>GOLDSTAR MOTEL
>SOUTH CHARLESTON, WV
>2019.JUL.7
>0800...///

Ava looked down with a grimace as she slowly peeled off the bandage that had been applied to her in the hospital. A dark bruise to rival Dave's collection had formed on her pale skin. Yet for such an ugly bruise, when she pulled the bandage away there was only the tiniest gash in the center of it. Only .22 inches long and held shut by two little stitches.

She frowned as she threw the old bandage away, looking in the large bathroom mirror at the wound on her naked side. All that fuss and it just looked like she had accidentally been nicked by a kitchen knife rather than shot. 

She sighed and took off her glasses, placed them under a wash cloth to protect them from any steam and climbed into the shower. The good news was that the linoleum wasn't as grimy as the outside of the motel and the room had lead her to believe. And as she turned on the water with her face tilted up to the spray, the pressure and heat wasn't terrible either.

While she went through the motions of washing, her mind drifted back to the cabin and the shooting. The crack of gunfire, the surge of fear and adrenaline and the pain in her side. The bright red staining across her white shirt and the metallic tang filling the air…

Ava scrubbed her hair harder, digging conditioner harder into the bright red roots to get her mind off of the shooting. 

She was fine, everyone else was fine. That's what one half of her brain was saying. The other was repeatedly playing the events over and over again across her mind.

[i]I’m fine.[/i]

-Her heart beating rapidly in her chest and her throat felt too tight to get in a full breath.-

[i]It’s just a flesh wound.[/i]

-Red, red, red. Was that really all coming out of her?-

[i]Everyone is okay.[/i]

-Pari’s calm and warm face above her. How was she so calm with bullets flying? What if she had gotten hurt tending to her? What if she had gotten killed?-

Ava felt her body start to run cold even standing under the warm water, her limbs shaking as she clutched her arms around herself and took in deep gasping breaths.

She slapped her hand on the temperature knob and turned it up higher; letting the hot water run over her to try to chase away the chills.

She pressed her forehead against the smooth shower wall and let the water flow down the back of her neck. She focused on the warmth and the sound of the falling water as she called up more pleasant images to replace the ones of the shooting.

[i]I’m fine.[/i]

-Her first clear memory of the hospital, Dave with his bruised and tired face greeting her with a grin and a joke.-

[i]It’s just a flesh wound.[/i]

-Donnelley making kissy faces at people staring at the SUV, her side aching to keep from laughing.-

[i]Everyone is okay.[/i]

-Seeing everyone again at the motel, exhausted, but in one piece.-

Ava took in what felt like her first real deep breath as the shaking steadily lessened and the soothing heat of the shower sunk into her body.

“I'm fine.” She told herself aloud, lifting her head up so that the water washed over her face. “I'm fine.”

[hr]

After her shower Ava had reapplied a simple bandage over her bullet wound and redressed herself in her wildflower shirt and her burgundy yoga pants. She was in the process of towel drying her hair when a knock sounded outside the lady's shared motel room. 

She settled the towel on her head and carefully approached, standing up on the tips of her toes to look through the peephole. “Who is it!?” She called out.

“It’s just me!” Dave stepped back from the door, grinning and waving at the peep-hole. He’d shed his dress shirt, replacing it with a kitschy tourist number he’d picked up at the gas station on the way to the storage unit. It was a navy blue  number, with the outline of the state and the word “BEER” written dead center. 
“Open up, I got somethin’ for ya.” He knocked again and then raised a convenience store bag. 

Ava smiled and stepped back, unlocking the hatch and chain on the door before opening it; the towel still on her head. Her eyes landed on the shirt and she grinned. “Hey! You got a new shirt! Though,” She furrowed her brow in confusion. “What's the joke?”

“I’unno.” He shrugged cheerily as he entered, the plastic bag swinging in his hand. “Just liked the shirt. I grabbed a few others, too. Put ‘em in the boys’ room. You hungry? I figured nobody’d ate yet, so I grabbed burritos and stuff.” 

He set the bag on the bed and opened it, pawing through the contents. “Got pork an’ potato, beef bean cheese, some chicken an’ bean...I didn’t know what people liked, so I pretty much cleaned out the case. I already dropped a bunch off for the guys.” He dug in the bag for a moment and then came up with a cherry Coke. “Here, got you this, too. I remember you said you like cherry stuff.” 

Ava blinked in surprise, then smiled as she took the soda. “I do, thank you.” She cracked it open and looked at the bag of burritos. “I'll take a beef bean and cheese and maybe that pork one if I have room still.” She took a sip of her Coke and remembered the towel on her head. “Uh, one second.”

Ava stepped away and set her Coke down on a night stand. She then went about rubbing her hair with the towel with a vigorous will. When she finished, she pulled the towel away and flipped her head up her hair loosely resembled a red cotton ball of twisting waves and corkscrew curls.

“Damn, that’s a lot of hair,” Dave said. He’d already taken out a burrito of his own and was tearing into it with the same gusto with which he approached all of his meals. “So...How ya holdin’ up? Ain’t hurtin’ too much?” 

“It’s just sore, the Advil helps a lot.” She answered, taking the towel back into the bathroom to hang up to dry. She came back with a comb and started running it through her still damp hair. “It’s...weird, you’d think a bullet wound would hurt more.” She looked at him and remembered that he had his own gunshot wound. “How about you? How are you feeling?”

"Ain't so bad," he said easily. It was a small lie; his shoulder hurt like a bastard, and his chest ached every time he took a breath. Still, there was no sense getting get worried, and nothing that could be done about it in any case. "Doc gave me some painkillers, but I ain't takin' them. Something happens, I don't wanna be high off my ass and tryin' to remember how guns work."  

She nodded, sitting down on one of the beds as she combed her hair, the comb gliding surprisingly well through the voluminous curls. Silence settled between them as she tried to think of something to say. She had questions she wanted to ask him but she didn’t want to be blunt about it. 

“So, um, thank you, for what you said to Foster.” She said to him. “You were right, he didn’t check in with me.”

“You’re welcome,” Dave said. He glared at his burrito. “Shit burned me up. Havin’ team members wounded and not even goin’ to see if they’re okay. Guy’s a turd.” 

