Out of the mouths of babes...
Bree's head shot toward the boy and his mother, in an instant realizing her hallucination was no hallucination at all, just one more impossibility in a long, breathtaking string of impossibilities.
Grey eyes wide, her head shot back to Ethan. Something dark and calculating passed behind those all-too-real eyes, and then? Then he did what he always did, what he'd done each and every goddamned time she'd ever seen him, so tantalizingly close she could almost reach out and touch him...
He fled.
"Son of a... "
Straight over the railing, into the raging waters below as if he were just jumping into a neighborhood pool.
"ETHAN!" Bree clutched the railing, screaming his name, but he was gone, already long gone. There was no possible way he'd hear her - but what about any of this was possible in the first damn place? Not a thing, not a goddamned thing and he was running from her yet again, leaving her standing there again helpless, her heart in her throat -
No. Not again, dear God no not again... Bree knew the instant she moved, what it was that really sent her over that railing after the green-eyed man, and it was nothing so noble as courage, bravery... Heh... Honor? Duty? Oh no, not in the least.
It was fear.
In that one moment, she feared the nightmares, the never-ending abattoir that ravaged her sleep and stole her peace, a terror far deeper than even her fear of death. It had been fear that kept her rooted to that spot fifteen stories above a Chicago street, and it was fear now that sent her over the railing behind the green-eyed man, into the roiling, watery hell below, the sound of terrified screams of mother and child behind her accompanying her the long way down.
But she was strong, she was a good swimmer - a damn good swimmer - and if Ethan could somehow make his escape...
At least that was the small, swift glimmer of hope that crossed her thoughts as she fell.
Bree knew the minute she hit that cold, hungry water, closing over her head instantly and muffling the world as if sunlight and air simply ceased to exist - oh God, she'd made such a mistake...
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Well no, I'm not looking for complete freeform - a "basic" idea of where the plot is going is just fine of course. But at the same time I'm not really all about writing from a script either, you know? To me, that's just zero fun at all, not getting to expand ideas for my characters but within stringent molds already precast - if that were so, you could just write a novel and not need me about at all! 
And I don't doubt you will be just fine, nicely relaxed and happy to write - all will be well!
And I don't doubt you will be just fine, nicely relaxed and happy to write - all will be well!"Ahhhhhhhhhh- AH!" Her voice was soft and low and not horrifically tuneless as she half-walked, half-jogged alone on the now well-worn path. Bree clambered up on the rocks with a grin, feeling the strange hard smoothness of the rocky ledge beneath the soles of her water shoes as she made for that small ledge she'd come to think of as "her spot."
"We come from the land of the ice and snow... " Of course it was anything but all her very own, this flat rocky outcropping that overlooked the river below. But in all the time she'd been rafting in Bend, she'd never seen a single other soul up there - and Bree didn't think there'd be anyone that'd mind too much. Jarod seemed to be of that opinion, that she could do no wrong anyway - and that thought alone made her smile wider, brighter, far easier than even a week ago.
"... From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow." She slept like a baby again, like she hadn't since the end of that first date spent with Jarod. Her days spent rafting with the brothers, and all her nights with one, she was blissfully exhausted into sweet, dreamless sleep that smoothed the sharp, jagged edges of treacherous memories. There were even moments now she could almost believe none of it had been real, something she'd just... Exaggerated in her head, overblown with the stress of Victor's execution, being shot...
"The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands, to fight the horde, singing and crying, 'Valhalla, I am coming!'" As far as "ear bugs" go, there was definitely worse to be had than Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song," and besides, it was one of the few times she'd so much as heard a peep from 'Quiet Matt' anyway. No way was Bree belting it out like she did in the car him, but she just couldn't resist opening her arms dramatically wide as she stepped out on the rocky landing mouth wide open with that last powerful verse - and was instantly red-faced embarrassed into absolute silence.
