7:00 AM
137 Q Street
The agent woke her, took her into the bathroom, removed the cuffs and waited while she used the facilities. She told her to strip and shower and when Neysa was dressed again, she put the handcuffs back on. Neysa never looked at the woman, followed her orders, and remained silent. She wondered when the nightmare would be over.
They gave her two pieces of dry toast that she inhaled in case they decided to take it away and was sipping coffee when Morris showed up. He stood in the doorway, watching her. Her back was to him but it was immediately obvious to him that she had showered; her hair was hanging down her back, damp. He let her sip from the coffee cup she held between her handcuffed hands and then approaching her from behind, removed the cup and stepped back. Neysa didn't turn around or acknowledge his presence.
"She say anything yet?" he asked softly as he stepped out of the room.
"Nothing, sir."
"She sleep in her clothes?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who the hell let her take a shower?" he asked, crossing his hands over his chest.
"I... I did, sir," the agent replied.
"And are you the one responsible for her breakfast?"
"Yes, sir, I am," the agent admitted, wondering what bug was up the AD's ass this time.
"I specifically ordered no shower, no food, only water. If you aren't capable of following those simple orders, perhaps, you need to return to Quantico for a refresher course," Morris growled, his glare piercing the hapless agent.
"No one told me, sir," she sputtered.
He pursed his lips, nodding. "See that she doesn't eat or shower again until I say she can," he said quietly.
"Yes, sir," the female agent responded, wondering what that was all about. This was not SOP but no one under Morris's command was going up against the surly man. His temper was legendary and so were the consequences of his temper.
Quietly, he gave instructions to the agents who were going to interrogate the alleged felon. Her hands were cuffed behind her back again and they left her alone while Morris coached them on how to get her to talk. The agents were curious why the AD was taking such a personal interest in this case, but were wise enough to keep their curiosity to themselves.
If asked, Alex Morris didn't have a ready answer. He just had a gut feeling something was very wrong. Do we have the wrong woman? He was certain the facts were irrefutable; she had to be Amanda Labeau. His gut told him something else and he wanted to be on scene if anything went wrong. His gut was rarely wrong. One thing he knew for sure - he didn't want her to see his face. In case they had screwed up and he had to make amends, he didn't want her to see him as one of the people who had interrogated her. That was his excuse - to himself. It didn't make a lot of sense - but it made him feel better.
They grilled her for four hours - never letting up. When one agent stopped, another started. They didn't give her anything to eat or drink. She was a tough cookie to crack and finally, at the end of his patience, the heavy-set agent currently firing questions at her, slapped his hands on the table, making a loud cracking sound to get her attention.
Neysa didn't blink, but she did smile, startling the agent.
Emma, their Rottweiler, had puppies in the middle of the night. Ausma said she could spend a few minutes with them before going to school, but she had to finish breakfast first. Eight-year old Neysa gobbled it down and raced off to the barn to see them. They looked like little bears, all black and mahogany, their little bodies wiggling as they nursed. Emma licked Neysa's face, happy to see her and to show off her babies. Neysa took turns with them, cuddling each of them to her chest, a big smile on her face.
The agent shoved Neysa back against the chair and put his fist under her chin. "Something funny, lady? You're not going to be laughing when you're in prison. You know what happens to pretty little girls like you? Fresh meat! That's what you'll be to all those dykes, nothing but fresh meat."
Listen to me, child, her sister admonished. You cannot always let go. Sometimes you have to be aware of what is going on. DO NOT go away unless they are hurting you. Do you understand? If they're just shouting, go deaf, but do not go away.
It had been a hard skill to learn, but by the time Neysa was 15, she was a master at it. If the nasty boys hurled curses, she was able to listen without responding or acknowledging their voices and just move on. If they threw a stick or held her down to hit her, she went to the "safe place."
Neysa looked at the man shouting at her. It was the first eye contact she had made since being apprehended. He looked back and smiled, satisfied he had reached her. He began the questioning all over again.