He glanced around as though looking for spies. “Between you an’ me, I don’t buy much of what he said. Phonecalls coulda waited. He shoulda been out there shootin’, or givin’ first aid, or doin’ something besides hidin’ in a back room.” 

Ava smiled at his faux conspiratorial paranoia as she combed her hair. “Yeah, I don’t really like him that much either.” She admitted with a sigh, her hair losing some of its fluff as she ran the teeth of the comb through the strands. “I asked him why I was here and what I’m supposed to do and he just told me to ‘get to work’.” She rolled her eyes. “I do have a better understanding now, but he’s...a dick.”

Another knock at the door. Foster may have been a dick, but he was not a complete dick. Apologies were in order, but it was up to them if they accepted it. He looked down at the shopping bag and hoped at least these would be decent icebreakers. He sighed, checking his watch and waiting for the door to open.

Ava straightened at the knock on the door, her comb stopping midway in her hair. She glanced at Dave before getting up and taking the comb out of her hair. She got up on the tips of her toes to look through the peephole and then dropped back down with wide eyes. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” She muttered to herself before cracking the door open. “Uh, hello Foster.” She greeted.

“Hello.” He gave a soft smile and held up the bag, “I brought, uh, peace offerings.”

He cleared his throat, looking to the side, “Also, we should probably get Frank up to speed on what you’re doing for him.”

Ava looked at the bag and then him curiously before stepping to the side and opening the door wider for him to enter. “Of course, come in, I’m almost finished with his new identity.” She nodded her head over to Dave sitting next to his bag of gas station burritos. “Dave got burritos if you want one.”

Foster gave a tight smile and nodded. They had not left each other’s presence on the best of terms. “Hello, Dave.” He nodded to the bag in his hands, “Would you like one?”

Dave eyed him a moment and then nodded slowly. He slipped the retention cover back over his holster and stood; the moment he'd heard the knock he had gone for his weapon, but he relaxed. Foster was an ass, not an enemy. 

"Trade ya," he said, offering the burritos. "Think we got chicken an' pork left. Just gas station fare, but it ain't bad. We're outta soda though, sorry 'bout that." 

“Oh, that’s alright. I don’t drink soda.” Foster smiled, opening the bag for Dave and Ava to peek inside at the various snacks he’d gotten, “Unless there’s liquor in it.”

He chuckled, “I got a hell of a lot of stuff while I was out. Can’t go wrong with junk food.”

Ava peered into the bag, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as her eyes landed on a bar of dark chocolate. She glanced at Foster then reached into the bag to take the bar with a small smile. “Thank you.” She said and stepped back over to toss it on the nightstand by one of the beds. “Hopefully none of the cockroaches make off with it.”

She crouched down and pulled out her laptop case out from underneath her bed. “Here, I can show you what I have put together so far.” 

“Ah, good.” Foster said, grabbing up a burrito and unwrapping it. He took the first bite and spoke around his mouthful, “Fabricated online presence too? He’ll need it to be convincing.”

Dave took a bar of chocolate, nodded his thanks, and began to eat it eagerly. "Online presence, whassat? You makin' Frank a Twitter?" 

“Whatever it needs to look real. We’re turning Frank into what we in Intelligence call a Ghoul.” Foster spoke as he watched Ava on her laptop, “Even if their active intelligence during an operation is exhausted, they keep living under a fake name, living a fake life, while they live quietly somewhere else if or until we need them again.”

"Gotcha," Dave muttered. He crammed the rest of his chocolate bar into his mouth to mask his discomfort. The idea of having Frank on a string for the rest of his life sat poorly with him; he was of the opinion that the Ranger had been through enough. "Well, I got us a storage unit. Figure I'll move what we salvaged from my lab over there when we can. Spent a little extra for one down on the end. Ain't got power, but I'll manage."  

“Maybe we can find you a generator or a battery?” Ava suggested as she stood up from the bed and turned it to show Foster. “Complete online presence with posts dating back five years, birth certificate, social security number, employment records and his new driver’s license will be waiting for him in a PO box.”

Foster clapped and chuckled, “There is a reason I asked for you by name, Miss Ava.” He smiled at the success of it all, “What’s his name?”

“Philip Barret Hathaway.” Ava answered, smiling bashfully at the praise. “I thought maybe moving him to Arizona would be safest? Hard for them to find him if he’s on the other side of the country.”

"I been through Arizona," Dave said brightly. "Flagstaff's real nice. Real pretty country, a Ranger type'll love it there."  

“Should we tell him the news?” Foster asked, looking to Dave and then Ava, “I should warn everyone here. Him having this new life means he can’t go back.”

Ava dropped her smile and nodded, closing her laptop and tucking it under her arm. “I know that, but at least he’ll be alive and safe.” She looked at Foster and then over to Dave. “Right?”

Dave shrugged. Truthfully, it depended on the resources the badguys had access too, and whether or not Frank was smart enough to keep his head down.

"He's got a helluva lot better chance than he did without ya, sugar," he said. "I know that for sure." 

Foster nodded in agreement, “That is for sure.”

He smiled at Ava and Dave, “I’m glad we at least got one good thing out of our trip to Blackriver. I was the first to talk to Roy before you folks got here and about the only thing she had to say about Blackriver is that no one has anything good to say about it.” He shook his head, “Least of all her.”

“How,” He wrung his hands, offering an apologetic smile, “How are you two doing?”

Ava was slightly caught off guard by the question, throwing a quick glance over to Dave. It looked like his words had more of an affect on Foster than the man had let on in the briefing. “I’m okay.” Ava answered, laying one hand unconsciously against her side, over her bandaged injury. “Just sore and a...few ounces heavier, as Dave put it in the hospital.” She said with a small, ghost of a smile.

Dave grinned at her response and then shrugged. "Sore. Tired. But we're making progress, an' that's good. Helped out a good man, an' that's good too. So I been worse."

He cocked his head. "How 'bout you, Foster? You holdin' up okay? I imagine herdin' a buncha misfits like us gets stressful."  

“With Donnelley at the helm? Jesus Christ, you two don’t know him like I do.” Foster chuckled, “But, yeah, I’m okay. It’s been years since I’ve been this hands on with a Working Group. How was Bob, last time you saw him? Your old Case Officer.”

