Unwritten: The Brooklyn Pieper story (continued)

Disclaimer: all characters in this short story are fictional/creations of my own imagination. Sights and locations are based on real cities/towns/National Parks located in the Western United States.

Brooklyn devoured the remainder of Susannah’s book. A part of her felt like she was infringing on her classmate’s privacy, but the story itself was marvelous. Susannah did, in fact, go on to become a well-known and successful artist in New York, appearing in several prominent galleries across the state. She even had her own Wikipedia page and website, something Brooklyn vowed to further research when she returned to civilization. Fortunately, the end of the book included a print of Susannah’s famous piece “The Green Eyed Girl.”

Brooklyn pulled the print up to her nose and stared at it. According to the story, Susannah refused to sell the drawing despite its immense popularity, instead opting to hang it in a prominent place in her home. She claimed it was sentimental, the first real piece of art she ever drew, and therefore, she could never give it up. It would only go to one person, she said, the person who inspired the work. The green eyed woman herself.

“Me,” Brooklyn whispered under her breath. “All that time, she was drawing me.” People tried to guess the green eyed girl’s identity, but no one ever came close. Not even Toby, who, according to the novel, was Susannah’s closest friend despite their breakup. Susannah came out as gay to Toby and her brother Tony at the same time, opting to stay closeted during her mom’s run for congress. Once she won, Susannah came out to both parents and even introduced them to her partner. Her dad said he always knew and loved her, and her mom hugged her, saying all she ever wanted was for her daughter to be happy, even if she had a funny way of showing it.

Brooklyn wiped a tear from her cheek as she closed the novel. It was the perfect full circle story, at least from where Brooklyn started. Susannah was finally accepted by her mother, her friends and society. She wasn’t hiding in the back corner of the room anymore. Susannah was finally the star of her own show, and Brooklyn was extremely happy for her.

Questions lingered in the back of Brooklyn’s mind, not necessarily about Susannah, but the book itself. Her classmate clearly wasn’t dead. According to the epilogue, Susannah was very much alive, living and working in New York. She wasn’t dead, and yet, her book ended. Just like that. With Susannah alive, happy and well, with over half her life still to live.

So how did the books work? Brooklyn looked up at the shelves that surrounded her. Many people wrote tell-all biographies while they were still alive. She knew that. She recently finished reading Michelle Obama’s biography, which obviously ended before her death. But those people were famous one way or another. They either wrote their autobiographies themselves or worked with a ghostwriter, someone who had an intimate knowledge of their life.

Susannah might have that now, but Brooklyn certainly didn’t. She lived through her fifteen minutes of fame after the McGinty case was closed and moved on. The amount of book and movie deals she received in the preceding months was slightly ridiculous. Everyone wanted the chance to tell the story of the brave FBI agent who toppled a monster and lost the love of her life. It was the best kind of tragedy, one that would make millions of dollars, should she so desire.

But it was only June. Declan died at the end of February. Brooklyn literally made it through a month of physical and mental therapy and another two months of work before Boss decided she needed a vacation. That wasn’t enough time for someone to write Brooklyn Pieper’s entire life story in a novel, not even a high ranking member of the FBI. This author knew extremely personal details, things she never shared with anyone. Not Sky. Not Jackson. Not even Declan.

She did the math in her head. It would take four people to piece together her life story, especially after her dad’s death. They’d need Sky and Parker for high school stories, Jackson for the FBI and Declan for everything after. They each knew some of Brooklyn’s best college stories and some facts about her childhood, but not enough to fill a book. Only her dad and Sokka knew that, and they were both gone.

Brooklyn felt a single tear roll down her cheek. She missed her dad, now more than ever. From the beginning, it was always just the two of them. Brooklyn’s mom died of cancer when she was two, and the young daughter barely had any memories involving her mother. She was nothing more than a picture on the fireplace mantle. A beautiful woman with long blonde hair and green eyes like her daughter.

Brooklyn often wondered what else she inherited from her mom. Was it just her eyes and hair or was there more? Was her fiery side a gift from her mom? Sam was always so even keel and calm, whereas Brooklyn was a firecracker in her youth. She was always exploring, always experiencing life, and only really stopped after her dad’s murder.

Looking around the library, Brooklyn knew she could finally get the answers to those questions. Somewhere in the depths of the cabin library was her mom’s book. It was sitting there waiting for her. Sam’s too, but Brooklyn wasn’t ready. Not yet. Her parents’ stories would have to wait until the morning.

There was another book, though, Brooklyn wanted to read. She wasn’t ready for her parents, but she was curious about her fiancee. Brooklyn always wondered what Declan’s first impression was of her. Technically they first met at a bar. Both of them were off duty. There was a lot of flirting, a lot more drinking, and Brooklyn nearly went home with the young Irishman, but came to her senses at the last minute.

Two days later, they were working a case together. The McGinty case, though be exact. The rest of history.

Brooklyn stood from the table and looked for her squirrel friend. She found it curled up in a ball, sleeping by her still cooling stove. It was wrapped up in its own body somehow, just like Sokka used to do during the cold winter months in Colorado and Wyoming. She would have to find Declan’s book on her own, knowing it would take a miracle to wake up the squirrel, especially if it was some weird reincarnated version of Sokka.

