Blacklist [h.s]

fourteen

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grace

Sitting silently in a dusty holding cell, I track to rack my brain for reasons why I'm in here in the first place and come up with a short list:

1. I'm in a psychosis state and dreamed everything at the Black site

2. I'm in a psychosis state and I am dreaming the musty smell of the my cell mate who isn't good company whatsoever.

3. I have no fucking idea.

My hand feels like someone dragged a knife across it, dry blood stains the gauze Hila gave me days earlier. I don't even know what time it is or how long its been since they booked me into the station. I asked for an attorney days ago, it seems like.

I lift my head at the sound of footprints approaching the cell. My cellmate and I share glances, wondering who they're coming to get whenever one of the guards jiggles his keys in the lock. I've had three cellmates so far. One was a man who came in for public intoxication, no doubt because he kept throwing up into the trashcan. The second was an older man, 50s, tweaking or just crazy. He kept going on about how the government was watching us. The third was this guy. Not to make hasty generalizations, but he looks like he lost very badly in a bar fight. He, too, reeks of throw up and beer.

My leg bounces up and down at the anticipation, I've been doing it for so long that my leg is almost numb. I need to get out of here. The metal bars of the door slide open and my eyes meet the guards.

"Grace Tyler," he said lowly.

I nearly jump up from the bench the second my name leaves his mouth. I'm put in handcuffs and led down the gloomy hallway to an interrogation room. I've been in here so many times, but never have I been the one handcuffed to the table. I sit in the room by myself for a few moments before my lawyer comes in and takes a seat across from me. I can't help but smile at him.

"Man, kid. I haven't seen you in years. I didn't think our reunion would be like this."

Despite the obviously terrible situation, I laugh at him.

"Glad to see you Atkin." I tell him.

Atkin used to be my dad's lawyer and best friend. He lived with us for a few months in a tiny one bedroom apartment while going through law school. He and my father were practically brothers. So much so that he was my Uncle A until my dad died and I stopped seeing him. I wanted to reach across the table and hug him, but the handcuffs gnawing at my wrists  restricted me.

"What the fuck is going on here?" I ask him, folding my hands on the table. "Why am I being charged with Cooper's  murder? I was the victim, they were attacking the black site."

Atkin's demeanor is calm as always. "I don't know, Grace. I requested video footage from the black site, but because the power was off, nothing was recorded."

He looks around for a second, then leans across the table to whisper in my ear.

"I think they're setting you up. They don't want the public to know about the black sight, it seems."

I suck in a sharp breath at the realization of how right he is. "So what are we supposed to do?"

He shakes his head in defeat. "Do you want me to tell you the truth or lie?"

"Lie." I whisper quietly, not knowing which one would be worse to hear.

"I'm going to get you out of here."

-

After talking a couple more things over with Atkin, I'm taken back to the holding cell where I sit for I don't know how many more hours until another guard comes to get me. Several guards surround the cell and for a second the thought of barreling through them crosses my mind. But it leaves as quickly as it came. One lady enters and shoves a tan prison suit into my hands.

"Change," she demands.

Without hesitation, I strip down and pull on pants and shirt. I noticed my knees were swollen and bruised from being shoved down onto the concrete so hard, along with various other bruises scattered on my body, including my temple from slamming into the glass. I don't know how to describe the overwhelming feeling that came over me. Atkin's words replayed over and over in my head as I gave the guard my old bloody work clothes. Finger patterned bruises linger on my arms, making me wince whenever another guard grabs me in the same spot. They surround me as we walk, again, down the dusty hallway.

They lead me outside and put me in a white prison van. I assume they're transporting me to jail now to await my bond hearing in the morning. Or maybe they're taking me to see a judge now, since my case is probably high profile.

I drift off, staring at the white wall of the other side of the van as it takes me wherever the fuck we're supposed to go. I take a few moments to process the last few days, the last months. The irony of being an agent to being in handcuffed in the back of a prison van is astonishing to me. This was really it. I really wasn't going to get out of here.

A bright light blinds me as two guards open the doors, it takes my eyes a few moments to adjust. My eyebrows are furrowed in confusion as I step out into an empty field. Fear flashes in my eyes as I look around at nothingness. This is it, I think. They're going to shoot me right here in the field and then tell the media that I killed Cooper and myself in a murder suicide mission.

That is until I see a black SUV in the distance. The wind blows my hair in my face and I try to move my head to get it out of the way. The SUV stops a few feet a way from me. One of the guards driving the van un-cuffs my hands. I tilt my head to the side, watching as a pair of Chelsea boots steps on the ground.

As soon as I know who it is, I'm running towards him like I haven't seen him in years. I barrel into him, nearly knocking him over as I wrap my arms around him. His immediately wrap around my shoulders and his face nuzzles into my neck.

"What's going on Harry?" I mumble against his silky flower patterned shirt. "How did you get out?"

He doesn't say anything. Instead we stand there in silence for a few minutes until he pulls away. "I'll explain, do you trust me?" He asks me as he pushes his hand through his now short hair. I nod profusely. I have no choice. His hand moves to my cheek, cupping it gently.

"Grace. I need a verbal answer. Do you. Trust me?"

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yes, I trust you."

"Then we need to go," he pulls his hand away and his face hardens. His mouth draws into a straight line. "Now Grace, you choose."

I'm faced with two options: I can turn around, get back into that van and take my chances in court. Surely, Atkin can get me out. But, I'll be known as the FBI agent who got away with murder or I'm sentenced to murder and spend the rest of my life in jail. Or, I could get in the car with Harry and live the rest of my life in hiding from the government, no chance to clear my name or go to trial

I look at Harry then back to the van.

"Let's go," I whisper, stepping to the side of him and into the backseat of the SUV.