Well... Damn. It was a public area of course, but that didn't stop the strange disappointment that washed over her. The brothers never minded her daily trek anyway, good-naturedly getting the raft and the equipment prepared before she returned. Bree suspected Jarod might have said... Something. Something about the real reason she was out here during the brothers' annual rafting trip, but Josh was sensitive enough - and Matt naturally quiet enough - not to say a word about her comings and goings, so long as she seemed happy, and big brother Jarod seemed happy.
And they did. And they were.
But there was a man in "her spot," sweat-soaked from jogging it seemed, and Bree bit her lip softly with annoyance. She turned to leave, return to the raft a little earlier than she'd have liked - until something drew those grey eyes back to the man, something in the way he stood that suddenly seemed so... Familiar. Unnaturally intimate, recognizable...
'Oh God no... '
It was him. Ethan. It was Ethan and... No, it couldn't be him, could it? Wherever he was, it couldn't possibly be here. And the realization that hit Bree like a baseball bat to the guts, that sucked the breath from her lungs, that prickled her skin with cold sweat despite the otherwise warm morning nearly buckled her knees.
'Shit.' She watched incredulously as a river-wet leaf levitated near to Ethan's hand, and he plucked it from the air like a snowflake. And she knew.
Bree had snapped. Something in her head had finally snapped, and she was hallucinating and... She clapped her hand over her mouth in horror, shaking her head in disbelief for a moment. This was not happening. Could not be happening.
But it was. And no matter how she wiped her eyes, she couldn't blink him away. Bree took a deep, shaking breath, her hand dropping back to her side as she stepped onto the outcropping. She felt almost naked really, only her water shoes, a T-shirt and shorts. No gun. No body armor.
Then again, he wasn't real, was he? What harm could he possibly do? Bree was many things, but she was never a coward. And if she was going to go mad? Well, best to get better acquainted with your personal demons in the end, wasn't it?
"Hello Ethan," she said softly, something very like a smile on her lips as she approached him. "It's been a while, hasn't it? You're looking amazingly well for a man who only just walked off a fifteen story building."
"We come from the land of the ice and snow... " Of course it was anything but all her very own, this flat rocky outcropping that overlooked the river below. But in all the time she'd been rafting in Bend, she'd never seen a single other soul up there - and Bree didn't think there'd be anyone that'd mind too much. Jarod seemed to be of that opinion, that she could do no wrong anyway - and that thought alone made her smile wider, brighter, far easier than even a week ago.
"... From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow." She slept like a baby again, like she hadn't since the end of that first date spent with Jarod. Her days spent rafting with the brothers, and all her nights with one, she was blissfully exhausted into sweet, dreamless sleep that smoothed the sharp, jagged edges of treacherous memories. There were even moments now she could almost believe none of it had been real, something she'd just... Exaggerated in her head, overblown with the stress of Victor's execution, being shot...
"The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands, to fight the horde, singing and crying, 'Valhalla, I am coming!'" As far as "ear bugs" go, there was definitely worse to be had than Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song," and besides, it was one of the few times she'd so much as heard a peep from 'Quiet Matt' anyway. No way was Bree belting it out like she did in the car him, but she just couldn't resist opening her arms dramatically wide as she stepped out on the rocky landing mouth wide open with that last powerful verse - and was instantly red-faced embarrassed into absolute silence.
Well... Damn. It was a public area of course, but that didn't stop the strange disappointment that washed over her. The brothers never minded her daily trek anyway, good-naturedly getting the raft and the equipment prepared before she returned. Bree suspected Jarod might have said... Something. Something about the real reason she was out here during the brothers' annual rafting trip, but Josh was sensitive enough - and Matt naturally quiet enough - not to say a word about her comings and goings, so long as she seemed happy, and big brother Jarod seemed happy.
And they did. And they were.
But there was a man in "her spot," sweat-soaked from jogging it seemed, and Bree bit her lip softly with annoyance. She turned to leave, return to the raft a little earlier than she'd have liked - until something drew those grey eyes back to the man, something in the way he stood that suddenly seemed so... Familiar. Unnaturally intimate, recognizable...
