Pearl

Chapter Twenty-Five: Reunion

Randal O'Lane walked a brisk pace--just a skip away from a run--down the interior hallway of the agency's Nebraska headquarters. He tapped the small communicator in his ear, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Are you serious? You just let them in?" he snapped into the small microphone as he turned a corner and caught sight of his quarry--all four of them.

"Have you talked to this woman? Good god, it was like listening to my mother, the police, and that Sunday school nun with the ruler all at once!" the voice crackled over the static directly into Randal's ear.

"You. ARE. The police," O'Lane growled. He felt a vein bulging in his temple.

"True. But I am not my mother. Unless you ask my partner haha!"

Randal barked an order--no one in or out--before cutting off contact with the security team posted at the entrance to the building. This is what he got for relying on local forces, he thought with no small bias. He briefly remembered the officer named Takeda back in Brighton and almost revised his position.

Almost.

The group under pursuit had stopped halfway down the hallway to look around for directions.

"Mrs. and Mr. Thompson, hello," he said, pulling up beside them and resisting the urge to grab and shake the parents. He nodded quickly to the two children, a grimace forming as he registered the presence of the young girl. They looked back at him with only mild interest.

"Ah, Agent O'Lane. Would you mind directing us to Emma's room? The security guard downstairs gave us somewhat vague instructions," Mrs. Thompson said by way of greeting. She was standing with one arm loosely slung over her husband's shoulders, the other wrapped protectively around her midsection.

"I thought we agreed that you wouldn't try to meet with your daughter until my psych team and verified whether or not sudden exposure to her family might damage her further. I can't imagine you want to-"

"With all due respect," Mrs. Thompson interrupted, her face askew with blatant distaste, "I've had just about enough of 'your team' deciding what's right for me and my family. She needs us. This is my daughter. I am going to see her," she said with no room for argument. 

"I'm pretty sure the guy downstairs said it was to the left up here," Trent volunteered around O'Lane's partial attempt to respond, and Mrs. Thompson shot her son a grateful, fond smile. The family moved forward, leaving O'Lane to stand alone behind them in the narrow hallway.

He pressed his palms to his eyes, tipping his head back in frustration. A reunion right now was the last thing anyone needed, especially one that involved the kid. Not only was Lyly still completely unpredictable, but O'Lane couldn't even imagine what would it do to a preteen to suddenly be reunited with a missing sister, only to have that sister not remember her.

After a deep, rumbling breath, he turned to follow.

The family had made it to the door, the correct door, by some incredible chance.

He joined them just outside the closed door of the young woman's room, his face a tight frown. He watched as the family took a collective breath at the doorway, saw the deep fear buried in Mrs. Thompson's eyes as she reach forward to turn the knob. 

The door swung open easily. 

They all paused at the entryway, their apparent momentum diffused by what they saw.

Inside the room was a well-dressed older gentleman and a young woman with hair down to her chin. It was brown from crown to the tips of her ears, and bubblegum pink the rest of the way down. The gentleman leaned close to the young woman's head to observe the lock of hair that he held in his open palm with intense interest.