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The ringing of the phone yanked Isobel out of her sleep, her hand fumbled with the case files stacked on the table next to her bed, “Castille,” It was the fifth night she hadn't slept well. She got out of her bed, packed and prepared for the day, ignoring the fact that a wave of vertigo had hit her barely on her feet. Being a SAC, it was nearly impossible to put your cell phone on silent mode, even when you’re off duty.” The higher-ups are wavering on your ability to lead the team. This is strike two, Castille.” ADIC's words echoed in her mind from time to time. She didn't need him to finish the sentence to know that now she was tiptoeing on a wire, and even the slightest mistake would lead her to the abyss.
Serial murders targeting elite women were not something new, but the fact that one of the victims was the daughter of a councilor had drawn a lot of attention from the higher-ups. This was a case she must not screw up. Isobel felt a dull ache in her head. She told herself to pick herself together, she would have some rest after this case. Leading the team to follow up on every lead, dealing with the constant calls from her superiors asking about the progress, she was like a machine running frantically, the gears creating the slightest spark from the revolutions.
They reported back to Isobel with a blurry image and the profiled features, efficiently as always. She took a deep breath and stepped up to the stage, the constant flashing of strobe lights before and after the launch now so blinding it made her dizzy. She finished the press conference, not quite the best, but she didn't in the mood to think about that right now.
Later in the evening, when she tried to keep herself awake in the bathroom with cold water and went uncontrollably paralyzed, if Elise hadn't just happened to be in the bathroom to hold her, she might have been removed from the case and struck out, which would be the third time. As stubborn as Isobel was, she was persuaded by the words of everyone in the JOC, who assured her that they would inform her as soon as there was any progress, just go back home and have some rest. The sound of keys and the phone ringing vaguely afterward were the last sounds she heard before she lost consciousness.
When she woke up, the blinding light made her resist the urge to reach out and cover her eyes, only to find herself tied to a chair. Blurry overlapping figures gradually became clear under the adjustment of the bright light, and her team was pointing guns at her. Isobel no longer had the energy to think about their reasons for doing so. She felt a cold touch coming from the side of her head, which seemed to explain the tilt of her head.
In the distance, accompanied by tinnitus, came the sound of two men talking, one intense and the other muffled, as if trying to calm the other. Everything felt as unreal as a dream. The sounds from above grew more intense, and two gunshots were the last sounds she heard.
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Even being there, he couldn't believe that an agent with so many years of negotiating experience would lose in the most important negotiation. Yes, they had brought snipers, SWAT were in position, ambulances ready, experienced negotiators too. Perhaps the prep’s hysterical state had doomed the negotiation to end in failure. Yes, the sniper did his best to seize the moment when the prep agitatedly deflected his pistol at a slight angle. However, those few milliseconds off seemed to have infinite power, miraculously turning the gears of fate. The prep was shot squarely in the eyebrow, and Scola kicked away his weapon and confirmed that the suspect was down. And the rest of the group ran to the side. That tall figure of the past, the woman in charge, now seemed so small. Blood dripped down her hair, trickled down her neck, soaked the twine they were cutting that bounded her, and pooled below the chair.
Each of them had blood on their hands.
“She still has a pulse!” Jubal's hoarse cry was like a lifeline they had grabbed in the water, and there seemed to be a glimmer of life. The paramedics quickly transferred her to a stretcher, loaded her into the ambulance, and set off as fast as they could. After briefly bandaging and connecting the monitoring equipments, the paramedic looked over at Maggie and Jubal in the vehicle and spoke, “There's something you probably need to know,” she paused, it's never pleasant to have to notify something like this, “Ms. Castille had signed the DNR (Do-Not-Resuscitate Orders)…” She didn't have to finish her sentence, they knew what it meant. The nearest hospital was at least a 20-minute drive away, and in her current state of shock, what they had just heard sentenced her to death. The digital display on the heart monitor rose slowly, reaching a peak before falling slowly to the bottom like that ever spreading flower of blood on her head. The piercing alarm drilled into their ears like tinnitus.
Jubal couldn't just sit back and wait. They'd seen too many flowers of life wither, and he didn't want to watch another familiar flower gradually lose its petals in front of him, eventually wilting and decaying. He pushed past the paramedics and grabbed the defibrillator. “I can't lose her.” A pair of hands held the man in hysteria. He turned his head, “How could you be so heartless?”
“This is the best choice, and you know it, deep down in your heart. You know how rare the chance she would really fully recover, and as a person who’s this strong and emulative, this would destroy her." Maggie looked over at Isobel with the same glint of tears in his eyes. “Please, Jubal. Let’s respect her decision. And, let her go.”
The dry and decaying petals would eventually turn into spring mud and return to soil. They knew deep in their hearts that the desire to keep her was intertwined with a selfish emotional element. The highest level of love is to let go, and even though it hurts them, they know that she is now in peace.