'Oh God no... '
It was him. Ethan. It was Ethan and... No, it couldn't be him, could it? Wherever he was, it couldn't possibly be here. And the realization that hit Bree like a baseball bat to the guts, that sucked the breath from her lungs, that prickled her skin with cold sweat despite the otherwise warm morning nearly buckled her knees.
'Shit.' She watched incredulously as a river-wet leaf levitated near to Ethan's hand, and he plucked it from the air like a snowflake. And she knew.
Bree had snapped. Something in her head had finally snapped, and she was hallucinating and... She clapped her hand over her mouth in horror, shaking her head in disbelief for a moment. This was not happening. Could not be happening.
But it was. And no matter how she wiped her eyes, she couldn't blink him away. Bree took a deep, shaking breath, her hand dropping back to her side as she stepped onto the outcropping. She felt almost naked really, only her water shoes, a T-shirt and shorts. No gun. No body armor.
Then again, he wasn't real, was he? What harm could he possibly do? Bree was many things, but she was never a coward. And if she was going to go mad? Well, best to get better acquainted with your personal demons in the end, wasn't it?
"Hello Ethan," she said softly, something very like a smile on her lips as she approached him. "It's been a while, hasn't it? You're looking amazingly well for a man who only just walked off a fifteen story building."
Oh, I know we'll be just fine *grins*
Bree closed her eyes as she turned her face up toward the sky. The sun wasn't warm, nor even particularly bright this time of year. But it was one of those rare, cloudless skies one finds on occasion in the Pacific Northwest, that simply must be savored because they are gone far, far too soon. She hadn't really looked forward to returning to the area, to this part of the country. There were some moments in time she still couldn't exorcise from her thoughts, the scenes playing in her mind's eye: a man stepping from a 15-story roof top and walking away; an impossible leap from pier to ship, aided it seemed by the ocean itself; a leisurely stroll from a jail cell...
She shook her head angrily, wincing as if in pain for a moment as she pulled her knees to her chest. Wrapping her arms protectively around her legs, Bree's forehead dropped to her knees for a moment, catching her breath, forcing it to slow, and then slower still and deeper, deliberately calming the pounding of her heart in her chest.
It wasn't that nobody believed her. In the absence of any other explanation for Ethan's inexplicable escape from the Seattle PD and now just walking off the roof a Chicago high-rise, there was no other explanation to be had. But that explanation meant that something deeply, profoundly impossible had traipsed through the world, and Bree's logical, orderly, disciplined mind fought that knowledge with every ounce of her indomitable willpower.
And she was falling apart. The disintegration was slow, granted, but Bree could feel it sapping at the edges of her strength, the constant pull of that impossible thing, as unstoppable and undeniable as the relentless force of the tides on the seashore, wearing it all away.
So when Jarod - kind, concerned, unfailingly decent Jarod - suggested he take her home, to his home, to come explore the wilds with him and his brothers, do some rafting, some hiking? Oh sure, there'd been a split-second of genuine terror, that things were going way too fast, that no way should she be meeting his family after only some weeks time.
It was mostly a measure of how worn she'd become, how tired and stretched paper-thin she'd become, that she was here now, that Bree was willing to allow someone else to help carry her burdens in some small way. Not that she'd admit this thing though. Not aloud at least. Not ever.
But here at this rocky riverbank, Bree could almost let the water's roar drown out all those thoughts that shouldn't be, and simply... Not think. She'd left Jarod and his brothers, Josh and Matt about a mile upstream, getting everything ready for their ride today. 'Quiet Matt' she'd taken to calling him in her head, his silence at first a little... Disquieting, she supposed, especially compared to Jarod and Josh - but then something just clicked in her head... Well, it was simply him after all, and he meant no harm, just had his own peculiar ways of doing things (like that whole "no airplanes" thing, driving all the way from Ohio to Bend, Oregon).
Jarod took his cue from Matt it seemed, and didn't question Bree when she said she wanted to go check out the river, only nodded, smiled, said they'd be ready in a couple hours and gave her a quick kiss good-bye as she promised to be back soon, soon enough...
