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Welcome To The Harem
An Office Romance (Part 1 of 7) by Scifinerdgrl
Summary: This is my attempt to explore what Reyes could have been thinking when she got involved with Brad Follmer. This story takes place between her arrival at the New York Field Office (after graduation from the FBI academy in 1995), and her first meeting with John Doggett in 1997.
From: Scifinerdgrl Date: 1 Oct 2002 12:03:01 -0700 Subject: NEW: An Office Romance (1/10) Source: atxc Title: An Office Romance Author: Scifinerdgrl Rating: NC-17 Classification: X/R Keywords: Follmer/Reyes Romance, Pre-XF, X-File Summary: This is my attempt to explore what Reyes could have been thinking when she got involved with Brad Follmer. This story takes place between her arrival at the New York Field Office (after graduation from the FBI academy in 1995), and her first meeting with John Doggett in 1997. Disclaimer: I started writing this story before 1013 changed the time line for the Pre-XF background for Reyes, Doggett, and Follmer. I can't figure out how to accommodate the change of date in "Release: so I won't! Here's my time line: 1995 Monica Reyes begins her FBI fieldwork with Follmer as her supervisor; 1997 Luke Doggett Case MONDAY Brad Follmer, Special Agent in Charge of the New York Field Office's Crimes Against Children Division, sat at his new desk, surveying his new office with pride. He inhaled deeply, as if the air in the office could infuse him with the success his predecessor had enjoyed. His predecessor, now an Assistant Director at FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C., was both his mentor and the model for his own career aspirations. He looked toward the guest chairs on the other side of the desk, the chairs he had so often inhabited. He looked forward to being a mentor for the new agents assigned to his office. He would listen patiently to their troubles, then dispense just the right words, sending them back into the world with renewed confidence. Things were about to come full circle. "Mr. Follmer," the intercom interrupted his musings and he jumped slightly. "My intercom -- my secretary," he thought to himself pridefully. His eyes grazed the buttons on the phone until he found what he hoped was the right one. He pushed the button, held it down, and said "Yes, Janet?" No response from the speaker. He lifted his finger. "Yes, Janet?" Still no response. He put his hands on either side of his head, and gazed intently at the buttons, his eyes moving from one to the other as he puzzled over each's function. Suddenly the door swung open. He looked up in embarrassment. "Janet," he started. She marched efficiently to his desk and fingered the button he'd dismissed as useless. "That one," she said conspiratorially. "Press it once and let go. And be sure to press it again when you're finished." He looked up at her sheepishly. "Thank you," he said. Then, as if to assert his authority and possibly also his manhood, he said, "What did you want?" "Your new special agent is here. Monica Reyes. Should I send her in?" "Yes, of course." Monica Reyes sat in the outer office, crossing and re-crossing her legs, trying to push the morning's doubts from her mind. She'd felt excited and exuberant as she stepped onto the subway platform near her Brooklyn apartment, but as her subway car swayed and the experienced New Yorkers let their bodies sway with it, she started to feel even more like an outsider and a fraud. Her clothes, her shoes, her briefcase... she had agonized over her choice of each, yet they all felt wrong to her. In Manhattan, walking up the stairs to the street level, she felt the warmth of the sun on her face, and as that warmth fought against the cold winter wind for her attention, she searched deep inside herself for the optimism that had carried her through so many difficult days. She paused in front of the field office, unbuttoned her coat to reveal the FBI badge on her blazer, and took a deep breath. "I can do this," she said to herself, and she marched toward the security guard. He nodded perfunctorily at her badge and let her through. She took comfort in being treated so casually. "I belong here," she thought excitedly. "This is where I work!" As she stood in front of the directory, scanning the white plastic letters behind the glass, she noticed the reflections of the people passing behind her. One man caught her eye. He was tall, thin and authoritative. His demeanor said "FBI" and she couldn't imagine anyone challenging his authority. She sighed. She would never have that demeanor. She turned to get a better look at the tall man and she gasped. His face was at once babyish and handsome, and his hair was a shade of light brown she'd never seen before. He turned in her direction, and seeing her looking at him, he smiled. His teeth were bright and even, and his eyes sparkled as he smiled. She smiled back at him, blushing slightly. "He knows he's good-looking," she thought. "What a prick." He turned away from her, and she quickly turned back to the directory. "Get ahold of yourself, Monica," she berated herself. "You're here to work." Yet even as she rode the elevator to her destination she continued thinking about the smiling stranger. In the waiting room, she ran her hand across the top of her briefcase. Although it contained only make-up and a day-runner, it gave her a sense of purpose, of professionalism. "I'm a Federal Agent" she rehearsed in her mind. Suddenly the door opened and the secretary emerged, followed by her new supervisor. It was the smiling stranger. Follmer stopped walking mid-stride. His mouth hung open for just a second, but