Obsession

Monday wasn't coming fast enough.

The hours themselves were taking forever to pass.

Sleep, it seemed—or at least the feeling of being well-rested—was a distant memory. Even after taking my sleep aids, I still woke up tired that morning.

All I wanted to do was to sleep for several more hours, but once I was up from going to the bathroom, my mind was already in another world. I had too much on my mind.

Figure out what to ask. How to ask it. I wanted to know how they managed to catch him, and what they planned on doing with him.

Besides, of course, the obvious: experiments. Biopsies. Blood tests and interrogations. A stone settled in my stomach when I imagined what they'd do during those interrogations. Wondering if they'd allow him the same rights and protections a human would receive during questioning.

I doubted it. At least I would be there as his only ally. An advocate on his behalf.

All I could do was sit and glower at my Pop Tarts, waiting for Monday. A few times, I gathered my things and planned on marching down to my building and demanding I given an audience with him.

It didn't close on the weekends, Devon and I just happened to have it off because of the case we finished. People would be there.

Though I didn't know which ones, someone who had the power to let me in would be.

Whether or not they would was a horse of a different color.

The remaining question, then, was what I was going to do with myself until I could: the same things I always did on my days off.

When I could stop brooding long enough to pull my shit together, I went for a jog. Usually, I did that earlier in the morning when it was cooler. Thankfully, though, it was late enough in the year that it was always a bit nippy.

I normally liked running. On any other day, it quieted the voices. The ones that echoed every sound, every thought, every feeling that boiled inside me.

It was one of the times that everything was quiet.

And now even that was gone.

/Call Wolf./

/Get in there and help that poor thing./

/He doesn't need help, he got himself in that situation the first place. He wasn't good enough./

/Who took him down?/

/What does it matter? He's not Wolf. He was here killing people for sport. You owe him nothing./

/WHY do you care?/

/Why DO you care?/

/Why do YOU care?/

/Why do you CARE?/

Out of breath and heart pounding, I stopped at the corner of a street and put my hands on my head. I closed my eyes tight and teeth gritted, I tried to drown it all out.

The music blaring in my headphones was already loud enough to damage my hearing, but it wasn't helping. My thoughts were louder than thunder.

When I'd finally quieted them through sheer force of will, I opened my eyes and stared up at the dreary, gray sky. Rain or snow was on the way.

For the first time in a long while, I had to pull myself together by looking for things I could see, hear, feel, smell, and taste.

It helped somewhat.

I took one last deep breath, then looked around to figure out where I was. Normally, I had a route, but I didn't immediately recognize my surroundings when I'd come out of my own head.

Soon, though, I realized where I was.

Without meaning to, I'd taken my jog all the way to work—I didn't even run that far on a normal day.

The building was right across the street, the windows staring at me like dozens of judging eyes. I stood there on the street corner, watching it and considering taking the steps to cross the street.

To walk inside.

To find Dixon and demand an audience.

I leaned forward and my legs twitched, ready to carry me.

Closing my eyes again, I ran through my options.

There weren't many. Either I satiated my own thirst and looked suspiciously desperate, or I kept up appearances and waited while not knowing ate me alive.

Though it didn't sit right with me, I gave up and started the trek back to my apartment.

For the next several minutes, I juggled between going home and deciding to go into work. I probably looked a fool, walking a block only to turn around and go back the way I came. Quite a few times.

Before anyone could call the cops on the crazy lady pacing between streets, I mentally kicked myself and left. For good. I didn't look back or have any second thoughts. Wouldn't allow it.

Appearances were all I had. If I let them go, I would have nothing. Everything would crumble apart from there and all I'd have left was the hollow person hiding within me.

No friends, barely any contact with family, and a job that did nothing but pay the bills and further an agenda.

All for an alien I barely knew.

Oh, but how badly I WANTED to know him.

/Do you think helping this predator will make you look better to Wolf? He probably doesn't even know him./

It didn't matter. I couldn't explain to myself why I wanted to help him. Maybe it was to do right by Wolf. Maybe it was because it was another chance to learn more about them.

Or maybe it was because I was so desperate to see Wolf that I was projecting onto this one.

/How desperate are you to see him really?/

I smacked my cheeks and clenched my eyes shut, willing the voices to go away again. They asked too many hard questions. Questions I didn't want to or couldn't answer.

I didn't like thinking. I liked doing. I had a tendency to overthink everything, and it was driving me crazy.

So that's what had to happen.

DOING.

This fear of being rejected by Wolf was going to be the death of me. That's what it was. I was hesitating because there was a chance he'd turn me down.

That he was done with me.

If that happened, I would truly have nothing left.

My apartment wasn't that big and it didn't have a lot of stuff in it, but I cleaned it anyway. I just needed something to do.