She shook her head angrily, wincing as if in pain for a moment as she pulled her knees to her chest. Wrapping her arms protectively around her legs, Bree's forehead dropped to her knees for a moment, catching her breath, forcing it to slow, and then slower still and deeper, deliberately calming the pounding of her heart in her chest.
It wasn't that nobody believed her. In the absence of any other explanation for Ethan's inexplicable escape from the Seattle PD and now just walking off the roof a Chicago high-rise, there was no other explanation to be had. But that explanation meant that something deeply, profoundly impossible had traipsed through the world, and Bree's logical, orderly, disciplined mind fought that knowledge with every ounce of her indomitable willpower.
And she was falling apart. The disintegration was slow, granted, but Bree could feel it sapping at the edges of her strength, the constant pull of that impossible thing, as unstoppable and undeniable as the relentless force of the tides on the seashore, wearing it all away.
So when Jarod - kind, concerned, unfailingly decent Jarod - suggested he take her home, to his home, to come explore the wilds with him and his brothers, do some rafting, some hiking? Oh sure, there'd been a split-second of genuine terror, that things were going way too fast, that no way should she be meeting his family after only some weeks time.
It was mostly a measure of how worn she'd become, how tired and stretched paper-thin she'd become, that she was here now, that Bree was willing to allow someone else to help carry her burdens in some small way. Not that she'd admit this thing though. Not aloud at least. Not ever.
But here at this rocky riverbank, Bree could almost let the water's roar drown out all those thoughts that shouldn't be, and simply... Not think. She'd left Jarod and his brothers, Josh and Matt about a mile upstream, getting everything ready for their ride today. 'Quiet Matt' she'd taken to calling him in her head, his silence at first a little... Disquieting, she supposed, especially compared to Jarod and Josh - but then something just clicked in her head... Well, it was simply him after all, and he meant no harm, just had his own peculiar ways of doing things (like that whole "no airplanes" thing, driving all the way from Ohio to Bend, Oregon).
Jarod took his cue from Matt it seemed, and didn't question Bree when she said she wanted to go check out the river, only nodded, smiled, said they'd be ready in a couple hours and gave her a quick kiss good-bye as she promised to be back soon, soon enough...
However you like, and it's not something I'm willing to get bent over at all regarding Tanner! But I'll be honest and say I'm craving a bit of spontaneity. I know you have a plot line in mind, but I'd like to feel that I have an equal say in how things go, even if things are shaken up a bit, you know? No worries at all - if we enjoy working together, I've found that the ideas always do eventually sync up in the end! 
"NO!"
That single word shocked from her lips as Ethan fell... He just fell backward, arms outstretched like a dark angel, as if the winds of the Windy City would simply bear him up.
But they didn't, and he fell through the air with something very like a shout of joy. Instantly nauseous, Bree still ran to the ledge where he stood, nothing but cold, numb shock running through her now as she peered over the edge. Too numb with horror even to feel the natural twisting in her gut that would have come from the sight, fifteen stories up, over the ledge.
He should have been a bloody Rorschach's blot on the cement below, twisted all unnaturally, broken and still - and silent. No more questions - certainly no answers...
For several long moments, Bree simply couldn't grasp... No, there was just no comprehension of what she was seeing, any more than if a window to heaven or hell had suddenly been lifted before her eyes. This wasn't something possible, something merely human eyes were meant to see, a thing beyond the artist's brush or the novelist's words.
Because a man had just fallen from a 15-story ledge and, as if he had known where all the precarious handholds would be? He'd been carried - however painfully - to the cement below.
Ethan wasn't crushed or broken, even if the landing looked far from light. He stood up.
Then? Then he simply... He... He ran away.
Her fingers ran incredulously over her eyes once, twice - and then the green-eyed man simply disappeared into the shadows of Chicago. Bree turned away, stunned, gaping in horror and shock, and she slid down the wall of the ledge, all the strength she ever had in her legs and body seeping into the tar of the roof. The gun slipped from her fingers as she wrapped her arms around her legs, drawing them to her chest, her forehead falling to her knees.
