Blacklist [h.s]

thirteen

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grace

I can hear Harry's muffled voice as we round the corner, but I can barely make out what he's saying through the muffled box. I hear someone else's voice that I don't recognize, someone with a thick French accent. His voice is deep and rough, almost like he's smoked a pack of cigarettes every day of his life. I can't make out any of his features, other than a small burn on the side of his face and a bald spot on the back of his head. From the corner of my eye I watch as a man grabs Cooper by the collar of his suit and shoves him closer to the box that Harry is in with Hunter.

I can't tell what's going on inside of the box, but what I can see is a man raise a shiny pistol to the back of Cooper's bald head. I squint to try and process the scene before me, to make sure that's actually Cooper with a gun to the back of his head. Harry's eyes shift over to me and he catches my gaze, but quickly breaks it and looks at the man holding a pistol to Cooper's head.

Harry lets out a hearty laugh.

"Before you shoot them, you should be sure that I'm not outsmarting you, We know how frequently that happens," Harry said. "You're making a dumb decision right now."

For a moment I feel hurt by his words, but I quickly realize that it is a distraction, something that Harry does very well, so that Cooper's brains aren't blown out on this floor in an attempt to trigger an emotional response in Harry to come out. The french man knows Harry somehow—something inside me tells me that its a personal connection.

"Very well then," the man mumbles.

Before I can blink, the bullet punches its way through Cooper's head, causing a gaping hole in its wake. Cooper falls to the ground and I let out an exasperated scream. A pool of blood rushes around him, sliding down the concrete with ease. So much so that I can't process the amount that's pooling around him, soaking his clothes. The crack of the gun leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I try to pull away from the man holding onto my bicep, but he's too strong for me to pull away. My knees buckle and all I can do is fall to the floor.

The twin girls from the photograph in his office flash through my mind. I can see his wife Carol answering their front door to the sorrowful faces of police officers, holding a folded flag to honor the 30 years he served. I can hear the 21 guns at his funeral, the sobs of his family as he's lowered to the ground. The flowers delicately hitting his casket, the whoosh of tears sliding down everyones rosy cheeks.

I can see all of it until I'm pulled up and inching closer to his lifeless bod, unwillingly. 

I wince in pain whenever I'm shoved with incredible force down onto my knees, right into Cooper's pool of blood, my knees creating a loud bang as they hit the floor. I can feel the warm liquid soak through the navy pants that I'm wearing. And I want this to be a dream, to be a drill. I want to hear Cooper's voice over the intercom telling us we did a great job, but none of that comes. None of it comes and frankly, I don't know what to do.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, diverting my attention from the pain and blood on my knees to Harry in the box in front of me. He stares at me with brooding eyes, trying his best to mask the hurt that he feels for me. I'm in so much shock that I can't even hurt for myself. Hunter looks barely conscious now that I'm closer to the box. Through the hot tears running down my face, I can barely make out the gunshot wound on his leg.

"What's the code?" Harry turns around and grips Hunter's shoulders.

"Don't tell him," I shout, soft sobs racking my body. He looks back at me, confusion etched on his face. A giant hand wraps around my shoulder and pulls me up straight on my knees.

"Grace," he said in a warning tone. "Don't."

A cold barrel is placed to the back of my head.

I can't imagine what Cooper felt when he felt the cold metal against the back of his head. I hope it's not what I'm feeling with it against mine. Did he know that he was going to die? Did his heart start racing? Did he pray?

"You're an idiot," Harry screams, suddenly turning back towards the man behind me to punch the glass. It doesn't budge under his fist even the tiniest bit. It was made to literally survive wars and house soldiers in active war zones, no wonder they haven't broken into it yet. No wonder we kept him in there for the first few days that he was here.

Suddenly, my face is pushed up against the glass of the cell. The glass is cold against my cheek— a strong contrast between the warm pool of blood at my knees.

"I don't think you're in a position to be talking to me like that, Harry."

The barrel of the gun presses harder into my hair.  I'm so scared that I don't give a second thought to how my face probably looks smashed up against the foggy glass right now. I suddenly find the courage to speak up when a thought pops into my mind.

"Tell me the code," the man yells, spit flinging off his tongue and against the back of my neck, making my body shudder.

"I don't know," I spit angrily.

The comment must have angered him because he grabs the collar of my shirt, pulls me back and then slams me hard into the glass. Harry's fists are colliding with the glass again almost as soon as my face does, shouting profanities and British slang that I don't understand. You would think that I would be able to feel the vibrations of Harry's fists colliding with the glass, but it's at a stand still, despite the obvious violence on the other side. I wonder if he can feel my head hitting the glass, it felt like it was slammed so hard that he could.

I don't know what part of my head is bleeding, but  blood trickles down the right side of my face. I take a deep breath trying to focus on anything but my blurring vision and specks of crimson.

I fall back on my ass into the pool of Cooper's blood when the man lets go of my collar. I hadn't realized that he was pushing me against the glass so hard that I was barely supporting myself. My head was hit so hard that I can barely see straight. A flash of light fills the room, blinding everyone in its vicinity. Our ears ring loudly. I can't make out what is going on until, yet again, I'm pulled up by my bicep. I'm standing now, barefoot, soaked in Cooper's blood. My body collides with the box again, someones foot taps mine to spread them apart.

"Grace Tyler, you're under the arrest for the murder of Harold Cooper."

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. My eyes flash up to Harry's, the both of us looking at each other in confusion. I whip my head around to look at the officer behind me.

"What the fuck are you talking about? Are you fucking serious?" I spit. I try to move my hands away from his grip, but he's pushes me into the wall harder.

"You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you..."

I tone out his voice as he reads me the rest of the Miranda rights, places cold metal cuffs around my wrist. Harry bends down in front of me behind the glass. He's saying something, but I can't focus nor understand what he's saying, so much confusion clouding my brain. The officer escorts me outside, barefoot, bruised and bleeding to a squad car.