"Happy about recruitin' me, and that's all I know " Dave snorted. "I met Clif and the boys, we handled business back home, an' I rode out here with Clif so my truck wasn't… You know. [I]Associated[/i] with all this. Ain't seen Bob but the one time. He isn't very hands on, I think."  

Ava glanced at the two of them as they spoke, setting down her laptop and wondering over to Dave. She picked up the burrito he had set aside for her and sat down next to him on the bed, opening the burrito to eat.

“I know him. And he is not.” Foster smirked, taking another bite of his burrito, “Let’s finish our food, we’ll give Frank the news and figure out where to go after Donnelley and the others get back. How’s that?”

Ava nodded enthusiastically at the suggestion, eager to get out of this musty and dirty motel. “Anywhere would be better than here.” She muttered before taking another bite of her burrito.

[hr]

Frank was sat on the bed, staring at his burrito as if it held the answers or consolations over how shit his life had turned. He’d graduated with an Environmental Sciences degree and gone into the NPS with his love of nature in mind. Now his life was filled with… with this shit. His head hung again as another wave of hopelessness washed over him, slowly eroding him like a stone on the shore. “Fuck…”

He jumped as he heard the doorknob jiggle, but felt just a tad better when he saw that it was Foster and some others, and not some hitman here to shoot up the place like last time. The others had gone somewhere and he opted to stay in the motel room alone, stewing in his own emotions and as vulnerable as a lamb. Foster smiled at him, but it didn’t do much for his mood.

“Ava has something to tell you.” Foster said, clasping his hands together and taking a seat on one of the other beds.

Frank looked at the small woman he assumed was Ava, “What is it?”

Ava cleared her throat before she smiled at Frank as she patted the laptop under her arm. “I’ve finished your new identity and once we go over a few things and get you a car, you’ll be safe to leave the State.”

Frank’s face sunk into confusion, his brows furrowing as he glanced at Foster and then the others. He opened his mouth to speak as he looked at Ava again, “New… identity?”

Ava lost her smile and a crease formed between her eyebrows as she mirrored his confusion. “Um, yes?” She answered and glanced over at Foster with a frown before settling her gaze back on Frank. “Didn’t you...know about that?”

“I thought,” Frank looked at Foster, “I thought you said I would be safe.”

“Frank, to ensure your safety, we have to make sure they can’t find you. If you aren’t existing as [i]you[/i], they won’t be able to hurt you.” Foster said, sighing, “I didn’t want to tell you immediately, because I know it’s a lot to drop on someone’s head. I will tell you that these types of people will do anything to silence you. They will kill your parents if they know you’re still alive and they can get you.”

“We have your best interests in mind.” Foster smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry this has all happened to you.”

Dave looked from Frank to Foster and then back again, working hard to keep a surge of frustration off his face. To not even tell the man…

"It really is the only way, man," he said. Shitty move or not, showing division wouldn't help anyone. "We're gonna do what we can to handle these bastards, but… You gotta disappear. All the way. There ain't any other choice."  

Ava nodded quietly as she gave Frank a sympathetic look. She knew that what they were doing was the best for him and his family, that they would all be safer. Even as she told herself this, her gut still twisted with the sense that this still wrong in a way. 

“Listen, Donnelley told you he would put you in contact with your parents.” Foster rummaged in his pocket for a second and tossed a flip phone onto the bed next to Frank. “Program it. You can call them. It’s encrypted, even if they somehow tap your parents’ phones, they won’t get [i]your[/i] location.”

Foster shrugged, “That’s the best we can do.” It was a lie. It wasn’t even encrypted in the slightest, but the look on the man’s face… hell he looked barely over twenty. This kid needed something to make this all smoother. “Don’t call often. Call at odd hours, tell your parents to get pre-paid cheap shit phones, even.”

“A phone call? What am I, in prison?” Frank balled his fists, “Wh-... What the fuck.”

Ava fought to keep a grimace off her face and cleared her throat again. “I know that this is a lot.” She said, speaking in her usual soft manner and hoping to help ease his nerves.  “But you’ll be far away from Blackriver and even West Virginia. You have a chance to put all of this behind you and have a quiet, normal life again.”

“It… it’s not going to be [i]my[/i] life.” Frank said, trembling fists on his lap, “I should’ve never fucking… Billy died because of you!”

He stood, looking at Dave and Ava, turning to Foster. “You made-“

“[i]He[/i] made a choice, Frank! He was the one who brought us here. That dead body in the woods has a name and her parents are never going to see her smile [i]again.[/i]” Foster stood in turn, “You take this phone, you call your parents and let them know you’re okay and after this operation, after we put these shitty people in shallow graves, you’ll see them again.”

Foster took a step forward and looked him in the eyes, jaw set, “Thank you for everything you’ve given us, Frank. And thank Billy for making that sacrifice.” He shoved his hands in his suit pants, “Work like this isn’t clean. Be happy you made it out, Frank. Not all of us do.”

Frank swallowed, deflated as he sat back down and grabbed up the phone to stare at it in his lap, seemingly replacing the burrito to which he put his mournful gaze on. “Fuck…”

Dave watched the interaction, holding his peace. Finally he reached out and put a hand on Frank's shoulder.

"We'll get 'em," he said. "You saw us kick their asses last night. They kicked a hornet's nest they weren't ready for. Just hang tight, lay low, and let us do some killin'. It'll be over soon enough."

Frank did not look him, didn’t answer. He stared ahead like he could see the future already and whatever was there, he did not like. Foster looked at Dave and Ava, then Frank. There was nothing more to say. “We should let him digest this all. Brief him in full sometime later.”

“Yes.” Ava agreed with a nod, frowning worriedly at Frank and then looking to Foster. It probably would have helped if Foster had told him sometime before hand what they would be doing, instead of just dumping it on his lap like this after he survived the shooting. 

She looked once more at Frank and tried to think of something to say to help him feel better about his current position. If what Dave said didn’t help him though, what could she possibly say that would? She didn’t even think an ‘it’ll be alright’ would help.

Heaving a heavy breath through her nose, she stepped away from the men and opened the door to exit the motel room.

Dave followed, giving Frank another pat on the shoulder. When they were outside and out of earshot he threw a glance at Ava.