it was long enough for Monica to know that he recognized her too. "Damn," she chided herself. "Why did you have to smile at him?" But he recovered is composure so quickly that she found herself wondering later if she'd read him right. "Ms. Reyes," he said warmly, smiling a more subdued smile than his lobby smile. "Won't you come in?" She walked toward his office, and he followed her for a few steps then paused. Out of the side of his mouth he whispered to Janet, "No intercom -- just knock, okay?" When Follmer walked through the door he noticed that Monica had taken the chair that he used to take in her position. He smiled inwardly. Perhaps she truly would be his replacement. He sat down at his chair and looked appraisingly at his new charge. "I've heard good things about you from the instructors at the academy, Agent Reyes," he started. "Thank you, sir," she said. She wondered which instructors he knew and what they had said about her, but she didn't dare ask. There was an awkward silence, and his face seemed expectant. Did he expect her to have heard of him?, she wondered. She smiled weakly. "I hope I can live up to whatever they said. He wanted to hear her say something about him, but then he reminded himself, this meeting is about her. "I'm sure you will. Just remember, you can always come to me for help. This is a tough division, and it can be especially difficult for new agents." "I know that sir, but I volunteered for this division because I like a challenge." She instantly regretted her words -- they had just spilled out, and she could see his lips fighting not to curl upwards in amusement. "I mean, of course, all divisions are challenging... and ..." "I understand," he interrupted. "Don't be embarrassed. You've just confirmed what I'd already heard about you. And now I also know that you're honest and self-aware. These are good qualities for the job." She relaxed visibly, and Brad congratulated himself on his first mentoring success. "But keep my offer in mind in case you face some... unexpected challenges, okay?" Monica nodded. "Now, I'll show you around, and please, feel free to ask me anything." For the next hour he escorted her from office to office, introducing her to his colleagues. She blushed at first as he listed her credentials in the most glowing terms, but by the time they reached her office her back-story had become a well-rehearsed speech on his part and a rather boring exposition for her. They arrived at a non-descript door, its blandness marred only by its placard: Brad Follmer, Special Agent. Monica looked at Brad in confusion. "This used to be my office," said in answer to her unasked question. "It's yours now. I'll have Janet order a nameplate for you." He pulled a key ring out of his pocket, unlocked the door, then wound the key around the ring and gave it to her, smiling broadly. "Welcome to your FBI home." She stepped tentatively inside as Brad flicked the light switch. Two walls were lined with bookshelves, and framed pictures of children crowded the rest of the wall space. Monica felt drawn to the pictures, and she approached the closest ones. Her eyes looked at each face, scanning upwards then down, moving toward the black-and-white pictures at the other side. "That's what this office is about, Monica." Brad said seriously. "All of those children are dead." At his last words tears came to her eyes and she turned around to face him. "All of them? No successful cases at all?" "It's a success if we find the perpetrator. Most of these cases didn't come to us until the children were already dead." He studied her face carefully. "Are you sure you can handle this?" he asked, modulating his voice in a way that he knew would elicit an honest answer. She nodded. "It's sad, is all." She put her hand on one of the pictures and suddenly her mind's eye showed her the perpetrator, a middle-aged man with horn-rimmed glasses and a greasy comb-over designed to hide his balding pate. Suddenly her hand felt hot and she pulled it away as if from a flame. She inhaled and looked at Brad. He seemed not to have noticed any reaction, and she exhaled deeply. "So," she started awkwardly, stepping toward her desk. "When do I get my first case?" "I want you to study some old case files first. Then in a few weeks I'll partner you with an experienced investigator and you'll start with some parental kidnapings." He studied her face as she nodded. "It's the most common type of kidnapping, Monica, and the hardest to solve. I'm not lobbing softballs here, okay?" She nodded again and sat down at her desk as his hand skimmed over several binders on the shelves to her left. She found herself looking at his back, wondering if he was muscular despite his thinness, wondering if he was single... He turned around quickly, as if sensing her watching him. "Here," he said, setting two binders on her desk as he grabbed a pad of yellow post-it notes. "Read through the ones I'm marking, then make an appointment with Janet so we can discuss them." She nodded obediently. "I know you thought you were finished with homework, but in reality it's just beginning," he said sympathetically. "Thanks," she smiled and reached for the first binder. "I want to learn." Brad strolled jauntily back to his office and paused at the door. The nameplate read, "Crimes Against Children Division, Agent Michael Brennan, Special Agent In Charge." Brad made a mental note to himself to order a new nameplate for himself then opened the door. Janet was on the phone, her face relaxed and smiling. When she saw Brad enter she said, "Hang on, Mike. He just walked in." "Mike's on the phone?" Brad said excitedly. "Hold on I'll transfer you," Janet