Then, I took the bus to the store and bought some more groceries. Even the tasks weren't enough to rid me of the thoughts; I bounced between "where's the Lysol" and "what's the point of anything I do".

From "do I need eggs?" to "you're too inadequate anyway, best to just keep doing what you've been doing."

Luckily, though, I was good at ignoring that particular line of thinking. It was when it concerned Wolf and now that new predator that I started to spiral.

I somehow still managed to finish my errands.

Errands and chores took up a few hours of my time, and on top of the extra-long run, that brought me to the end of the day for the most part.

Close enough that it didn't make sense for me to want to go into work. Especially because my legs were ready to give out. I'd done too much exercise on a cold day for them to be okay.

Mission successful.

However, I didn't have any fucking idea how I was going to occupy myself the next day. It was a Sunday, so there wouldn't be a whole lot to do.

It was going to be a long day.

In the end, I couldn't handle it.

I fought tooth and nail for the strength to ignore it. Sunday came and I worked out at the gym, took a walk—but the voices and the thoughts plagued me.

So I lost.

Took the bus out to headquarters.

I marched faster than normal from my stop to the building, ignoring the discomfort it caused me. The front doors slid open for me and I greeted the front desk clerk with a nod before heading up to the office that I had worked in.

When I made it up to the right floor, Dixon was there in his office, his nose buried deep in paperwork like always. I didn't even have to hunt him down like I thought I would.

He looked up when I entered, knocking only once. He put his pen down and gave me a surprised look.

"What is it, Nichole?" Dixon demanded.

My entire trip to the building was spent deciding what I was going to say. That all went right out the window when it came down to actually saying it.

However, he filled in the blanks himself.

"Ah, you probably want those file copies you asked for," he said, pushing his chair back.

For a second, I thought about correcting him, but I chickened out and just nodded. "Yes, I was hoping you had them."

"Not yet, but I'll put in a call real quick to see where they're at." He picked his desk phone up and dialed.

I saw myself out of his office and waited.

His shades weren't drawn, so I watched him chat on the phone with whoever. After a short conversation, he pushed his chair back to stand up and I straightened up as he met me.

"So?" I asked before he could say a word.

"They'll have a copy done for you in a little while," he sniffed.

"Great. I'll just hang out, if you don't mind," I said, trying to ease into what I really wanted: to check on the predator in the basement.

"Well, since you're here, why don't we go check on its progress?" Dixon asked. "If you think you can handle it."

"O-of course," I said. How could I have forgotten? I worked here. I was allowed in the basement.

I really had to stop overthinking everything.

Somehow, I managed to follow Dixon with some dignity. I wanted to bound past him like a giddy child, but I was a respectable adult.

Dixon readied the elevator and asked me a question. "How did you and . . . what did you call your predator?"

"Wolf."

"Yes, how did you and Wolf communicate?"

He sounded genuinely curious, so I answered honestly. "They do have a language, though it's hard to pick up because it's mostly growls and clicks. They seem to rely a lot on body language, too."

"Did you learn anything from it?"

"I was only able to pick up a few words like 'yes' and 'no'. Like I said, I'm not sure if his mask was translating or if he genuinely understood me," I explained.

It was better to explain than keep it secret. If I could tell them something, it was less likely they'd have to torture it out of him.

"Could be either one. They've been coming here a long time to hunt us," Dixon huffed.

I couldn't tell what exactly he felt about that.

"Did you guys ever give him his mask last night? I told you he wouldn't be able to breathe—"

He cut me off with a gesture. "Yes, yes. I spoke with the scientists about it and they agreed. It was a good call, too, apparently it was having some issues."

"Oh. I'm glad I could help," I said. Help him, of course. Not us.

As we left the elevator, Dixon said, "We haven't had the chance to examine the mask too much, nor his tech. Once we figure out what sort of atmosphere he needs to breathe, we'll rig up a system so we can take his mask and learn more about it."

I didn't have anything to say to that, so I just muttered, "Sounds like a plan," in a flat tone.

My own bitterness kept me from continuing the conversation, but it seemed as if he was done asking questions, anyway. Next thing I knew, we'd walked through the predator door to the observation room.

It wasn't inside with him, but it was a start.

The first thing I realized was that we weren't alone—another woman was inside, leaning against a single crutch. She was staring through the window with a blank expression. One I knew fairly well.

Dixon stopped short as if caught off guard. "Morgan? What are you doing here? They didn't tell me you'd be here."

She glanced, her eyes going wide for an instant. "Oh, I didn't hear you come in, sorry," she said, turning away from the viewing window to greet us properly.

"Shouldn't you be at home resting?" Dixon asked, stepping out of the way of the door to let me in.

"I had to see it, make sure you all had it under control," he said, her gaze shifting back to the captive still tied to the examining table. "Make sure you aren't wasting my efforts."