"All that other stuff aside, you did a good thing for him," he said. "Really is his best chance. Don't beat yourself up over the way things're shakin' out."  

“I just wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction. I thought he knew about it.” She said to him, shifting her laptop to hold it against her chest; frowning down at the gray concrete. “I wish there was something more I could do, to make this easier for him.”

"Yeah, I know sugar." He sighed. Ava was a sweet woman, he hated seeing her upset. "Just keep bein' nice to him until he leaves. He's goin' through a lot, so even that'll help. Surrounded by all these shooters, hell, we're probably just makin' things worse. Maybe ask him if he wants to talk. Might make him feel a little better, since he ain't seen you shootin' at people. Give him a gentler ear, you know?"  

She furrowed her brow for a moment, then looked up at him and gave a slight nod. “Okay, I think I can do that.” She glanced back at the motel room door. “After we give him some space.”

"For sure," he nodded. "After we give him some space." 

Foster took his chin between thumb and forefinger, his other stuffed in his pocket, “While we do,” he began, “This news about electrical burn and ozone. Russians.”

He turned to Ava, putting his other hand in his pocket, “Can you scour historical records on Blackriver? Get started ASAP on compiling records of Brotherhood in the Prison System? I don’t want to lose momentum on this.” His eyes flicked to Dave before they went back to Ava, “Please?”

“Is your laptop cleared for The Program database?” He asked.

Ava looked up at him and nodded, “I can do that and yes, I have access to The Program database.” She frowned curiously. “Why do you ask? And what historical records am I looking for exactly?” She asked with an arched eyebrow.

“I want the whole damn thing. I want to be a damn expert on Blackriver by the time Donnelley gets here.” Foster frowned, nodding at Dave and Ava, “And search for anything related to Russians in the database.”

“Okay, I can do that.” She agreed, brushing some of her curls to the side as a stray breeze blew them into her face. “I’ll need the rest of the day to research that as well as the prison records.”

Dave nodded along with Foster and Ava's conversation as though it was something he'd be able to help with. He was technologically challenged; it had taken Mal ages just to help him grasp the concept of Reddit. This shit was beyond him. Still, he figured he could at least play along.

"Oh hey," he said, suddenly perking up. "Foster, you think you could get me a carry piece? Somethin' subtle?"

He gestured at the P226 Combat strapped to his thigh. "This thing is great in a real shitstorm, but uh… it ain't exactly comfortable to stick in my waistband. If you could set me up with a compact until I can get my shit from that cabin I'd appreciate it."  

Foster brushed the tail of his coat back and unclipped the OWB holster he had, his compact Glock 9mm inside. He handed it to Dave, “You’ll have to wear a coat, but it’ll do. I don’t plan on…” Foster rose a fist to his lips and looked away, clearing his throat, “Well, I just don’t know my way around a firefight like you and Donnelley. But, I’ll trade you for the time being.”

He smiled back at Ava, “Thank you. I’ll put in a request as well once I’m back at Headquarters again.” He frowned and shrugged, “I know I said I didn’t want to lose momentum, but I’m thinking we should get ourselves some rest time very soon. Fly home, see our families, whatever. After last night, we’ll need some time to regroup and see what needs doing.”

Ava was both surprised and relieved to hear that from Foster. She suddenly felt the physical and emotional exhaustion of the past few days start to settle on her shoulders. She couldn't believe it had only been days, it felt more like weeks. 

“Some rest time would be nice.” She agreed, looking over to Dave. “Especially with Donnelley, you and I injured like we are. We need a little time to heal.”

Dave took the gun, unclipping his tactical holster and handing it to Foster in exchange for the more compact Glock. He hooked the holster to his belt and then pulled the hem of his T-shirt down over it, nodding with satisfaction. 

“That’ll do,” he said. “Thanks, boss. If we end up kickin’ any doors I’ll trade ya back.” 

He glanced at Ava, fiddling with the holster so that it sat properly. “Yeah, I gotta see my boy. Man, he’s gonna be pissed I ran off on him…” 

Ava looked up at him with a small, teasing smile. “I hope the gas station has good souvenirs.”

[hr]
>1330...///

For the next few hours, Ava got to work. She had sat herself down on one of the beds in the lady’s shared motel room with her laptop on top of a pillowed lap desk and her note book open next to her on the nightstand. She first ran the program to sift through prison records to possibly identify ‘Jay’ and while that was going on in the background, she researched Blackriver history.

That task took her the longest, Blackriver may have been steeped in mystery, but it was also a small town. Small towns rarely had much of anything in the realm of digital archives, but that didn’t deter her. When she did find something that seemed important, she noted it down in her notebook on the nightstand and kept looking.

The monotony of the task was broken up now and again by Dave. He claimed to not have much else to do so he settled on keeping her company while she worked. This included flipping through the channels on the TV and fiddling with the ancient radio in the room. The TV was a little more modern but it’s channel selections were slim pickings. What ended up staying on for the bulk of the time was a local talk show and news channel.

It wasn’t good, but it provided background noise that filled the occasional silence they would lapse into. Otherwise the conversation flowed between them easily enough, Dave was fun and easy to talk to, but he didn’t distract her from her work. 

By the time she thought she could wrap up her research, her program combing through prison records had yielded tremendous results. She set up the printer that Laine had brought from the Safe House and started printing out mugshots. She let Dave collect them in a folder, hoped they had enough ink for all those pictures, and then messaged Foster to let him know she had found something interesting in her research. 

Shortly after there was a knock on the door and Ava peered through the peephole. Seeing that it was Foster, she opened the door with a smile; the printer audibly churning out pictures behind her with some yelling coming from the TV. “Come on in, Agent Foster.” She said as she stepped to the side and opened the door for him. 

“Thank you.” Foster smiled, hefting the drink tray in his one hand, three cups nestled in the spaces, “Coffee?”

After he sat on the edge of one of the beds he looked to Ava, “How’s everything coming?”

“So far so good.” She said, nodding her head over to where Dave was sat with the printer. “I'm printing out mugshots to help identify Jay.” She stared at the printer for a moment and added, “There are quite a few, hopefully he's in there somewhere.”

Shaking her head to focus back on the task at hand, she fetched her black notebook. She flipped it open to the desired page and then handed it to Foster to read over. “This was everything I was able to find on Blackriver history.”