said into the phone. She pushed a button, stood up, and followed Brad into his office. He stood at his desk as Janet instructed him in the transfer process. He was a little annoyed when it turned out to be simple, but he appreciated her efficiency. She had been Mike's secretary, and he felt almost as much awe for him as for her. When she'd shut the door he sat down and snapped up the phone. "Mike!" he shouted gleefully. "How is D.C.?" "It's too soon to say," Mike started. "I have taken a week off to unpack and get settled. I wanted to see how your first day is going. Have you met your replacement yet?" Brad filled him in on the start he'd made with Monica. "I think you've made a fine choice there. She'll be very helpful to you." "How so?" Brad asked. One of the last things Mike had done was help Brad select Monica from the stack of transfer requests that had come in. Brad valued Mike's opinion but had not thought of an agent as being "helpful" before. "Brad, you're going to be supervising a lot of men who are older than you are. You're up to it, but it will be tough sometimes. This new agent has no agenda, no alliances... Get her on your side, right from the start. She can't help you now, but her loyalty will pay off down the line." Brad felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach. "I was planning on putting her on parental kidnapings at first." "Good move," Mike offered. "Difficult cases, but few dead victims. You need to get her started on something safe." They spoke about Reyes' training for a few more minutes, then Mike abruptly said, "I'm leaving the division in good hands. And remember, the A.D. is always happy to help the division. Cases with children can make or break a field office's reputation. Keep that in mind." "I will, Mike," Brad said. He felt a little sadness welling up in him. He knew Mike would not be as available now. "And, Mike..." he started. "Yeah," Mike answered, a little skeptically. "Thanks for all your help over the years. I wouldn't have made it this far without it." "I know, kid," Mike answered. "Make me proud." They ended their conversation and Brad sat staring at the only folder on his desk, Monica's personnel file. After thumbing through it for a minute, he reached for the phone and pushed the intercom button. "Janet?" he said. No response. He let go of the button. "Damn" he swore to himself. "I heard that," Janet's voice came over the intercom. "What did you need?" "Call the A.D.'s office. See if he can see me tomorrow." Monica sat at her desk, the binders staring up at her, threatening to swallow her self-confidence. She looked at her watch. 10:30. She wondered if she could take a coffee break first. After a few minutes wandering around, trying to remember where a ladies room might be, she found herself back at Brad Follmer's office. "Excuse me, um Janet?" she said tentatively. Janet looked up and smiled welcomingly. "Agent Reyes, do you need something?" "Yes, I need to find the ladies room. I've found three men's room and no ladies room yet." Her hands moved from her hips, to clasping each other, to crossing over her chest as she spoke. "And, if you could tell me where I might get some coffee..." Janet stood and smiled. "Let me show you. Just a second." She knocked on Brad's door and opened it. "Agent Follmer, is it okay if I take my coffee break?" Follmer stood and went to the door. Janet stepped backward and revealed Reyes standing behind her, smiling awkwardly. "Agent Reyes," he said warmly. "Is there something you need?" Janet positioned herself next to Monica. "I was just going to show her where to..." she looked at Monica and winked. "find some coffee." Brad looked from one woman to the other then smiled with forced empathy. "Good. I guess I forgot a few things on our tour, eh, Agent Reyes?" "Nothing that critical, but..." Monica stuttered. "Yeah, there are a few things." In the elevator Janet filled Monica in on the bathroom situation: Two floors up or three floors down. And the best coffee was at a deli a block away. The two women chatted cheerily on the way back from the deli, their coffee cups warming their hands. At the front door Janet stopped. "You go on, Monica," she said, reaching into a pocket. "I'll drink my coffee here." Janet pulled a pack of Morley's out of her pocket. She shook out a cigarette, grabbed it with her mouth, then put the pack back in her pocket and pulled out a lighter. The cigarette dangling from her lips, she added, "Can't smoke inside anymore. I'm getting used to it, though." Back on her floor, Monica roamed around, sipping her coffee, looking for company. She found a room lined with file cabinets, a large conference table in the center. She sat in a seat that would be visible from the door, and listened eagerly for the sound of footsteps. Hearing nothing, she scanned the labels on the fronts of the file cabinets. Case numbers -- impersonal labels attached to personal tragedies. Above the cabinets, framed awards for the division lined the walls, with pictures of children interspersed throughout. One child's picture caught her eye. She stood to see it more closely, and found herself almost floating as her hand reached out to the little boy. He had blond hair, and was wearing well-worn pajamas. He looked so normal, yet she felt a shiver as she looked into his eyes. "Agent Reyes," she heard a voice at the door say. "Agent Follmer," she looked up, startled. "I'm sorry, I thought it would be okay to have my coffee here. I didn't mean to..." "It's okay, Agent," he said soothingly. He walked toward her, his eyes on the picture. "Do you recognize him?" "No, should I?" Reyes answered. "That's Etan Patz," Follmer