JACK COLEMAN EPISODE 3: THE GIRL WHO KNEW MY NAME - She Knows Where Emma Is

 Jack Coleman 3 VIDEO

The Girl Who Knew My Name

The footsteps stop. An uncomfortable silence fills the building's entrance hall. I hold my breath and press my back against the wall, feeling the cold plaster through my wet shirt.

"Coleman," says a voice from the entrance. It's a woman. I don't recognize the tone, but it has something familiar, like an echo from another life. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Shit.

I squeeze the backpack against my chest and calculate distances. The back door is about fifteen meters away, at the end of a dark hallway. But I need to get there without making noise.

I take a step. The floor creaks.

"I know you're there," she says. "And I know what you found in the locker."

I stay still. How does she know about the locker?

"I work with Marcus," she adds. "The man in the black suit. He sent me to make sure you get to the right address."

Marcus. So the guy has a name. And a partner.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" I ask from the shadows.

"Because I know you opened locker 1408. Because I know what's inside: a passport in the name of Daniel Hayes, twenty thousand dollars in cash, a Glock 19 with the serial number filed off, and a handwritten address."

Everything correct.

I peek half my body around the edge of the hallway. The woman is still at the entrance, with her hands visible and away from her body as if she's dealing with a frightened animal. She must be around forty, wearing a tight black leather jacket with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

"Marcus said you'd trust me," she says. "He said to tell you the combination wasn't a coincidence. That 1408 was the hotel room number where you spent your first night with Emma."

The name hits me like a punch in the chest. I press one hand against the wall to keep from stumbling.

"How do you know that?" I ask with a broken voice.

"Because I was there that night. Not in the room," she hurries to clarify, "but in the hotel. It was my job to protect both of you back then."

I slowly step out of the hallway, keeping the distance between us. The light bulb in the entrance flickers, illuminating her face at irregular intervals.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Valeria Reyes. I was your contact for three years when you worked for the organization. I'm the only living person who knows the whole story."

"And why should I believe you?"

"Because if I wanted to kill you, I already would have," she says naturally. "I've had three chances since you left the basement. And because I know where Emma is."

The world stops.

"Where?"

Valeria pulls a phone from the inner pocket of her jacket and turns it on. The screen illuminates her face while she searches for something.

Emma smiles from the photograph. She has longer hair than in the photo Marcus showed me, and she's sitting in what looks like a street café, with a white cup between her hands.

The image breaks me inside.

"She's in Milwaukee," Valeria says. "She changed her identity after you disappeared. But the organization found her two weeks ago. They don't know exactly where she lives, but they have a restricted zone of a few square kilometers."

"We have to warn her."

Valeria shakes her head and puts away the phone.

"Not so fast. If we contact her now, the security team will trace the call. The organization has been monitoring all of Emma's known lines since they lost your trail. Any movement will lead them straight to her."

I press my hands behind my neck and walk in small circles through the entrance hall. The air becomes heavy, almost solid.

"So, what do we do?"

Valeria points to the black backpack hanging from my shoulder.

"First, we go to that address. Marcus says you left something there before erasing yourself, something only you can recover when you're ready."

"What kind of thing?"

"I don't know. Marcus only said it was more important than any weapon or money you could have."

I look outside through the open door. The rain keeps falling on Chicago. The streetlamps draw yellow halos on the wet asphalt.

The black car is gone.

"I guess I don't have many options," I say finally. "Trust you, or keep running alone until I collapse or get caught again among so many dead ends out there waiting for the right moment to close in on me without mercy."

Valeria nods slowly, almost as if she understands better than she expresses the dilemma I just solved out loud for myself more than for her really.

I shake my head, pushing those circular thoughts away and focusing on what's immediate.

The rain soaks our jackets as we cross toward her car parked two blocks down, completely black, silent, waiting like a patient animal accustomed to long nighttime waits between empty traffic lights blinking without hurry over our wet heads beneath the constant rain.

Before climbing into the passenger seat, I stop by the door.

I stare at Valeria, looking for any sign of deception, any nervous tic or involuntary deviation of her dark pupils beneath the faint flickering lights.

She holds my gaze without blinking while waiting impassive, leaning against the wet hood, puddles running down her worn boots.

Tell me quickly, without hesitation, before I get in anywhere, Valeria. If all this ends badly...

If I don't make it to Emma, don't remember fast enough to save her...

What really happens when a ghost like me fails?