Folding her arms over her chest she frowned thoughtfully as she continued, “In keeping with the mystery of the area, I couldn't find many newspaper articles about Blackriver. I only found one, but it did have information about a feud between the MacOnies and another family called the O’Dhoules during the Civil War.”

She shrugged sheepishly, folding her arms a little tighter over her chest. “Most of my research turned up a lot of blog posts. People that vacationed or stopped through Blackriver between 1998-2019, but all that was generally mentioned was how pretty the area is. At least it establishes that the bulk of people that do visit Blackriver still actually leave it.”

Ava pointed down at her notebook in Foster’s hands. “I did turn up one potentially useful blog post, it's called ‘Haunted Places In Blackriver’ and it talked about the same phenomenon happening in three different locations in Blackriver. It described people seeing apparitions as shimmers in the air, sometimes human shaped, near the mines, inside of an abandoned mental institution,” Her face twisted into a grimace as she mentioned that piece of information. “And in the old O’Dhoule Estate, which I was surprised to find is still standing considering the feud with the MacOnies was...extremely bloody.”

Ava shook her head and tucked her arm back against her chest. “The feud ended when the MacOnies stormed the estate and killed everyone inside of it. Or they killed all of the adults, I should say, the bodies of the children were never found. After that the research just delves into your usual click bait theory articles about what happened to the children. Mostly focused on them being sacrifices for pagan worship but when US Marshals raided the MacOnie estate, no such worship was found...Neither was there any evidence of the children or what happened to them.”

She shifted on her feet and added, “But 20 of the MacOnie’s were arrested because of the assault and murders and later died in prison, so they weren’t untouchable [i]at the time[/]. Now however...”

She furrowed her brow with a deep frown. “I looked into any remaining MacOnies in the area and only found two on the public records. The Sheriff and the County Prosecutor, which knowing what Donnelley said about the Sheriff…” She trailed off and let the obvious, unspoken abuse of power such a setup could wield in such a small town hang in the air. “I put in a request to a colleague of mine to help me find anymore MacOnies, see how deep this family runs in Blackriver and the surrounding areas. For now though, that's all I was able to find.”

Foster nodded along as Ava went through her findings. He did not expect much out of Ava’s search, but the picture of Blackriver was becoming that much clearer to them with the success of it. “What about the Program Database?”

“I was just starting to look through it when I let you in.” Ava answered with a slight frown. “But from my first glance, they date back to at least the 1950s and it looks like my security clearance isn't high enough to access most of the Operations case files I've come across, so far anyway.”

“We’ll have to fix that sometime. If I can log in, maybe I can get something.” Foster looked over to Dave, who looked completely lost with Ava’s work, “Having fun so far?”

Dave sighed and shrugged a shoulder.

"Least one of us knows what's goin' on," he said with a tired grin. "I looked over them pictures, an' I don't recognize any of 'em, for what that's worth." His brow furrowed. "Michael, that guy we captured… He recognized my name. So I thought maybe this Jay fella had contact with Big Joe. But if he has, an' if he's one of these mugshots, I never seen him. It's been a decade and change since I was at the compound, but…"

He trailed off and then sighed again. "Anyway, I guess he could be a recent acquaintance." 

Foster nodded, a bit apologetically that the man had nothing to do that matched his skill set. He wondered exactly what Bob Kopelmann saw in Dave. And he recognized it too. A useful asset. Easily replaceable. Particular set of skills, but nothing that couldn’t be pulled out from a barracks. Foster shook his head, Bob knew how to pick them, and Bob was sometimes an asshole like that.

“Ten or so years is a little bit of time to make new friends.” Foster smirked, “Dare I say, that puts your family dangerously close to Jay.”

Foster frowned, “You ever think Jay is hot on your trail or that of your loved ones, Dave.” Foster shook his head, “Never hesitate to give a call to me or Donnelley. We look out for our own.”

Dave gave him an appreciative nod, his blues eyes hardening. “He comes after me we’ll have some fun up in them mountains. He goes after my kin, well… I’ll try to save somethin’ for you to poke at with a stick.” 

While they spoke, Ava stepped back over to her laptop. She sat on the edge of one of the beds and continued to scroll through what was available to her on The Program database.

Ava half listened to the conversation between the two men but focused mainly on her task. She decided to switch her search parameters to more recent Operation case files, maybe she had the clearance to access those.

“Ah.” She grunted softly, her eyes lighting up as she saw a file that was open to her. “I found a case file I can access. It's from 2014, Chechnya, Russia.” She spoke up as her eyes scanned the screen. “Oh it was a failed operation,” She added with an increasing frown. “Most of the team was wiped out except for one agent…” She trailed off and her eyes widened in surprise as she read. 

She lifted her wide eyes back up to Foster.

“I think it’s best we wait for a certain someone before we talk about that.” The weight in Foster’s voice was not easy to hide. He gave a weighty smile, “Thank you, for everything, Ava.”

She nodded slowly and cleared her throat. “Of course, it’s what I’m here for, right?” She said with a slight smile before glancing back down at the screen; reading over that one sentence again to make sure she wasn’t mistaken.

[i]Surviving Agent: J. Donnelley.[/i]

[hr]
>1630

Foster weighed the third can of beer in his hand. He’d been trying to get the memories of Operation VANGUARD from his head. He remembered Working Group GRANTOR going dark for days after their morning check-in. Then the news that CORAL NOMAD assets had extracted only one wounded man under fire from Chechen rebels after his distress signal had pinged back for the QRF. Wondering which one it was, wondering if the mission had been completed, wondering what the fuck happened at all.

And not getting answers. Donnelley didn’t remember much of the final stages of the mission he’d carried out on his own. Just that Peake and Guzman had died in an ambush. Sharp raps came at the door and he flinched when Frank flinched awake, flopping about and trying to catch his beer before it fell. He succeeded and cleared his throat, “Coming!”

He set down the beer on top of the television and looked through the peephole. Laine. He opened the door, “Laine?”

"Mr Foster," Laine replied, glancing past him then back to his face. She could smell the beer and had a sudden craving for a few for herself. "We're back, we have some interesting information. Mind if I come in?"

“I was just getting ready to go out,” he lied, “Ava has a lot of mugshots she needs Frank and Donnelley to go through. We were waiting for you.”

