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In the van, the banter that Liv has gotten used to having with Nick is strangely absent. Nick keeps his eyes on the road, his mind divided in two. On one hand, the investigation and its immediate structure weigh on him. Holbrook is dead. Xhetani is dead. Naomi is in the wind. Time is running out. And yet if this entire investigation goes up in flames and he, along with Anton, gets buried under the PNCD building for the rest of time, that would mean Liv is free, to his understanding at least. Nick is of two minds because as soon as he reaches his goal, the one person he cares most about besides his brother will hate him for the rest of her life.
“Crazy, huh?” Liv says, snapping Nick out of it.
“Huh? Yeah… That it is.”
“Killed in her own office. Just like that. Surrounded by all that security.”
“Why does it smell like food in the car?” Nick turns to Liv.
“Beats me.” Liv crosses her arms and leans back.
They are headed for the nearest PNCD access point in Harlem, the one above an old laundromat, overlooking a bakery. This one is special for being the one Nick always took to work during his SI days. Nick wishes he could say it brings up bad memories, but they’re all bad.
“If the killer resorted to something so desperate as this, it means we made him nervous.” Liv points out, rather accurately, Nick thinks.
“True. But now all that’s separating more leads from a dead end is their execution. If they were sloppy, then we’re back to square one.” Nick says. “And by then it will be too late,” He thinks. The world swirls around him, funneling every analog signal, bit of static, and sewer steam down on his head. Nick can feel the fork in the proverbial road coming. Their kiss outside the hotel, their dinner afterwards, the night they ate at the Persian place, and every unnamed little moment that has brought them closer together, all choke Nick like a saccharine noose.
He hates to admit it, but Liv is the last thing on his mind most mornings as his head hits the pillow. As with all good things Nick has, he will find a way to ruin it. Better yet, he was given the way to ruin it and is now simply following a preordained structure like a good dog. Perhaps he is a better follower than he thought.
“Hey, you ok?”
Nick nods and forces a smile. Liv angles towards him with one knee on the seat, something Nick hated when they just started working together.
“Listen, Nick, I know this may not be the perfect moment, but I have some ideas where we can take this after we’re done with this whole Tanzer thing.”
“After the Tanzer thing…” Nick repeats.
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot, especially since the hotel. You’ve taught me a lot, and I still have a lot to learn, sure. But you and I make quite the team. When we helped those people that the wax-guy had trapped, that meant something.” As she speaks, all Nick can think of is how warm her skin felt against his. Liv was right, this is far from the perfect moment, and it will keep getting farther from perfect. “Those people would have died without us. I don’t know about you, but the PNCD weren’t exactly itching to help; they arrived once the action was done.”
“And your point is…” Nick takes a left.
“My point is that we can help people by ourselves. It’s not that different from what we’ve already been doing. Only now, you won’t have them breathing down your neck. You’ll be free.” A caustic shiver sprints down Nick’s neck. He will indeed be free. “We can help people. Isn’t that what this is all about at the end of the day?”
Nick, mustering all his strength, pushes out the best lie he can. “I like the sound of that.”
“Yes!” Liv pats his shoulder. “I knew you’d be on board. I even thought of a few names we can use—“
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Liv, but why don’t we stay focused ok?” Nick says in a stern tone.
“Right…” Liv says, studying Nick. “I just want you to know how special this is for me. In med school, I felt like I was wasting my life.” Nick swallows hard, feeling guilt driving all sweat from his body. He adjusts his shirt collar. “Ever since I found out about all this stuff and we started working together, I feel strangely at peace. If that makes sense. Being your partner, I just wanted to share that I look forward to our work continuing.” Liv sees Nick’s strange state. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Nick says, parking the car in front of the laundromat.
“Are you sure? You’re all sweaty—“ Liv reaches out a hand to Nick’s forehead, only for him to pull away and stop her hand.
Nick offers a polite smile. “I said I’m fine. Let’s get this done.”
“Sure,” Liv says, her voice now smaller.
Liv expects him to light a cigarette on the sidewalk before going in, but he doesn’t. He goes in, leaving her to catch up. Nick takes quick strides up the stairs and down the dusty corridor. She follows him into an old apartment, condemned by the PNCD. She enters and closes the door behind her. Nick is already standing over the red dial phone, entering a long sequence of numbers.
“Step further from the door,” Nick says calmly.
As he enters the full combination, the lights flicker. The air stills around them, now dense and synthetic. Breathing becomes a manual effort and never quite returns to normal. Liv looks at Nick’s back as he exits the room and steps into PNCD Central Dispatch. Liv chases him through crowds of agents, all dressed to blend in. She feels like Alice, chasing her white rabbit. She fixes her eyes on the white diamond on Nick’s back. The one-sided game of tag continues all the way through to the entrance of The Premonitions Department. Liv remembers the way, and she remembers their uneventful interview with Holbrook.
