.
Extending a hand to her, he murmured, "Let's go."
She rose from her seat without any argument, taking his hand, letting him wrap a protective arm around her shoulders as he escorted her down the hallway and into his police car, recovered from the race and cleaned. The only reason she recognised it was because some of the spraypaint of TD's logo remained.
Ushering her into the passenger seat, he rounded the car and sat in the driver's seat, locking the doors before switching the engine on.
Claire shivered, drawing her knees to her chest.
"What- What did the apartment look like?" She forced herself to ask as Corey peeled away from the police parking lot and into the street, heading not for her apartment, but elsewhere. Where were they going?
"It's being cleaned now. They took fingerprints, blood samples, photographs- hopefully it will be enough to track down our guy. Helix will live, Claire. So will one of the officers who responded to the scene."
Relief like she'd never felt it before made her drop her head back against the headrest, and Corey explained thickly, "By the time the backup got there, the killer was gone. I've handed over your phone to police for them to read over the messages he sent."
Claire's eyes widened, and he reassured, "Don't worry, they'll only read the messages from the killer."
That was exactly what she was worried about. He'd hinted to her being Triple Digits in those texts. If someone read them and realised, she would be hauled back into the jail, this time in handcuffs.
Taking her silence for mindless panic, he added fervently, "Claire, you won't be charged if they find evidence of drug use or whatever on there. They just want to catch this guy."
Drug use- as if she would! And they would arrest her for being Triple Digits.
Maybe she should just pack up, book a plane ticket to a different city, and change her name. She would leave all this behind in Mid-City. She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, the two of them quieting.
"Look," he began five minutes later, as the car slowed, turning into the driveway of a tiny house, "You really should tell me who you are in the racing world, Claire. The killer is after you. I can't protect you adequately if I don't know who you are."
"I can't tell you," she choked out. His sigh of disappointment was a knife twisting in her gut.
"Corey, you would be furious!" She sobbed in response to it. She couldn't tell him. Not even if it got her killed. For her friends, she would reveal herself, but not now, knowing that they were both safe in the hospital. She didn't want to go to jail! Twisting in his seat to face her, he reached over and took her good hand in his, promising, "I won't be. I promise. I just want to keep you safe."
"You are keeping me safe. You don't need my racer name to do that."
"Claire, a man out there is trying to MURDER YOU!" Strickland roared furiously, "That overrides whatever code you have, or embarrassment about your wins and losses, or whatever! You could DIE! Brutally! HORRIBLY!"
"I KNOW!" She wailed, throwing his hand back at him, and he pressured, "Tell me who you are!" She shook her head, beginning to crack a little under the weight of everything, and knowing this, able to read it on her face, he again insisted, "I need to know! Tell me! Claire, tell me right damned now who you are-"
"Triple Digit!" Her voice broke on the words that she immediately regretted saying, and she sunk into the seat, curling into a ball as Corey fell silent. If she hugged herself tightly, or squeezed her eyes shut, enough, maybe she could pretend she'd never said it at all.
"You're..." Corey huffed a humourless laugh, "Fuck. The colour green, the way you fly down the street... Of course you're her. How did I not see it?"
She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She didn't want to see the disgust on his face.
Claire didn't want to admit it to herself, but Strickland's opinion was fast becoming important to her.
"Get out of the car, Claire."
His words made her stiffen, and she lifted her gaze to find his locked onto her. He shook his head, trying to organise his thoughts into words. Instead, he repeated, "Just... Just get out, and into the house. We'll sort this out in there."
Her bottom lip wobbled, tears stinging at her eyes, and she whimpered, "You're not going to arrest me?" His jaw tightened as he grit his teeth, hissing, "I don't know what the Hell I'm going to do! Just go inside! Please!"
Unbuckling her seatbelt, she opened the car door with a click, hurrying to the front door of what had to be Corey Strickland's house. He'd brought her to his own home, despite knowing it would put him in danger.
Waiting anxiously on the porch, Claire kept her arms wrapped around herself, beginning to feel like she was breaking into tiny pieces. Corey remained in the car for a minute, resting his head on the steering wheel. His shoulders rose and fell, rose and fell...
She couldn't help herself from scanning the ends of the street for signs of approaching police cars. What if he called, and had her arrested right now?
She supposed she deserved this. Claire had chosen to break the law, had done so knowingly and happily. Now, it was coming back to bite her in the ass, and she had to pay for her crimes.
Eventually, after five minutes of standing on the porch and shivering, feeling like she was going to freeze to death long before the killer could reach her, the driver's door opened, and Corey stepped out.
He reached back in to grab the duffel bag, making his way toward the front door.
Corey Strickland's house was a tiny, one-storey building. It had a tiny front yard with a driveway, no garage, and a miniature garden made up of a collection of struggling plants on the other side of the railing that protected his porch.
The front light near his door was broken, the bulb shattered, and he reached into his pocket, unlocking the door to reveal a tiny, cramped kitchen, living and dining room space. He flicked the overhead light on, closing the door, twisting the three locks on it before sliding the deadbolt across. He reached around her, drawing the fraying curtains across the window.
