The Human Factor

Ethan

“Do you want coffee?“, I walk towards the table, gazing at the pale girl in front of me. She shakes her head, “No, thank you.”

“Tea? Water?”, I offer.

She repeats the gesture and I nod, dragging the metal chair back and settling into it. “Can you state your full name for the record one more time, please?”

“R-Rose Jones.”, Her voice is unsteady and thick with anxiety. Her back is bent, as if she's buckling under the weight of a secret.

“Date of birth?“, I flip open the notebook and click my pen.

“March 16, 1986.“, she breaths out, closing her eyes.

“Where did you grow up?”, I keep writing, my pen gliding smoothly over the fine paper.

“New York.”, she whispers.

“Can you provide your parents names?”, I question, forcing my voice to remain steady and flat.

“Mark and Linda Jones. They died in a car accident.”, she opens her eyes, and blinks rapidly a few times.

Easy prey. A girl without a safety net for the system to mold or break. And break her they did, piece by piece.

“When?“, I look briefly at her trembling body before returning my focus to the notebook.

“June 21, 1997.”, she answers.

“And who took care of you after they died?”, I slide my chair a little closer to the table.

“I-I was put into an orphanage but I ...I can’t remember which one.”, she frowns slightly, digging through her memory to no avail.

I close my notebook and set it aside. “When did you first meet doctor Davis?”

My gaze is fixed on her, but she shrinks away, caught between fear and a visible, twitchy discomfort.

Rose fills her lungs with air, eyes locked on her fingers as they fidget. “Two years after, so 1999.”

“And what was the reason for your meeting?”, I lean my tense frame against the backrest.

Her posture stiffens and she gulps, “I ...I was a problematic child and he was called to ...diagnose me.”

My eyes narrow as I fold my hands over my chest. “Problematic? In what way?”

“Rebellious and ...hard to handle.“, Her voice fades into a fragile whisper. “Where you a runner of a fighter?”, I tilt my head curiously.

A weak smile appears on her face, “Both, actually.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of. You had a lot of suppressed anger and it had to come out one way or another.“, I state, wanting to give her some sort of comfort. Her blue eyes finally connect with mine, “Victor wouldn’t agree with you.”

Exhaling slowly, I swallow the rage that threatens to boil over, but keep my voice carefully neutral, masking any trace of anger. “Can imagine. And ...what did Victor say? What was his ...diagnosis?”

She clears her throat softly, “Nothing at first. I saw him every week for an hour, and after three months he made the call to lock me up in his institution, labeling me as a threat to myself and others.”

“Were you?“, my brows furrow. “No.”, she shakes her head.

It seems they pathologize any child they don't understand, labeling them 'dangerous' just to simplify their own failure.

“When you came to Ravenwood, how did they treat you?“, I shift in my chair, struggling to find a comfortable position. “Depends. Some nurses were good, some were horrible. I was kept on medications during my first two years there so my memory is a bit ...cloudy.”, her eyes dart around the room, snapping back to me every few seconds.

“What kind of meds? Do you know?”, I ask, knowing she's likely oblivious to the cocktail of pills they've been feeding her.

A hollow laugh rattles in her throat, “No. I have no idea.”

“And Victor? Did you see him a lot?”, I begin to dully drum my foot against the leg of the table.

“No. Not until I turned twenty. No one who was younger than that saw him. I mean, we did see him occasionally but he wasn’t working with us.”, her hand goes behind her neck as she massages it for a moment.

“And after you turned twenty?“, I ask, dreading the rest of her story. “Then came the needles.”, she glances at me.

“Infusions?“, I tense up. Partly out of my own aversion to needles, but mostly because even with her file in my hands, I can't wrap my head around the existence of people like Victor.

She nods. “At the beginning it was once a month. An experimental drug that was supposed to make us feel.”

I frown. “Feel what?”

She shrugs, “I’m not sure. The only thing I felt were cramps in my stomach, my uterus, legs, arms, headaches so strong that I would slam my head against the wall until I was covered in blood, crushing chest pain that felt like a welcome promise of death. But I was’t lucky enough. Death didn’t want me.”

Suddenly, a peculiar sound starts to echo through the space and I turn around, trying to find the source. We're alone in the room and my phone is nowhere near me, which makes the faint ringing in the room all the more confusing.

“You can’t help me.”

Words cut through the stiff air like a razor, and I snap my head back towards Rose. She's in a wheelchair, with a needle in her arm. My heart starts hammering against my ribs, and I try to push myself up to reach her, but can’t find the strength to do it.

“No one can help us.“, she whispers, her eyes vacant. The room suddenly goes pitch black and a voice echoes through the space.

“Are you bothering our patients again, Agent Brown?”

I scan the darkness around me frantically, my head whipping from side to side. The air in the room thins, and I begin to struggle to draw a full breath. The bright light goes back on and I squint, finding myself in a white room, strapped into a wheelchair with Rose’s, now lifeless body laying on the floor across me.

“Or are you ready to join us?“, the voice asks with a hint of amusement, and Victor’s smiling face appears inches away from mine. I thrash against the restrains, trying to get my arms loose while his frantic laugh fills every corner of the room. “Now, now Agent Brown. I would hate do sedate you.”

