+18 - eps 6-11 - A unique city. A unique police team led by a unique woman. And an uptight fed set on a collision course.
On the second installment of the Blackbird Series, new cases push Brock and Gillian to work closer together, even in order t...
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Hopping down the stairs with the crutches was no easy task, and Gillian was only halfway to the ground floor when she decided she'd set a bunk in the family room to sleep there for the next month, until the damned cast was gone, because she wasn't going to put herself through such an ordeal several times a day.
She expected loud epic music in the Two Steps From Hell fashion, and finding Connor and his friends lost in one of their online campaigns. Instead, she found her son talking with Tim in the kitchen, over latte mugs. A glance at him was enough to know something was off, especially when Tim trailed off at seeing her coming.
"Hey, Tim," she said, going on to the coffeemaker, restored to its original location that very morning. She turned her back on the boys to not burden them with a questioning-cop look. "Everything okay, kiddos? Thought Mike was coming over too."
She noticed the awkward silence behind her, and heard Tim moving on his stool. She turned to take the sugar from the cupboard, still avoiding eye contact.
"So Mike's not coming?" she insisted in the same casual tone.
"Nah." Connor tried to sound casual too.
Gillian finally faced them, right in time to see Tim's look at her son. "What is it, boys?" she asked.
Tim looked down and away.
Connor shrugged, grimacing. "He's attending a funeral. Gary, one of Mike's friends from MIT, died last night," he replied.
Ouch. Gillian studied the boys. They weren't touched by the event, but plain awkward.
"Did you know'im?"
"We met'im a couple of times."
Gillian's brow started to purse, her eyes fixed on Connor. The boy noticed and shrugged again, looking down into his mug.
"He killed himself," Connor said, upset. "The frigging jerk got too high on whatever he was on and jumped from the dorm rooftop, claiming he could fly."
Gillian stared at him, digesting his answer. "Gosh... Was he close to Mike?"
"His damn roommate," grunted Connor, and looked up at her, arching only one eyebrow—enough already.
"Sorry," she muttered with an apologetic grimace.
Connor saw her try to take her mug to the family room with the crutches. So he grabbed it and nodded at her to go. He helped her to set with her mug and her computer at the table and spun around to leave.
"I'm really sorry, baby. Didn't mean to upset you," she said.
Connor turned to her, and the angry impotence in his face made her reach out to press his arm.
"It's just that... I don't know, Mom. Pisses me off, y'know? People can be so stupid, and... I'm also worried about Mike. I know he's been trying some stuff. Nothing serious, but now... can't help but wonder, y'know?"
"It's only natural you're worried about'im, Connor. You and Mike go back to middle school. But don't question him about this right now. You'd only make'im feel scrutinized, and it'd push'im away. Be there for him, and keep your eyes and ears open."
Connor sighed. "Yeah. Guess you're right." He tried a scoff. "You're already like Granddad—always right?"
"Hush, don't summon him. We don't want'im back here, bossing us around with the excuse of my bad leg, do we?"
"Hell no. Last week was more than enough for a century."
Gillian smiled and winked at him. Connor was able to flash a weary smile and headed back to the kitchen.
"If you're not playing any music, I'm picking it," she warned.
Connor answered from the kitchen, and he sounded a little more cheerful. "Please don't make it Sheryl Crow! Got some Keenan around?"
"I'm afraid you've been hanging out with Kurt too much. I was thinking something more classic."
"Blue Oyster?"
"Oh, gosh, you retro freak. Okay, okay, Blue Öyster it is."
At the team's office, Tanya picked up the Skype call with a bright happy grin.
"Work me," she begged.
Gillian smiled. "Okay. See what you can find about a boy who killed himself last night, jumping from his MIT dorm. He was a freshman, Gary something, his roommate was Michael Thomas."
She was still talking when a file transfer request popped up on her computer.
"You're sending me a YouTube video?"
"You should read the papers, Reg, or at least turn on the TV now and then."
"Meaning the news are everywhere."
"Meaning the silly boy was with a couple of friends on the rooftop, and one of them happened to take a video of him jumping off."
Gillian scowled at her words. "You're telling me this boy's suicide was uploaded to the internet?"
"And went instantly viral, yes. For a couple of hours, till it was blocked."
"Shit," she grunted. "Then find out what he was on when he jumped."
"Wait, if you didn't see it on the news, then how...?"
"The boy was roommates with Mike, Connor's friend."
"Crap. I'll call Pillbug later."
"That'd be nice. Everything fine over there?"
"Bored to death. This is a frigging desert without you, lads, and I'm gonna kill Kurt any minute now."
"Well, find me an excuse to drop by."
"You got it, Reg."
Gillian ended the call and fetched her earphones. If she was about to watch the boy's suicide, she didn't want Connor and Tim to hear any of it.
