Chapter Twenty-One
Walter inwardly cringed at the sound of the other man's voice. Outwardly
though, he remained stoic, knowing Mark's sing-song hypnotic way of speaking
could lull a person into allowing him into their head to prey upon their
insecurities, their vulnerabilities. Any sign of fear, any display of emotion
at all, and Collins would exploit that weakness to its fullest extent.
It was why he hadn't wanted to bring Paige. She was his biggest weakness.
She left him vulnerable in ways he'd never imagined. And he knew the man
taking a seat on the opposite side of the table would revel in destroying
both of them.
"And what do I owe for the pleasure of this visit?" the ex-team member asked,
sending a scathing glance Paige's way. "I see you brought your little waitress
with you. Is she here to serve us lunch? It's only ten thirty, a bit early
for lunch. Maybe brunch? I do love a good brunch."
Paige opened her mouth to protest Mark's insult but Walter pressed her fingers.
A reaction was just what the other man was hoping for, and he wasn't about
to obliged his former teammate.
"You know why we're here," Walter said curtly.
"No, I can't say I do." Collins propped his elbows on the table. "I'm guessing
by your perturbed tone, you didn't drive all the way here just to catch up
on old times." He wiggled closer and smiled. "Remember those days, Walter?"
Just you and me, nothing but our minds working in synchronization, entwined
together in a frenzy of pure thought, our scientific intercourse lasting
for days. . .passionately. . ."
Mark's words swirled around inside his brain, and Walter fought against being
sucked into the other man's seductive reminiscences. Slightly repulsed by
the way Collins made their trips down the rabbit hole seem so. . .so sexual,
he forced the disturbing thoughts from his mind.
"So you haven't been sending us pictures?" he asked briskly.
"Pictures? Pictures of what?" Collins appeared to be genuinely confused,
although although he had to be feigning ignorance. He was the only one who
could possibly be behind all this.
Turning to Paige, he saw she'd reached the same conclusion. "Pictures with
time stamps denoting significant dates in my life."
Collins leaned forward, drawing even nearer. "If I tell you what I know about
these pictures, will you put in a good word for me? I have a competency hearing
coming up in a few weeks. I don't like this place. There are some really
crazy people in here." He looked over his shoulder, his upper lip curled
in disgust.
Walter knew he was being played but decided to go willingly into the trap.
If there was the smallest chance his ex-friend could give him the answers
he was looking for, he needed to take it.
"Yes," he agreed. "Just let me know the date of your hearing and I'll be
there." He felt pressure on his hand, seeing out of the corner of his eye
Paige's dismayed expression. "Now, about the pictures," he said, hoping she
would forgive him for ignoring her concern.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Mark replied. "I haven't sent
you anything. I can't."
"What do you mean, you can't?"
Paige's question caused his former teammate to twist his lips into an ugly
sneer. "I'll use small words so even the waitress can understand," he said
condescendingly. "No pens, no pencils, no computer access. Even with my superior
intellect," he cast a disparaging glance at the orderly who had remained
in the room, "I can't overcome those obstacles."
"I don't believe that." Walter narrowed his eyes at Collins. "You can overcome
anything you put your mind to. Sending me time stamped photos would be child's
play for you."
"Believe what you want. I haven't sent you so much as a postcard." A taunting
grin grew on the psychopath's face. "It does make me curious, however. What
bothers you more, Walter. . .the content of the photos or the numbers on
them?"
"Neither. I just want the harassment to stop." Collins was toying with him.
He had to be. Why else would he bring up the photos' subject matter? He was
also one of the only three people who knew the significance behind the number
2184. "This reeks of your MO, Mark," he snapped. "Are you going to sit there
and. . ."
Clamping his mouth shut, Walter knew he had let his emotions get the better
of him. Inhaling deeply, he got to his feet. "We're wasting our time here,"
he announced, helping Paige out of her chair.
Collins stood up slowly as he pointed an accusing finger. "What. Is. That?"
Looking down, Walter noticed the small bulge of Paige's lower abdomen prominently
displayed in her stretchy leggings as she defensively placed her hand on
her belly. He looked up at his former friend, then took an involuntary step
back.
Mark's anger was almost tangible. "She's pregnant. Who's the father?" he
demanded to know. When neither of them answered, he shouted, "Who's the father?"
"None of your business," Walter replied quietly.
"Nooooo!" Doubled over by the force of his own scream, Collins straightened
back up, his eyes bulged maniacally as he glared at them.
"You whore! You ruined him!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he lunged toward
Paige. "He's ruined! You've tainted him. . . Pure intellect. . . Above base
desires of the flesh. . . Slut. . ." His ranting became less and less coherent.
Walter moved in front of Paige, shielding her as Mark tried to climb over
the table. The orderly was trying to summon help while at the same time trying
to restrain him, and managing not to do either one with much success. Collins
broke out of his grip, and for a second he was free, launching himself at
Walter just as three more orderlies burst into the room. Two of them grappled
Mark to the floor where the third man injected a syringe into his neck.
"You folks need to leave," said the first orderly.
Cries of "you ruined him" and "whore" faded as the other men hauled a struggling
Collins through the doorway and down a hallway.
Exhaling with relief, Walter turned to Paige, who appeared to be on the verge
of collapse. Her face was drained of color and she swayed unsteadily. "I'm
going to be sick," she announced before clamping her hand over her mouth.
