marshyswagswag

[marshyswagswag]

Intrusive Chapter 1:

I’ve decided to start a new series where I turn the screenplay I’m writing into a piece of more traditional writing because I think a lot of people on here would enjoy it!

It’s based around FBI agents, slow burn, kinda angsty and I try to add a touch of comedy just to level out the sadness :)

Here we go...hope you enjoy!! :)

Word count: 2.2K

Characters: Callie Keys, Jacob Stevens and Ian Fender (all my original characters)

Whatever shell remains of Jacob Stevens sits slumped in the passenger seat of Callie's car. He doesn’t bother to look her way as she talks at him; ranting about her day and the new case she’d been assigned to work on.

After leaving the FBI last spring, he could care less for any sort of conversation around the subject, yet he would never tell that to Callie. He lets her drone on about whatever case she’s working on or maybe even one that one of her colleagues was working.

Stevens squints his eyes, making the streetlights dance in the dark. He’d done this since he was a child; he had many tricks like this up his sleeve. They came from years of dissociating from his surroundings and ignoring whatever was being said to him.

“The director assigned me to the case. My success rate was high last year.” Callie drones, fully aware that Stevens won’t acknowledge her.

Stevens picks at his fingernails, smelling the bleach and hand sanitizer residue from his lab coat. His feet ached from standing all day and his eyes could barely stay open. 

It’s sad to say but this was his routine. Escaping from work half-alive, Callie acting as his chauffeur, choking down what he could into his exhausted body then collapsing in his bed for upwards of ten hours. 

Today was one of the long days at the lab. It was a fight to keep his eyes open in the darkroom as he tested for traces of blood and developed film found at a crime scene. 

It would be better if he lived alone, he thought as Callie turned down the final street in their journey home.

Stevens doesn't see it, but soon after the gentle sway of the car, there’s a crash.

Both of their bodies are jolted forward, the crash not severe enough for the airbags to deploy. Callie throws one arm in front of Stevens’ chest as a suburban mom might do, not being of much help. 

“Are you okay?” Stevens shouts anxiously.

“I’m fine, you?”

“What did we crash into?” Stevens asks as if the haziness was from the crash.

“I don’t know.” Callie says, “Grab my bag.”

Stevens unbuckles his seatbelt before reaching into the back seat of the sedan. He struggles to find Callies black duffle bag in the dark car, but eventually is able to grasp it, feeling the hard polyester on his stiff hands.

Once given the bag, Callie calmly rifles through it to locate her gun and flashlight. She barely mutters an apology when her flashlight shines right in Stevens’ face.

Stevens gets out his phone flashlight, which is dim compared to Callie’s, but is still fully functional.

They both get out of the car, silently, years and years of working together preparing them for this moment.

With their backs to either side of the car, the two begin to survey the dark area, uncovering their surroundings. Directly in front of their car is another; no sign of functional head or tail lights, bumper to bumper. 

Callie’s flashlight illuminates a short, red-haired man assessing the damage done to his car. She recognizes him immediately. 

Stevens turns on Callie’s brights and begins to walk down the street; seeing what must be at least five cars piled up, bumper to bumper.

“Ian?” Callie calls, the man meeting her in between their two cars.

“How fucking ironic, right?” He calls back, unable to take his eyes off Stevens who is still assessing the situation.

“Why are your tail lights out?”

“They weren’t when I left. I must not have seen them go out.” Ian says casually, obviously unaffected by this.

“It looks to be a five-car pile up.” Stevens reveals, standing next to Callie and actively ignoring Ian.

“Dr. Jacob Stevens, this is Special Agent Ian Fender.” Callie says, with a smile almost hidden behind the stress. 

“Ironic, right?” Ian asks. 

Stevens nods, giving him a faux smile to hide his disinterest. 

Immediately after the introduction, Stevens heads back into his own world, treating the scene like an investigation. 

He walks through the pile of cars; all bumper to bumper, seemingly attached in some way. Callie’s car is the only one with headlights and the drivers at the front of the crash have already left. 

The car at the  front of the crash is pulled up to the stoplight. The passenger was probably waiting at a red light when the second car came and drove right into it. 

Stevens could see insurance information written on a sticky note on the windshield of the first car. Maybe the driver wasn’t in the car at the time of the crash, but that seemed unlikely. 

The second car had no insurance information to be found. 

It’s plausible that this is all a big coincidence, but the lump in his throat suggests otherwise. 

The second car's tail lights are either off or not functional, but before Stevens can check them, he’s interrupted. 

“Doctor, huh?” A voice calls from behind him. 

Stevens turns around to find Ian approaching him from behind. 

All Stevens can manage to choke out is a hesitant “Yeah.” 

“Left your job at the FBI to work forensics?” Ian asks genuinely. 

“It seems you know me, but I don’t know you.” Stevens remarks, continuing his investigation. Still, Ian follows him. 

“I’m Callie’s partner on the Wanaka case,” Ian adds, “I used to work forensics too.”

Stevens stops at this addition, relaxing a bit. “Forensic scientist to profiler.” Stevens asserts on behalf of Ian. 

“Tech analyst, actually.”

Stevens gets a bitter taste in his mouth, the kind you get with an old memory you’d rather forget. 

Stevens pauses again; almost like he’s going to say something, but he stays quiet. 

He looks at his phone; 10:30, it’s no use staying here. 

“Nice meeting you, Ian.” Stevens mumbles, making his way back to Callie’s car. 

“You as well.” Ian replies in a bad Australian accent. 

“We’re lucky to be close to home.” Callie says, taking her phone away from her ear, “All of the tow trucks are out of service after 10.”

Stevens nods, collecting his belongings from the back seat. Callie does the same. 

Stevens’ eyes are wide open now though his stride is still fatigued. His clothes are beginning to feel irritable and the weight of his messenger bag makes his shoulders droop. 

“Fender!” Callie calls as her and Stevens make their way towards their apartment. 

“What’s up?” He answers. 

Stevens takes the lead with his flashlight; Callie knowing it’d be idiotic to sport her gun on the street in the middle of the night. 

“How far is your place?” She calls again even though Ian isn’t too far. 

Ian calculates, looking around at the street signs, “About six miles. Any luck getting a tow?”

“They’re closed after 10.” Callie says with remorse in her voice; “You can crash with us, our apartments only a block up.”

Ian laughs at ‘crash’ before hesitantly agreeing; “Let me grab my bag.”

Stevens and Callie stand next to Ian’s car, waiting while he rifles through the mess inside. 

Out of courtesy, Stevens shines his flashlight in Ian’s direction, revealing a long blood stain running down the left leg of Ian’s grey slacks. 

Stevens jumps back, his eyes widening. Callie takes notice of this too, walking to Ian and whispering something in his ear. Stevens pretends to be on his phone and not listening to their hushed conversation. 

He can’t make it out, but Ian sighs angrily at whatever Callie whispered to him. He takes a moment before rifling through his car once again. He moves slower and more shakily. 

“I think there’s a clinic a couple blocks up—I don’t think any of us can drive you—“ Stevens stutters once Callie and Ian join him on the sidewalk. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Ian interrupts, “I cut my leg on some brush today; it’s an old stain.”

Stevens nods, reading Ian’s fast paced movements as embarrassment. 

The three walk in the moonlight towards Callie and Stevens’ apartment.

Ian spent the walk explaining how he crashed; he was pulling up to the stoplight when he bumped into a car in front of him that had no tail lights. It was completely dark even though it was only 9:30 and the driver in front of him had already left. 

Stevens and Callie’s apartment is small, sporting only two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen. The interior design had been mostly up to Callie, though Stevens initially called the shots. 

The apartment looked typical for two 25 year olds. There’s a couch, coffee table, and TV but not much furniture beyond that. There’s a bookcase that’s only filled about half way and instead of a dining room or kitchen table there are three barstools set up in the kitchen. 

