Page 27 of Whistleblower

People are monsters.

And I’m starting to understand the need for monster slayers.

There’s a soft knock on the door but before I can answer, the lock turns. Someone has keys. Please, please for the love of God don’t let it be—

“Hey,” Cricket says, poking her head through the door.

Thank God. Just Cricket.

“Sorry for the privacy invasion but I had to make sure you were safe.”

I paw at my face, trying to mop up the evidence of my meltdown. “Oh, I’m fine. Thank you. I think it's just…food poisoning.”

Cricket raises her brows and nods her head. She doesn’t believe a word I’m saying, but she doesn’t call me out. Instead, she sinks onto the floor, her back resting on the opposite wall from where I’m sitting. She tucks in her legs as well, letting her forearm dangle off her knee. We’re in almost identical sitting positions except Cricket looks collected and cool, and I know I must look like a withered mess.

“It freaks me out when bathroom floors are dark like this.” She pats the dark green tile next to her. “It’s gross because you can’t see what’s on them. We could be sitting in jizz, and you’d never know.”

Small talk—lovely.

“Everything you say sounds like a song because of your accent. It’s pretty…even when you say stuff like ‘jizz.’”

She snorts in laughter and I chuckle along with her for a brief moment before the gruesome image slips back into the forefront of my mind.

“Can you please leave?” I ask suddenly.

She yanks a fastener off her wrist and pulls her thick long blonde hair into a ponytail. “Why, love?”

“Because I don’t like when people see me cry and I don’t think I can hold it in right now.”

“Aw, come on now.”

Cricket scoots across the bathroom floor and wraps her arm around my shoulder. Stroking my hair, she all but forces me to lean my head against her shoulder. She may look feminine, but every inch of her body outside of her breasts is hard and toned. Her embrace is a little uncomfortable, like trying to hug a punching bag, but I lean in anyway.

“I’m not people, I’m just Cricket,” she says soothingly. “Go ahead and cry, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

I’m not sure if it’s timing or her gentle encouragement, but the floodgates break right back open. I cry for the victims and their families. I wail because of the horrid brutality. I sob because this is reality, and I’ve had the privilege of being blind to it…until now. Are these the secrets Dad was holding on to? How do you see this kind of thing and not break into a million pieces? Is this what Empress could’ve caused if I didn’t stop them?

Cricket holds me for a long time. Her arms must be tired, but she doesn’t move. She just continues to stroke my hair and coo in my ear. In less than three hours of meeting her, this beautiful, far-too-forward stranger has become my sounding board—keeping me sane.

Finally straightening up, I wiggle out of her grip. Everything is a little damp—from my tears and sweat. I pull myself off the ground and wet a few paper towels in the sink before pressing them against my forehead. I’m still too hot so I resort to splashing the sink water all over my face.

“There you go, love. Feel better?” Cricket asks from the floor.

“I hope no one is waiting on me.” I have no idea how long I’ve been locked in the bathroom, but it’s definitely long enough to indicate I’m not okay.

“No. Linc and Lance are already gone, and Vesper is ripping Callen a new one for putting you in that situation.”

“It wasn’t Callen’s fault—”

“Ah,” Cricket interrupts. “Rule of thumb around here—one way or the other, it’s always Callen’s fault.” She winks playfully, but when I don’t match her humor, she continues more seriously. “You’re a civilian. You shouldn’t have to see all that.”

My throat is scratchy and sore, partly from the sobbing, but mostly from the retching. I collect a small pool of sink water in my hand and drink. The cool liquid immediately calms my throat. Sweet relief. At the moment, I don’t even care that it’s from a bathroom faucet, I’m desperate.

“Thank you,” I mumble. “Is that what you guys deal with daily?”

She shakes her head but doesn’t explicitly answer. “I take it you’ve never worked with the FBI before?” Cricket asks, tilting her head.

“I’m not technically with the FBI.”

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