MARCH / APRIL 2013: BY GINA DALFONZO
This is set at the end of the pilot. Finch built a Machine that can see crimes about to happen, and needed help stopping those crimes. Reese was desperately in need of a job and a purpose when Finch found him.
The tall, dark-haired man with a bruised face stood square in the middle of the sidewalk, apparently oblivious to passersby, and stared into the red eye of the camera mounted above the traffic light.
Knowing what he knew now, he was trying to figure out how he should feel about it. Nervous, he supposed. No—no, nervous wasn’t quite strong enough. Afraid might be a better fit. Or how about paranoid? If anything called for going out and getting fitted for a tinfoil hat, it was the information the mysterious Mr. Finch had given him about that all-seeing red eye.
Strange, then, that for the first time in a very long time, there was peace in his own eyes, even the hint of a smirk hovering around his mouth. Strange that, instead of fear, he felt something that lifted his chin and pulled his shoulders up and back as he turned and merged into the crowd.
The short man with glasses limped across the room, coming to a halt before a bulletin board crammed full of clippings. His board of lost chances.
His pale blue eyes traveled slowly over them, though he already knew them by heart—the faces that kept him awake at night, the words that were burned into his mind.
Shot. Stabbed. Murdered. Unsolved.
How many hundreds of times had he stood here like this, feeling his utter helplessness before that mountain of words and faces? How long had he been waiting for someone who could do what he couldn’t?
Slowly, without a change of expression, he reached up and unpinned one picture from the board. He held it lightly balanced on his palm for a moment, before setting it on the table.
Then he pulled off his glasses and, with one quick, furtive movement, wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hand. ♥