The fridge fit the same stereotype. Milk, cream cheese, maybe some fruit, but nothing else perishable. On the contrary, the freezer was stocked full with frozen meals. 

“Jacob, can you get Ian some clothes to change into?”

Stevens nods, guiding Ian into his bedroom. 

Stevens’ room told the story of someone who hadn’t lived there long, though that was mostly untrue. He had a mattress with no bed frame, a cardboard box as a nightstand and a lamp, but little else. 

His closet was perfectly arranged and neat, his bed made messily with a calendar next to it. 

Stevens gestures to Ian, suggesting he can pick out whatever he wants from the closet. 

Rather than hover over him, Stevens takes a sweatshirt and sweatpants for himself and changes in the bathroom. 

Callie is standing in the kitchen on her phone, eating peanut butter from a bowl when he comes out. 

“Ian; do you want to go over some case notes?” Callie asks.

Stevens sits down at a barstool, trying to finish his bowl of cereal as fast as possible. 

“Won’t be able to sleep, anyway.” He answers, walking out of Stevens’ room.  Stevens’ zip-up hoodie and flannel pants barely fit him; Stevens standing almost five inches taller than Ian. 

Stevens allows Ian to take his spot at the breakfast bar, putting his dish in the dishwasher. 

“Thanks for letting me borrow your clothes, Jake.” Ian says with a mouth full of peanut butter. 

Stevens pauses at “Jake”.  Nevertheless, he pulls himself together and callis back; “No problem” with the last of his energy. 

“‘Night, Jacob.” Callie calls. He gives her a wave. 

Before he reaches his bedroom he hears Ian ask Callie for something to which she replies “Under the sink.”

Lying restlessly in his bed, he half expects to hear Callie and Ian making out, but instead the night is filled with conversation; both serious and lighthearted. 

From the moment Stevens is conscious the next morning, he can feel his heavy body stiffening. His eyes are almost glued shut and his face is wet with tears. 

He decides to ignore the pain, walking out of his room on autopilot. 

Stevens looks at the couch; Ian’s make-shift bed already cleaned up. His blanket is folded, pillow on top. 

Already full of energy, Ian greets him in the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee. “You look like you need it,” he jokes. 

“Thanks, Ian.” Stevens says, noting the empty cup of coffee in the seat next to him, probably Callie’s, “How long did you guys stay up?”

“We crashed around 1am. It’s a tough case.”

“I’ve heard.” Stevens drones, upset he has to endure a conversation about the work he left. 

“Yeah. I’m supposed to go down there today to check out the security cameras, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be going anywhere.”

“Mm.” Stevens mumbles, barely able to process Ian’s words until his second cup of coffee which he makes sure to thank him for. 

Callie emerges from her room, fully dressed and ready for the day, yelling at Stevens to get dressed. 

Stevens goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

He stares at his face in the mirror: dry and swollen. His eyes droop lower than usual, the bags under them starting to gain definition. 

Stevens bites his lip, frosting his toothbrush and nearly choking on the overpowering toothpaste. 

He leans against the wall as he brushes his teeth; taking notice of the box of tampons next to the toilet and the Advil on the counter. 

After he’s brushed his teeth, Stevens pops an Advil into his mouth, swallowing it along with water in his cupped hand. 

The three of them walk back to the pileup, this time in broad daylight.

Callie and Ian try to tell Stevens some story about some case they worked on a few months ago, but all Stevens can do is watch Ian fiddle with his outfit; borrowed from Stevens. 

The pants nearly fall right off of him, barely held up by his belt. Good thing he didn’t need shoes. Ian’s wearing glasses today; similar to the wire ones Stevens wears on a daily basis. He must wear contacts, Stevens thinks. 

They all stop when they get to the scene; Stevens the last to look up. 

The pileup looks artificial. Lime green spikes impaled into the tail lights of each car. Well, each car except Callie and Stevens’. 

Shielding his eyes from the sun, Ian looks to Callie. He knows they’re nothing thinking the same thing. 

This was a set-up.

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