Darkly - Episode #7

FBI & Dark Magic

Want to start at the beginning? You can find the 1st episode and all episodes HERE.

First, a quick recap: FBI Analyst Kinley Scott blew up her career. She mouthed-off to her boss on the Omega Task Force. Now, she’s making a lateral move to work with Special Agent Gil Graham. Good news, she passed her first test by keeping things professional—well, mostly professional—with Agent Graham. But that secret off-books facility? It will be her second test.

Now… onto Darkly Episode #7.

What have I done?

Remorse hit hard when Gil Graham’s car drove into the off-books FBI facility and parked at a Quick Care Clinic.

Not the location where I’d hide a facility to extract sensitive intel from high-risk, highly volatile subjects—terrorists, serial killers, and the like. The worst of the worst. The people you handled without care.

The facility wasn’t hidden at all—kind of the opposite.

Situated between two towns, the three-story structure was remote by city standards but completely out in the open. It occupied several acres, backing onto wooded BLM land. White siding shone with the last day’s light. The ground floor had double doors and a big neon sign showing where to enter for emergency services.

For an off-book shadow operation, it had more signage than I expected.

“We’ll get your bag later.” Gil shut the door and headed toward the clinic’s main entrance.

For a second, something fluttered in the air all around the building. If I had to label it…? A bubble appeared to shroud the structure like an invisible perimeter. One blink, however, and it disappeared.

At my hesitation, Gil glanced over his shoulder. “Trust me.”

I’m pretty sure the T-word was for suckers. During my FBI training it was used to lull suspects into a false sense of security. A buzzword meant for civilians, making it hard to understand why Gil used it on me.

“Sure.” The single word made Gil’s shoulders tense, but he continued toward the clinic.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Gil said.

An eye roll would have been appropriate since I’d have directed it at the back of his head. Still, I refrained.

“You’re second-guessing working for me.”

Okay, he was spot on, but I’d never admit it.

A sensor picked up our movement, and the clinic doors whooshed open. A modern lobby awaited with a petite nurse at the counter. She swiped at a cell phone. Looking up, her smile was only for Gil.

“Evening,” he said, letting his long stride lead us to a door labeled Stairs. I slowed. Certainly, the nurse wouldn’t let us walk in, but she said nothing. At my stare, her eyes quickly returned to her phone.

“That’s weird,” I whispered to Gil.

“Not here.” He opened the stairwell door and waited for me to enter first.

The stairwell smelled of ammonia and lemon. It wound upward, and I wondered how it could lead to anything other than doctor’s offices and hospital beds.

Gil took the stairs two at a time.

I followed. “Not your typical FBI facility,” I noted. “Anyone can walk in and make themselves at home.”

“Anyone?” We reached the second-floor landing, but he didn’t stop. “We aren’t there yet.”

Interesting. The second-floor landing didn’t have a door to the second floor. Where one should have been, there was a blank wall.

We reached the third floor. Gil put his hand on the door but didn’t open it. I thought he’d stopped to catch his breath, but he wasn’t winded. “Once we go through this door, it’s strictly business,” he said, “you know, that stuff we left at the car. It can’t follow us in here.”

I didn’t want to remind him that nothing had happened at the car. That was a glitch. A ripple in my otherwise fearless ego and clearly would not happen again. At least, that was my takeaway from our provocative pitstop.

“Got it.” I was ready to move past discussing the thing that should not be addressed, hoping he wasn’t fishing for some hint of regret. Instead, I inspected the door. Standard metal fire door. Nothing unusual. Nothing secure. So basic, I couldn’t study it much longer. I had to look at him and put a smile on my face. “I’m good. You good?”

“Just so you know,” Gil stalled. “The facility is run by two teams of three. One team is always on duty at Ward Six. Four days on-call, around the clock, then we get four days off.”

“Why four days?”

“Someone did a study and figured out the maximum time you can sequester people, so to speak, and still have them function at their top abilities is four days. After that, personnel breaks down at varying rates, but it’s random, thus risky for our specialized facility.”

His explanation sounded rehearsed. I wondered how much faith he put in the study. Guess it wasn’t his decision.

Gil thought about it for a minute. “Staff shares a townhouse.”