He pursed his lips, turning to Frank as he stirred awake, sitting at the edge of his bed. “Hey,” he called to the young Ranger. “We need your help with one more thing.”

“Uh.” Frank nodded as he stood and stretched, going up on the tips of his toes before grunting and joining Foster.

“We’re going to join Ava and Dave in the other room.” Foster said, turning back to Laine. “We can share everything there.”

"Alright, then let's get going," she said, then glanced at Frank. "How are you holding up?"

Laine let them lead the way as she was not sure which room he was referring to. She glanced back towards the door that she had just exited and looked quickly away, bringing her bag up over her shoulder. 

She stepped inside, spotting Dave on the couch with his touristy shirt that made her smile slightly. Poor guy still looked like someone let a toddler watercolor his face, the bruising fading into a variety of colors. Laine's attention turned to Ava and the stack of mugshots on the table. Her eyebrows raised, "Foster, you're buying me a new ink cartridge." 

Laine set her bag and notebook down on the side table beside one of the two chairs. "So you show us yours, we'll show you ours."

"It's all Ava," Dave said, giving them a sheepish shrug. "I just been playin' gopher. Fetchin' the pictures off the printer, microwavin' burritos… You know. Important stuff." 

Ava smiled over at him as she took her seat at the table with a black notebook in hand. “It’s a good thing he’s here, or I would have gone crazy from how dull day time television is.” She turned to Laine and placed her own notebook on the table. “While you were gone, besides commandeering your printer to print the pictures of these...lovely gentlemen.” She waved her hand over the stack of mugshots with a grimace. “I also did some research on the history of Blackriver and found some things of note you might like to go over.” She finished, resting her hand on the notebook. 

She glanced over to Foster as he entered the room and then looked away, drumming her fingers on the notebook. She hadn’t written down what she found in The Program database. It was classified information afterall, but she also hadn’t told Dave what she found either; at the request of Foster. She wondered when he and Donnelley would fill them in on what happened on that Operation and if it had any connection to this case. 

"Support is important," Laine said to Dave as she claimed one of the chairs. She sat and crossed her legs, balancing her notebook on her thigh. She turned to Ava, "I'm looking forward to digging into what you found."

Donnelley entered, pulling on the shirt he’d found in the men’s motel room. He patted it smooth on his chest. The fit was big on him, but he chuckled at the large print, safety orange “BEER” on it, and the stereotypical Realtree camouflage. He had his childish grin and it only widened when he spotted Dave wearing a similar shirt, snapping his finger and pointing at the man, “Good taste.”

"I'm big on fashion," Dave said seriously. "Gotta look professional if I'm gonna be hangin' with a bunch of fuckin' feds." He looked around. "Er… no offense."  

“Get it right, son.” Donnelley placed his hands on his hips, a little smirk, “Ain’t got a badge. Y’all ain’t even [i]seen me[/i] ‘round, you hear?”

"Who said that?" Laine chimed in, catching sight of Donnelley in his camo shirt.

There was a lot that Pari could achieve in a small space of time, and having taken time for some solitude, she had slipped into something more comfortable. Grey marl cycling shorts, high waisted, snug over her hourglass hips. Her sculpted abs were revealed up to the matching bralet she wore. Hair slicked into a simple ponytail. Her olive skin was kissed with a gentle sheen of sweat from whatever it was she'd been doing. Her footsteps were quiet in her Turtle Doves as she entered the room last, which was an unusual practice for her. Time had still slipped through her fingers, and a distraction ticked at the back of her mind.

Under her arm was a manila folder of her own and spiked through her ponytail was the mechanical pencil from earlier in the day. "Sorry," she breathed, taking her usual position at the back of the room, against the wall.

“Gang’s all here.” Donnelley nodded to Foster.

Foster nodded, pursed his lips, “Alright,” he began, putting his hands together and wringing them, “Here’s where we are now. We’ve got a name for our Jane Doe, intel that we have Russians in the hills and cartel activity, but what else is new?”

“Frank Wilkins isn’t Frank Wilkins anymore, thank you, Ava.” He smiled, “And we have a slew of mug shots we need Donnelley and Frank to go over. We… have only one lead to who the Russians in the hills are.”

He looked at Donnelley, something playing across Foster’s brow that didn’t go unnoticed by the other man. Donnelley was starting to knit together whose beer cans were on the floor in the motel room and why. Foster continued, “And some scary campfire stories about Blackriver that legitimize why we’re here for the Program, as if a shootout and a shard of… something found in a seventeen year old girl’s skinned corpse wasn’t enough.” Foster frowned, shaking his head in reverence of the girl, “What else does everyone know? How’s David Dulane? Dawant? Let’s get it out on the air.”

Donnelley looked to Laine, then Pari, his brow ticked up, “Y’all wanna start?”

“Went to Beckley Correctional to meet David Dulane, Laine questioned him on his killings. We wanted to hear his version of events,” Pari began from the back of the room. “He didn’t exactly play ball, he answered with questions of his own. Asked us what we knew of Blackriver.” She stopped, taking a breath in between her words before continuing matter-of-factly; “he told us that he saw something crawling through the mines, that they’d gotten too close to Hell.” Pari placed her folder down on the side table, placing a hand on one hip and the other in front of her.

“He made reference to ‘The Sleeper’, and a promise made to it. Dulane explained that death wakes the Sleeper. He explained it very loudly, actually. He was riled up talking about it. Tossed a chair and began to shout - he had to be removed, and sadly our interview ended there.” Pari brought her hand to her chin, eyes roamed the ground thoughtfully - the disappointment at the interview still playing on her mind. “Interestingly, he told us that the Sleeper swims through a river of time and I’m stuck on that phrasing… I’ll be taking my research in that direction, as well as touching on some other leads I have.” She brought her hands back to her sides again, and glanced to Laine - she was finished.

