The People v. Eleanor Warwick

She’s crept through scarier places.

A glorified prep school should be a piece of cake. Grey slowly paces through the spotless hallway, her weapon at the ready. Doors line the passage, each leading into well-equipped classrooms.

It all seems perfectly harmless, but there’s something creepy about the place. Something that puts her on edge.

The sound of her footsteps on the marble echoes in the utter silence. Every shadow seems to shift and move as if they have a mind of their own. She knows it’s foolish, but that doesn’t stop her from training her gun on them as though some terrible monster is going to come charging out.

Compounding those issues is the fact she has absolutely no idea where she’s going. Even if she finds Cassandra, there’s a significant chance she won’t be able to stop her. Warwick and Blackwell are dead as far as she knows.

Dismissing that line of thinking as counterproductive, Grey continues down the corridor. Rounding a corner, she approaches a stairwell. Cassandra was standing on a balcony, so it stands to reason that she is above her.

Starting up the stairs, she pauses when she senses she’s not alone. Turning, she raises her Glock. Grey lowers the weapon when she sees who is approaching from the adjoining hallway. “Henderson? What are you- ?”

Grey’s eyes widen as he draws his weapon. Acting quickly, she vaults over the banister as Henderson opens fire. The hard stone floor makes for a painful landing. Her hip flares as it strikes the marble.

Scurrying to a knee, she presses against the flight.

Peeking over the steps, she spots Henderson sliding along the wall, only a small portion of his body exposed. “Henderson!” she calls. “What the hell are you doing?”

Another round of gunfire is his answer. Bullets ricochet off her cover as she quickly ducks behind it. He’s trying to kill her. She tries to understand what is going on. They aren’t on the best of terms, but she has trouble reconciling professional squabbles with an all-out gunfight. Cassandra must be controlling him somehow.

Quickly checking her ammo, Grey realizes she’s very likely out-gunned. Henderson usually packs a 9mm and always carries backup mags.

“Henderson! I don’t want to kill you! Slide your gun over here and put your hands on your head!”

Another shot strikes the stairs inches from her face. Flinching violently, she falls to her backside. As embarrassed as she is angry, Grey’s nostrils flare. If this was how it has to be, she thinks.

Popping from behind the staircase, she fires four quick shots. Henderson presses against the wall as it absorbs all four rounds. Leaning out, he returns a single shot that whizzes by Grey’s head.

Ducking back down, she curses. If this continues she’s going to die.

The agency features operatives gathered from numerous government branches, but most came from one of three places: Law enforcement, intelligence, or military. They are all on the same team, but that doesn’t stop the rivalries. Each group has a cute little nickname bestowed upon them. Those from the CIA are called Spooks, those from the FBI are called Suits, and the soldiers are called Grunts.

She suddenly remembered a joke the Grunts like to tell: What do you call 30 Suits taking on one Marine? A fair fight.

If she takes Henderson head-on, he will win, but she has to do something. Only one bullet remains in her chamber. She has to make it count.

Henderson knows her. He knows the kind of pistol she carries and knows how many bullets she typically loads. She fired three at Cassandra and four at him. That left one round. He likes his chances. This puppet is about to have her strings cut.

He narrows his eyes as her compact handgun slides across the shiny marble. Keeping his weapon trained, he waits. His finger presses against the trigger when Grey steps out from behind the stairs but does not pull it.

She raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, Henderson. You win.”

Slowly stepping around the corner, Henderson eyes her cautiously. Her weapon is still rather close to her, but he’s confident he could gun her down before she reaches it. “I’m not interested in trying to capture you. The bullets should have been a clue.”

“I know,” Grey returns coolly. “You’re shooting to kill. I just thought you could tell me why first.”

“Because you’re a puppet of the politicians,” he growls. “They’re trying to keep me down so they can foster chaos. They’d risk the safety of this country for their own political ends, and you help them.”

Grey only stares a moment. “That is the stupidest conspiracy theory bullshit I’ve ever heard.” Temporarily taken aback by her bluntness, Henderson adjusts his grip on the pistol. “If the government wanted the Shadow Side to run amok, they wouldn’t have started the agency in the first place.”

“They always have to seem like they care!”

“No one knows it exists! Jesus Christ, Henderson! Think! That wizard is in your head!”

“She opened my eyes! I’m in control!”

“Then prove it,” she says in an icy voice.

“What?”