The tears slid down her cheeks silently, her grey eyes wide with shock and seeing nothing at all. No one would ever believe her, she knew. Bree didn't even believe what she'd just witnessed.
And she was tired. Oh God... God, she was just so... Tired. But that small, relentless voice was already chiming in the back of her head. She had no right to fall apart now, no right to shed these useless tears... Not here. Not now.
Bree's shaking hand reached for her Glock and, finding its grip, shaking fingers holstered it once more as, by sheer force of will, she somehow found her feet again and gracelessly stumbled toward the men she'd left some stories below.
That single word shocked from her lips as Ethan fell... He just fell backward, arms outstretched like a dark angel, as if the winds of the Windy City would simply bear him up.
But they didn't, and he fell through the air with something very like a shout of joy. Instantly nauseous, Bree still ran to the ledge where he stood, nothing but cold, numb shock running through her now as she peered over the edge. Too numb with horror even to feel the natural twisting in her gut that would have come from the sight, fifteen stories up, over the ledge.
He should have been a bloody Rorschach's blot on the cement below, twisted all unnaturally, broken and still - and silent. No more questions - certainly no answers...
For several long moments, Bree simply couldn't grasp... No, there was just no comprehension of what she was seeing, any more than if a window to heaven or hell had suddenly been lifted before her eyes. This wasn't something possible, something merely human eyes were meant to see, a thing beyond the artist's brush or the novelist's words.
Because a man had just fallen from a 15-story ledge and, as if he had known where all the precarious handholds would be? He'd been carried - however painfully - to the cement below.
Ethan wasn't crushed or broken, even if the landing looked far from light. He stood up.
Then? Then he simply... He... He ran away.
Her fingers ran incredulously over her eyes once, twice - and then the green-eyed man simply disappeared into the shadows of Chicago. Bree turned away, stunned, gaping in horror and shock, and she slid down the wall of the ledge, all the strength she ever had in her legs and body seeping into the tar of the roof. The gun slipped from her fingers as she wrapped her arms around her legs, drawing them to her chest, her forehead falling to her knees.
The tears slid down her cheeks silently, her grey eyes wide with shock and seeing nothing at all. No one would ever believe her, she knew. Bree didn't even believe what she'd just witnessed.
And she was tired. Oh God... God, she was just so... Tired. But that small, relentless voice was already chiming in the back of her head. She had no right to fall apart now, no right to shed these useless tears... Not here. Not now.
Bree's shaking hand reached for her Glock and, finding its grip, shaking fingers holstered it once more as, by sheer force of will, she somehow found her feet again and gracelessly stumbled toward the men she'd left some stories below.
"Stop it Ethan," Bree shot back, edging a little closer still, her hand still outstretched to the green-eyed man dancing on a ledge. "If that's all you were, just a murderer, I should shoot you off this ledge right now and be done with it - and save the federal courts a few million dollars in legal fees to boot."
She didn't so much as flinch as his eyes bored into her, a vile mix of anger and loathing - though she somehow suspected not all, nor even most, of his hatred was truly directed toward her.
"I get it, I do. I'm not some negotiator with the all the right, comforting words to give you the warm fuzzies, so we'll be holding hands and humming kumbayah off into the sunset after a warm hug, hot chocolate and handcuffs. I don't know who you are Ethan. I don't know what you are. But I know I could be wrong. I've been wrong before, about a lot of things."
"Show me where I got it wrong, Ethan. Please. Talk to me... " And the plea in those last three words might have come through just a little too truthfully, a little too plaintive, coming as they did from the exhausted woman beneath the hard armor of the agent. But Bree was beginning to fear, inexplicably, that time was getting as short and precious as a few moments of restful sleep.
She didn't so much as flinch as his eyes bored into her, a vile mix of anger and loathing - though she somehow suspected not all, nor even most, of his hatred was truly directed toward her.
"I get it, I do. I'm not some negotiator with the all the right, comforting words to give you the warm fuzzies, so we'll be holding hands and humming kumbayah off into the sunset after a warm hug, hot chocolate and handcuffs. I don't know who you are Ethan. I don't know what you are. But I know I could be wrong. I've been wrong before, about a lot of things."