A desk made from a wooden door was pressed up against the wall, an ancient computer sitting on it, and none of the three chairs she could see in this room matched.
There were two doors in the house, both of them visible from here. One, she imagined, led to Corey's bedroom. The other was open, and was a bathroom. The shower was old, but clean, just like the toilet and sink. A minimal amount of soap options- only two bottles, were available to choose from.
He had no TV, just like Claire had suspected, but he did have a couch and a bookshelf with precisely five books on it, the rest of the shelves storing photos or police academy memorabilia.
Strickland ignored her, making his way to the bedroom, opening the door to reveal a double bed with fraying, but comfortable-looking sheets, and mismatched bedside tables. A lamp that looked like it belonged to a child sat on one of them, and there was a half-read book beside it, laying open.
He dumped the duffel bag onto the end of the bed, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt. Claire's breath caught in her throat at the sight of them, only for him to toss them onto the bedside table, followed by his gun, which was unloaded and carefully placed in the drawer, the bullets in the other bedside table. He removed his belt, slinging it over a railing in his wardrobe, and kicked off his shoes, returning to the kitchen and opening the fridge with a wince, only to close it again. He was still in his police uniform, other than the belt and equipment.
Was he really going to give her the cold shoulder?
She deserved it. That, and more.
Grimacing, she made her way over to the couch and sat down, unsure what to do with herself.
She should never have told him her racer name. How could she have been so stupid?!
A blanket settled around her shoulders, startling her, and Corey adjusted it over her before settling next to her in the couch. He said nothing, but he was sitting next to her. He'd given her a blanket, had placed it around her himself.
Did this mean she was forgiven? His next words discredited that theory.
"You are incredibly stupid," he whispered with a broken laugh, staring at the bookshelf in front of them instead of at her, his eyes scanning the police memorabilia, "I should take you in. I should charge you right here and now, put you in handcuffs, and march you into Dunfield's office." He looked to her.
"But," he continued quietly- There was a 'but' in this situation? Was Strickland going to give her a second chance? "I won't. I will not charge you, Claire. Not now." The unspoken words hung between them- He would not charge her now, because there was always later. He knew who she was now. By the time Strickland decided to charge her, however, Claire would be gone forever. She would change her name, her appearance, and live somewhere nobody from this town would ever find her.
"And I don't want to give that asshole killer what he wants, which is for me to toss you out onto your ass. He wants me so angry at you that you lied to me, multiple times, that I abandon you to be murdered. I will not do that, either."
"But you are mad," she choked out through her tears. Corey nodded slowly, his voice surprisingly calm as he replied, "I am absolutely furious. But not at you. I'm mad at myself, Claire, for not seeing it sooner. You made it ridiculously obvious, and I was so busy looking at you that I failed to see beyond you, to the clues you were leaving behind." His confession made her slump forward a little, the tension melting from her shoulders. It also left her feeling a little starstruck, like she'd just seen a celebrity.
I was so busy looking at you that I failed to see beyond you. Had Strickland... desired her, until her confession? Claire doubted he'd even meant to admit such a thing. A small part of her had been starting to like him, too. He'd treated her so gently, like he actually cared if she was okay or not.
His feelings for her must have been dead now.
She would never know what that desire would have led to. Her heart cracked in her chest, threatening to break at the thought.
"I'm not the killer. Triple Digits is not the killer," she urged in response, and he shook his head, "No, you aren't. I want you to know that you're safe here with me. I won't let that bastard get to you. The police are scouring the city for him right now, and when they find him, he'll be locked away for a long time. Until then, I'm here, right by your side."
"Thank you," she whispered, feeling her heart break worse than it had when she'd ran away from home.
"I was falling in love with you, Claire. I hate to admit it, but I was."
Was. WAS. Not 'am'. Was. The emotion was gone and dead and buried.
Her tears fell a little quicker, and she turned her head away, hugging herself. She'd messed it all up. Everything. She wanted to close her eyes and try to forget the entire, cursed weekend, but he was waiting for a reply.
"I woke up three days ago and wanted nothing more than for you to chase me in that stupid car of yours," she admitted, hearing his breath catch in his throat, "I didn't even really know why. I liked the attention from you, I guess. I drove by that stupid café every morning just to see you chase after me, even though it took me longer to get to work. I would wake up earlier than I needed to, every day, just so you would have the time to pull me over, and I'd still make it to work on time. Every ticket was another scrap of attention from you. I woke up three days ago, and the world was fine and everything was perfect. And now... Now, I just want it to go away. The killer, the fact that you can't love me anymore even though I still love you- everything."
"Can't love you anymore?" Corey whispered in shock, "Claire, I still love you. Gods, I want to throttle you for lying to me, but that's only a part of what made me realise I loved you. The entire flight back over here, trying to keep you calm enough that you didn't tear the head off some poor flight attendant, I kept wondering why I cared so much. I didn't understand why your pain hurt me so badly, or why your happiness made me want to kiss you. I know, now. I was falling for you for months, not just over the weekend. I chased you because I wanted to finally fucking catch you, and maybe, just maybe, I would scare a little bit of that beautiful smugness from your face, and you would finally notice me."
