Author: AtticStairs PM
This is my first ever fanfic. I hope you all like it! Please like my page on Facebook, 'Holly Lis.' I'm currently in the process of writing a novel and I would be very grateful for the support.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Hurt/Comfort - J. Reese - Chapters: 6 - Words: 6,646 - Reviews: 12 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 14 - Updated: 04-30-12 - Published: 04-14-12 - id: 8025208
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Elias walked around the room with an air of confidence. He knew he had complete control over this situation. His shadowy figure glided towards me like a snake. "I'm sorry you're all alone in this world, Harmony, but so was I, and I survived." He turned his back to me and I thought about running, but for some reason I couldn't move. "I don't think you're going to be as fortunate." Elias turned around, blade in hand, and slashed my throat. I grabbed the deep cut across my neck and tried to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. It wouldn't stop, and I looked down at my red stained hands, screaming.
"Harmony, wake up, sweetie." My eyes shot open to the sound of Harold's voice and the warmth of his hand gently shaking me. "You were screaming," he said when he saw I was awake. I sat up on my pullout sofa bed and raised my hand to my neck, feeling the smoothness of skin, no blood or cuts. "Is everything okay?" he asked, sensing my distress.
"Yeah," I said, and let out a small laugh. "Just a nightmare." I shook my head, trying to erase the nightmare from my mind. I noticed the absence of Harold's hand from my shoulder, and I missed it being there. It was warm and comforting. I wondered if this is how it would've been if he was around when I was little.
He gave me a sympathetic look and said, "I brought you some coffee." He handed me a paper cup with hot coffee in it and I wrapped my hands around its steaming warmth. I didn't know what time it was and the room was quite dark, but I figured it was morning if Harold was giving me coffee.
"Thank you," I said, taking a sip.
Harold stood up and sat down in the armchair that John was reading in last night. "I'm sorry about last night," he said. "I understand you want answers about the past. You have a right to know these things."
I kept quiet and took another sip of my coffee, waiting for him to answer my questions. Before he could speak again, John busted through the door.
"I got here as quick as I could," he said, looking at Harold. Without exchanging any words, they both went upstairs. Before he left, Harold said to me, "Wait here. I'll be right back." But I was impatient and curious, so once they were on the second floor, I went upstairs too. They were looking at a picture of a dark haired man and another picture of a blond woman. I heard them mention the name 'Jordan Hester,' but they both stopped and looked up when I walked in.
"Why all the secrecy?" I asked. "I am your daughter, you know."
"We run a dangerous business, Harmony," said Harold. "I just think it would be safer for you if you don't get involved."
I sat down on the spinning chair disobediently and said, "So, what are you guys- like police?"
They both exchanged glances. "Not exactly," said John and it looked like he was about to explain, but Harold interrupted him by saying, "You trail the man and I can trail the woman."
"You're both leaving?" I asked.
"You'll be safe here," said Harold. "Oh and by the way," he handed me a cell phone. "My number's programmed in already and so is John's. And it might be better if you stay in today."
"Cool, thanks," I said halfheartedly.
They both headed out of the room and into the outside world, John giving me an apologetic look before leaving. Once I heard the door shut, I dialed Elliot's number. It ringed seven times. No answer. Okay, I expected that. He wouldn't know this number. I tried again. Still no answer. I called him five more times before giving up. The last time, I left him a voicemail. "Hey El, it's me, Harmony. Please call me back soon."
I looked at the only two numbers in my contacts list: Harold Finch and John Reese in alphabetical order. I added Elliot's name and phone number. I thought about calling Clark Winston, my adoptive father, but decided against it. He wouldn't care if I was calling him from my death bed.
I walked around my dad's office-like room and examined everything. On the walls, there were rows and rows of nine digit numbers. Each number had a string attached to it leading to someone's picture or an address. I came to the conclusion that these numbers were social security numbers, but how my dad obtained them, I had no idea. How did he even obtain my birth certificate? Apparently he was really good at uncovering personal information. Maybe he was a spy.
But all these numbers… surely there weren't that many people that needed to be spied on in New York City. My mind was starting to hurt by trying to figure everything out, so I walked downstairs and saw the book that John was reading still sitting on the end table next to the armchair. I picked it up and flipped through the pages. It was mainly about guns and other military equipment. I set it back down and headed outside despite Harold's orders.
I held my cell phone in the air until I saw all of the bars full. Once I had full service, I tried calling Elliot again. He still didn't answer. I sat on a sidewalk for awhile, letting the sun soak into my skin. I finally stood up and went back inside to sleep, hopefully more peaceful this time, until Harold and John got back.
I was in a light sleep, so naturally the sound of the front door opening was enough to wake me up. John was leading Harold inside and I walked towards them, waiting to hear what they were up to all this time.
"HARMONY! What is cracka lackin?"
I looked surprised at my dad, taken aback by his overly enthusiastic greeting.
"LSD," John explained quickly. "It should be out of his system soon, but here," he said, handing some water bottles to Harold, "you should drink that so you don't get dehydrated."
Harold grabbed the water bottles and looked at them curiously. We led him upstairs and turned to walk away, but Harold stopped us by saying, "Wait, you're leaving?"
"I'll stick around," said John, "but you should really try to get some sleep."
"Don't you wanna talk?"
"You might regret it in the morning. You're a very private person, remember?"
Harold looked at me expectantly. I thought for a moment. Now could be my chance to find out anything and everything I wanted. It was so tempting, but I decided against it. If he was going to give me answers, I wanted it to be on his own terms. "Maybe later," I said, leaving the room with John.
Once downstairs, John sat down on the armchair again, keeping his promise to stay for awhile, while I sat down on the sofa.
"What happened?" I asked. The second day knowing my father and he's high as a kite on LSD.
"It's complicated. We ran into some trouble. Finch was drugged by someone, but its okay now."
"Who drugged him?"
"A woman named Mary who was going under the name Jordan Hester."
"So… you work for my father?"
"What do you two do?"
He half-smiled. "You're very persistent, aren't you?"
I smiled back, shrugging. "I'm determined to find out one way or another."
"Guess," he said.
He thought for a moment. "Not exactly."
"That's what you said when I asked if you were police." I waited for a response but he stayed silent, waiting for me to guess again. "Not exactly police, not exactly spies… I don't know. Secret agents? Superheroes? Assassins?"
He smirked at my last two suggestions then said, "Let's just say we know when something bad is about to happen, and we try to stop it from happening."
"So you're psychics?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No. Your father… he developed a machine that can predict violent crimes. We work together to stop them."
"Right," I said, a little skeptical.
It was getting dark out. John stood up and said, "Finch should be okay now. I better get going."
"Oh, okay," I said, disappointed. I was enjoying his company. I walked with him to the front door, but before he left, I said, "John?" He turned to face me and I hugged him. "Thanks for bringing him back in one piece," I said. He hugged me back and we stayed like that for awhile. I honestly wished I could stay in his arms all night, safe and warm. He seemed reluctant to end our embrace too, or maybe I was just imagining things. He touched my cheek and ran his thumb over my cheekbone.
"You're welcome," he said, quietly. I looked into his ice blue eyes, while he looked into my green eyes. Then he turned and left, leaving me breathless and wanting more. I dreamed of John that night.