Great. Even though I’d passed on a relationship with Gil, we were gonna have one as roommates. “We’re good,” I said, deciding to focus on work. No turning back now, even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. After all, it wasn’t like I had any other options inside of the FBI, and I wasn’t ready to exist outside of it.

“Here we go.” Gil opened the stairwell door.

The third-floor hallway looked sterile, as expected for a hospital. We headed for double doors labeled Ward Six, which had an old-school keycard pad embedded into the wall. Gil tapped his security badge to the panel.

Gotta admit I’d thought all of those had been phased out. They were so hackable it was funny. Perhaps someone had a sense of humor? Kind of rare at the FBI.

Thing was… as Gil motioned me to do the same with my badge, I had to step forward, and suddenly, it wasn’t so funny. It felt like I had crossed some invisible barrier. Once again, the air around me vibrated, and a gossamer perimeter marked its territory. In the blink of an eye, it disappeared again. I hesitated, reaching out to touch my badge to the grid.

“Something wrong?” Gil asked.

“What was that?” I motioned in the air, feeling a little silly that I was indicating an invisible wall.

He frowned. “You saw something?”

I noted the past tense, thinking most people would have said see something. I shook my head, letting it go. Once my badge registered, the metal doors opened to another antiseptic part of the hallway. A few feet farther waited a second metal door.

“Impressed yet?” Gil asked.

“Not so much.”

“That’s the whole point.” Gil walked to a second panel. The security measures were more advanced, sort of. This panel required a finger scan. We both complied. Our names printed out on the digital readout embedded in the wall.

“You’ve already been added to the system.”

Hoping that wasn’t why I should be impressed, I gave Gil a thumbs-up as the metal door opened. It exposed another bit of hallway with a third security checkpoint; however, it led to a different kind of security door. Before us stood a wall of red laser lines. They were spaced two inches apart and ran horizontally from floor to ceiling.

“You ever seen one of these?” Gil asked.

I stepped back from the laser wall, knowing the prototypes had been shut down and labeled too dangerous for practical use. The reason? Several gruesome deaths occurred during their short testing period. Plus, the lasers used up a ridiculous amount of energy. They made no sense in practicality or security. Employing one would keep people out, sure, but would likely injure the people you wanted to let in.

The wall emitted a dull hum. It warned that crossing it would not end well. Instant sizzling death. On the bright side, it could cauterize a wound, so you could get lucky and just lose a hand. Yeah, that was a thing. The lasers could burn anything to a crisp, whether bullet or human body part.

I could see there was a protective glass panel on the other side, so that would stop personnel from accidentally stumbling into the beams, but really? The lasers were like a human shredder—yet another outdated option to secure a building—one that belonged in the Dark Ages, IMO.

On the other side of the red laser wall, all pretense of the hospital vanished. Instead, the blah gray cement walls of the FBI secret interrogation facility waited. “We call it Ward Six, which means there are at least six of these in the world,” Gil explained, “but we don’t talk about that.”

“Understood.” I knew we didn’t question what went on inside these walls. That was part of the job, but the facility’s existence didn’t bother me. It made sense. I supported the concept of needing to get answers at all costs.

Gil submitted his eye to a retinal scanner and motioned me to do the same. Once I followed suit, the red lasers vanished, and the glass panel slid open. Gil entered without hesitation, but I paused. No part of me wanted to move across that laser line until I was 100% sure it was off. I inspected the little holes in the concrete frame—where the lasers originated. No light. No sign of life but a faint scent of sulfur.

I jumped as an electronic voice echoed from a hidden speaker, “Special Agent Gil Graham. Access granted. Analyst Kinley Scott. Access granted.”

Our names were broadcasted throughout the facility. The audible warning was the only useful part of the security measures. All the others were jokes. My look must have said so because Gil laughed and told me to withhold judgment.

“Personnel enters this way, and we bring in suspects through the ground floor garage, which requires two staff members to open.” Gil led me into Ward Six. “So, this is the third floor, our main level. It contains the breakroom, my office, the interrogation room, and the men’s restroom. Your restroom is on the second floor, which also has two holding cells, our weapons lockers, and the sleeping quarters.”

“Do they get a four-star rating?” I asked, not hoping for much.

“Two sets of bunk beds.” Gil made a face.

“Four nights on bunk beds?” Yet another thing I could blame on Wilkes, but it wasn’t enough to make me go back to him and beg for mercy.

