Grief Comes in Many Forms

AS ARTIE AND HER TEAM HEADED TO THE FBI BUILDING, CAROLE called.

“Hey, it’s me. I’ve just pulled into the parking lot,” she said.

“I’m 10 minutes out. Can you say anything now?” Artie replied.

“No, not on the phone. I’ll see you in a bit.” Carole ended her call and drove a few feet forward and parked her vehicle. The parking level was dimly lit by flickering overhead fluorescent lights. Earlier in the month, she had inquired about the replacement of them, yet she was met with a polite bureaucratic response—‘We are aware of the issue and are working to resolve it.’

Peering up at the light, she made a mental note to inquire again, before turning on the interior light to her car. She thought about her upcoming conversation with Artie as she rummaged around her purse. She pulled out a small notepad and scribbled a note to herself as a reminder to discuss some information with Artie when they met. As she began to roll up her driver’s window, a sudden screeching of tires caught her attention, and she squinted into her rearview mirror at an oncoming vehicle driving through the structure. The vehicle abruptly stopped at the parking elevator a few feet away, letting a passenger out before moving forward, parking directly next to her.

Ten minutes later, Artie and her team arrived at the FBI building and made their way up to Carole’s department. They surveyed the area, noting the lights were on, but Carole was not present to greet them. Odd, Artie thought as she listened to the silence.

“She’s probably in her office. I’m going to head back there. Stay here—coms open. I want no surprises.”

Her team members nodded and remained at the entrance to the department. Artie weaved her way through a maze of cubicles, her senses heightened once again. Something seemed off. She honed in on her intuition, listening to the only sound in the office—her own footsteps, each boot landing firmly on the tile floor. She neared Carole’s office and slowed her pace. With no one in the department, Carole had a habit of sitting in her office with soft jazz music keeping her company—and Artie knew this. She listened to the silence, unsnapped her holster at the small of her back, and placed her hand on her weapon as she rounded the corner.

She stopped short of entering Carole’s office, quickly scanning the area. A large janitor’s cart sat against the wall outside the office. Within the office, Artie could hear the sound of paper being shuffled and a file drawer slam. After a few moments, a cleaning man, holding a small trash can full of crumpled documents, emerged from the entrance to the door. Standing at least six feet five inches tall, he was a human wall. His black goatee offset his dark brown eyes and light skin tone, and his broad, muscular build accentuated his height. His blue one-piece jumpsuit is incredibly ill-fitting, Artie thought as she observed him. It fit too tightly around his midsection, and the length was too short, causing the cuff of his black pants to show underneath. Surprised at her arrival, he eyed Artie with suspicion.

“Hello,” the cleaning man said flatly.

“Hello. I didn’t know anyone else was here. I’m supposed to meet a friend for dinner,” Artie said.

“No one’s here, lady. It’s just me.”

“Really? That’s odd. She just called me and said she would be in her office.”

“No one’s here except for me, and I’ve been here all afternoon.”

Artie nodded and scanned his appearance. She noted the name Jack imprinted on the right chest pocket. Artie slowed her breathing and held a casual yet sharpened tone.

“Jack. That’s my father’s name.”

The man made no reply.

Forcing a smile, a chill ran the length of her spine, causing the hair on the back of her neck to rise. A feeling of electricity coursed through every muscle of her arms and shoulders. Her eyes laser focused on his every move, she spoke again.

“Well, Jack, it’s perplexing. She called me just five minutes ago and said she was pulling into the building.”

“Don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t seen anyone here all afternoon.”

“Well, unfortunately, I can’t wait for her, but here’s my card.” Artie reached into her pants pocket and tapped her com device before pulling her card out and laying it on a desk that sat just outside Carole’s office.

“If she does return, would you give it to her and ask her to call me?”

The man looked down at the card.

“Sure thing, lady.”

When he raised his eyes, they were pierced with cold contempt.

His size betrayed how fast he could move. He lunged for Artie, throwing the trash can at her as he approached. Knocking her back onto her heels, Artie had no time to draw her weapon as he pulled a knife from his pocket and jabbed it toward her. She evaded his swing and grabbed his wrist tightly. While moving her body to gain an advantage, he punched with his other fist, delivering a crushing blow to her rib cage. She absorbed the blow, released his wrist, and backed away from the swing of the knife. He lunged for her yet again.

She drew her weapon, unable to get a shot off before he rammed her body, shoving her hard against the desk behind her, bashing her weapon from her hand. She tumbled, hitting her head hard against the tile floor. Her vision began to blur, and the assailant moved menacingly toward her. As he raised the knife to deal a blow to Artie, he caught sight of Artie’s detail as they rapidly closed in on her position. The momentary distraction allowed her to roll away from the assailant.

Artie’s detail drew their weapons and demanded the assailant drop the knife, giving Artie time to scamper onto her feet. She was pretty sure a couple of ribs were bruised, if not broken. The suspect held his ground with the knife in his hand.

“Put it down—now!” Artie screamed, adrenaline numbing the pain of her fight.

The assailant tightened his grip on the knife and remained still. He glowered at Artie, his jaw stiffening.

“This is my last command. Drop that knife, or my men will fire. Down, now!”

The assailant’s eyes met the fury contained within the eyes of Artie’s. He released his grip on the handle and allowed the knife to drop from his hand, the blade tinging as it hit the tile floor. Artie’s team members ordered him onto his stomach, then cuffed him. Taking in a halted breath, Artie hit an emergency wall alarm.

“You ok, boss?” her team member asked.

“Yeah, just peachy.”

Within a few minutes, security arrived. Artie identified herself and her team members, showed her credentials to the security officers, and explained her presence.

“I received a call from Special Agent Roberts, who wanted to meet for an early dinner. She asked me to meet her in her office. Upon my arrival, no Roberts, only the suspect rifling through her office.”

Amidst her questioning, the FBI agent on call arrived and shook hands with Artie.

“Good to see you, Artemis. It’s been a while. Must say, I wouldn’t have expected that you would have caught a bad guy in our building.”

“Your security is lax, Warren. Good to see you too.”

Artie explained her presence in the building once again, divulging she was protecting an eyewitness to a case Carole spearheaded.

Warren scanned Artie’s appearance. “Looks like you could use some medical attention.”

“Yeah, I know, but not now, Warren. Look, I’m worried. Carole and I were meeting to discuss the eyewitness,” Artie said as she glanced at her watch. “Carole isn’t in her office, and the last time I spoke to her, she said she had just parked. That was at least forty-five minutes ago.”

“I’ll send a security team down to check to see if her car is in the parking lot.”

“Can we go together? That is, if we’re through here.”

Warren peered around the office. The assailant, now in custody, sat in a conference room under armed guard. Carole’s office had been cordoned off, and Artie’s team had been released to return to their vehicle. He agreed and escorted Artie and two additional security officers to the elevator of an underground parking lot.

“She typically parks on L1,” Artie said.

“Things have changed a bit since you were here. Her department is assigned to L2,” Warren replied.

The elevator door opened. Artie noticed the garage lights were much dimmer than she remembered.

“Are these lights always so dim?” she asked, squinting her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“Yeah, they’re installing a new lighting system for that very reason, but you know the bureaucracy. It’s all about timing and endless paperwork.”

With very few cars around, Artie spotted Carole’s car parked in front of a cinderblock wall at the far end of the garage. She and Warren drew their weapons and quickly approached with caution. Artie tightened her jaw and surveyed the area, her eyes landing on a figure seated in the driver’s seat. The FBI agent stopped just shy of the car.

In the driver’s seat sat Carole—unmoving, her head slumped to one side. Artie approached the driver’s side and found Carole dead with a gunshot wound to the temple. She reached in and checked for a pulse, finding none. Artie could only stare in disbelief at her friend. She stood motionless, feeling sick to her stomach.

This was her childhood playmate, college roommate, and best friend. It was Carole who had persuaded Artie to start her own business. It was Carole who stood by Artie when she discovered she was pregnant after a drunken one-night stand with an old childhood friend, and Carole who celebrated every success and grieved every loss with Artie.

Warren observed Artie’s demeanor. He knew of the friendship she shared with Carole, but the area was now a crime scene.

“Artemis. Hey. Back away,” Warren said in hushed tones.

As Artie complied, she noticed a torn piece of notebook paper sitting on the passenger seat next to Carole’s right hand. Given the recent attack on her own life, she wondered if that paper was connected to the case. She quickly glanced to her left and to her right.

Too risky to grab.

She hunched her shoulders and slowly moved away. Tears began to fill her eyes, and she allowed them to flow down her cheeks unfiltered. While security officers began to cordon off the scene, she moved with deliberate ease around to the passenger side of the car. Feigning an attempt to assist in the investigation, she quickly grabbed a pair of gloves an officer was holding and opened the passenger door. As she reached in, Warren quickly reprimanded her, reminding her in no uncertain terms of crime scene protocol, which included contamination of the scene.

“What the hell are you doing?! Friend of this agent or not, former FBI agent or not, I’ll have you arrested!” Warren barked.

“This is my friend. I know all about protocol, Warren! Let me help.”

“You don’t belong here, Artie. It’s an FBI crime scene now. Period.”

“Warren, she’s—”

“Leone! I said no. You’re not FBI any longer. She’s my responsibility!” Warren jutted his jaw out, daring Artie to argue with him. Without a word, Artie stood her ground, staring down her former colleague.

“Do we have your contact information?” he asked.

“Yes,” Artie said as she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a business card. “But here it is again.”

“Good. We’ll contact you if we need to.”

“But War—”

“Now, Artemis! Or I will arrest you!”

Artie flicked away her tears. Frustrated and grieved, she glared at the FBI agent, shoving her hands into her pockets.

With a broken heart, Artie solemnly walked away from her friend. She reopened her com set and met up with her team in the visitor parking lot in front of the building. At the sight of her, her team rushed to her aide. Her jacket had been ripped by the knife the assailant had used, her right cheek had begun to swell after hitting her head on the tile floor, and she was holding her ribcage.

“Boss!” her team member gasped.

“Yeah, I know. I know. Adrenaline has worn off. It feels much worse than it probably is. Help me in.”

Cautiously, they helped Artie into the backseat of their SUV. Once in her team’s vehicle, they drove her to a nearby Urgent Care center to tend to her ribs. After tests were run, medical personnel determined her ribs were bruised, but not broken, and she had sustained a slight concussion.

“I’ll write a prescription for pain, and my nurse will be in shortly to bandage your ribs,” the doctor said. “Ms. Leone, your body has sustained significant damage and needs time to heal. Bed rest. No physical activity for at least six weeks.”

Artie nodded and watched as the physician walked away. The room was quiet, something she did not appreciate, for there was nothing to occupy her thoughts. Against her will, her body began to tremble. Her eyes filled with tears as grief began to overwhelm her. Alone in the room, she attempted to sob, but the pain in her ribs did not allow her diaphragm to move freely. She grit her teeth to quell her emotions, and, while only a few minutes had passed since the doctor left her, for Artie, time seemed to grossly crawl to a halt.

“Knock, knock,” a nurse said, smiling as he walked in.

Artie lifted her eyes to the nurse. “Where the hell have you been? I chose this location because it’s quick.”

“We’ve been a little busy, Ms. Leone, but I—”

“Don’t lie to me! There wasn’t a soul in the waiting room when my team and I arrived!” she snapped.

Stunned at the foul temperament of his patient, the nurse momentarily paused before moving hesitantly toward Artie.

“Well?”

The nurse composed himself. “It’s alright, Ms. Leone. The doctor just left you a little bit ago. A concussion can disorient you to time. But don’t worry, I’ll have you out of here in a jiffy. I just need to bandage your ribs and give you the prescription the doctor wrote for you. I’ll go over that in just a moment and then get your discharge papers for you to sign. You’ll be out of here in no time.”

Feeling very much like a wounded animal, Artie snapped again. “I don’t need you to go over that—I know how to take medication! And I am not disoriented! What I need you to do is efficiently get me the hell out of here! Which means turn around and get those discharge orders!”

The nurse turned on his heels and quickly disappeared from her sight. When he returned, he held everything she would need to make a quick exit out of the facility. Artie looked toward the door. She noted another, more senior nurse—one who had tended to injuries she sustained over a year ago—now hovered at the entrance to her room.

After a few minutes, the nurse wrapped Artie’s ribcage, handed her an additional wrap, gave her a written prescription, and had her sign the necessary discharge paperwork. In no mood to make nice with the nurse, without a word, Artie gingerly stepped down from the examination table and made her way out of the lobby with a member of her team by her side.

As she slowly walked toward her SUV, she watched as a piece of paper skidded against the rough edges of the parking lot, nudged along by the gentle breeze of the late summer’s evening. To her, it seemed the paper was resisting the flow of the breeze, catching every now and again on a single corner of asphalt. When the breeze paused, the paper fell flat onto the ground. A few seconds later, the breeze again gently nudged the paper along. The paper still seemed to resist the movement, tapping against the asphalt as it passed her by. She paused for a moment, watching as the paper continued along its unknown journey. She took in a breath and continued silently to her vehicle.

“Where to, boss?” her driver asked.

“The client,” she responded, holding her ribs as she climbed into the back of her vehicle “I’ll fill the prescription tomorrow.”

Sitting in the back of her SUV, Artie replayed several conversations she held with Carole, including her last one

“Carole, my experience tells me this ring will leave nothing to chance. What you’re now investigating isn’t just a murder, but it’s also a global chem company, judicial officers, and local government officials. Intimidation is their go-to strategy, and then comes the harm.”

“Why didn’t you listen, Carole?”

Sitting in the back of her team’s SUV with a pain prescription in hand, her thoughts turned to Smythe. It brought her a considerable measure of solace. She was falling deeply in love with this woman, and as stubborn and emotionally elusive as Smythe could be, Artie was persistent. Her only thought was to double down on Smythe’s protection from here on out.