#𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 : 𝙼𝙰𝙽𝚈𝙵𝚄𝙽𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙻𝚂 : h. bishop

[accustiv]

@manyfunerals liked

the chances of anyone who could help me still being in that house were astronomically small, i’d known that before i had arrived, but that hadn’t stopped me from going anyway. jose, bafflingly, had been the only person home when i’d gotten there, and his utter lack of confusion at seeing me should have told me all i needed to know about the state of what had once been a safe place, a base of security and comfort - and then a house that didn’t feel like anything of the sort.

he didn’t bat an eyelid when i asked if alex was home, just shrugged and said he’d moved out.

if i had been thinking straight, i would have turned tail and run - i’d been careful getting there, taken my time, but while it meant i was sure i hadn’t been followed there, it also meant that my free hours without a manhunt tracking me down were long gone. if i had been thinking straight, i would have asked for jack, or tried to find eman, but all i wanted was any trace of casper, i wanted any clue that he was okay, that he wasn’t really gone.

i had thought i hated him, but the news that he had been stabbed had proven everything to the contrary.

so by the time i heard the sirens, i was paralysed. slumped on the floor of the bedroom that had once felt like it was as much mine as his, staring at the stripped bed and empty wardrobe who’s doors still hung open. there was a single shirt in the corner, crumpled and abandoned, i was almost sure that it had once been mine. i couldn’t move, couldn’t spring up and bolt through the back the way i used to do when kit had arrived unannounced. i couldn’t think about anything except that i needed him to be alive.

when the marshal had heaved me to my feet, and cuffed me with almost enough force to dislocate my damn shoulder, i didn’t say anything. he led me downstairs, and i’d locked eyes with a confused, restrained jose, i had only said one thing. “ i will only speak to agent hal bishop. ”

for some reason, they’d obliged, and i stared at him now, once again cuffed across the table from him - an ironic recreation of our first meeting. i was grateful for the fact that i wasn’t completely empty, no confirmation had reached me yet that he was dead, and there certainly hadn’t been any hint of grief lingering around the usually absent jose. besides, i’d had time to think, since the bedroom, and now i actually had a plan. “ i want to make a deal with you. ” i said, and watched for any flicker of expression on bishop’s face. “ i want to help you catch the ghost, i know he’s dropped off the grid, but i can find him. ” i paused, “ but i can’t be in here while i do it. ”

[accustiv]

i threw myself down into the chair opposite bishop’s desk. i had become far more used to being let into the office, visitor’s pass replaced with a slightly more permanent one. the dark looks shot my way as i headed towards him ignored with an ease that could only have come through gritty determination and a habit of knowing that i could force myself to belong in any room i wandered into, even this one.

hal – agent bishop – looked at me as i sat, and for a moment something concerning flickered in his gaze. i fixed my gaze on it, trying to hook onto that expression and dissect it, but i was afraid of what it might reveal, and felt it slip just out of my grip as i shifted, sitting a little more upright, and tugging the hem of my trousers down to hide the blocky plastic of the tracker on my ankle.

“ what’s up? it sounded urgent. ” i had assumed, when i was summoned once again to the office, that some new piece of evidence had turned up, or that another theft had occurred and my expertise was needed to attach it to some underworld name. something next to worry flared in my chest, a late night meeting and the unshakable sense that i’d heard something in the darkness, i pushed it away, dousing that spark with the cold reality that i couldn't afford to get paranoid now.

because casper had been almost himself last night. he’d cracked a joke, and smiled when i’d laughed, he hadn’t escaped the moment that i’d explained the latest bout of investigation, how the evidence was weak at best, and that there had been whispers of the ghost pulling a job in north hollywood. he’d let me touch him, that had meant the world, and i wasn’t going to sour it with wondering how closely hal had been watching my whereabouts. i leaned forwards, using one finger to gently nudge a pad of paper into more order on his desk, then sat back. “ so, what happened? ”

@manyfunerals

[accustiv]

@manyfunerals said: ❛ the detective’s life isn’t an easy one. but it rarely lacks for excitement. ❜ from hal.