Laine nodded, glancing at her notes. "His attitude definitely changed once the guards were out of the room. He went from harmless 'crazy' to someone much more lucid and he seemed to be obsessed with this [I]Sleeper[/I]. He did say something about devils and his promise to the Sleeper. It was after he mentioned that when he got irate and loud. The guards of course rushed in but I didn't feel threatened, I think it was more an explosion of pent up emotional distress from being in solitary with just his thoughts for company and all that entails. Now, what stuck with me was what he said, to remember that 'Death awakens The Sleeper.' He was very adamant about that point. It certainly could be a reason  why he blew up a mine shaft, giving lives to this being he made a promise to, or it could be all bullshit like Son of Sam making up the voice of his neighbor's dog ordering him to kill. I'd need a lot more interview time with Dulane to understand his mind."

She glanced around the room at the faces of the UMBRA team, catching Ava's expression. "It's strange, certainly. It could just be the ravings of a mentally ill man that hasn't been treated only locked away. Donnelley requested Dulane's health files from when he was examined before the trial and I'll be going over those before our field trip. We'll be taking Dulane out to the mines in about a month, warden cleared it."

“We also have another lead.” Donnelley piped up, “I don’t know if he was blowin’ smoke up my ass, but Dawant talked some big game about knowin’ who the Russians in the hills are.”

He glanced at the window, “Should be callin’ us up anytime tonight to come visit. Figure we’ll know if he’s lyin’. I know he’s rearin’ to get hands on with this case.” Donnelley clucked his tongue as he folded his arms, “I don’t blame ‘em. He’s got years of history with this case and we’re his best hope of solvin’ it. He gave us some files on some Sinaloa pieces of shit and some other guy named Gregory Carlisle. Modelin’ agent and part-time fuckin’ prick piece of shit that sells girls to the Sinaloa. I think he’s our best bet to, uh, [i]visit[/i] these folk that took Maria.”

“I, for one, am goin’ to dress to impress when we have a little talk with Carlisle. Just gotta wait ‘til Dawant gives us his whereabouts.” Donnelley shrugged, “Part of the deal. He gives us names if we give him a huntin’ license. I’m willin’ to bring him in if he’s a good bird dog.”

Dave blinked, pulling his wandering attention back to the conversation. 

"He sells girls?" He asked. He met Donnelley's gaze, his eyes hard. "I figure he ain't gonna be coming to talk to us outta the goodness of his heart then? We gonna go get him ourselves?"  

Laine closed her notebook, glancing at Donnelley, "I think you guys would be best to visit them, I don't think you'll need my help."

Donnelley looked to Dave, nodding once, slow and dark, “We’ll make sure it’s an eventful visit.” He smirked, a bearing of fangs, “Make it a long goodbye.”

He turned to the rest, “Anybody got anythin’ else?”

As the others spoke, Ava was only half listening to the events that were being discussed past the mention of ‘The Sleeper’. As soon as she heard those words, she was struck with a creeping sense of Deja vu, a tingling at the back of her mind and a prickling along her skin, as though she should recognize the name.

A crease had formed between her eyebrows as she stared down at the table and tried to recall if she had heard or come across the term before. Why did it feel like she had suddenly been in this discussion before when she knew for a fact she had not?

She snapped back to the conversation as she picked up on Donnelley’s question. “Yes!” She said, eager to shake off the bizarre feeling that had settled over her. 

Realizing she had shouted, she flushed and cleared her throat, sinking down in her chair slightly. “Um, yes, I found some information on the history of Blackriver.” She said, pushing herself back up to sit straighter. “The short of it is, the MacOnie family have been in Blackriver since the Civil War, as far as I can tell. They had a violent and often deadly feud with another family at the time, the O’Dhoules. The feud reached a bloody end when a number of the MacOnie assaulted the O’Dhoule estate and killed all the adults inside. The fate of the children of the estate is unknown as their bodies weren’t reported to have been among the dead. It was suspected the MacOnies took the children, but when US Marshalls arrested the MacOnie for the murders; no evidence of the children or what may have become of them was found. 20 of the MacOnie were arrested and those 20 died in prison.”

She frowned as she continued, folding her hands in front of her on the table and leaning against it, “Through my research I found that there are three locations in Blackriver that have experienced the most...otherworldly phenomenon. People seeing strange shimmers in the air, sometimes taking the shape of humans in separate locations. One is the mines, the second is an abandoned mental hospital and the third is the O’Dhoule estate itself.”

She looked to Donnelley as she finished, “I also looked into any living MacOnie nearby and found two on the public records. The Sheriff and the County Prosecutor.”

"Shimmers?" Laine repeated, glancing at Frank. "That seems to be a thing. And these O'Dhoules, their children were never found? Not even rumors? Then who is living in their estate?"

Dave glanced at Laine. "The estate's empty. Abandoned. Didn't nobody wanna live there after the murders I guess. Nobody around but rats an' ghosts." 

“Hmm,” Pari uttered, a finger pressed to her lips as she waited, deep in thought. What Ava had discussed was interesting. Everything now was adding layers of flesh to the skeleton that had been the beginning of the case. A theory sat on Pari’s tongue that she couldn’t resist putting into words. “These shimmers… If all is connected, then perhaps these shimmer locations are... [i]distributaries[/i] to our river of time…?” Her head cocked to the side, but in her eyes, a spark flashed. She knew there was the chance that she was putting too much stock in this ‘river’ - but there had to be weight in it, even if it turned out to be a simple metaphor. “Where are these places? I’d like to mark them on a map.”

"We didn't get that far," Dave shrugged. "Just rumors an' ghost stories. It's all local legend, just people talkin' about seeing weird shit, you know?" 

Donnelley snorted, putting a cigarette in his lip, “If you only knew how many rumors, ghost stories, and legends have a bit of truth to ‘em.” He fished around in his jean pocket for his lighter, “Anyhow, if that’s all we have, I’ll be outside for a smoke.”

“There’s… one more thing.” Foster said, “A case we’ve worked. You have experience with Russians in hills.”

Donnelley stopped in his tracks, hunched as if Foster had spit at his back. He turned, taking the cigarette out of his lips and tucking it in his ear, looking around at Foster and the others, “These ain’t my Russians.”

“It was a similar case.” Foster folded his arms, “We can’t rule out anything. You’re the only one here that’s worked a case related to Russians since the fucking Cold War, Donnelley.”

“You want to hear about it, put a goddamn request in for the files.” Donnelley turned on his heel, “I’ll be outside.”