Before wandering off in the library, Brooklyn took a moment to set up camp and change into her pajamas. Her typical sweatshirt and fleece lined leggings seemed a bit overkill, especially since she was inside a building, but Brooklyn wasn’t taking any chances. The cabin seemed heated, but Brooklyn didn’t know if that would hold over night. She did not go as far as setting up her tent, but she did lay out her sleeping bag and blanket, just to be safe.

With her makeshift camp set up and her squirrel friend sleeping, Brooklyn went off in search of Declan’s novel. Before she left, she took time to find his chapter in the book and record the series of numbers in her phone, hoping that would cut the search time in half. It didn’t, at least not as much as Brooklyn hoped. Her years of volunteer work in the school library were of absolutely no help as she quickly discovered the cabin library wasn’t organized like a regular library. The dewey decimal system didn’t seem to exist, books weren’t organized by author or even alphabetically by title. It just seemed like one long, winding maze of books rather than hedges, with no clear path to the finish line.

Brooklyn pulled out books every so often to mark her path and make sure she wasn’t going around in circles. It didn’t prevent her from retracing her steps half a dozen times, certain she was following the numbers on her phone.

“Damn it Pieper,” she swore under her breath as she rounded yet another corner. “This is what you get for following squirrels and not using your detective skills.”

She heard Declan’s witty retort in her mind followed by a questioning look from Jackson. Neither one of them would possibly believe the mess Brooklyn managed to find herself in. Not in a million years. Brooklyn played the scenario out in her head. She would return to her Boston apartment and regale Declan and Jackson with tales of her Nevada adventure. She’d swear up and down that a squirrel led her to a cabin in the middle of the forest, and it was filled with books about real life people, both dead and alive. Not just famous people either. There was a book about her, Brooklyn would insist, and one for Declan and Jackson too. They’d look at her like she was crazy, and maybe, Brooklyn thought, she was.

Then, she found Declan’s book. Brooklyn laughed as she plucked it from the shelf. Unlike her’s, Declan’s was titled: Nothing solved without Whiskey. It was a fair title for the autobiography, considering it was Declan’s favorite catch phrase. In fact, it was one of the first things he ever said to Brooklyn. Shortly after they were officially and formally introduced, Declan found an exhausted and very strung out Brooklyn at the McGinty task force command center, staring blankly at a handful of the gangster’s finance reports.

“You know, if you stare at the numbers long enough, they jump off the page and start dancing.”

The gun was in Brooklyn’s hand and she was out of her seat before Declan finished his joke. Her nerves were on edge, practically shot after a long week of investigating. Boss was putting pressure on Brooklyn to close the case, especially since both the Marshals and BAU were involved. They were not only hunting a gangster, but a serial killer as well. La Rose Juane.

“Easy love,” Declan held up his hands in the surrender position. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Brooklyn sheathed her gun but kept her guard up. Declan O’Reilly’s background check hadn’t cleared, and she wasn’t sure she could trust him. Technically, the two of them were looking for a mole amongst the Marshals, since La Rose Juane was killing star witnesses and informants in the McGinty case.

“What are you doing here so late,” Brooklyn sat back in the chair and resumed her previous position. There was something hinky with the numbers Jackson found. The gangster’s financials didn’t add up somehow. Brooklyn knew it, but she just couldn’t see it.

“Same as you.” Declan sat in the chair next to her, which was a little too close for Brooklyn’s comfort. She subtly scootched away, “Where’s your stooge?”

Brooklyn shrugged, “I assume you mean Jackson?”

“Big guy,” Declan puffed out his chest. “Follows you around like a puppy dog.”

Brooklyn stifled a laugh at Declan’s impression, “I gave him the night off.”

“So you’re all alone?”

Declan moved his chair closer, and Brooklyn tried to ignore the smell of his cologne wafting across the table, “No. I have Harvey.”

“Harvey?”

Brooklyn pulled her gun out of its holster and set it on the table, “Harvey, meet O’Reilly. O’Reilly, meet Harvey.”

Declan let out a hearty belly laugh, “Harvey. I like it.”

Brooklyn responded with a small smile before returning to the numbers. The BAU sent two agents to Boston to search for La Rose Juane, and the Marshals sent O’Reilly and another agent named Tomas to cover their angle. All of them were relatively easy to work with, but no one could connect their three respective angles. If it weren’t for the Marshals being hacked and payments going to an offshore account that seemingly belonged to a La Rose Juane alias, there wouldn’t even be a joint case. It would just be Brooklyn alone, with numbers she couldn’t really process or connect.

“You know what I find helps?”

Exasperated, Brooklyn set the papers down on the table and gave the Marshal agent her full attention. Once again, she was struck by his intelligence and boyish good looks despite the lack of sleep. His thick, wavy brown hair was disheveled after the latest round of surveillance, but there was still an alertness in his golden brown eyes that impressed Brooklyn.

Declan revealed a small flask from his left pocket, “A bit of whiskey for your coffee?”

