Thread: Blank Slate (Dane Stalling & Malicious Lullaby)

Pablo jerked his hand back like her skin was burning him. He felt stupid, caught in a weak moment. Penny shrank away from him, pulling her blouse closed. The color was coming back into her cheeks and her lips. Her eyes were more vivid green than any of the dozens of photographs he had seen of her. You can call me Special Agent Herrera, but you already know that. We're at the Aurora Nites Inn. Just until I can sort out who was shooting at us. He stuffed the bandages into his coat pocket, got out of the car and walked around to her side. He opened the door and snapped a handcuff around her right hand and snapped the other to his own wrist. You're under arrest, by the way. Who am I? she said. Pablo held her up as she got out of the car. She seemed like she might collapse or throw up. He should have thought of that before handcuffing himself to her. And what the hell kind of question was that? You're real bad fucking news, chica. It's almost impossible to get on the FBI's ten most wanted without killing someone, but there you are. Number ten. You'll be number nine if Bubba Chatter dies. He killed seven ICU nurses in three states before he ended up in the St. Chuck's ICU with that bullet between the lobes of his brain. Can't say he's getting the best of care down there. People in ICU die all the time. Who am I... maybe she was playing some kind of legal game. She was the primary suspect in twenty three counts of wire fraud and three cases of identity theft that they could prove, although they had another fifty eight suspected identity thefts they were pretty sure she was involved with. It bothered him that she probably wouldn't be charged with the FBI headquarters exploit. That would be too embarrassing to the agency and it would give her unlimited desirability as a black hat hacker. Now would be the right time to start laying the groundwork for an insanity defense. Pablo opened the door to the dingy room and led her back to the bathroom. One of the fluorescents was out and it made an irritating buzz. The half light made their skin look dead. He sat her down on the toilet lid and moved the handcuff from his wrist to the towel rack. It wouldn't hold her, but it would make a hell of a lot of noise if she pulled free. He took off his coat and threw it on the old double bed, then he rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands. He soaked a rag in warm water and began to carefully wash the dried blood away from the cut at the top of her forehead. It wasn't serious, but it had bled a lot. He made some butterflies out of the surgical tape and placed them carefully over the disinfected wound. He had done this many times, but always for himself. Doing it for someone else was a different experience. Oddly intimate. Maybe it was just the concussion and she was confused. He had fantasized about taking her into custody hundreds of times, had imagined the sense of satisfaction, of finality. There was supposed to be closure. There wasn't any of that. She seemed more like a victim than a dangerous criminal right now- confused and sick. He checked her hair and found clotted blood. He didn't think they would have to stay out of sight for long, but he didn't want her looking like she'd been in an accident. He might have just shaved her head. It would would have been expedient, it would disguise her and simplify things for him. It would humiliate her. Something else in him wanted any excuse to run his fingers through all that fire. He opened the handcuffs again and sat her down outside the tub with her tangled, flaming hair streaming into the tub. He used the shower handle and ran cold water through her hair first. Blood tended to clump in hot water, so he got as much of it out with the cold as he could, then he lathered it with the cheap motel shampoo. It smelled like Johnson Johnson baby shampoo. It probably was. It worked, though, and he was able to get all of the blood out. He rinsed her hair with hot water and squeezed it out with his hands before toweling it. He realized he was humming a song, Frio frio, como agua del rio, o caliente como agua de la fuente. He looked at her carefully. She didn't look like she had just come from the beauty parlor, but at least she didn't look too much like she'd just rolled her car.