Concrete as far as the eye can see. Of what Liv has seen of this seemingly endless, impossible office space, cold concrete seems to be the staple of the PNCD. It is some lifeless entity, Liv thinks, unfeeling and unflinching at human existence, dressing its hostile interior in wood and wool. Like an angler fish, it lulls us with its bright light, evoking some abstract sense of ‘the good old days’ with its imitation of an office space. It’s almost Rockwellian in nature. Good old Americana, keeping you safe from the unspeakable madness, whether you like it or not. The flood of visual information has become bearable since the last time. Things she has since understood about the PNCD have become less jarring, like the teleporting phone rooms and the hundreds of agents pouring in and out of the rooms. She looks up to see the seal of the PNCD, something she realizes she had not seen before this. Looking down at all of them, perched above the split-flap screen, is a seal much like the FBI or CIA or what-have you. White background instead of blue, though. In the center is a simple black rendering of an owl. Two white circles for eyes, watching those below. It has its wings spread, as if we caught it in the instant before the kill. Around the perimeter of the seal are three words: REGERE, DUCERE SCIRE.
While Central Dispatch is a marriage of lacquered wood paneling, green carpeting, and smooth concrete construction, the Premonition Department abandons all pretense of comfort or conformity to style. It is pure concrete. Liv’s last visit here made her skin crawl for a reason she was not sure of. It is all concrete, the construction more angular, with a lot more black metal, tungsten supports for top-heavy constructs. The great concrete doors slide apart soundlessly, leading into the Premonitions department.
After a series of dark corridors, leading to a general reception area, followed by a ride through the Department elevator, they finally arrive at the Department Head’s Office and personal laboratory. Anton waits on the phone, craned over Holbrook’s desk, which is covered in stacks of paperwork as per usual. The only difference is that it will never be done. Anton notices Nick and Liv and gives it to a passing subordinate. The two walk into a rush of suits and clip-on ties, moving boxes, photographing, and ziplock bagging things for evidence.
“About time,” Anton says. His five o’clock shadow now looks closer to midnight, with sleepless eyes and overcombed hair completing the look. These two finally look like brothers
“So what happened?” Nick and Liv walk past, sidestepping the Division agents darting in and out of the door like pillagers. “Any news from Dex?”
Anton shushes, “Will you keep your voice down? The body’s on ice, they’re doing their own autopsy, I got a guy in internal, owes me a favor.” Anton leans in after looking to check for any agents in their orbit. “Says there’s no definitive way to tell, but all signs point to TCS.” Anton looks at Liv. “Temporal-Cognitive Collapse,” He clarifies.
Nick shakes his head. “She’s the Department Head, what the hell would she even be doing in a Seer tank?” Nick whispers back.
“All the coroner said was that her brain was mulch. Guy said they found signs of edema, coupled with the existing cortical lesions she had from years as a Seer, all telltale signs.” Anton says, checking over his shoulder once again.
“So how?”
“You’re the detective, figure it out. I need to prepare to present my findings to the Board.” Anton hands Nick five pieces of paper folded into small squares. “Autopsy notes.” Anton’s blackbox rings, and Nick sees an unknown incoming number on the small screen. “One sec,” Anton answers, but pauses and places his hand on the microphone. He gives Nick a flat look, saying, “Find what you need to know and report to me,” before walking away with the blackbox held to his ear.
Back in Harlem, Nick turns the key and lets Liv step into his apartment. The smell of leftovers and dust wafts out.
“Gave the maid the day off.” Nick jokes, gauging Liv’s reaction.
“Ok,” Liv says, taking her coat off. “Let me see that autopsy report.”
Nick hands it over. “Nothing jumped out at me, no sign of any poison or toxin.”
“You a doctor now?” Liv says, scaring herself with how much she sounded like Nick. He says nothing, and the two sit at opposite ends of the room.
“Hope you don’t mind, I’m gonna grab some shut eye.” He says. Liv turns around to see Nick with his shirt halfway off his body. He roots around in his unmade bedsheets to look for his home clothes. Liv has never seen him like this. His lean figure is covered in scarring of all sorts. He is like some beautiful work of art, each element its own story of bravery or Nick’s complete disregard for his own life. As he changes into a different pair of pants, Liv turns around.
“Cool,” Liv says, studying the paper. Nick lies down, barely conscious. With one eye open, he studies the back of Liv’s neck and how she scratches his head while focused. A silent focus in the way she studies the autopsy notes. Nick notes this is the first time Liv has been to his apartment. He wonders what she thinks of it. He wonders at what point this girl realized he isn’t all she imagined him to be.
Sleep takes him, down below, into a deep, damp place. The place feels like the bottom of a lake, with the silt and kelp embracing and keeping him like a crashed car. Dreams come in tatters, f