Unease kept me rooted in place near the entrance and I glanced from Dixon to this new woman—Morgan, had he said?

Dixon caught my expression and grunted, motioning toward the woman in question.

"Ms. Shain, this is K.B. Morgan. Morgan, Nichole Shain. She and her partner Devon Hart will be the helping out from here on out," he said.

Besides a single large bruise under her cheek—I assumed she had been punched—and a few butterfly bandages across her right eyebrow on top of the crutch, she didn't seem too injured. I assumed she might have injuries yet unseen.

Morgan was maybe six or seven years my senior. Short blond hair framed her sun-kissed face and it was the same fair color that Michelle's had been, though Michelle fancied longer styles.

I felt a pang go through my chest as I brought up a memory of her; besides the short hair, Morgan looked like how I imagined Michelle would have if she'd lived past her high teen years.

Give or take the thousand-yard stare that said "I've seen some shit."

It was in that regard I saw a little bit of myself in her, too.

I remembered my manners and reached out to shake her hand. "I look forward to working with you," I said.

She smiled and accepted my gesture. "You as well, Nichole."

Dixon remained nearby, his shoulders tense and hands clasped behind his back. "Morgan here has been on the force for six years and is the one who brought us the thing that you see in there today."

My mind was drawn back to my original purpose and I looked toward the window. He was still strapped to the table, but this time he had his mask concealing his face. Everything else, though—his armor and wrist computer—were still missing.

And he was finally bandaged and stitched up.

"You apprehended him?" I didn't look at her as I asked the question.

Morgan shrugged and nodded. "Yeah. He almost killed me before the sedatives could kick in, though. He did kill my teammates, too."

"Yeah I, uh, heard about that." I dropped my gaze.

She seemed unperturbed. "The hardest part was dragging him to extraction. He weighs a fuckton."

Smirking, I rose my eyebrows. "Is that a technical phrase? A fuckton?"

The jibe was meant to hide how impressed I was. I couldn't imagine trying to drag Wolf anywhere on a good day, let alone if I was injured.

I also couldn't imagine winning in a fight against him, but maybe if he was halfway to being sedated I could.

"It should be," she snorted.

Dixon spoke up. "Shain is the one I was telling you about, Morgan. She'll be helping with the interrogation since she's had direct, prolonged contact before."

She furrowed her brow and, after a few seconds of thought, said, "You mean she's the one from the Estes Park incident?"

Dixon nodded.

Realization loosened her features and she made an O shape with her mouth. "Ah, the one who was found with the predator. You probably want to talk to it, don't you?"

I nodded and changed the subject. "What happened to your leg?"

When I gestured with my hand, she tipped her chin back. "This is nothing, just a bad sprain in my knee after the big guy took me down. The worst I got was a broken rib."

One of her wounds unseen.

"Alright," Dixon grunted. "I'm going to get back to work. Morgan, you better head home soon. I can't imagine you're supposed to be here with your injuries."

She made a face. "I'll leave in a few minutes. Wasn't going to stay long anyway."

Dixon nodded and turned to me. "It's your day off, too, so don't loiter here. Stop by my office when you're done for the files you wanted."

"Sure thing."

/Just leave already so I can break in there./

It didn't seem like he was going to insist that Morgan leave, either, but hopefully she'd make her exit soon enough. Then I could figure out a way inside.

The code couldn't be too hard to break. Maybe there was a pattern with the others.

"Good. Then I'll leave you to it. No funny business," he added, pointing an accusatory finger in my direction.

I raised my hands defensively. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He gave me a hard, long look, then bade us farewell and disappeared out the door. I let out the breath I was holding and turned to look through the one-way glass at the predator.

He was breathing easier thanks to the mask, and someone had scrubbed the dried blood off him. Though he was tied down and sedated, I was glad they had taken the time to help him.

After a moment of us standing in silence, Morgan sighed. "I'm gonna go. If the doctor finds out I'm here, he'll throw a fit. It was nice meeting you, though."

"You, too." I smiled and watched her make her way out of the room.

She almost struggled with the door, but she managed and it clicked shut behind her. I stared at it for a second longer to make sure no one came bursting in, then I took a long look inside the room.

One door. If I was reading the layout of the room right, the way inside was outside and around the corner.

I didn't know how much time I had. This would have to be quick—in and out. If I could even get in, and if there wasn't anyone walking around that could spot me lurking.

The camera mounted in the corner was making me nervous, but it had a feed that was playing in the room I was in.

And it was just me in there. The only issue would be if someone went through the recordings, but they wouldn't have a reason to until interrogations began. I cut the audio feed while I was in there, just in case.

From what I could tell of the predator, he was at least calm. Maybe he was awake, maybe not. It was hard to be sure with that mask on him. Not that it would matter if I couldn't even find a way inside with him.

But I had a try. My sanity was counting on it.