Brooklyn’s scoffed, “You’re so Irish.”

Declan shrugged, “Nothing solved without whiskey love.”

Brooklyn sighed at the old memory. The two of them went on to solve the case. It turned out there was no mole in the Marshals, just a hacker being paid big bucks by McGinty. The BAU was unable to track La Rose Juane, an elusive female hitman known for leaving behind a single rose at every crime scene, but they left Boston with new insight. Brooklyn figured the roses she left behind were symbolic. Yellow was her trademark color, and if they could find the specific meaning behind yellow, they would probably catch her. Brooklyn sensed yellow and red represented some kind of betrayal, maybe by a lover, but catching La Rose Juane wasn’t her job. Catching McGinty was.

At exactly ten o’clock Brooklyn found herself back at her unofficial home base, the tiny green table across from her bookshelf. The squirrel moved from the table and was burrowed in her sleeping bag, waiting for her to return. It was the same thing Sokka used to do whenever Brooklyn was out late or with friends. According to her dad, he would try valiantly to stay awake and wait for Brooklyn, but at some point in the night, Sokka would move to her bedroom and bury himself in her comforter, his back ready for snuggles whenever Brooklyn came home. He was almost always asleep when that happened, but all Brooklyn had to do was give him a quick boop on the nose to let him know she was safely home.

Brooklyn couldn’t bring herself to boop the squirrel’s nose, but she did give him a small nudge between the ears as she nestled herself between the folds of the sleeping bag. The spine crackled as Brooklyn opened Declan’s book, and she was greeted by the blissful smell of old book. Brooklyn inhaled and smiled, wishing she had a glass of wine to enjoy while she read.

The prologue read like a period novel. A young maid in a wealthy household has a torrid affair with the eldest son of the household, resulting in an unexpected pregnancy. The father of the son paid the maid a handsome sum to disappear, allowing his heir to grow up and take over the family business inhibited by a child. The maid agreed. She moved to a tiny town in Ireland and gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

For six years, the mother and child lived happily in Ireland and received monthly checks from a mysterious benefactor, allowing the child to receive the best education despite his poor upbringing. The boy’s father took over the family business, though, forcing the duo to move to America. Once there, she changed her name, and there began the story of one Declan O’Reilly.

Brooklyn was enraptured by the story, the words pulling her like some sort of vortex. Declan was reborn between the cream colored pages and black ink, and Brooklyn couldn’t get enough. She finally met the family and friends she heard so much about. Even without pictures, Brooklyn saw them so clearly in her mind. His mother Rosie, with unmanageable, thick brown curls and haunting blue eyes. Finn, his best friend from Ireland. Patrick, his worst enemy. All the characters from Declan’s life were there, just waiting to be met. Even Brooklyn herself.

Brooklyn balked the first time she saw her name on a page. She wasn’t sure she was ready for Declan’s description of her. His words in the book were so fluid and honest, Brooklyn was afraid of what she might see. The fear was two fold. She doubted it would be a cringy description, though that was a distinct possibility. No, Brooklyn was afraid that Declan saw the truth when she was desperately trying to hide it.

The words were anything but cringy. Instead, they eloquently described a beautiful woman, someone Brooklyn barely recognized.

“She looked like the princesses of old. Cascading blonde hair, magical green eyes that belonged to a fairy, but there was the confidence of a woman and a determination in her eyes that spoke volumes more than her beauty. She’d experienced traumas, and was stronger, somehow because of it. I wanted to know those traumas, her stories, dreams and fears, though I didn’t know how intimately at the time.”

Brooklyn welled up with emotion. Susannah described her as the hero or villain of the story, powerful in her beauty even in high school, but Declan’s description was somehow deeper. He saw Brooklyn for what she really was, even in that first meeting in a poorly lit bar by Fenway Park. Not some idealized version, but the real version. The real Brooklyn Pieper with all her cracks and scars.

She missed him. Brooklyn refused to admit it for weeks, even when her therapist persisted, but she missed Declan for so many reasons. Sure, there were plenty of physical reasons to miss Declan O’Reilly. He was attractive, funny, loyal to a fault. He never failed to make her laugh when she needed to or get her to relax when she needed a break. He understood the demands of her job but challenged her to get out, to forget the FBI when she wasn’t in the office and experience life.

Declan made Brooklyn a better person. He helped her get back to her inner child, the one that all but vanished after her dad’s death, and he allowed her to feel vulnerable. That was what Brooklyn missed most of all. Declan loved her, all of her. Despite her, bumps, bruises and baggage. Declan accepted Brooklyn for who she was and provided Brooklyn a safe space to drop her guard, even if it was only for a moment.

Brooklyn wiped a stray tear from her face and continued reading. With each word, she relived their epic relationship, from it’s somewhat rocky and awkward start to the proposal. Every milestone was recorded, even the stupid, petty arguments, and Brooklyn relished every single one of them. She laughed, she cried, she yelled at herself at her stupidity, but mostly, she just wanted to freeze time. She knew it was impossible to bring back the dead, but in that moment, Declan was alive, and Brooklyn could live in that moment forever.