"Show me where I got it wrong, Ethan. Please. Talk to me... " And the plea in those last three words might have come through just a little too truthfully, a little too plaintive, coming as they did from the exhausted woman beneath the hard armor of the agent. But Bree was beginning to fear, inexplicably, that time was getting as short and precious as a few moments of restful sleep.
A long-standing partner? It might be a little late to introduce him as a long-standing partner, simply because it's been months in story time and he hasn't come up - a co-worker perhaps, unless he's been recently assigned to her as a partner.
And I don't know, how about we just mull it over for a bit, the organized crime or counter-terrorism bit? I'm not necessarily big on having to have every single plot element hammered out before it even happens. Sometimes I just like that touch of the unexpected, the spontaneity that comes along during the writing if you know what I mean.
And I don't know, how about we just mull it over for a bit, the organized crime or counter-terrorism bit? I'm not necessarily big on having to have every single plot element hammered out before it even happens. Sometimes I just like that touch of the unexpected, the spontaneity that comes along during the writing if you know what I mean.
Bree blinked, a strange, sudden panic in her gut when she realized the green-eyed man knew her name - and not really her name, but the nickname only her little remnant of family, her few friends and closest work colleagues knew her by. But the blink was all the reaction he'd get from the instantly wary woman, her grey eyes narrowing with sudden suspicion.
"How does killing a man strike you as an FBI conversation starter, Ethan?" she snapped, the edge in her voice a little sharper and harder than she intended. But once the words were in the wind between them, it wasn't as if she could simply snatch them back. Bree knew full well what he was asking of course - what had he done to earn her attention from the very first? Why in the world would she take note of a simple waiter named Walter, and she honestly didn't have any answer that made the least bit of sense. A hunch? A touch of intuition? A 'gut feeling' about the guy who was too calm, too patient, and serene as the eye of the storm enveloping everyone around him but him?
Yeah, she'd probably chew a little broken glass before letting those words out of her mouth, though even she could hear the unintended stridency creeping into her speech. Bree really couldn't help it, her mouth gone dry with the fear, heart pounding faster and faster in her chest.
She hated heights. Oh God how she hated heights, and the way Ethan swayed there on the edge turned her knees to icy liquid. Bree wanted nothing more than to snatch the green-eyed man from the edge, his precarious perch racheting up her anxiety several notches and breeding doubt about her original assessment of his suicidal tendencies.
Bree edged slowly toward the green-eyed man, one hand moving from the gun's grip and held out to him, palm up. "Come away from the edge there Ethan. Really, we can talk... I'm... I'm sure you have your reasons, and it was wrong of me to judge before you'd had your say. Really. Please."
"How does killing a man strike you as an FBI conversation starter, Ethan?" she snapped, the edge in her voice a little sharper and harder than she intended. But once the words were in the wind between them, it wasn't as if she could simply snatch them back. Bree knew full well what he was asking of course - what had he done to earn her attention from the very first? Why in the world would she take note of a simple waiter named Walter, and she honestly didn't have any answer that made the least bit of sense. A hunch? A touch of intuition? A 'gut feeling' about the guy who was too calm, too patient, and serene as the eye of the storm enveloping everyone around him but him?
Yeah, she'd probably chew a little broken glass before letting those words out of her mouth, though even she could hear the unintended stridency creeping into her speech. Bree really couldn't help it, her mouth gone dry with the fear, heart pounding faster and faster in her chest.
She hated heights. Oh God how she hated heights, and the way Ethan swayed there on the edge turned her knees to icy liquid. Bree wanted nothing more than to snatch the green-eyed man from the edge, his precarious perch racheting up her anxiety several notches and breeding doubt about her original assessment of his suicidal tendencies.
Bree edged slowly toward the green-eyed man, one hand moving from the gun's grip and held out to him, palm up. "Come away from the edge there Ethan. Really, we can talk... I'm... I'm sure you have your reasons, and it was wrong of me to judge before you'd had your say. Really. Please."
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