said, then paused to see if she recognized the name. "Was he killed?" Reyes asked. "We don't know. All these pictures are of unsolved cases -- missing children who have been missing for a long time. Etan Patz has been missing since 1979." (This is an actual missing child: http://www.ci.nyc.ny.us/html/nypd/html/missing/patz.html) He looked almost wistfully at the picture. "I tell ya, Monica. If you could solve this case, your career would take off like a shot." Monica stared at him in disbelief. "Of course, we all want to find this little boy, or I guess now, man, if he's still alive..." he said awkwardly. "At least give his family some closure if he isn't, but..." he studied her face as he spoke. "If you could boost your career in the process, so much the better." Monica looked into his eyes, not sure how to interpret what she saw. "This is my first day," she said with deliberate lightness. "I'm not thinking that far ahead yet. So far I haven't been able to find the ladies' room!" He laughed. "Is that what Janet needed to show you? I'm sorry about that. I wasn't thinking..." "It's okay," Monica said, trying to ease his discomfort. "At least you didn't show me the men's room, either." He smiled. "No chance of that," he assured her. "I noticed you were a woman right from the start." He put a finger to his eye and added, "Trained investigative eyes. I never miss a trick!" She laughed lightly, and it seemed to him her eyes were sparkling. Instinctively, he quashed the feelings her smile elicited, but he still found himself liking this woman. They stayed in the file room, and as she sipped her coffee he filled her in on all the unsolved cases represented by the pictures on the walls. Then he patted the file cabinets. "Here are the rest of the unsolved cases. No danger of running out of work, unfortunately." Monica spent the rest of the day reading through case files in her office, the door propped open in the hopes that fellow agents would stop by. None did. At 4:30 she closed the binder on the last of the case files that Brad had flagged. The cases all ended the same way: the special agent, often Brad himself, rescued the child and apprehended the perp. Reyes leaned back in her chair and glanced at the other binders, then went to a shelf and started thumbing through one. Pictures, interviews, autopsy reports and rape kit analyses... The investigator's routine was clear to her by now, and none of the cases in the binders held any appeal for her. She found herself thinking about the cases in the file cabinets instead. Those agents had done all the right things, no doubt, but still weren't successful. She grabbed her briefcase and purse and left the office, being careful to lock the door. She went to the room with the file cabinets, which she now knew was the conference room. She opened a drawer at random and pulled out some files: Case #83-1024: Child abducted from playground. Case #83-1068: Runaway teen. Case #83-1133: Homeless child missing from father's van. Case #84-0105: Child missing from hospital emergency room. She sat at the conference table and focused her mind on the stack of folders. An unpleasant feeling, somewhat nauseating, yet oddly compelling, suffused her soul. Evil was reaching out from within the folders, and it angered her. She opened the top folder and placed the palm of her hand over the child's picture. She closed her eyes and saw a group of teens playing basketball in a park, a younger child looking on through a chain-link fence. A shadow passed over the child's features and Monica felt an icy cold wind on her face. Suddenly, her hand felt hot and she pulled it off the picture. The image of the basketball court and the child vanished, and she was left staring again at the picture. If only she could have held the image longer, she thought. She might see what the investigators had missed. She put the four folders in her briefcase and pulled another three from a file drawer. She closed her briefcase, and rubbed her hand over the side. She could feel the evil passing through her palm, to the pit of her stomach, then to the back of her neck. "I have to try," she thought. "I can't ignore these feelings." She looked at her watch: 5:00. Time to go home. Home, where she might have the strength to hold the visions longer. On the subway, she could feel the force emanating from her briefcase as she clung to the pole with her other hand. She swayed with the motions of the subway, and felt the heat of her briefcase approaching then leaving the side of her leg. She exited the Carroll Gardens subway stop and looked around, getting her bearings. The two-story brownstones cast long shadows across the street, and the winter wind swirled newspapers and other trash around her feet. She grimaced and tightened her grip on her briefcase, defiantly bringing its evil closer to her person. The picture of a two-headed baby caught her eye, and she stopped at a newsstand to buy the Weekly World Tattler. As she fumbled in her purse for her wallet, she brought her briefcase up onto the counter protectively. After paying, she tucked the newspaper under her arm and walked on toward her apartment. She turned down her street, a residential street lined on either side with rowhouses that had been divided into small apartments, like hers. The sun had dipped just below the horizon and everything, even the brick facades of the houses, had turned a gray-blue in the twilight. She pulled her briefcase up under her arm, and hugged it to her side. With one arm clasping the newspaper and the other clasping the briefcase, she felt a little clumsy, and she decided to stop and put the newspaper into the briefcase. As