Melodys Silence Pt 02

From Part 1

A note.

A chill crawled up my spine. I bent down, fingers shaking as I picked it up. The paper was creased, hurriedly folded, the ink smudged. And the handwriting--

Melody's.

My throat went dry as I unfolded it, heart hammering.

____________________

If anything happens to me--I didn't run. I knew.

M.

Username: MMcCall109

Password: Eris831

_____________________

The words blurred in my vision. My pulse roared in my ears.

Melody didn't vanish. She left a warning.

Now Part 2

---------------------------------------------

I found her.

Or at least, I found something.

My breath hitched, the cold cement pressing against my legs as I sat frozen, the note trembling in my hands. The words blurred--not from the dim light, but from the force of my heartbeat slamming in my skull.

If anything happens to me--I didn't run. I knew.

Six years of exile. Six years of silence. And now, just like that, Melody was speaking to me from the past.

A username. A password. A message she had hidden where no one would find it.

Except I did.

My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out Marisha and Dexter shifting behind me. The world had narrowed down to this note, this moment, this impossible, gut-wrenching truth.

She hadn't just disappeared. She was running.

From what--or who--I still didn't know.

"Alex." Marisha's voice cut through the static in my head, steady but careful, like she was talking someone down from a ledge. "What is that?"

I forced my lips to move, my voice hoarse. "It's from Melody."

Silence.

Dexter stepped closer, his boots scuffing against the concrete. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"The record sleeve." My fingers trembled as I turned the paper over, as if there might be more hidden beneath the ink. "Miles Davis. Kind of Blue. It was her favorite." I swallowed, trying to clear the lump in my throat. "She must have put it there before she--"

Before she disappeared.

Before she was taken.

Before she was silenced.

Dexter's expression darkened. "Or before someone made her disappear."

I looked up at him, my breath catching. I knew he was right.

Marisha crouched beside me, her dark eyes scanning the note. Her fingers were steady, but I caught the sharp intake of breath.

"You said you sent all of Melody's things to her parents after she went missing."

I nodded. "I did."

"Then why was this still here?"

My stomach turned.

Because someone made sure it stayed buried.

Dexter stepped forward, his usual skepticism replaced with something colder. "This isn't just a forgotten scrap of paper, Brooks. This is her telling us she was in danger." He met my gaze, his tone pressing. "And you're telling me you had no idea?"

I clenched my jaw. "I didn't even know that note existed."

Marisha's grip on the note tightened, her expression unreadable. "A username and a password," she murmured, turning the paper over as if more secrets were hidden beneath the ink. "This isn't just a warning--this is a key."

Dexter exhaled sharply. "And a goddamn breadcrumb trail." His eyes flicked to me, narrowing. "If she left this for you, why the hell didn't you find it sooner?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "I don't know, Dexter. Maybe because six years ago, I was too busy being interrogated by the entire city of Boston to search for cryptic notes inside my vinyl collection."

He didn't look impressed.

Marisha, however, was still staring at the paper, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"You've had this unit locked up all this time?" she asked.

I nodded.

"And you never came back?"

"Not once."

Her brows furrowed, and for the first time since we started this mess, I saw something close to doubt flicker in her expression--not doubt about me, but about the case itself.

She turned to Dexter. "We need to find out what that login is for."

"No," I said before I even realized the word had left my mouth. My fingers curled tighter around the note. "I need to find out."

Dexter scoffed. "That's not how this works, Brooks."

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. Evidence. Just like my entire life was evidence when the world decided I was guilty before the police even finished their investigation." I shook my head, the anger flaring hot in my chest. "You want to bring this back to the FBI, go ahead. But if Melody left this for me, she wanted me to find out the truth."

Marisha's gaze locked onto mine. "And if the truth is something you don't want to find?"

I swallowed hard.

Too late for that.

Dexter sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ." Then, to Marisha, "We need to move. Now."

She nodded. "But we're not doing this here."

I tightened my grip on the note, my pulse hammering.

Melody had known.

And if I wanted answers, I had just made myself a bigger target than ever before.

I shot to my feet, the walls of the storage unit suddenly too close, the air too thin. My mind raced, replaying every detail of that night, every conversation, every moment leading up to the day Melody disappeared. Had she tried to tell me something? Had she wanted me to find this back then?

Had someone else known?

Marisha and Dexter exchanged a glance.

"We need to find out what that login is for," Marisha said, standing up. There was urgency in her voice now.

"No," I said before I even realized the word had left my mouth. My fingers curled tighter around the note. "I need to find out."

Dexter scoffed. "That's not how this works, Brooks. That's evidence--"

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. Evidence. Just like my entire life was evidence when the world decided I was guilty before the police even finished their investigation." I shook my head, the anger flaring hot in my chest. "You want to bring this back to the FBI, go ahead. But if Melody left this for me, she wanted me to find out the truth."

I turned, stepping out of the storage unit. The cold Boston air hit my face, but it did nothing to settle the storm inside me.

Marisha followed. "Alex, you don't know what you're walking into."

I stopped in my tracks and turned to her.

"Neither do you."

For a second, we just stared at each other. Her eyes searched mine like she was trying to figure out if I was reckless or just desperate. Maybe I was both.

But I didn't care.

I had wasted six years waiting for someone else to find Melody.

Now, it was my turn.

I shoved the storage unit door closed, my pulse still hammering from the weight of what I had just uncovered. My fingers clenched tighter around Melody's note, the edges crumpling beneath my grip.

Dexter let out a sharp breath. "We need to move. Now."

Marisha didn't hesitate. She took my arm--not roughly, but firm enough to snap me out of my thoughts. "You're not thinking straight, Alex."

I jerked free. "I'm thinking just fine."

"Then you know standing here is a bad idea," Dexter cut in. His eyes flicked toward the entrance of the facility, scanning the darkened corridor beyond. "If someone buried that note, they won't want it uncovered."

A shiver crawled up my spine. He was right. The unit had been locked up for years, untouched. But the note--the note had been waiting. And now, I had it.

A sharp sound echoed outside. A car door slamming.

Marisha's posture shifted, her fingers twitching toward her weapon. "Move."

We slipped out of the storage unit, shutting the metal door behind us. The hallway felt tighter than before, every shadow stretching too long. My breath came fast, but I kept moving.

Down the corridor. Past the rows of steel doors. Out the back entrance.

Into the night.

The air outside was sharp with cold, but it did nothing to cool the fire raging inside me. My fingers were still clenched around the note in my pocket as we stepped out of the storage unit, the night stretching dark and quiet around us.

Dexter led the way toward the car, his usual confidence muted, his focus turned inward. Marisha stuck close, her expression unreadable, her mind no doubt already pulling apart the implications of what we had just found.

The past was no longer a question mark. Melody had left a trail--a warning--and I had walked straight into it.

A sudden hush settled over the alley. Even the distant hum of traffic felt muted.

I felt it before I heard it--the wrongness in the air, the prickle at the back of my neck.

Then--

CRACK.

The night exploded.

I barely had time to register the sound before Dexter grunted and dropped to one knee, a curse tearing from his lips.

"Dexter!" Marisha's voice was sharp, urgent.

Instinct kicked in--but too late.

CRACK--CRACK.

The second shot whizzed past my head, shattering a metal lockbox near the storage unit door. The sharp scent of gunpowder hit my nose, acrid and suffocating.

"Move!" Marisha barked, yanking me backward just as another shot rang out. My shoulder slammed against the cold metal door.

Where the hell were they shooting from?

I risked a glance toward the alley's entrance--nothing but deep shadows between parked cars and dumpsters. They had a clear line of sight but were staying hidden.

Dexter, grimacing, pressed a bloodied hand against his thigh. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. "That's a graze. I'm fine."

He wasn't lying down, though. He was pulling his sidearm.

CRACK.

Another shot slammed into the metal frame near us.

Dexter didn't hesitate.

He fired back.

The flash of his gun lit up the alley in brief, jagged bursts as he returned fire in controlled shots--two rounds, shift position, two more.

Marisha took cover beside him, scanning for movement. "They're moving!"

Shit.

I risked another glance. The muzzle flash from their shots gave them away--someone was firing from behind a parked van, another from the shadows near a dumpster.

Two shooters. Maybe more.

"We can't stay here!" I hissed.

Dexter gritted his teeth. "No shit, genius."

Marisha whirled, sighted, and fired, aiming for the shooter near the van. A metallic ping rang out as her shot grazed the vehicle's fender, sending the attacker ducking back.

A third shot came from the opposite side of the alley--this one low, angled, meant to pin us.

Marisha spun and fired again, forcing them back.

"We need an exit!" she snapped.

I turned, scanning fast--there!

A faint glow--an EXIT sign near the back of the storage facility.

"I see it!" I pointed. "Go!"

Dexter grunted, shifting to fire another two sharp shots at the van before staggering toward me.

Marisha covered him, firing at the dumpster shooter. I grabbed Dexter's arm and pulled him along.

Halfway there--

CRACK--

A bullet slammed into a metal beam inches from my head. I ducked, skidding behind a stack of old storage crates. My chest heaved.

They were closing in.

Dexter turned and fired a blind shot, forcing them to pause.

"They're trying to box us in!" Marisha snapped.

I didn't think. I reacted. Snatching a metal pole from the ground, I hurled it into the darkness. It clanged against a dumpster--just enough noise to throw them off for half a second.

That's all we needed.

Marisha grabbed Dexter and shoved him forward. "GO!"

We bolted.

I reached the emergency exit first and slammed into it with my shoulder. The rusted hinges groaned, but the door gave way--revealing a narrow alley on the other side.

"Clear!" I called out.

Marisha and Dexter stumbled through behind me. I yanked the door shut, bracing against it as my breath came in sharp gasps.

Then--

Silence.

No more gunfire.

Just the pounding of my own heart.

Marisha's grip on her gun didn't relax. "They let us go."

Dexter exhaled sharply. "Or they're circling around."

I swallowed hard. She was right. Whoever they were, they weren't amateurs.

And they sure as hell weren't done with us.

We slipped into the alley, keeping to the shadows. My heart hammered, my fingers still curled tight around Melody's note in my pocket.

Someone had tried to stop us.

Which meant we were close.

And I wasn't backing down.

Not now. Not ever.

The alley was quiet--too quiet. Every nerve in my body was still on edge, my pulse thrumming in my ears as we crouched against the cold brick wall. The air smelled of damp asphalt and garbage, but none of that mattered.

Someone had just tried to kill us.

Or had they?

Marisha kept her gun drawn, her sharp eyes scanning the alleyway, waiting for movement. Dexter leaned against the wall, his breath coming short and sharp, his fingers still pressed against his leg.

But something about the attack didn't sit right.

"They had us in their sights," Marisha muttered, holstering her gun but staying on high alert. "And yet we're still breathing."

I wiped sweat and blood from my brow, the realization sinking in. "They could've dropped me with that first shot."

Dexter let out a rough breath, shifting his weight. "They weren't here to kill us."

Marisha's jaw tightened. "No. They wanted to see what we found."

My stomach twisted. The note.

"They knew we were close," I said, my voice thick with something between anger and fear. "And they want to control what happens next."

Marisha didn't disagree.

"We need to get you patched up," Marisha said, her voice firm but calm.

Dexter scoffed. "It's only a graze, Baxter."

I wasn't convinced. The blood had already soaked through his pant leg.

"We can't take any chances," I said. Without thinking, I reached for my sleeve and ripped a strip of fabric from my shirt. The sound was sharp in the quiet, but I didn't hesitate.

I crouched beside Dexter and tied the makeshift bandage around his leg, keeping it tight. His jaw tensed as I secured it, but he didn't complain.

Marisha raised an eyebrow. "Not bad," she murmured, clearly impressed.

I exhaled, my fingers still shaking from the adrenaline. "Yeah, well, I've spent six years getting good at patching things up."

Dexter gave a dry chuckle. "You pick this up playing trombone?"

I smirked, shaking my head. "Nah. You don't last long in Paris without learning how to handle a few rough nights."

Marisha let out a quiet huff that was almost amusement, but her focus never wavered. "We can't go back to the car. They're watching."

Dexter nodded. "Then we call it in."

He pulled out his phone, grimacing as he shifted his weight. He pressed a number and put the call on speaker.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"This is FBI Special Agent Dexter Marshall," he said, his voice sharp and professional despite the pain. "Officer down. We're at the Boston Storage Depot on Lowell Street. Shots fired. Unknown assailants. I need immediate backup and medical assistance."

The operator's tone changed instantly. "Copy that, Agent. Units are en route. Can you confirm your status?"

"Non-life-threatening injury, but I'm compromised," Dexter said. "I've got one civilian and one agent with me. We're in an alley behind the storage unit. We'll stay put."

"Understood. Stay on the line if possible."

Dexter hung up. "ETA is probably five minutes. We just have to lay low until they get here."

I swallowed hard, shifting my weight against the wall. The idea of sitting here, vulnerable, waiting, made my skin crawl.

Marisha's grip tightened on her gun. "If they come before the cops do, we won't have five minutes."

I clenched my fists. "Then we better hope we're not the only ones playing for time."

The alley stretched around us, dark and uncertain.

The waiting began.

The alley stretched ahead, dark and uncertain, every passing second stretching like a wire pulled too tight. My breath came in slow, measured draws, but my fingers still twitched with the urge to move, to do something other than sit in this freezing, exposed corridor of shadows.

Marisha kept her back against the wall, scanning the narrow passageway. The dim glow of a streetlamp barely reached us, casting jagged, fractured shapes against the brick.

Dexter shifted with a sharp exhale, wincing as he adjusted his injured leg. "If they were coming back, they'd have done it already," he muttered.

"Or they're waiting for the right moment," Marisha countered.

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the weight pressing on my chest. The cold night air did nothing to steady me. My fingers curled tighter in my pockets, pressing against Melody's note. The paper felt thin, fragile--too fragile for something that had just flipped my entire world upside down.

Another minute passed.

And another.

Then--

The sound of approaching sirens filled the air, growing louder with each passing second. Red and blue lights flashed across the alley walls, bouncing off the wet pavement like something out of a bad dream.

I exhaled, forcing my hands to unclench. Help was here.

But the moment I saw the first squad car roll up, I knew it wouldn't be that simple.

Boston PD moved fast, marking off the storage unit with crime scene tape, officers sweeping the area with flashlights, searching for bullet casings, checking the surrounding buildings for any sign of the shooters.

They wouldn't find anything. Whoever had fired on us was long gone.

An officer in a dark winter jacket approached. Mid-forties, short-cropped hair, a no-nonsense expression. Detective Sean Ridley.

Marisha stiffened beside me. Dexter, still leaning against the wall, let out a breath through his nose.

"Baxter. Marshall." Ridley's gaze flicked over them before landing on me. "Brooks."

The way he said my name told me everything I needed to know.

I wasn't just a witness to him.

I was still the guy who walked away from the biggest scandal in the city and came back just in time for more trouble.

Ridley nodded toward the alley. "Ambulance is on its way. You'll get checked out at the scene." He barely glanced at Dexter's leg before continuing, "But I need statements. Now."

Marisha was already stepping forward. "We were fired upon by an unknown shooter. No visual ID. They were positioned somewhere outside the storage facility, likely waiting for us to exit."

Ridley jotted something down. "And what exactly were you three doing at the storage unit in the first place?"

Dexter spoke up before Marisha could. "Official FBI business. You'll get our full report."

Ridley's expression didn't shift. "Uh-huh." Then he turned to me. "And you?"

I met his stare, my shoulders tight. "I was retrieving personal belongings."

He lifted an eyebrow. "That's all?"

I didn't blink. "That's all."

For a long moment, Ridley just studied me, like he was waiting for me to flinch. I didn't.

Then he sighed, closing his notebook. "Baxter, Marshall--you're free to go once paramedics check you out. Brooks?" His tone changed, sharpening. "You need to come with us."

Marisha's head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

Ridley folded his arms. "He was involved in an open investigation six years ago. Now he's back in town, gets shot at, and--coincidentally--we don't know why. That means he's answering some damn questions."

Dexter stepped forward. "We're handling this."

"Not here, you're not." Ridley's jaw tightened. "Boston PD has jurisdiction."

I clenched my fists. This was happening.

Marisha looked like she was ready to fight, but I knew it wouldn't change a damn thing. The moment those bullets started flying, I became Boston PD's problem again.

"Don't," I muttered under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

Her jaw tightened.

A uniformed officer moved toward me, gesturing to the waiting squad car.

I couldn't let them take the note.

The proof Melody left--the only thing I had to hold on to.

Before I could second-guess it, I reached into my pocket and, with a quick flick of my wrist, slipped the folded paper into Marisha's hand.

She stiffened but didn't react, keeping her expression unreadable.