“Four days off, remember.”

“The townhouse better be impressive,” I whispered.

The elevator dinged from the end of the hallway. Its door opened.

When three stylish suits exited, Gil leaned over and whispered, “Team B.”

I nodded. “And we’re?”

He stared at the trio and sniffed. “What do you think? Team A, of course.”

A cheap suit with a crisp white shirt followed Team B, and I met our third member: Alec Perez, technical support. He gave me a little wave, more computer geek than Latin lover, but the mix was welcoming. His warm eyes held a permanent smile. Like me, he was in his mid-twenties, probably still working through his probation period with the FBI.

Team B passed by in a blur. They didn’t have time for us. They only wanted to escape and recharge, muttering about a bar in D.C.

“Aren’t they going to the townhouse?” I asked. “I’d expect them to stay close, you know, if we need them and vice versa.”

Gil shook his head, no. “We have a failsafe for that.”

Alec nodded. “No nightlife around here unless you like bowling.” A slight accent caressed his words. “Shall I take over the tour?”

Gil agreed, heading to his office. My eyes automatically watched him walk away. Every move reminded me of what I’d passed up, and maybe that’s why everyone drove to D.C. on the off days—for booty calls.

“Okay, just so you know,” Alec’s voice broke through my thoughts, “this place is like living in a cement tomb, but overlook that, and it’s lovely.”

The tour was fast. Claustrophobic sleeping space, bland cell block, and our office—loosely titled—as it not only had desk space for Alec and myself, but it was the interrogation control room. I’m not sure how I’d like to work with a two-way mirror next to me. Luckily, I was on the right side.

“I’ve been here three months,” Alec said. By his tone, it sounded like a difficult three months. “I wanted a posting in San Francisco. I know living there is expensive, but I don’t need much to be happy.”

“I visited San Francisco once,” I said, feeling the need to bond.

It worked. “Did you go to Alcatraz? I want to go to Alcatraz.”

“I went sailing, and the boat almost crashed into Alcatraz. Does that count?”

Alec laughed, shaking a finger at me. He let me walk ahead to check out the holding cell. There were two barebones units. A transparent material formed the door and the upper half of the cell. The bottom half was yellow molded polycarbonate. It bumped out into an extended bench for resting/sleeping, as well as a sink and toilet. It had that 1960s vision of the future, all modular, minimal, and plastic.

“What’s this made of?” I tapped on the see-through material.

“A mix of Plexiglas and PPSU.” Alec grinned. “It’s vintage but bulletproof.”

Why we needed bulletproof holding cells was a mystery. He triggered the lock, and the cell’s door automatically popped open. A shiver ran down my arms.

“You feel it.” Alec nodded. It wasn’t a question.

The bad energy seeped out of the holding cell.

I expected him to tell me energy lingered in tight spaces. Trapped might be a better word. Alec didn’t even try to explain. He waved for me to take a step inside.

“If the walls could talk,” I joked.

Alec gave me another pointed look.

“What?” I prompted, hoping he wasn’t going to try some initiation thing. I was over being pranked.

Alec nudged his chin upward, inviting me to enter the cell. “Step in for a minute.”

Damn. I had to do it, and just when I thought I’d made a friend and could survive the facility for a few months. I sighed and stepped into the cell.

One step. That was all it took. My foot stalled. I froze. I wasn’t alone. I know how weird that sounded, but something was in the cell. My eyes slid to Alec, hoping for an explanation, but he didn’t seem concerned.

“You feel it?” He asked again as if maybe he’d been wrong and I hadn’t sensed anything.

Oh, I felt it!

A warmth wrapped around my neck and pressed. I bent over, choking. An evil hiss whispered in my ear, and then an unseen force threw me out of the cell.

I crashed to the floor, wide eyes to Alec.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. He stared between me and the empty cell. “It’s never done that before.”

It?

With a hand to my sore neck, cursing, I got to my feet. I’d been a fool to trust Gil Graham—and despite never trusting anyone, I had trusted him about the job. But he hadn’t taken me to some off-books interrogation facility, at least not like I’d imagined. The shit show I’d landed in had to be part of the FBI’s Dark Forces Division. I wasn’t supposed to know about a secret so secret, so either I’d been played, or it was an unbelievable coincidence. Whichever one… I needed to start lying my ass off.