she lowered the briefcase, she felt it get lighter, then felt it disappear into nothingness. She looked up and saw a tall, slender boy running down the street with the briefcase. She started to run after him, but he ducked into an alley and disappeared from her view. Monica ran as far as the corner, then stopped and looked around. Even though she knew she wouldn't see him, she strained to peer as far as she could. Feelings of anger, helplessness, embarrassment, and fear overwhelmed her, and her lower lip started to quiver. Suddenly she saw a police patrol car approaching, and she ran into the street to flag it down. The car slowed and stopped at the curb. The officer in the driver's seat rolled down the window a few inches. "Someone just snatched my briefcase," Reyes said breathlessly. "He's tall, thin, dark-skinned, but I'm not sure how dark... He's wearing a black sports jacket and blue jeans. Fancy sneakers -- expensive designer stuff..." The two officers looked at each other and the driver said to his partner, "You take the report, I'll look for the perp.... And don't say I never did you a favor." He winked and his partner opened the car door. "Thanks, John," he said. "Don't hurry back." The officer walked around the rear of the car to the shaken young woman. His partner watched for a moment, then drove off. Monica looked up into the penetrating brown eyes of the officer. He smiled broadly and held out a hand. "Officer Costello, ma'am." He was tall, and had obviously made body-building a habit. His hair was nearly black and slightly wavy. Monica resisted the urge to check his hand for a wedding ring, but resolved to sneak a glance soon. She held out her hand and he took it, shaking it vigorously. "Monica Reyes," she said, her voice a little shaky. "So tell me what happened, Mrs. Reyes," Costello said, his voice the model of compassionate efficiency. Monica told him what she could, and when she'd finished, a tear sneaked down one cheek. She brushed it away quickly and sniffed. "I'm sorry," she said in embarrassment. "I've never been robbed before." "That's okay," he said. "Everybody gets shaken up when they're robbed." She smiled at him gratefully. "What was in your briefcase?" "Files, from work," she started. "FBI case files." Costello raised his eyebrows. "You work for the FBI?" "Yes," Reyes admitted. "Today was my first day." Costello flashed a compassionate smile, then continued questioning her about the crime. He interspersed his questions about the crime with chit-chat about the FBI, her recent move, her education. He pulled a business card out of his pocket and wrote on the back. "Here's my card, if you have any questions feel free to call. And here," he turned the card over. "Is my home phone number. You can call me anytime." She took the card and grinned. Her demeanor seemed more relaxed to him, and he felt hopeful that she might call him. Then, as if on cue, his car pulled up. The driver rolled down the window and shouted. "Couldn't find him. Want me to keep looking?" Costello looked at Reyes and said, "I think we're done here. Want a lift home, Agent Reyes?" She sighed. "Yes, thank you. Even though it's close..." He held the rear door open for her and she slid into the patrol car. The driver turned around and smiled. "This is my partner, John Doggett," Costello said. Monica and John nodded to each other and John turned back to the front. **************************************************************** ********** TUESDAY The next morning, Monica's legs felt heavy as she climbed the stairs out of the subway station. Janet was standing by the front door, smoking and chatting with a fellow smoker. "Monica?" she said. "Are you okay?" Monica mustered her strength and replied stoically, "I've had better days." Janet's companion stomped out his cigarette and said his goodbyes. Janet asked with motherly compassion, "What happened?" Monica spilled the whole story as Janet lit then smoked another cigarette. Janet's reaction was not what Monica expected. She took the news of the lost files in stride, and when Monica's anxiety and Janet's cigarette had both been extinguished, she ushered Monica into the building. "C'mon. We'll tell Brad together." Brad Follmer sat at his desk, the private personnel folders of all of his agents stacked before him. He knew all these agents personally, and found reading their personnel files an eye-opening experience. He looked up, surprised, when Janet ushered an embarrassed Monica, trench coat buttoned against his wrath, into his office. As Monica told her story, Brad tried to maintain a supportive demeanor, but he couldn't help his groans, sighs, and disbelieving interjections. "Those files aren't supposed to leave that room..." "You told a *beat* cop?" "He's making an official report?..." He put his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling, hoping this was a bad dream. Monica steeled herself and kept her composure throughout. When she was finished, she stood quietly and waited for the explosion, the tirade, the veiny-necked tongue-lashing, that she felt she deserved. Instead, Brad offered her a patronizing sigh and an exasperated expression. "I'm so sorry," she added. "I really shouldn't have..." "No, it's not your fault," he said. "I should have told you not to take those files..." He brought his eyes to hers and saw the pain in them. He sighed loudly then pursed his lips in thought. "Did the cop give you his card?" he asked. Monica pulled Costello's card from her pocket and handed it to Follmer. Brad picked up the phone and dialed the number. "Officer Costello, please," he said officiously. As he waited he absently played with the card, turning it over to reveal the officer's home phone number. Follmer shook his head and thought "This keeps getting worse and worse..." Monica remained standing as Brad talked to Costello. She started to feel warm but didn't want to attract his attention by removing her coat. She stood as still as she could, as if by not moving she could disappear. "If you do find those files," he said with finality. "Don't call Agent Reyes, call me, okay? Those files are my responsibility." He gave Costello his phone number then hung up and looked into Monica's eyes. She seemed nervous and looked flushed. He felt a little flushed himself, both from the challenge of fixing this mess, and from the power he held over her emotions. He paused to think, unsure of the proper way to respond to Reyes. He squinted slightly and studied her face. Suddenly, she fell into a heap on the floor. An Office Romance, by Scifinerdgrl Part 2 She came to laying on her back, her coat unbuttoned and spread to her sides. Brad and Janet knelt at either side, concerned looks on their faces. Janet was reaching toward her face, a wetted paper towel in her hand. Reyes' eyes widened and she rolled to her side to avoid Janet's hand. Brad grabbed her upper shoulder and pushed her back onto her back. "Relax, Agent Reyes. You just fainted," Brad said kindly. He took the wetted paper towel from Janet and laid it across Monica's forehead. "I fainted?" Monica whimpered. "That's not like me..." "What do you remember?" Janet asked. "Just, feeling warm, and..." Monica thought back to the moments before her faint. "That's all, just warm." "Well, you did have your coat on..." Janet offered. Monica nodded in response. "I'll get you some water." Janet rose and left the office, leaving Monica on the floor with a concerned Brad looking on. "I think I'm fine," Monica said as she raised herself up on her elbows. Brad took one of her hands in his and helped her up. He walked her to the nondescript naugahyde sofa that occupied the far corner of the office. She sat down and looked gratefully up at him. "Thank you. Really, I was just overheated..." she stammered. "And I didn't eat any dinner last night." "Or breakfast this morning?" Brad asked. Monica shook her head. Brad felt a surge of sympathy for her. She was so worried about the files she couldn't eat? He imagined what it must have been like for her the night before. He pulled at the collar of her coat and her shoulders folded over to help him remove the coat. "Feeling better?" he asked. She nodded, feeling both excited and embarrassed by his attention to her. Janet arrived with a paper cup of cool water, and Reyes drank it down in a few gulps. "Thanks," she said softly. "That helped a lot. I think I'm ready to work now." "First, you need to eat something," Brad said paternally. "And then we're going back to Brooklyn to look for those documents." Reyes was relieved to hear him assigning her a task, especially one that might help her redeem herself after her mistake. She started to stand, but Follmer was standing in front of her, blocking her way. "Give yourself a minute, Agent. I need to tie up a few things before we go." To Janet he added "Get her some more water, and reschedule that appointment." Janet nodded and left the room again as Brad walked to his desk. "Just relax, Monica," he said. She couldn't help watching as he reorganized the files on his desk, put them in a file drawer, tidied his desk, and checked his calendar. She found it hard to believe he'd been in his position only a day and yet had such a grasp of his space and his authority. As they exited his office they saw a pair of agents escorting a somewhat disheveled middle-aged man out of their office. Brad and Monica paused to let them pass, and as they did Monica felt a flush of warmth come over her again, along with a wave of nausea. She swayed slightly and put her hand against the wall to steady her. Brad put his arm around her shoulders and righted her. "Do you need to rest some more?" he asked solicitously. She watched as the three men walked down the hall and entered the elevator. "No," she said, shaking her head. "I'm fine. I just felt warm again for a minute." He took her to a noisy caf with a glassed-in extension built over the sidewalk. They ordered coffee, and Reyes studied the menu. She didn't feel hungry, but felt pressured to eat. She ordered an omelet and picked at it as Brad sipped his coffee and watched her. Finally she said, "Being watched isn't helping my appetite." He smiled, and she could see where his crows' feet would someday be. "I'm sorry... Please, I didn't mean to make you nervous." "You're my boss and this is my first job. And I've already screwed up. Being watched while I eat is just one more thing..." Monica said, almost defiantly. He leaned forward on his elbows and looked directly into her eyes. "This is the first time I've been a supervisor, so we're even, okay?" She looked away, blushing slightly. "Okay," she mumbled, and returned to her food. Brad continued looking at her, trying to think of the right words, words that would make her feel better, not worse. He waited until she raised her eyes again and said, "Really, Monica, I'm not an ogre. You can come to me with any problem, any time. Okay?" She could see that he was sincere, and that she had hurt his feelings with her embarrassment. She stopped chewing and stared at him for a moment. Finally she swallowed and said, "Okay." An awkward silence fell over them and they each sipped their coffees, keeping their eyes on each others' eyes. Monica was the first to break the silence. She put her fork on her plate with finality and said, "I really can't eat any