“Prove you’re in control. Major Paul Henderson wouldn’t gun down an unarmed woman.” A hard swallow and a slight shift tell Grey she’s getting through. “But a wizard’s bitch would.”

Eyes and nostrils flaring, Henderson lowers his firearm and tosses it aside. He loosens his tie as he walks forward. As soon as he’s a few steps away from his gun, Grey suddenly lunges for her own. She scoops up the Glock, but before she can aim, Henderson is on her. He grabs her wrist and directs it away from him. In the scuffle, Grey’s finger accidentally squeezes the trigger, firing her final bullet harmlessly down the hall.

She doesn’t have time to lament it. A knee thrust into her side quickly becomes a more pressing concern. A hard backhand followed, opening her lip as it spins her down to her knees.

Grey acknowledges her gamble failed, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to go quietly. Henderson grabs the back of her jacket and roughly yanks her to her feet. A wild elbow connects with his cheekbone, but barely elicits a step backward.

Attempting to maintain some semblance of an advantage, Grey spins and throws a left hook. The attack is easily blocked. Throwing his head forward, Henderson slams into her forehead.

Momentarily blacking out, Grey comes to on her back. Henderson stands over her and tosses her empty pistol away. She knows she has only seconds to get some traction in this fight. If not, Henderson will kill her with his bare hands.

Kicking out as hard as she can, she connects with her opponent’s kneecap. Henderson’s leg buckles slightly as he lets out a loud curse. Grey scrambles to her feet as Henderson staggers. Looking across the room, she spots the 9mm where Henderson dropped it.

He quickly cuts off her attempt to run past him. Henderson lunges toward her, throwing his upper body into her’s. Wrapping his arms around her, he drives the agent into the marble.

Numbness spreads through her left shoulder and arm. She gasps as air is driven out of her. Henderson easily mounts her and grasps her neck with both hands. He stares into her panic-stricken eyes as she desperately fights and claws at his grip.

“You should have just let me shoot you. It would have been a cleaner death.”

Grey holds his eyes, a faint blue tint within them. She continues trying futilely to break his grip with one hand as she fumbles about blindly with the other. Her struggles grow weaker as her vision begins to blur. When her fingers brush against something metal, she almost doesn’t realize it. It’s her empty Glock.

Empty, but far from useless. Grey grips the weapon as tightly as she can manage. Henderson sees the gun coming, but not in enough time to stop it from slamming into his temple.

Stunned, he releases Grey’s neck and rolls to the side. Grey sits up and takes long desperate breaths. Collecting her wits, she scrambles for the pistol. She comes up just short as Henderson seizes her ankle. She makes a frantic grab for the gun but slides away from it as he pulls her back. Rolling onto her back, she cocks her leg and drives her foot into his face.

Her heel strikes the side of his nose. Cartilage cracks and blood gushes. He recoils with a painful outburst. Henderson staggers to his feet, wiping blood from his eye. His rage quickly swallows the pain of his broken nose.

Hearing the furious growl of her adversary spurs Grey to make a hectic crawl for the gun. Henderson charges her like an angry grizzly. Snatching up the weapon, Grey rolls to her back, aims as carefully as she can, and squeezes the trigger.

Two rounds miss, but three burrow into Henderson’s chest. He stumbles backward before collapsing.

Grey lay frozen, weapon shaking in her hand. Her eyes remain fixed on the downed man as she slowly breathes in and out. She ignores the taste of blood in her mouth as she cautiously rises. Clutching her shoulder, she approaches the Henderson, keeping the 9mm trained on him.

Henderson stares at the ceiling, fidgeting slightly. Blood runs down his chest, forming a puddle under him. His eyes flick toward her before glaring back upward. “I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he manages in a ragged voice.

“It would seem not,” she answers, lowering the pistol.

“I’ve thought about this before, you know? My death.” Grey could swear his eye was watering. “Never saw myself going out a traitor.”

Kneeling beside him, Grey sighs. “You aren’t a traitor. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Like hell it wasn’t.” Henderson fumbles with his pocket before pulling out two fully loaded magazines. “Take these. You never carry enough ammo.”

A slight smirk edges her mouth as she accepted the clips. “You know me pretty well.” A weak nod is his only answer. Grey tucks the magazines into her pocket. “I guess I’ve never really told you this, but I’ve always- .” Looking back to him, she finds his face blank and his eyes glazed. With a slight shake of her head, Grey gently closes Henderson’s eyelids.

She ejects the clip and jams in a full one. Locked and loaded, Grey continues her search, leaving Paul Henderson where he lies.