Rushing out of the room, she ducked into the nearest bathroom. Walter went
in after her, hearing her retching as he approached the stall. Grabbing some
paper towels from the dispenser, he dampened them under the faucet.
"Here," he said as he handed them to her once she was done. "I'm sorry,"
he apologized. "There was a reason I didn't want you to come."
"Oh, God, Walter," she gasped as she dabbed her mouth. "You knew. . . You
knew he would be upset about the baby?"
Shaking his head, he replied, "No, not that specifically. He despises women.
It goes way beyond typical misogyny. Someone fu. . .uh, screwed with his
head long before I ever met him. From things he let slip, I think it was
his mother." He shrugged. "It's why he and Happy were always at each other's
throats."
"And here I thought he just hated humanity in general," Paige said with a
weary chuckle. "Help me up."
Walter did as she asked then wrapped his arms around her. "Are you all right?"
She nodded. "I thought I was done with morning sickness. I guess not." Stepping
back, she added, "We're back to square one again, aren't we?"
"Yes." And he didn't like it. Someone was targeting either him or Paige or
perhaps both of them. He wasn't so worried about himself, but if something
happened to her. . .or the baby. . . He didn't think he could live with himself.
"And where have you two been?" Toby asked as soon as Walter and Paige walked
through the garage door.
"What are you, a time clock?" Happy flipped up her welding helmet and glared
at him.
"We had a doctor's appointment," Walter lied.
Making a sound like a game show buzzer, the shrink shook his head. "Nope.
Your baby doctor appointment is next week and you're not scheduled to see
Dr Rizzuto until Wednesday. Try again."
"Why do you have our schedule memorized?" Paige set her purse on her desk
before taking off her coat.
"I just do, okay?" Toby held up a manila envelope. "Does it have anything
to do with this?"
"Shit." "Oh, God." Walter, noting Paige looked ill again, hurried over to
the psychiatrist's desk. "Give me that," he demanded, trying to snatch it
out of the other man's hand. "You have no business going through my mail."
"Nope, not yours." Toby raised the envelope over his head, pointing at the
familiar handwriting. "See, it says ‘Team Scorpion,' of which I am a member.
And oh, yeah, Sylvester is permanently traumatized now," he added, glancing
over at the human calculator, who was counting all the items on his desk
while muttering to himself. "So, what gives?"
"I think it's pretty self-explanatory," Walter said through gritted teeth.
Paige, her cheeks flushed pink, came up to stand beside him. "We went to
question Mark Collins."
"Coo-Coo-Collins?" The shrink pursed his lips in confusion. "What does he
have to do with this?"
"Nothing." Walter filled the rest of the team in about the time stamps adding
up to events only the former team member would care about. "But we know now
he's not the one who sent them."
"Why are you so certain it's not him?" asked Happy, joining the group clustered
around Toby's desk. "He does have some kind of kinky numbers fetish where
you're concerned."
"It's not him," Walter said decidedly. "We need to figure out who is sending
the photos and what they want." He held out his hand and Toby handed him
the envelope. The contents were unsurprising and he had to hold back a smile
as he decoded the numbers. "The number of days since that day at the diner,"
he announced. The day which had changed his life forever. Meeting Paige and
Ralph, reuniting with Cabe, Scorpion finally fulfilling its promise. . .
It was one of the most important days of his life. But then so was Megan's
death, committing Collins. . .
"The time stamps." It all made sense now. Walter rushed over to the file
cabinet where they kept copies of their completed missions. Yanking open
the top drawer, he rifled through its contents until he found the file he
needed.
"Could you fill us in, 197?" Toby asked as he, Happy, and Paige gathered
around Walter's desk as he opened the folder and flipped through it..
"Dammit." Pointing at a paragraph, he then slapped his hand on it.
"What is it?" Paige touched his shoulder.
"In the official report about the Montero nuclear plant, Collins's penchant
for using important dates between us for his codes and passwords is noted."
"Oh, God, Walter, I'm sorry." Finally snapping out of his self-induced trance,
Sylvester rose to his feet. "I put that in my report. I thought it might
be relevant. I didn't know. . ."
Walter tried to give his brother a reassuring smile. "It's okay, Sly. I put
it in my report too."
The younger man looked relieved by Walter's falsehood. He glanced at Paige,
who nodded her approval.
"So what does it mean?" asked Happy.
Toby supplied the answer to her question. "It means someone at Homeland who
has access to our case files is more than likely the person who is targeting
Walter and the rest of Scorpion."
"You can't possibly believe Cabe has anything to do with this," Paige said,
putting her hands on her hips.
"Of course not," said Walter as he picked up a pen and started fidgeting
with it.
"What about Molina?" Happy asked. "You're still on probation, Walt. Maybe
she's hoping you'll snap again so she can get rid of us?"
"Maybe." Toby looked pensive as he shrugged. "It's a possibility."
"Hey, guys." Everyone turned to look at Sylvester. "Remember what Tim said
his first day here?"
"He said a lot of things, Sly," Walter replied impatiently. "Most of it inane."
"No, he said he specifically asked to be assigned to Scorpion."
The human calculator's words sank into Walter's brain and he could see by
the expressions on the others' faces, they were coming to the same conclusion
he had reached.
A loud creak filled the garage, announcing the arrival of Cabe, followed
by a dopey grin wearing Tim.