more." Brad stood and watched carefully as Reyes did likewise. When he was satisfied she was alright he paid the bill and they left. They walked to an underground parking garage and after Brad started his car he said, "Now, where did that brief-case snatching happen?" Brad parked where the squad car had been the day before, and put an FBI placard on his dashboard. Monica stared at it, impressed with her new parking status, until Brad tapped on the window. She hurriedly opened the car door, whacking Brad in the process. They both grimaced then laughed. "Okay," Brad started when the car was safely locked. "Which way did this guy run?" Monica gave him directions and they walked along the sidewalk. They came to an opening into an alley and Brad said, "This one?" "It might be," Monica answered. "I'm not sure." Brad sighed and said resignedly, "We'll start with this one." They walked into the narrow alley, the two-story brick walls of the rowhouses forming a narrow canyon around them. They saw nothing unusual but as they walked Brad briefed her on what to look for. "Dumpsters, any garbage laying around, abandoned cars... He wouldn't have wanted to be caught with any I.D. of yours. He'd stop somewhere dark, someplace he could hide, and then check the contents. He probably thought from your body language there would be something valuable in there -- that's why he didn't take your purse..." Brad paused as they came to the alley running behind the rowhouses. He looked in both directions then chose one. "You take the left, I'll take the right..." he said. Monica went to a dumpster and tentatively opened one of its two lids. She looked over her shoulder to see what Brad was doing, and seeing that he was looking under a car, found no clue how to proceed. She pushed the lid a little further up, and held it with one arm as she hooked the other arm over the edge. She peered in, but the other lid cast a shadow and she couldn't see anything. Still holding the lid, she slid her hand down the inside until it came upon something wet. Instinctively, she pulled back, then checked to see if Brad had seen her. He had. He was by now two rowhouses down the alley, and she was still where she'd started. He walked back and said, a touch of condescension in his voice, "Maybe we should work on this together." Monica tried to smile but her frustration furrowed her brow and the resulting expression was so pitiful Brad had to suppress a laugh. "They don't teach dumpster diving at the Academy yet, eh?" he asked. Before she could respond, he flipped the lid backward, and it clanged loudly against the back. He repeated the lid trick then said, "Well?" "You really mean *in* the dumpster?" Monica said, incredulous. He put his hands together, interlocking them into a stirrup, and lowered them to Monica's mid-thigh. "I'll give you a leg up because you're new." She put her foot into his hands and he lifted her up with more power than she would have expected. She jumped over the side and landed with one foot on something slippery and the other on a plastic garbage bag that ripped under her weight. As she was looking down she saw Brad's feet land nearby. "Let's get to it," he said with boyish glee. They dug through the top layer of trash, Brad talking the whole time about investigative techniques: how to tell how long trash has been in a dumpster, the trash pick-up schedules in the various parts of their jurisdiction, the kinds of things that look like nothing but might be evidence. By the time they had searched three dumpsters Reyes had become expert in entering, searching the top level of trash, and exiting a dumpster, and Follmer was quite proud of her. "She's a quick study," he thought. In his office he had been having doubts about the choice he made, but Monica was quickly earning his respect. They split up again, and she searched her side faster than he searched his side this time. He looked over his shoulder to see her ass poking up as she heaved herself over a dumpster. It disappeared into the dumpster and he sighed, hoping that some new and unwelcome feelings would disappear also. They finished their first block and were half-way down the second block when Reyes jumped out of a dumpster and fell to her knees. Brad rushed to her side and helped her up. "Are you okay?" he asked. Monica didn't answer. Instead, she returned to the dumpster, her face expressionless. She hopped over the edge easily, and Brad ran to the side and peered over. Monica felt her feet getting warmer, until it felt like they were on fire. She gritted her teeth and walked gingerly around the dumpster, stopping to rest for a second in one corner. She stepped backward, dropped to her knees, and frantically started digging through the trash to the lowest layers. Brad hopped over the edge and knelt next to her. "What are you looking for, Monica? What is it?" he said, infected by her frenzy. "Help me, Brad," she said, annoyed at his questions. Instinctively, he obeyed her command and started digging in the same spot. When they were both up to their elbows in trash they both felt the same thing. They paused and looked into each others' horror-stricken faces, then continued digging. When they reached the bottom, Brad looked with sadness into the beaten yet serene face of a toddler, then he looked to Reyes in the hopes of an explanation. Her forehead wrinkled up and she turned around, vomiting over the side of the dumpster. Brad pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed for help as Monica leapt over the side. She leaned against a brick wall, then slid down to a squat, her back against the wall, her head in her hands. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Feeling the gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder, she looked up to see Brad Follmer's face looking down on her. "After the cops are finished with us, I want you to take the rest of the day off," he said. "Come to my office at eight tomorrow morning." Reyes' eyes teared up, and she fought to keep her lower lip from quivering. "No, you're not fired," Brad added gently. "I want to discuss your training with you." Monica pulled her lips inward in an attempt to smile, her eyes looking up with such gratitude that Brad had to turn away. He walked back to the dumpster and leaned against it. She watched him from the corner of her eye. When her stomach had settled, she stood and walked to his side. Almost immediately, she felt warm and nauseous again. She walked around the side of the dumpster and heaved again. "Monica," Brad said from behind her, close to her ear. "Why don't you go home now? I can manage here." She nodded, still not facing him. He put his arm across her shoulder and led her away from the dumpster. "I'll see you in the morning," she said, looking only briefly into his eyes. She walked to her apartment, not knowing that Follmer was watching her as she walked to the end of the alley. She made a bee-line for the bathroom, peeled off her clothes, and took a long, hot shower. As she was brushing her wet hair she heard a knock at the door. She threw on her robe and raced to it, expecting to see Brad Follmer. She opened the door and was surprised to see Officer Costello instead. "Officer Costello," she said nervously, pulling her robe more tightly around her. "Ms. Reyes," he said politely, a smile letting her know he was pleased she remembered his name. "I'm investigating a child abuse case in the neighborhood..." "Yes, I know about it," she said. "Please come in." She ushered him in and closed the door. He followed her to her futon, which was spread out for sleeping. She pushed against the frame and returned it to its couch form, then sat down at one end. He sat at the other end, his notepad poised on his knee. "Which child abuse case have you heard about?" he started, a little skeptical yet intrigued. "I thought you meant the baby discovered in the dumpster today," Monica started, a little puzzled by his question. "How many cases are there?" "No, that's the case," he assured her. "How did you know about it?" "I'm the one who found it," she said matter-of-factly. He stared at her, dumbfounded. "You were there?" "Yes, why?" He flipped several pages in his notebook. "Someone named Brad Follmer from the FBI found him. He didn't mention you." Monica felt both hurt and relieved not to have been mentioned. She wasn't sure how to respond, and decided to stick with the truth. She told him about searching for the files, and digging through the trash. "How did you know the baby was there?" Costello asked. Monica gulped. "I know this sounds strange, but I sense... things. I sense when something evil has happened. I knew there was something there, but I didn't know what." Costello continued staring at her, his hands poised to flip his notes back to her page. "Like a psychic thing?" he asked finally. She nodded. "Did you tell Follmer that?" Monica shook her head. "We haven't talked about it at all." Costello sighed and flipped the notebook pages over. "That's good," he said as he started to write. "So, tell me again. You sensed something bad in the dumpster... then what?" "That was it," Reyes said. Costello looked into her eyes, looking for reasons to suspect her. Instead he saw an innocence a New Yorker rarely saw. Monica kept her eyes on his, unsure why there seemed to be a problem. She continued, "Agent Follmer, he's my supervisor, he told me to go home." She watched as he studied her face, then admitted, "I threw up." He smiled. "First case?" he asked. She nodded. "We all do that. Don't be embarrassed. If this didn't get to you I'd wonder about you." Monica relaxed her shoulders and tried to smile back at him. "Thanks. I was starting to wonder if I was cut out for this job." "My partner isn't on this case. He's an experienced cop, but he has a little boy himself, and he just can't deal with cases involving children. The guys out there today are single guys like me. We don't like it either, but we can handle it." He paused to study her reaction. "Does that make you feel any better?" "Yes, it does," she confessed, smiling more easily now. "I volunteered for this division, and to react this way..." "You volunteered for the Crimes Against Children division?" he repeated, incredulous. She nodded. "Why?" "Well," she said slowly, a blush crossing her face. "It's these feelings I have... about evil... I've had these feelings since I was a child, but I could never do anything about them... you know, prevent that evil." She struggled to get the words out, but his patient, listening expression encouraged her to continue. "One time, I sensed this... presence, an evil presence... and I ignored it. I was about thirteen, I guess, and I was playing basketball on a playground..." Her eyes started to tear and her voice quivered slightly as she continued, "I ignored what I felt. I was the tallest girl, and I was the center, you know?" He nodded sympathetically. "Well, one of the children at the other side of the playground, on the swing set..." She clenched her lips shut and her face crumpled as she struggled to continue. Instinctively, Costello put his hand on her shoulder. "I understand," he said softly, and her teary eyes responded by looking gratefully into his. She put her hand over his and tried to grin. END OF PART 1
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