Your happiness made me want to kiss you.
I would scare a little bit of that beautiful smugness from your face, and you would finally notice me. He thought she was beautiful!
"Claire, I can't arrest you, because it would break my damned heart doing it."
She exhaled shakily, studying his face. It was wrought with emotion, and she blinked in surprise to find that he was crying, too. He seemed distraught, utterly broken open as he spilled his heart to her.
"You have to bring me in, though," Claire said quietly, "Dunfield gave it to you as a task to prove your competence. You have no choice." It would make it better, at least. Even if Claire went to jail, knowing that Strickland hadn't wanted to do it, and that his hand had been forced, made the sting of betrayal a little better.
"Then I'll have to find a new job. I sat in that car for what felt like forever trying to bring myself to arrest you. I can't. I won't. Even the thought of calling Dunfield and having someone else arrest you for me felt like falling off the side of a building. You're mine, Miles, and nothing, not even you being the most irresponsibly dangerous street-racer in all of Mid-City, can change that."
She leapt forward, her lips making contact with his in a split-second decision that would, hopefully, be less disastrous than admitting her street-racing name to him. He softened against her immediately, his shoulders slackening, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her over and onto him, the both of them falling back against the couch cushions.
"Be mine," he whispered in between kissing her, "Please be mine."
She nodded, and he whispered her name in awe, deepening the kiss. She sunk into everything that he was, letting herself get lost in the moment.
Eventually, he pulled away just enough for her to see the teasing smile on his face, and he poked her in the side, making her wriggle out of his touch, only for him to laugh, "No more street-racing, if you value my sanity."
"I can't do that. TD has to live on," she replied in an all-too-serious tone, and he sighed, "How am I meant to stand by and watch you endanger yourse- Maddy was the woman I spoke to that night, the one who cussed me out for acting like I had a hero-complex!" Yeah, that sounded like her bestfriend.
Claire laughed at his realisation, and he added in shock, "You said my help was backhanded!"
"It was!" She cried out, rattling off the reasons on her fingers, "You offered to help move my gearstick for me, in exchange for ten years in jail!"
"How the Hell did you, of all people, end up with a thirty-thousand dollar bounty on you, Miles?" He grinned, and she laughed, "If I recall correctly, it was you who put that bounty on my head, AND the ten year jail sentence!"
He pressed a kiss to her throat, the movement making her toes curl in their shoes, and he grumbled, "I'll have to rescind on that bounty. How embarrassing. A police officer falling in love with a criminal."
"Why do you have to rescind on it? Nobody else has to know who I am. It could be our little secret," she offered slyly, and he added pointedly, "And Maddy's, and Helix's..."
"Alright, alright! But you can be in on the little club, now!"
There was a knock on the door, Claire stiffening atop Corey, who gripped her waist and quietly shuffled her off him, motioning for her to remain still and quiet. He tiptoed back into the bedroom, slowly sliding the bedside table drawer open, retrieving his gun first before heading around the bed and grabbing the ammo, loading it.
Claire trembled on the floor, looking around for a weapon of her own, before glancing up to the clock on the wall. It was half-past-one. Nobody should be visiting at this hour.
A police officer had already been killed tonight. Corey was far from Immortal, but he headed toward the door anyway, twitching the curtain aside to peer out, his gun at the ready. He frowned.
"Who is it?" Claire whispered in horror, her mind running through hundreds of scenarios and images of the killer waiting out there with a knife, only for Corey to drop the curtain back over the window.
"Nobody. There's nobody out there." His frown deepened into a confused scowl, and she jumped to her feet, racing over and gripping his arm tightly, begging, "Please don't go out there!" She didn't want another death or injury on her hands tonight, especially not Corey's.
He looked to her, must have seen something in her face or posture, because he lowered the gun, nodding twice, and pulled her to him, whispering against the top of her head, "I won't. If you're asking me to stay here, then I'll stay."
A bang on the window in front of them made her scream in fear, Corey pushing her behind him protectively, lifting the gun once more. He didn't pull the trigger, waiting for another movement. With how the light streamed in thanks to the streetlight outside, they should be able to see the killer's shadow if he came near the window again, giving Corey a mostly clear shot.
She begged, and he snarled, "Never!"
No other sounds came from outside the house, though, and ten minutes later, Corey ordered Claire into the bathroom, waiting until she'd locked the door to open the front one. She pressed her ear against the wood, listening for him.
She heard him go outside, his footsteps echoing on the porch, then she heard him enter the house again, locking the door.
He whispered her name outside the bathroom, and she unlocked it.
He was holding a single scrap of paper. Even from here, with it turned away, the light shone through enough that she could see it was addressed to her.
"What does it say?" She asked fearfully, Corey handing her the note.
It was in the killer's scrawl, the same handwriting from the note she'd been given in the café, and read: