Nightshift

It was a quiet evening at Heather's home. The old house settled for the night, every creak familiar. Heather had planned to use an otherwise free evening to begin work on the next book. The completed manuscript for *Never Say Never* sat on the worn green leather blotter of her applewood desk. Shelves in this room, like in many others in this house, bow under the weight of cherished books. The kids were tucked into bed after being taken on another adventure through Narnia, well the book at least, and her husband was occupied with his own projects. He was restoring an old mahogany speedboat down in his woodshop. Heather’s iMac screen had a blank page and a blinking cursor on it. A substantial fresh cup of tea at her elbow. Her pad of notes in precise joined-up handwriting and pen on the other side of the desk. Yet, sometimes fate had other plans. As her phone began to vibrate. The Office. Fear, Heather’s lifetime companion, began to energise her tired body. To motivate her to get out there to do good.

“Heather it’s me”

It was the voice of Section Chief Mads Bozzio, almost fifteen years ago she had been Heather's training agent. Now she was Heather’s direct supervisor, With the BSU the Behavioral Sciences Unit of the FBI. Though it was less like working with your boss and more like having an equal partner. The same agreement Mads had with the allegedly retired Director Tyler.

“What is it Mads?”

Heather was concerned and to those who knew her, it showed in her otherwise flawless professional tone. Her supervisor wouldn’t ring at this time without recourse.

“The unsub we thought went to ground, we just had a near-miss in Pensacola Florida, victim is fine, mercifully, but in shock and has given the local field office a rough description and we have a DNA sample, currently going through the lab. I need you with me on this.”

Heather immediately opened the desk drawer in her study and withdrew her badge and credentials. The gold shield, like a Knight of Old. With blind lady justice on it. This Queen needs no Knights to protect her. Just fellow federal agents and law enforcement officers. As Heather talked she crossed the room to the concealed safe behind a family portrait. Great Aunt Susan looking regal, Heather looking more like her every day, her husband, her Kids. A hidden switch moved the painting, then a fingerprint code and retinal scan the safe clunked open She removed her service weapon, from a drawer below treasured possessions and files of documents in the fire safe. Heather felt the weight of the unloaded *Sig Sauer P229* in her hand, clearing the weapon, Compact, the smaller version of *Fox Mulder* and *Dana Scully’s* on *X Files.* The Irony was not lost on her. Ever the pragmatist the backup weapon came to. A Walther like the one used by fictional spy James Bonds’. Not exactly *The Vorpal Blade* but pretty close to the weapons of literature. The small pistol was the first gun Heather had learned to shoot under Susan’s patient supervision. She had been so scared to go anywhere near a gun, now it was part of the ritual she undertook every time she left the house. *“A good home remedy for fear is to be able to pump 9 millimetres of hot lead into anything fearsome, at almost any range.”* Susan had said at the time. Words to live by.

“I’ll call you from the car Mads, you can catch me up, then we can amend the profile on the flight.”

Heather’s mind began to race, to try and make the connections before time ran out and the devolving unsub struck again. In profiling, they referred to a suspect as an unknown subject or unsub for short. Next time they may not leave a witness. Heather was frightened for the life of someone she had never met. Yet that fear now fueled her. No warm bed and loving embrace for Heather tonight. If she slept it would be fitfully and on the plane.

“We’re leasing with the *US Marshal's Fugitive Apprehension Task Force* on this, Marshall Lewis will be joining us on the flight to Florida.”

Heather’s heart soared. Ricky. The odds of finding this unsub were now further in their favour. Ricky never quit. Even if he would openly admit to letting the “Brain Trust” at the Behavioural Sciences Unit do the thinking. He would be pounding the streets knocking on every door speaking to every passerby. Doggedly hunting the smallest chance of a lead.

Hearing the call Heather’s husband was in the upstairs hall. A respectful distance away from the study door. There were things about his wife’s work that his pure heart did not need to be burdened with.

“Going somewhere, honey?”

He asked in a knowing tone, he had Heather’s already packed Go Bag in his hand. As he had countless times before.

“I’m sorry, Work. Pensacola Florida. I’ll bring the kids back some stuffed Alligators.”

He hugged her

“You were an FBI agent long before I married you, Jones. Sometimes other people need you more.”

Heather smiled

“Sometimes I just like to hear you say that.”

They embraced in silence for a moment, the ticking of the grandfather clock resonating through the wood-panelled hallways below them the only accompaniment.

“You call Rose and Gene if you need help with the kids. You know how much they love them. I’ll try and be back before we go to The Manor this weekend.”

She spoke of the place she grew up, Queen Lake Manor just north of Garrett Maryland. A place that would always be her home.

Heather mentally went through her checklist. Laptop, Phone, charger bank.

“Susan will understand if you can’t be there.”

He reassured

“I know, but she always says she wants to enjoy life for as many good years as she has left, she’s almost eighty-six so I want to make this time count.”

Heather tried to vocalise her concern. Susan’s near-mystical good health could not be eternal. At eighty-six, she acted more like an active forty-six years old. There must be some side effects of her travels in Narnia. Susan had aged there so it slowed down the ageing process here. Heather had done the best parts of growing up with her Great Aunt, and it was all she wanted for her own kids to spend as much time with Susan as possible. To learn all the things she had learned.

“She’s been saying that for as long as I’ve known her”

He reassured

“I know, to me as well”

Heather conceded.

“Tell the kids I love them. I’ll face time with them in the Morning.”

The kids were used to their Mothers vocation as an FBI profiler calling her away at all hours of the day and night. Fortunately, her other career as a writer kept her at home.

Heather kissed her husband and left the Federal-style Mansion they shared in a wealthy neighbourhood of Bethesda Maryland. Not usually affordable even on a good government salary, or indeed a literature Professor, this was the family home. At this time it would take maybe forty-five minutes to get to headquarters then onto the plane at the neighbouring Marine corps base. To anyone else, it would be an hour but there were some benefits to being a pursuit trained driver and having a siren. The automatic garage doors opened and there it was her Yellow 1977 Datsun 240z. Illuminated by the warmth of the garage lights, in the near ominous gloom of the driveway. Heather knew this car like no other. It would get her there in time. It always did.

The engine fired on the key turn of the key, and *Parade* by *Garbage* began to play from the stereo. As Supervisory Special Agent Heather Pevensie Jones leaves the comfort of her home and family and heads off into the black of night, to face horrors unknown to most people before the dawn. “It’s my Job” Is what she tells people who ask her why she does what she does. They don’t get it, her friends and family do though.

The book is set to sell well. Heather doesn't need to work, the Pevensie family trust has far too many zeroes on it. Yet this is her calling Heather goes to the places in the dark most people dare not tread. Of course, she is afraid. Yet for all these years, nearly fifteen, on active duty her fear is still her constant companion it serves to keep her sharp. Being afraid and knowing when to listen to your fears has saved many lives. It will save many more.

In this world where magic is all around us, even a cowardly lion can be a hero. The keen glass eyes of Heather’s childhood friend watch over her family, while she is away, from a perch atop a bookcase full of well-loved books. Yet Heather’s children believe quite rightly that he is a real lion. That he’s not actually very cowardly and if needed that he has the courage of ten lions, ten big lions! These days if Kitty needs to be brave he just thinks, what Heather would do?