Deceit

Initial Impressions

Sienna Westbrook

April 27th 2012 - 21:35 pm (PST)

After ending the phone call on 'Agent Aaron Hotchner' I shoved my phone back into my purse exchanging it with a $20 bill in my hand. I planted the money onto the counter beside my martini glass, whistling to catch the bartenders attention so no one can move in to steal my money after I leave. The money that will pay off my tab.

I scurried back to my Cadillac but to my surprise it was now submerged by the shoal of cars that had now flooded the car park outside the bar - Friday nights proving to be consistently popular. My head whipped from side to side between car to car trying to remember where I had parked it, my state of insobriety seemingly making the task harder than usual. 

That's when I saw it. The street light that was taking the form of a lighthouse was guiding me to my vehicle. The bronze sheen on my car illuminating in the dark sky acting as my beacon.

Rummaging back through my purse as I resumed my previous dash to my car, I grasped a hold of my keys yanking them out of their home. Clicking the rubber 'unlock' button, I opened the drivers side door throwing myself down into the seat whilst slinging my purse into the unoccupied passenger seat. 

In a swift movement I instantaneously inserted the key into the ignition roaring the car to life. During this action, a strand of my brunette hair fell in front of my eyes - caught in my long eyelashes. One hand stayed placed on the wheel whilst the other reached up to my face and pushed the intruding strands of hair away behind my ear.

Manoeuvring out of the car park with intense concentration, I sped off towards the i405 to head back to the F.B.I HQ in Los Angeles. Reaching the interstate I increased my speed, going over and above the required speed limit. I knew that if I was stopped by an officer I would be detained due to the remnants of alcohol still present in my bloodstream so I had to keep an eye out for marked police cars too.

Subsequently what felt like an hour but in reality was more or less 10 minutes, I arrive at my destination. I return my car back into its reserved parking space which it had occupied no more than 2 hours ago. 

Killing the engine I once again clutch onto my purse that has been mauled about all evening. I hot stepped it back into the building where my terminal was Shaw's office. I nodded my head at the night guard, Simon, who returned my gesture with an added smirk. He could obviously tell that I was no where near sober.

Scampering up the stairs to the 2nd floor that was home to LA's B.A.U, I finally see Shaw's office in sight. I praise my luck that his light is still on in his office, the paper work still needing to be finished. But, hey, that's what happens when you're the section chief. 

I knocked twice on the closed door, not waiting for a response before opening the heavy object. Shaw's eyes shot up to mine, a ballpoint pen still in his right hand that was scrawling across a file.

"Westbrook... I thought you went home? Why are you back so soon?" Shaw dropped the pen onto his desk as he shifted out of his desk chair and made his way over to me. Placing his hand on the small of my back he guided me across to his leather sofa that occupied the length of his wall opposite his desk. 

Upon my descent onto the sofa I began to voice my reason why I had returned after leaving for a well deserved weekend break, "I was sat in the ba... My house, when I was watching the news when an Agent Hotchner came onto the screen giving a profile about some breaking news," My eyes tried to keep their contact with Shaw's but I started to feel self-conscious that he knew I was drunk. "The profile he gave... It was so much like the case we worked last month that went cold. The Tommy Sanders case." Pealing my eyes downwards I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed nervously. I returned my eyes back to his and his glare urged me to continue my story.