He wears a look of smug pride, his eyes sparkling as if he's just won a great prize.

“You son of a bitch!“, I spit through clenched teeth, breathing in short, ragged gasps as he pins my arms down. “No cursing, Agent Brown. Let’s maintain a respectful tone, shall we?”

The way he holds my wrists feels like heavy iron shackles, making even a twitch impossible.

“Let me go you psychopath!“, I scream the order into his face, causing the smile on it to vanish.

“High-functioning psychopath.“, he corrects, smiling again,“There’s a difference, Agent Brown. Working on such a high-profile case without knowing the basic terminology? We need to do better.”

The ringing sound begins to swell, blending with Victor’s laughter, and I squeeze my eyes shut as the noise starts to sting my ears. But, all of a sudden, everything becomes quiet.

My eyes snap open and I gasp for air, bolting upright, the reality of my bedroom slowly sinking in as the nightmare fades. “Shit.“, I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the hem of my T-shirt. I haven’t had this nightmare for almost two years and dared to hope they’d never come back. Apparently a big mistake. I reach for the window beside my bed and crack it open, allowing the night breeze to cool me down before sinking back into the pillow, waiting for my breath to find its rhythm. It turns out Victor’s been in the back of my mind this entire time, stalking my thoughts like a specter, waiting for the right moment to torment me again.

I begin tossing and turning, losing a nightly battle with my own thoughts, unable to shake the image of him. No matter how gut-wrenching Rose’s words where, he still beat the charges and strolled out a free man, and to make matters worse, his medical license remained completely intact. My trust in the court died that day, and it never truly recovered.

My ears catch the faint scratching of paws coming my way, and I see Maggie muzzle the door open and slip in, lazily dragging herself towards the bedside.

“Hey girl.“, I dangle my hand from the bed, and she brushes her warm fur against my skin, pacing around it for a while before settling down on the rug. I keep my hand on her back, letting the softness of her coat wash away my anxiety and slowly drift back to sleep.

“You look like shit.“, Nina's gaze falls on me as I slide out of my jacket. “Rough night.“, I rub my eyes, and her thin brow arches, “In a good or bad way?”

“What do you think?“, I settle at my desk and boot up my laptop. “The coffee machine broke down, just so you know.“, she grabs a bunch of papers and starts flipping through them as I sigh, “Great.”

I can already tell today is going to be a train wreck.

“I’m heading down to the coffee shop.“, Addison stands up and looks at us. “Can I grab you two anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you.“, Nina shakes her head as I raise my hand. “Black coffee for me, please.”

Adds tosses her long brown hair over her shoulder and smiles, “Coming right up.”

“Thanks, you’re an angel.“, I smile softly at her, and she gently squeezes my shoulder a few times before rushing through the glass door.

I open my email and digest each message before starting to type back. Most of them are updates about ongoing investigations and requests for informations and evidence but one catches my eye and a frown settles on my face as soon as I realize who it’s from. “The Washington Post is digging into the money laundering story and wants an interview.”

Nina’s blue eyes connect with mine and she gives me a long, squinted look.

“Will you do it?“, I break the silence. Her brows jump up. “Me? They send you the request.”

I sigh heavily, “Oh come o-”

“No, no, no.“, she cuts me off, shaking her head, “It’s time for you to face your fears.”

“Nina, you know I hate them.”, I rub my templates, trying to soothe the growing headache while looking at the open email.

“Hate who?“, Adds walks in, placing a paper cup on my desk. “Washington Post wants to do an interview with Ethan.”, Nina smiles, wiggling her brows and looking at Addison.

“Yikes.“, Adds makes a face, dropping into her seat, and my gaze travels back to Nina. “Please?”

After a short pause, she replies flatly. “Sure.”

“Really?“, my voice is a touch too bright, and that causes her to smirk. “No. You’re the case agent so you handle the reporters.”

“I’ll buy you dinner.“, I offer, and a loud laugh escapes her. “I can buy myself dinner, thanks.”

“Money?”, I try with a different bribe. “Nope.”, she pops the letter 'p', propping her chin up on her hand.

“Just ignore the request and move on.“, Spencer chimes in from his desk, his face hidden behind the monitor. “Or email them to contact Public Affairs Office. Agents, especially case agents don’t have to communicate with reporters.”

“You know Parker wants us to have a better relationship with the media.“, Nina reminds him, and Spence pivots slightly in his chair to face her. “Good. Then she can do the interview herself. Problem solved.”, he speaks with a rough, abrasive quality and Nina’s forehead wrinkles, “What crawled up your ass and died?”

“Nothing. We’re not paid to handle reporters and journalists.”, he rolls up his sleeves, turning his gaze back to the computer. Nina leans back, her eyes falling on him. “What? The board turned down your request for promotion?“, she blurts out, and Abbs shakes her head, mouthing a “No.”, but Spence’s silence answers her question. Before she can fan the flames, I stand up. “I’ll talk to Parker and handle it.”

Yep, a train wreck.