Neysa looked at his lips, watching the words form there, but remained silent. She was tiring and she was thirsty. When she tired of looking at his mouth, she closed her eyes, blocking all sound.
"Chrissakes!" the man cursed. "Could she be deaf?"
Morris stood in the doorway, the Labeau case file in his hand. "Not according to her file. Did she say anything when you took her into custody?"
"Just a grunt, that's all, sir."
Morris gestured his instructions. The agents followed suit, continuing to question her, harangue her, and bully her in an attempt to get her to talk. Without warning, one of them banged a heavy pot behind her head.
Neysa didn't blink. These men were amateurs compared to what she had endured as a child.
They made all kinds of loud and startling sounds behind her head and near her ears. Neysa didn't react.
"She's stone deaf, sir," one of them said.
"Perhaps," Alex answered, puzzled by this turn of events.
"We could always handcuff her to the bed, sir," one of the men suggested. "Spread eagle, of course, and see if she likes that," he snickered, thinking the prospect of rape would startle the stubborn bitch into talking.
Morris knew he was making mock threats to get a rise out of the woman, but he wasn't pleased. He gestured the agent out of the room and hissed his displeasure. "Even though this is Q Street, we still observe *some* FBI protocol," he snarled. "Do I have to remind you what that is? Have you forgotten the basics of interrogation? Were you looking for a transfer to Appalachia?"
Neysa's mind had registered the agent's words and she went to her safe place.
They finally caught her. They'd been chasing her since she left the school grounds. At twelve years of age, her body showed the promise of womanhood. The boys who called her sisters sluts and whores were now interested in sampling her charms. In the open field, they ripped her dress, exposing her budding breasts and that excited them even more. One of them held her with her hands behind her back while another pulled his pants down. The third took his knife out, intent on carving his initials on her soft white belly so she'd always remember him. "Slut! Whore!" he whispered. "Spread your legs, whore. You're gonna love this."
The other two agents noticed that her lips formed words but she didn't make a sound. One of them leaned closer to her trying to make sense of what she was saying. Neysa continued to speak without sound and without animation. It was as if she was talking to someone only she could see.
The boy holding her was asthmatic and he sneezed, then coughed violently, losing his hold on her and Neysa struck back the way she had been taught. She kicked the boy holding the knife, hitting him in the groin and grabbed his knife when he doubled over. She stabbed the boy who had held her, slicing into his arm and lunged for the one with his pants around his ankle. Yanking his shirt up, the knife sliced across the top of his groin scaring him so badly he lost control of his bowels. The boy she had kicked was standing again and shouting curses at her. Neysa lunged for him again, the knife aimed at his stomach. He turned just in time and she stabbed him in the ass.
"What?" Morris muttered softly from the doorway, his scowl piercing the agent standing next to the handcuffed woman with her eyes closed.
The agent gestured toward Neysa's mouth and Alex realized she was talking, only he couldn't hear anything. He watched her a while. Either she's gone off the deep end or she really is deaf. He turned around, intent on reading the thick case file once again. How could I have missed something? How could she rob a bank without...? She's NOT deaf! We have her on tape. She was yelling. Smart cookie, pulling this stunt.
The boys' screams alerted the local constable making his hourly rounds. He rushed to the scene, taking it all in. The boys were well known to him, teenage terrorists in and out of his jail numerous times. Neysa's torn bodice worried him. "Did they hurt you, miss?" he asked in the Slavic tongue.
"No," she whispered, shaken by what she had done.
"Go home," he said quietly. "I'll finish this. Take the knife," he added. "Bury it somewhere. They won't bother you again."
The female agent suggested the felon might need to go to the bathroom. "Is that all right, sir?" she asked the AD.
"Yeah, and give her a small cup of water, nothing else," he growled, disturbed by their lack of success and even more so, by the Labeau woman's behavior.
If she *is* Amanda Labeau.