Chapter Text
The blissful unawareness of sleep Isobel found herself in was interrupted by the shrill sound of her ringtone. Groaning, she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with one hand and picked up the phone with the other, catching a glimpse of the time; four thirty-eight. Great, only an hour of sleep, not much better than the last few nights.
“You’ve reached Special Agent in Charge Isobel Castille, how may I help you?” She said groggily into the phone, flopping back onto the bed. It must be case related, this late at night, though she didn’t recognise the number.
“Isobel?” The person on the other side said, shaky and urgent, and extremely familiar. “Is that you?”
“Who is this?” Isobel replied cautiously, narrowing her eyes. Everything was still, except for her heart, pounding a thousand times a minute.
“It’s Dusty, and there’s not much time.” The voice was hushed, and Isobel shot up from the bed, immediately throwing her doona to the side and ran across the hall, to her office, her desk. The computer sat open, showing the security videos, nothing out of place. She rummaged through her drawers to find a pen and spare notepad, finding one in the second drawer down.
“I’m all ears, what’s up?” If Dusty was calling her at this time of night, after not reaching out for years, she could hardly imagine the circumstances. She flipped the pad open, clicking the pen.
“He escaped.”
And everything went cold. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she could hardly breathe. This couldn’t be happening, not now. After everything she was already juggling, agents injured and dead, acting recklessly, the pressure from the people above watching her every move, life decided to throw another wrench, clogging the machine. It lit a spark and she was watching in despair as everything she built began to burn in front of her eyes.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No no no, this can’t be happening. How did this happen?” Isobel grew more agitated by the second, the consequences of the events beginning to align themselves in her mind. Her chest heaved, her head spinning, trying to wrap her mind around it.
“Okay, try to keep calm, you’re no use to anyone if you’re panicky,” He soothed, his words only slightly helping. “The prison hasn’t figured it out yet. My bet is his prison roommate helped him out.”
“Okay. Do you have an idea of where he is headed?”
“To me.” Dusty said simply.
“Wait, Dusty-” She was cut off abruptly by the muffled banging and crash in the background. “What’s happening?”
“I’m going to hang up now, Isobel. The prison will figure out he’s gone soon enough. I don’t know how he knows who I am, but remember-”
“No connections.”
“Right. I just wanted you to know, and to stay on top of this.” Dusty sighed, oddly calm for his circumstances. Isobel’s heart lurched, tears started to slip down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Issy.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Isobel said as the line went dead, and a horrible pit opened in her stomach, threatening to consume her whole. How could this happen? She kept asking herself, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find the answer.
She dropped the phone onto the desk, the notepad and pen long forgotten and she went to get dressed, as soon enough, she would be getting a call either about an escaped prisoner or a dead body. She wasn’t sure which one she dreaded most, and she prayed this was all some stupid dream.
Exactly an hour and twenty-three minutes later, her phone rang, this time from Jubal.
She reached out to pick up the phone, now showered, fully dressed and more nervous than before, she swiped accept, shakily holding it to her ear.
“What’s up?”
She already knew.
The air was crisp outside, little wind swept through. She would’ve enjoyed the weather if she wasn’t occupied by something else. She closed the car door, walking towards the police tape.
“Hey, you got here quick,” Jubal commented, unknowing and innocent. All the tear stains from Isobel’s cheeks had disappeared and her eye bags were covered by three layers of concealer, hiding her state of mind. She didn’t recognise the address, but she had a sinking feeling that she knew the victim.
There’s a chance it’s not him. A tiny voice at the back of her mind spoke up, but was quickly quashed by her logic. It would be too much of a coincidence.
“Couldn’t sleep,” She semi-lied, flashing a small smile. “This seems like a standard homicide, what does it have to do with us?”
“The victim is one of us. Special Agent Micheal ‘Dusty’ McClaine.”
And it was confirmed.
“Wha… What happened?” Isobel asked breathlessly, pretending not to notice the strange look Jubal gave her.
“A nosy neighbour peeped over the fence and saw the body through the bathroom window, and another neighbour was woken by the commotion.” Jubal explained, Isobel absorbing all of it. “Both called the police, and the police called us after finding several files and the victim's passport scattered around the lounge room. They ran the name in the database and it came back from our database, a retired field agent. Nothing more on him.”
