Chapter Text
The awful noise of various medical devices beeping and buzzing made my ears bleed. I can’t think with all this noise, let alone fill out this stupid paper work. The nurse was patient with me, not expecting much from someone like me. No one expects much from someone with my history—past drug abuse (better now), OCD that can get severe enough where I’m convinced I’m some evil overlord (highly realistic, but we don’t get into the worse things I’ve convinced myself I am).
I let out a soft noise as the nurse takes over to help. She writes out everything important: name of the deceased - Avery Fox, date of death - October 2, 2:47 AM, et cetera. It takes her a minute to finish. The nurse then turns to me to ask the million dollar question, “Do you have a place to go, sweetie?”
A stupid question—of course I don’t have a place to go, my dad is out on deployment and my mom just died—but I won’t say that. That’s too bleak. Too sad. And I really don’t want to be dropped into foster care so I lie, “Yea, my pa’s brother is taking care of me. He’s gunna pick me up soon. Probably.”
The nurse shoots me a pitying look. Don’t look at me like that. I don’t like it.
I watch as the woman leaves. Then I start leaving. I’ll have to come back tomorrow to finish paperwork, but that’s a tomorrow problem. My legs drag me along, away from the hospital where my mom’s now-decomposing-corpse still is, and to a nearby bookstore. I like books. Books feel comforting- slipping into a world of fantasy and fiction. I liked browsing at those stupid trope books, the silly little LGBT stories, the heartwarming enemies to lovers and everything in between. I sat on the soft carpet beneath the bookshelves, reading the first few chapters of some sort of mythology book.
Footsteps approached. Heavy. Whoever it is likely is a male, well-built and definitely wearing dress clothes.
They stopped in front of me. I looked up. It was a male, just as I thought. Late 20’s to early 30’s. He had a few grays in his dark hair. As I studied this man further, I realized his gaze was locked on me.
”Sorry, am I in your way, sir?” I asked with my faux polite voice.
”Chazmine Fox?”
Creepy. He knows my name. And said it right too. Did I do something illegal? I knew my research project on psychoactive drugs was a bad idea. I should prepare for the inevitable bullet. I hope it’s at least quick, I don’t want to die like mom… My spiral is interrupted by him dropping down to my level and handing me a laminated card.
Federal Agent Tanner Briggs. Profiler, Naturals Program Director. Contact info. Oh yea, he’s definitely about to kill me. I look back up at him, waiting for an explanation or a bullet.
“My name is Agent Briggs, and your name is Chazmine Fox. You came up in our system-“
I cut him off quickly, my voice a little higher than I would’ve liked, “Whatever is on my search history was purely for research! I swear I’m not planning on starting a cult or committing mass homicide or-“
He returned the same treatment, cutting me off with a raised eyebrow and a tone that made me feel stupid and like a child being chastised, “I’m not particularly worried about your search history, ‘How do I tell if I’m going to commit a crime?’ Not exactly threatening, a girl who herself is unsure about if she wants to go through with illegal activities.” He paused, gauging my expression for a moment. He must’ve seen something he liked because he continued with a slightly less aggressive tone, “You were flagged on our system. A particular skill that would fit well in a program of others like you.”
”Are you going to tell me what it is or-“
”You seem particularly good at behavior analysis and picking apart your surroundings. And seeing you for myself, I’m sure of it. So, I’d like to offer you a deal of sorts. You join my program in the FBI and help us solve crimes and major cases and I won’t put you right in foster care where you should be right now.” That last threat was rude. I’m old enough to handle myself, in most states I’m even old enough to consent to certain activities… yet I’m too young to live on my own? What I joke. But frankly l really don’t want to be stuck in foster care or be at the barrel end of a pissed off FBI agent’s gun.
I nod. He puts out his hand. I take it. He leads me out the store and to a very fancy black Cadillac. The inside is warm compared to the chill of North Maine. I touch around the back—tapping each appliance gently two times (just in case the boogey man likes twos)—then settle in, buckling myself up. I glance up as the man, Agent Briggs, shifts into the driver seat. Beside him, in the passenger seat, is a woman. She looks serious, like anything out of place will ruin her day. I get a feeling I’ll like her.
I watch as dreary Maine begins to pass through the window. Cities shrink into the background and soon, I’m gone from my home. From my mother’s final resting place. From where my dad will return from his assignment to see that I’m not home. From all my memories. I don’t even know what I’m doing in this car—didn’t even verify if this ‘Agent Briggs’ really was who he said he was. It feels right though.
I lean against the car door and shut my eyes, hoping that I didn’t just inadvertently sign my death warrant.