“ alright, poirot, ” i muttered, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth as i peered at what little information he let me see. i glanced up, watching his face and the smirk grew, “ are you going to start talking about your little grey cells next? ” i asked, affecting the same exaggerated french accent david suchet had used in the 90s. it was a stretch of a reference, and i knew it, but it still amused me. i absolutely didn’t count myself in his comment about detectives, or law enforcement, when he talked about the bureau as if i was in on it - it didn’t happen often, usually throwaway comments or a royal we dropped by mistake. no. we were both highly aware that we were only allies of circumstance, he didn’t trust me, and i didn’t blame him, especially when i was actively dancing away from his questions more often than not.

maybe i should have been a little less enthusiastic, especially given that it was barely five am and bishop had told me it was urgent. someone had hit the getty in the middle of the night. it was a bold attempt, from what i could see, well executed, but not flawless. they’d spent too much time working on the security system, and forgotten to take into account the human guards, which was why they’d abandoned not one, but two canvases on their way out. i hissed when i realised they’d been cut from their frames. maybe i’d given them too much credit.

i hummed, thoughtfully; it was a rush job, no care, probably a crew that didn’t usually work together… i wanted to call jack, knowing she’d be able to find more than the fbi could, probably retrieve the scrubbed cctv footage if i gave her enough time and a steady supply of caffeine. but i couldn’t, and all the suspicions i had in the world didn’t make a blind bit of difference if i couldn’t find something concrete - law enforcement was a big fan of evidence, and the word of a convict, i’d realised, didn’t mean much. then i saw something that made my heart pound, and, for just a moment, i understood why a person might choose a career in tracking down people like me.

“ you want to know something that’s really exciting? ” i asked, flipping the file he’d handed over to face him and prodding a finger at the information about the security system, “ there are only, what? five people in the world who can crack this without setting off the silent alarm. ” i paused, then recalculated, taking cas out of the equation, knowing that he was in no position to be putting heists together. “ four…” i grinned, “ go on, ask me who they are, ask me, ” i didn’t wait for him to give in, “ i’ll give you a clue, one’s based in zurich, earning an honest paycheck in corporate cyber security… and one’s me. ”

[accustiv]

@manyfunerals said ❛ i want us to be friends. i want us to trust each other. ❜  from hal  - accepting

it was an admirable goal, noble as it was naive, and although i was almost certain that he was being hyperbolic in some way, i couldn't be 100% sure. i watched him for a moment after he spoke, wondering just how many times he had said the same thing to how many suspects in how many interrogations. at least i knew he'd never done something like this before - given how adamantly he'd refused my offer at first, and then again and again, i knew this was irregular. hell, i would never have asked in the first place if it wasn't urgent.  in fact, i'd barely slept or eaten until i had been released into his custody, he'd last seen me, terrified of what was happening that i couldn't control.

and now we had to be friends. i'd gotten my way, i'd switched sides and was helping him solve cases, doing things people who knew less than me had died for, and i was still lying to him. my gaze slid from his face, staring at the log between us, like clockwork, the same time, the same location, staying until morning. the junkyard. the overheated garage where a man lay stuck in misery.  i swallowed, then looked up.       " it's quiet there. "        i told him, simply, with a shallow shrug.       " look i spent a year in prison, then i ended up in that - "        i swallowed the insult that rose to my tongue,        " apartment. when i'm not there i'm with you, you have to give me time to think if you want my help. " the only reason i escaped is in that building, the only reason i wanted to help you, and if i stop going back, he'll likely die in there. " there's nothing out there, i’m not trying to escape, check it if you want, it's not damaged. "        i gestured at the cuff of my pant leg, daring him to examine the device that had betrayed me, although i was telling the truth. for one thing, i knew that attempting to remove it improperly would either end up with me injuring myself, or sending an alert signal out, secondly, i didn’t want to risk being thrown back in prison with another extended sentence, and finally, i would never risk the signal going dark - therefore being the first place they looked - in casper’s presence. besides, as much as i would never have believed that i would choose this path, the arrangement, most of the time, worked.        “ i’m not trying to fuck you over, bishop, you’re, you know… alright. for a fed. ”

i shrugged, again, and slumped back in my chair.       “ you want us to trust each other? fine, trust me when i say spending a few hours in the middle of nowhere is better for this arrangement than anything else i could ask for. ”       i shot him a grin,       “ although i wouldn’t say no if you offered to buy me cigarettes every so often. ”

[accustiv]

i took a breath, trying to stop the humourless laugh that threatened to escape. behavioural sciences, psychology, it was close, but it wasn’t right. it didn’t take into account casper’s actual personality, how easily alex bled into him, more and more towards the end, how the strain of living three separate lives at once had broken him first, and then me. calling him impatient wasn’t right, it was oversimplified and missed the mark completely. but i supposed that it was a good thing.

“ yeah, he was angry. ” i didn’t elaborate, i couldn’t elaborate with any truth, he never took out his anger on me, and i did everything to stop him from needing to - desperate, always, for him to look at me like he loved me again. “ frustrated, that probably describes it better. but once we knew we could hide it… he calmed down. he’s - look, the ghost is complicated. people can spend years with him and not understand him at all, your guys aren’t gonna figure him out from a couple of paintings. and there’s no guarantee they’re analysing behaviour that’s his and doesn’t belong to someone else in the network if they’re looking at… other… cases. ” i cleared my throat, and looked down at the table, the ghost was violent, everyone knew that. but casper wasn’t evil. stupid and selfish and ruthless, yes, but not evil.

i felt sick. i shifted, awkwardly, in my seat. none of this was right, none of this was worth a promise bishop hadn’t even made yet - but casper wasn’t going to die alone, i’d made that decision, no matter what warnings i got, no matter how long it had been since anyone had seen him, i didn’t forgive him, but he didn’t deserve that, he wasn’t the terrifying grim reaper people seemed to imagine, he was just casper - beautiful and clever and… the kind of person that threw you into prison and burned your name just so he didn’t have to break up with you.

my gaze lifted, slowly, as bishop finally agreed to ask for the release. i expected it to feel better, to feel like i was free, but turning informant felt more like a prison sentence than prison itself. i nodded, mutely, and was vaguely aware i should ask for a lawyer, or set up better terms. but then he asked a question that stole the air right out of my lungs. ‘ are you being targeted? ’ i didn’t know how to answer that, i wasn’t even sure if i knew the answer. kit knew who i was, that much was obvious, but my motives? that was still in question, unless jack had told them what my relationship had actually been with cas. even then, that would assume kit could understand not immediately wanting to murder him - which, given how they had reacted to alex not being real… i didn’t know. i didn’t know enough about them, i’d kept my distance from the start on purpose.

“ honestly? ” i said, very quietly, “ i have no idea. ” i paused. “ i won’t lie and say no one will come after me, rats aren’t exactly well-loved… and… i could have caught some people’s attention when i broke out, so, they might be looking at me, but… ” i shrugged, weakly, “ i haven’t been threatened, if that’s what you mean. and… i don’t think anyone in the network will come after me.” it sounded robotic, but it was as close to the truth as i could get - the only person that could order that was eman, and i just couldn’t picture him doing it, not if jack told him i was trying to find cas… he could hate him all he wanted… but i knew he still cared. kit, on the other hand… “ but i can’t be sure. ”

a silence hangs in the stillness between them. bishop is near breathless.

beau is still withholding things, he knows, pushing bishop further away from the whole picture as if the details will reveal a much bigger truth, but for some reason that doesn't seem to matter. bishop usually prides himself on picking apart con artists and their tricks, knowing when to fold before they can ever play their aces, and despite his record, beau still surprises him. it doesn't quite feel like beau is ready to play an ace. he is merely dismaying at a handful of jokers and twos.

oftentimes, witnesses and accomplices change their reactions upon each visit, jumping from afraid and vulnerable, to hard and unshakeable the next. at that point, the usual tactic is to switch gears and question their story, but all bishop needs is one unyielding emotion. something he can read, something human and real.

beau carnegie is afraid, and that consistent fear, unfortunately, tells him everything.

"and how did he react when you almost ruined the painting?" he asks, cutting through the silence. "you said he was under pressure. we have extensive evidence that suggests the ghost is not only methodical, but … what's the word i'm looking for? i guess rather spiteful, i suppose. we had the behavioral science unit look into a case or two, and they suggested that he might be the impatient type. a perfectionist, likes routine, hates seeing it broken, that sort of thing? was he angry with you?"

there are other things the behavioral science unit proposed, most of which he doesn't understand. he isn't fully certain how they picked apart his psyche from a single forgery, implying things that can apply to just about anyone, such as parental figure issues, to mental health issues, depression. someone even suggested mania. to bishop, their predictions sound more like a fortune teller or a psychic with a crystal ball than hard-based fact, but methodical and impatient, he can visibly attest.

"okay," agent bishop says, straightening up in his seat. "okay. for the sake of this mysterious someone you care about, and the opportunity to find the ghost, i will do what i can. i am not saying i can get you out. i don't even know what my limitations are, or what the repercussions might be if i even bring up the possibility of releasing you into my custody, but i am willing to ask on your behalf. you have already given us more than what we need, and that's certainly something. i thank you for confessing to the forgery as well."

bishop sighs, observing beau closely, and frowns. "and just for my own ease of mind, is there anything i need to worry about right now? are you being targeted, or will you be targeted if you're released? by the ghost or his associates, i mean. this is important."

he doesn't know what he will say to the asac to let beau into his custody, especially given her most recent remarks and pokes to the ribs about the possibility of the ghost not even being a real person, that the case had only moved an inch in the last seven years, and that he was dealing with a well-organized syndicate and nothing more. but she hasn't seen the bodies. she hasn't seen the retribution and forms of justice, and she certainly hasn't met beau. the last thing he needs is blood on his hands for ever letting him out.

[accustiv]

“ i do understand, ”       i said, forcing all tension from my voice so that i could show him that i was trying… i was really trying, and i didn’t think he understood how hard this was for me. my fingers curled into my palms, giving him anything at all went against everything i had ever done… there was a self hatred brewing at my own decisions that i wasn’t able to translate to anything other an an anxious, devastating, cloud that settled around me.        “ but you need to understand that what i’m doing here is… a choice i am trying not to regret; you don’t want a criminal on your watch, i get it, but i’m sacrificing a lot for you here. ”       i let out a slow breath, and then continued.

“ i forged it. ”        i told him, despite my instincts attempting to close my throat and choke the cooperation out of me.       “ the ghost’s mandarin is awful, and the same goes for most he associates with - and i don’t think any of them can actually write traditional chinese. ”        a tiny quirk lifted the corner of my mouth, for less than a second,       “ we figured the only cross referencing an american recruiter would be able to manage would be a quick google search, because who wants to go digging into the chinese government’s records? ”       i watched his face, despising how easy it was to talk about this - that had been the last job i’d pulled before the consulate. it wasn’t exactly a happy memory. “ i don’t just smash and grab, but i think you already figured that out. ”       there was a pause, and then i shrugged, dropping promises of more information was hard, when there was very little that i could give him without wanting to tear my own tongue out.        “ i was working on it when he was trying to finish the caravaggio, there wasn’t a lot of time for either of those projects and he was… under pressure. the stamp had been left on a worktable, it was a mistake, i almost ruined the painting… we figured the nail would hide it. that’s how the ink got there. ”        but then what else could i say? If he wanted more about that job, he’d have to earn it from me. i wasn’t willing to sell any more secrets without a payout.

and that was proving to be problematic.

i didn’t have a guarantee that i wouldn’t run again, nothing but my own word, and he made it very clear that that wasn’t enough as the conversation switched again... all i could do was promise. i swallowed, hard, and averted my gaze. “ you can do whatever will reassure you. put me on an ankle monitor, organise random leo check-ins, whatever makes you feel better, but i won’t run. ”    i averted my gaze, staring at my hands as though there were any way they could save me from myself. but all i saw was casper’s fingers entwined with mine.       “ if i help you, i’m risking my life, you realise that, right? i wouldn’t offer if i wasn’t serious. ”      

including why you escaped in the first place, it seemed to hang in the air i bit down on the inside of my cheek, that could bring the chameleon down on me if they weren’t already questioning why i’d shown up. it could risk jack’s safety more than i already had… one final truth, i decided, was worth the chance to get out. “ when alex - ”        the name wasn’t right, but i didn’t have a choice.        “ - came here it was to give me a message. ”        my voice wavered, i took a deep breath, and continued,       “ there weren’t a lot of details, but someone i cared about made a mistake, and it’s triggered something big. that’s why i broke out, i was trying to find confirmation that things weren’t going to shit but… ”       a few seconds passed, and i felt a fresh pressure clenching around my heart. i shook my head, and forced myself flick my eyes upwards, catching the agent’s gaze with my own.        “ look, i can’t give you more than that, i don’t know more than that. i’ve told you the truth from the start, and i will continue to do so. ”       as soon as i got confirmation that i had a chance. time to track him down, time to make sure he was alive. and perhaps a year or two shaved off the escape sentence - if i was lucky. “ i lost my freedom because of the ghost. you have any idea how that felt after everything i did for him? and... and now other people are at risk. i want the ghost to be found, and i haven’t lied to you, have i? alex was real, the ink was real, and if you don’t take custody of me, don’t let me help you, the ghost disappearing will be real too. ”

"our time wasn't wasted. that's part of the job," bishop says coolly. "if you think we're going off of everything you say, beau, you're sorely mistaken. you have connections with the ghost, you've already proved that, so we went to the house into which you fled. i had to assume someone there knew something. you understand? you're an accomplice to the ghost and an escapee, first and foremost, and a cooperative witness, second. i don't want to be stern with you, because i'm sincerely trying to help you, so you can help me. and most federal agents wouldn't even blink at the idea of keeping you locked up in here for good."

bishop sighs, falling quiet at the mention of protective custody. agents - as well as the upper administration - often cringe at the idea of babysitting, or having to deal with criminals and their attitudes, or the perpetual worrying over whether they'd tamper with evidence to save their criminal friends. the latter is majority of bishop's worries, especially if him and the ghost are still allies.

his silence isn't well received, for beau continues to fill in the spaces. there's that desperation again, bishop discovers, the one he witnessed at their last meeting. it's perplexing.

"okay, so who would need to forge a hukou?" he asks, skeptically. bishop has long accepted that patterns often do not exist when it comes to the ghost, and any question marks left eventually turn up when you least expect them. it's more along the lines of interpol, but who would need to forge a hukou, indeed? each mystery, one by one, leads to a different case, like a corkboard tied with many red strings, whose tethers are somehow cut in the middle of the night. it's a jumbled mess, no matter which way you look at it. beau is just another red string, another broken case.

"if i place you into my custody," bishop finally says, after a long pause, "how do i know you're not going to run again? i can't just trust your word. you're currently in super max, in solitary confinement. you know how foolish that sounds? not to mention, the paperwork involved." bishop carefully piles up the documents and slides them into the folder. he inhales deeply. "look. i'll do a little digging, and see what i can do. and if i can get you out, you need to promise me something: you need to tell me the truth, nothing withheld, including why you escaped in the first place. if you hold back anything from me, i'll find out. trust me."

[accustiv]

solitary was a bitch. punishment for escaping that weighed far heavier on my psyche than i thought it would. i could barely function by the time i was told agent bishop was back to speak to me – having barely been able to stomach anything in days, the quiet eating at my head as i felt every single second pass… too many seconds, i could already be too late... but i had more energy walking into that room than i’d had even before attempting to escape. if he was back, then  i knew he’d found what i wanted him to, which meant, for perhaps the first time ever, that i had leverage over him. real leverage, knowledge no one else had, without ever explicitly admitting the truth about who casper was.

i shrugged at the question, ready to give some vague, cryptic bullshit that would keep him hooked long enough to agree to my terms but, once more, i was on the back foot. i let out a quiet huff of air, not strong enough to be a scoff, when he detailed the distortion on the recordings. the little device jack had used had done its job, like i knew it would have; she was always a genius… but he didn’t stop there, and i had to fight to keep my expression as neutral as possible as he listed the residents who had been questioned… the residents… kit harris was still fucking there? what more could they possibly want other than to just gloat to whoever was watching…they were sick, they were twisted and cruel and i had known from the start that going anywhere near them was a fucking mistake. i blinked, and realised that the murmur underneath the furious white noise in my head had been agent bishop’s voice… he’d still been talking, and i stared down at the document he pushed towards me, trying to piece together whatever the hell he’d been saying. ink… they’d found the ink. i needed to focus, i needed to plead my case and get out before kit could do anymore damage, before cas rotted away wherever he was… before i lost whatever was left of myself in my prison cell and became a mindless drone passing each torturous hour before life came back and i had to step out into a world that i didn’t fit into anymore. 

i cleared my throat, and shrugged again before i spoke. “ you asked for my source, i gave them to you. it’s not my fault the state’s equipment is so run down you couldn’t get anything from it. ”        milena is a bitch and kit is a fucking murderer…         “ i didn’t say you’d find anything at the house, so that wasted time has nothing to do with me. ”       if kit had been the one who had opened the door, everything would be different, i knew that. would they have killed me? mocked me? put on a show when the cops came to arrest me and tripled my sentence? why did they cover for me when the feds came knocking? i knew that i needed to get a hold of myself, so i took a deep breath, and didn’t particularly care what he would deduce from it.  “ i’ve already told you what i want. ”       i said, quietly,       “ i can give you information, things no one else is able or willing to hand over. i can give you the ghost, but i won’t do it from here. ”       i didn’t have enough energy to beg, i wasn’t sure i would be able to remember the words even if i tried, my mind kept skipping between casper’s fate and kit’s unknowable agenda. i sighed, and leaned forwards, my hand resting over the chemical makeup that was my saving grace – blue ink in exchange for escape, it seemed like a fair deal to me.

“ transfer me to your custody. ”       i said,       “ protective custody, work release, informant’s leave, whatever you want to call it. i’ll help you catch the ghost, fuck, i’ll help you with whatever case you need, agent bishop. ”       i glanced down at the document, and pushed it back towards him.       “ it's really hard to get a job in some museums, you know? background checks, passports... some ask for a birth certificate too, if it's an important enough job. ” i felt like an asshole, but i didn't have a choice anymore. “ birth certificates in china weren’t issued until 1996, did you know that? if you were born before then you just have a residence registration card called a hukou - which are often stamped with blue ink. ”        i paused, allowing this information to settle in.        “ that’s a different case, a different forgery. ”       i needed him to listen to me, i needed him to give it to me.        “ get me out of here, let me help you. at this point i’m your only lead, and, frankly, your only hope. ”

the following week proves abnormally busy. not only is he working on the ghost case, but a handful of court dates arise with another assignment, dealing with a private collector who forged twenty-three provenance documents for a petty fee. bishop stretches himself thinner and thinner with each passing day he is asked to attend, with only one of those days he takes the stand himself. thankfully he has a team of other enlisted agents who cross-examines beau's advice on his behalf.

within three days, a folder sits on his desk with the requested inquiries. xrf analysis found a tiny speck of ink at the bottom right corner of the narcissus, consistent with ferrous sulfate, mineral organic acid, and triarylmethane violet dye, or in layman's terms, modern day blue ink. the next document is a xerox copy of the visitor's logs. a bright yellow line highlights beau's name across from another unsettling name: alex s. - 11:23 a.m. bishop's brows furrow.

the audio and video is just as inconsistent and strange as he expects. the deputy warden says that he's never heard such a high pitched white noise come through the lines before, completely drowning their conversation out. bishop only wishes he can be surprised.

"so, are you going to tell me who came to see you?" he asks beau, on the fifth day. "i went back over the audio and footage, and surprise surprise, it's been completely wiped. there was some kind of interference during your conversation. we also had an agent stop by the residence where you were found, and identified all the current tenants. they found a milena fernandez, a jose suarez, and a kit harris. thankfully none of them intend on pressing charges, since they all claimed to know you. none of them seem connected to an alex s., and said they have no idea what i'm talking about. none of whom were consistent with the person who visited you."

he shuffles the next document. "however, we did manage to find the ink on the narcissus. modern day blue, just like you said." bishop pushes him the results so he can see for himself, and then shrugs. "listen, beau, i'm a man of my word, but i'm not a miracle worker. okay? so, in exchange for information about how that ink got there, what do you want in return?"

[accustiv]

if jack’s news had been anything else, if i had any way to know that things were better for him out there… hell, even if cas had abandoned the network to stay with kit, i would have said no. I wouldn’t have even given bishop the information that had just fallen out of me, making me feel uncomfortable and gritty with dirt. except i didn’t have a choice anymore, i knew that. “ i was there for some of it. ” i admitted, as levelly as i could. “ these paintings take time, but yes, i was present. ” i took a breath, it was shakier than i had anticipated, harder to fill my lungs than i wanted it to be. there was too much hanging on this conversation for me to pick and choose the truth, but at the end of the day, he was still a fed. and i was still an inmate.

his concern almost felt genuine - as though he cared for me, and not the information i had just willingly given up, after over a year of imprisonment. i knew that he didn’t want his star witness - because that was what i was presenting myself as now - to get attacked in prison justice. but i knew that wasn’t going to happen… there was no one left to give that order. so i shrugged. “ i already did a wellness check. nothing came of it. ” i said, casually. all I had found was an empty room… the sight of it burned into my mind, there every time I closed my eyes. “ and they’re going to throw me in solitary the moment you sign out, we both know that. ” i shook my head, a tiny smile, bitter and cold, faint on my lips. “ by the way, jose? the guy from the house? he doesn’t know anything, honestly - he was just the poor bastard that was home. i don’t even think he knows my name. ”

i watched him rise to his feet, and a part of me wanted to beg him to sit back down, to forget everything i told him and forget what i had asked. but i held my breath, i knew that the only way i could get out was to give him what he needed, to be valuable enough to be worth the flight risk. “ just one more thing - ” i said, as i took his hand to shake it, this time the smile i offered was closer to my own, “ - i really hate being called mr carnegie. long story, but beau’s fine. ” i let go of him, and slumped back into the chair with a resigned expression. all i could do now was wait, and if i had to do that in solitary confinement, so be it. “ bottom right, blue ink, i’ll tell you how it got there when you come back. ”

after carnegie finishes, the room grows quiet. a clock coldly entertains itself somewhere in the distance. tick, tick, tick. bishop stares at the photo of the painting, hardly breathing, unsure where to begin or what to ask next. he doesn't have the details of the painting with him, or the document containing the findings under xrf, but if carnegie is correct about any of it this may be his biggest breakthrough of this case to date. bishop sits back in his seat. he needs to take this slow. the last thing he needs is to lose his bearings out of excitement.

"mr. carnegie," he finally begins, after clearing his throat, "were you present when the ghost painted this forgery?" call it a hunch. there is something intimate about the way carnegie talks about the ghost, something honest, that whoever calls himself the ghost must have shown or expressed to him at its conception. in all his time working on this case, he never once known the ghost to make mistakes, at least not crucial ones, but carnegie had no trouble in admitting to his screw up on the painting.

bishop needs this to be true. a wishful desperation pulls at his insides, even while he prepares himself for disappointment. he makes a mental note to check the visitor logs before he leaves.

"i do appreciate this information," he continues earnestly, tucking the photo back into the folder, "i'm going to run this back to the office, see what we can find. we already performed the xrf so i'll recheck the results, and we'll look for the blue ink, alright? i promise. and if what you say is true, we'll see what we can do to help you out. i just have a few more questions, if that's alright?"

the agent's voice is calm, a deep contrast to the convict's tone, as if he needs carnegie to know that he senses his urgency. "i am toeing the line here, between what i do and my own personal judgment when i ask you this. please don't take it the wrong way, but should i be concerned about anything?" bishop asks carefully. "in other words, are you, or is there maybe someone you know in trouble? if there is, you can tell me. we can have you transferred temporarily, or perform a wellness check, if that's the case. just say the word."

the violent nature of the ghost and his network isn't a secret. the last few months saw more deaths and missing person cases allegedly committed by the ghost than any other year to date, and counting. having the feds digging into close resources - such is the case with carnegie - bishop can only imagine how much shit he's stirring up. "right," he says, rising to his feet, "well, give me until the end of the week at the latest, either way. if you need anything else, call me. the warden should have my number." with that, he reaches out to shake his hand. "no more escape attempts until then. got it?"

[accustiv]

i didn’t answer him straight away, and was rewarded for my silence with agent bishop explaining, in more detail than was comfortable, just how fucked i was. i knew that information would have to be given, i understood that intently, but that didn’t mean it was easy to rattle of names and dates and locations. jack was gone, eman likely gone to ground too - especially if the number of news cameras that had been horribly ready to catch me being dragged out of the house had filtered even an ounce of information to them. but i didn’t care, in that moment, all i wanted was to get my own way, and find casper before it was too late - and i knew it would be… soon. i had no proof of that, just a gut feeling that ate at me viciously until bishop had finally agreed to see me, but a gut feeling had always been enough. of course you didn’t find alex, i wanted to scream at him, i told you you wouldn’t, i didn’t give you enough to find him even if he hadn’t scrubbed his identity. and now alex was dead - i knew that too, without question; being stabbed by the chameleon would be more than enough reason to die – i just hoped that fate only lay with the alias… i wasn’t ready to hear he was really gone… i wasn’t ready.

my eyes flicked down to the picture as bishop showed it to me, and i felt my breath catch in my chest. i blinked at it, eyes fixing on the black light signature, the swirling penmanship unmistakable. my gaze lifted once more, chest constricted with emotion i was in no place to focus on, and i shrugged. “ what do you want me to tell you? ”       i asked,       “ you guys found it, so you know what the job was. ”       i paused, then sighed,       “ no, i don’t know where the original is, i just know it was shipped through europe - not by the ghost network - by whoever brought the job to them, so it’s gone, that wasn’t my business. ”        i watched his face for a moment, then let my eyes fall back to the image of the painting, pointing just under narcissus’ hand,        “ xrf will show he messed up the thumb a couple of times - that line’s not clean, surprised it took you this long to find it, honestly. ”        i withdrew, and locked my gaze on the agent in front of me once more.

