Participants:
| Scene Title | Big Blind |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Faulkner calls Abigail in the wake of the disastrous afternoon meeting at Little Darlings. |
| Date | March 18, 2021 |
Isaac Faulkner strides through the halls of the Petrelli mansion as he once did through the halls of the Senate building in Albany — head down, tread steady, eyes fixed ahead. It's the look of a man about to go make eyes turn and heads roll, the look of a man who knows where he's going and what he's doing, and neither of those things have to do with any passerby who might see him, thank you.
It's not until he ducks into the privacy of the manor's library — closing the door behind him — that he stops. Faulkner takes a moment to check his surroundings, striding around to verify that no eavesdroppers are lurking in the shadows; only then does he reach into an inner pocket and draw out his phone, punching in a number.
There's someone he needs to touch base with.
There’s the sound of a police station in the background, or some place with the murmur of people, the occasional yell that may filter through when the call that the man places is answered by a woman on the other end.
“Muldoon family, Abigail speaking,” She sounds a little breathless, weary and this side of southern formal. There’s a rattling sound, like some baby’s toy being shaken followed by shhhhh’ing sounds.
Faulkner wastes no time. "Yes, this is Senator Faulkner. Detective Muldoon, I hope all is well?"
Not the call she was expecting. “Senator. I suppose that would be a question better asked of you.” A rustling noise, like the phone is being moved to be pinned between ear and shoulder. “Are…” A pause. “I had nothing to do with what happened. That was not the NYPD.”
There is a slight pause. "I am… relieved to hear that," he says carefully. "To answer your question, I made it out safely, as did everyone else. Are you safe? What about Harvey and Avery? Are they well?"
“Is that… the name of the babies?” She queries in her drawl. “I’m at the station at my desk. I was going to wait another hour before calling child services to come and take them Senator if I hadn’t heard from their parents.” Another shake of something tinkly in the background. “If you are in contact with them, you can let them know the children are safe and they can come get them. I need to finish filling out paperwork and get home to my own children.”
There's another pause, this time at the image of Nicole Miller's face at finding out that her children were being passed off to child services; all he can do is marvel at the image, the way one might stare in awe at the aftermath of a hurricane. Or a volcano.
"I'll… pass that on," he manages, with as much diplomacy as he can muster. "Our… mutual acquaintance… is still pushing for the road trip she mentioned; a good number of the people she's spoken to seem to be considering it," he ventures.
There’s dead silence from the woman on the other end. The babble of one of the children faint along with the rattle. Eventually she speaks but it’s a long pause. “Mass hysteria is a powerful thing Senator. I sincerely hope that you do not get caught up in whatever bullshit she’s feeding them. They will get caught, the authorities will not be kind to those who aid and abet that person.” Her words are tremendously cautious.
"Oh, I'm not sure I would say mass hysteria," Faulkner says mildly. "I'd liken it more to a cult phenomenon, myself; not, perhaps, a terribly vast difference in the grand scheme of things, but I think it's an important one. Geiger counters don't lie, after all," he points out. "And, as you said… it wasn't the NYPD we saw earlier."
“I have a husband to bury in two days, Senator. Your employee. Who right now is laying in a funeral home waiting for me to bring over a suit so they can dress him for the viewing. I have my own two children who don’t understand when I tell them that their daddy’s not coming home to tuck em in or make em breakfast.”
There’s no sound of kids. There’s the sound of a soft murmur off the phone for someone to stand watch for a moment as she moves some place with far more privacy and the noise dies down when a door closes in the background. “I don’t know what those things were. Probably from an agency with an alphabet for a name that I don’t work for nor do I probably have the clearance for. That’s not something I want to mess with. I’m not going near that woman and I take comfort no matter how little, that she won’t go near me. And I’d suggest, given how many of those alphabets are crawling all over your business, that you probably shouldn’t be going on a road trip to Vegas anytime soon Senator.”
Again, there is silence. "Know that James is missed; I mean that with all sincerity." he says quietly. "Beyond that…"
There is a pause; when he speaks again, his voice is low and fast. "Your advice is noted; in return, there's a point of advice I would like to offer you, Mrs. Muldoon. As a friend."
"You are making a dangerous supposition. She prefers not to go near you; this does not mean she will not, if she feels her… holy mission to drag us all out of the Matrix requires you. Take that from someone who has learned from experience," he warns. "I would suggest you keep your no bullshit aura on at all times, and keep a weapon close."
Then Faulkner clears his throat, resuming speaking in a more normal tone of voice. "In any case; I'm glad to hear that you and the twins are well. Tell them Uncle Isaac says hi. I'll pass your comments on; is there anything else you'd like me to pass on?"
“I expect that I will have had my fill of condolences and being told how missed he is by the time the wake ends.” He has advice and she listens from her side of the phone, the false white noise put there by technology assures people that they haven’t been hung up on.
“I will be sure to keep my gun loaded, Senator.” The hard press of her lips together can surely be heard through the line. The unamused tone of the Detective. “I’ll tell the babies. Let them know they have an hour, then they can fetch them from child services. Have fun in Vegas. Just remember the house always wins.”
"I know," Faulkner says, and there's a hint of sardonic amusement in his voice. "Believe me, I know. In any case — my time is up. Be well, Detective," he says, and there's a click as the call ends.