“Files?” Isobel strained, trying not to sound too urgent. No connections. No connections.
“All redacted,” Jubal continued with a shrug. Thank god, she thought. Maybe the odds were better than she thought. “The victim was extremely guarded, physically and socially. Key and passcode locked gate and front door, the safe with the files wasn’t pried open without a fight. Neighbours said he was an odd guy, always on the lookout for something. Or someone, I suppose.”
Isobel didn’t add anything, she only hummed and led Jubal inside. Her stomach churned, and she was unable to squash the rest of her nerves. The interior was warm and the walls were dark, holding few personal memorabilia, and the TV was encased in a very full bookshelf, a leather couch opposite. Isobel scanned the room, looking past the evidence numbers and found the broken safe, embedded in the wall behind a plain table.
“Was there a struggle?” She swallowed hard, unable to make eye contact with Jubal, who stood behind her.
“No. The techs think he locked himself in the bathroom while he was getting into the safe. Safe to say the perp didn’t find what he was looking for.” Jubal relayed the information and everything was making less and less sense. As she attempted to process, a couple of CSI agents approached the pair, holding a plastic bag of an item Isobel couldn’t identify from that far.
“Agent Valentine, Agent Castille, we found a phone.” One of them said, and Isobel had to refrain from snatching it out of their hands.
The phone meant call logs, call logs that lead straight to Isobel, and straight to danger. For all Isobel knew, Whitlock could have the log right now, along with her name, phone number, I.P address, photo…
“It was in the toilet, the victim must’ve tried to flush it down.” The other one piped up. Isobel felt slight relief, perhaps the water damage destroyed anything on there. Anything connected to her. She wasn’t super tech savvy, but she knew water damage was harsh. A tiny bit of relief sunk into her veins, slightly relaxing her shoulders.
Until, her phone rang once again.
Damn, people love me today , she thought cynically, then slowly placed it to her ear. It was the director of the FBI. Jubal stared at her, concerned.
“You’ve reached Special Agent in Charge Isobel Castille, how may I help you?” She said for the second time that day, she was starting to get sick of her own name.
“There’s been a prison breach. An inmate by the name of Terry Whitlock, also known as the Night Fox, has escaped.” His tone was stern and serious as always, a hint of worry, unusual for him. Isobel frowned. “This is of utmost importance. He is one of the most dangerous criminals in the country.”
“Copy.” Isobel deadpans, holding her breath.
“They haven’t told me how he escaped, but his roommate was detained and is on the way to 26 FED now.”
“Good to know. I’ll send some people up to interrogate him.” Isobel told him, becoming antsy. She needed to see the body. To once and for all confirm. Her heart sped up and she hung up the phone saying a hasty goodbye, giving herself a chance to prepare.
Deep down, she knew this day would come. She hoped it wouldn’t be so soon, but he’d said it when he was being arrested. Her, or her undercover character she’d been given was arrested alongside him, and told her, “I’ll be back, I’ll get out and I’ll get them all! I’ll show them! They’ll be sorry they were ever born!”
The floor swayed beneath her as she turned to Jubal.
“What was that about-”
“I’ll tell you in a moment, where is the body?” She interrupted, eyes glassy and heart in her throat.
“In the bathroom, why?
“I need to see him,” Isobel said without further explanation. No connections. Making a beeline for the bathroom, she swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. It’s okay. You can do this , she told herself, using her elbow to guide the door further open, careful not to harm the evidence. And there he was. Dead. His short brown hair messily framed his face, his eyes empty and blood was sprayed everywhere. And there was so much of it, and Isobel saw the familiar pattern of bullets. Both shoulders, and the head. Isobel was struggling to hold her emotions, her vomit and her composure.
“Isobel?” Jubal inquired softly, clearly apprehensive by her strange behaviour.
“I know who did this,” She replied cryptically, her eyes stung. Jubal stepped out from behind her, obstructing her view of Dusty’s body, maybe for the better. She finally looked at Jubal, whose eyes were full of concern, and she suppressed a full body shiver. The last thing she needed was pity.
“Who?”
“He just escaped from prison,”