“ the frame is artificially aged, and the back of the canvas will have a drop of anachronous blue ink on the bottom corner, tiny, right where it’s been nailed into the frame. ”       my eyes didn’t leave his face the entire time i spoke.        “ as for my source, there’s no point, they gave me a message and they’ll be gone now, even i won’t be able to find them. but i’m telling you now, that painting is from three years ago, before i got caught, before you even heard my name. the ghost has vanished, you’ll figure that out soon enough. ”

i paused, pressing my lips together as i realised how harsh my tone had been.       “ look, you don’t have to trust me, and forget about alex, i told you at the time that alias was scrubbed, but if you ever want to find the ghost, you need me, he’s gone… there was… look check my fucking visitor logs if you have to, i didn’t break out for fun - i’d be in the caymans by now if i had. ”       i sat back in the chair, and lifted a hand to my face, pinching at the bridge of my nose.       “ look for the ink. it’s there on the bottom right. ”

when  the  announcement  of  beau  carnegie's  apprehension  reaches  his  desk,  agent  bishop  is  skeptical.  not  that  he  doesn't  trust  his  colleagues,  but for reasons wildly unknown to him,  a  dangerous  slew  of  conclusions  follow  this  news:  motivations  about  why  carnegie  escaped  prison,  about  why  he  chose  the  location  he  did,  and  exactly  where  he  stood  among  the  ranks  of  the  ghost  and  their  network.

unfortunately,  it  is  then  muddied  by  ulterior  motives:  news  broadcasters  speculate  -  from  some  unnamed,  obviously  dishonest  source  -  that  it  was  for  a  girl.  others, for  a  boy.  bishop  cringes  as  he  watches  coanchors  fumble  in  front  of  the  house  from  where  he  was  found,  telling  him  that  the  feds  had  somehow  learned that his next steps  were to  sneak  away  to  spain  undetected.  

according  to  the  file  bishop  received  not  long  before,  his  agents  never  found  a  passport.  no  suitcases.  just  him  in  an  empty  room,  and  another  man  on  the  first  floor,  who  is due  for  questioning  with  abigail  the  following  afternoon.  yet  his  curiosity  can't help but pique  when  carnegie  requests  to  speak  with  him,  specifically  by  name.  he  is  reluctant  to  take  it,  but  after  countless  hours  getting  nowhere  with  anyone  else,  bishop  finally  obliges.  

"who's  your  source,  mr.  carnegie?"  bishop  asks  simply,  after  a  silent  beat  of  surprise  at  how  quickly  beau's  words  bubbled  to  the  surface.  there is another measure of silence, and he sighs.

"look,"  folding  his  hands  on  the  table,  "you  and  i  are  not  in  any  position  to  be  making  deals.  you  escaped  maximum  security  prison,  and  the  reality  is  you  got  caught.  you're  currently  under  a  lot  of  scrutiny,  and  the  last  thing  i  need  is  interpol  doubling  down  on  me.  you  understand?  so  unless  you  have  something  for  me  upfront  right  now, you're stuck here.  there's  nothing  i  can  do  for  you."  

bishop  pads  the  papers  inside  his  file  folder  neatly,  frowning.  "we  never  did  find  your  alleged  alex.  there's  nothing  in  our  records,  nothing  that  traces  them  back  to  you.  there's  nothing,  so  we  filed away  that  information  as  another  misdirection,  and  moved  on.  fortunately  for  us,  another  ghost  painting  resurfaced  last  week."

from  the  folder,  he  withdraws  an  image  of  caravaggio's  narcissus,  1599.  a  smaller  image  located  below  the  painting  reveals  the  iconic  signature  under  black  light. it reads:  ghost.  bishop idly observes carnegie for any moment of recognition.

"anything  you  can  tell  me  about  it?"