The door closed behind him and Foster sighed, rubbing his forehead before he looked back at the others, “Well. Anyways, let’s wait around for Dawant. I was telling Ava and Dave earlier today that it’d probably do everyone a bit of good to get some downtime.” He nodded, “We’ll go back to our homes for a bit, clear our heads a little. I’ll call you when it’s time to put the boots back on and get to work.”

He pursed his lips, “How’s that sound for everyone?”

Laine tracked Donnelley with her eyes as his demeanor shifted to defensive once the Russians were mentioned. She frowned slightly then sighed, glancing up at Foster. "I think we could all use that. And do you mind giving Pari that map I gave you this morning, she can start marking her locations."

“Of course.” Foster nodded.

She stood up, taking out the black pack of Djarums and her lighter, wordlessly leaving the room. Once outside, she looked for Donnelley while lighting up a clove cigarette. 

“You smoke those things a lot.” A voice came from behind the Suburban, Donnelley stepped out from behind it, “Recognize that smell anywhere now.”

Laine jerked her hand down, the cheap Zippo clacking shut. She tilted her head slightly to confirm his statement, then blew out a stream of smoke, "I like cloves. And you'll never be able to smell them now and not think of me."

Her slight smile disappeared in a look of concern. "Are you alright? That thing he said about the Russians..."

She moved to lean against the Suburban, the shot up warhorse that had carried them from monsters and mayhem and Laine had developed a certain affection for the big truck. "I'm not trying to pry...well maybe a little."

“Just…” Donnelley looked back at the door to the room over Laine’s shoulder, a frown on him before he sucked in a hit of tobacco, speaking through the cloud of it, “Just bad damn timin’. It’s not somethin’ I bring up at dinner.”

He flexed the side of his neck with the burn scar stretched over it. He shook his head, “This isn’t my first team.”

Laine looked at him closely through their mingled smoke drifting between them. She nodded slightly and her gaze followed the scar up to his blue eyes. "No, I didn't think we were. You're too seasoned, I remember that speech you gave us, way back when we were going to Baughman's apartment. I knew then you'd given it  before. But you're very committed to us, I've seen that, too. What happened to your other teams?"

Donnelley hissed another stream of smoke from his lips, bitterness tainting his face at the memory of Chechnya. “We were trackin’ down a network of people smugglers. SIS gave us intel that one of their cells was based in Ukraine. We followed it all the way to the Caucasus mountains, dodgin’ FSB and Chechen militias.” Donnelley looked away from her, the dim light of the lamps outside the motel making his face more gaunt, his eyes gleaming, “We were goin’ along a mountain road in a stolen Ural when they caught us from the treeline. Opened fire… caught me twice in the side,” He tucked the smoldering cigarette in his lips, lifted his shirt and tapped his fingers at the two bullet scars, “Guzman was behind me and he got the worst of it. Me and Peake made to bail when the engine caught fire. Firebomb from our left,” Donnelley shuddered, swallowing hard, “Peake… he bailed… they lit him up before he could stand.”

“I could smell my fuckin’ face... [i]cookin’.[/i]” Donnelley grew quiet, his eyes looking past everything around him as his lips moved like he was reading silently. He snapped back to reality when his cigarette dropped from his limp fingers and he gritted his teeth, “Fuckin’!”

He drew in a breath and bent down to pick it up, closing his eyes and breathing slow and even for a few long moments, before puffing on it quickly and looking back to Laine, “Couldn’t smell bacon or stand near a fried porkchop for a goddamn [i]year[/i].” He grimaced, his breath still coming ragged, “I finished it. I don’t know how, but I finished it. I couldn’t remember anythin’, but I knew I did it. I got ‘em. They pulled me out of Chechnya, just right behind the border days later and debriefed me.”

Laine listened to him, watching his expression and his eyes, it reminded her of the moment when they pulled off the road and shared the dark moments that had pushed them into their paths. Her cigarette burned between her fingers neglected, the ash starting to build. She closed her eyes briefly when he spoke of his face, where the scars had come from. The pain must have only been seconded by the loss of his team. 

"That sounds like hell," she said softly, shifting slightly closer to him, the urge to reach out and take away some of the pain was strong. "I'd wondered, what had caused..."

Laine then reached and gestured towards the scars, and met his gaze, her fingertips hovering close to his face then realized how much she had moved into his space. "I'm sorry, that it happened. About your team."

Donnelley frowned and nodded, stiff and only once, “Me too.” He breathed.

He met Laine’s gaze and reached up, tenderly taking her hand in his own and gently guiding it away from the scar. “I promised myself I wouldn’t let it happen again.” He nodded to the door, “Everyone in there is hingin’ on my leadership. We do dangerous work, but if my poor judgement gets someone killed…”

He shook his head, letting his hand slide away from hers as he took in another lungful of smoke, “I’m sorry,” he blew a stream of smoke out, “About letting Marlene get you. About the shotgun at the door. Everything. I know you’re an adult, you can leave and never talk about this, or see any of it again, but…”

“I’m glad to have you.” He nodded, a sheepish little grin curling up one end of his lips, “Met you.”

Laine blushed slightly as he caught her hand to move it away, it had been an unconscious gesture but an intrusive one. Clasping her hands, she looked back up at Donnelley, then met his gaze.

"I came back though, didn't I? Even after getting throttled by a [I]zombie[/I]," She said, furrowing her brow slightly, "Besides, I want to see this through, catch this killer."

Flicking the growing ash from her cigarette, she met his gaze and returned the small smile, "And we make a good team. Most of the time. Do you think there's anything at all connecting this case with your old one? Other than Russian mobsters selling girls because unfortunately that's common."

Ava poked her head outside the motel room, glancing around the parking lot before she spotted Laine and Donnelly smoking by the bullet pocked Suburban. She stepped outside and shut the door behind her, but paused as she watched Laine reach up to touch Donnelley’s face; only for him to push her hand away.

She blinked and cocked her head to the side, puzzling over the intimate gesture while studying their body language. Shaking her head, she focused back on the task at hand and made her way across the parking lot over to them, her eyes flickering about as she did. A car drove down the road and she tracked it nervously until it was out of sight and she relaxed the tension that unconsciously built in her shoulders.

Her bright blue eyes flicked back to Laine and Donnelley as she lifted her hand in a small, halfhearted greeting. “Um, hi, hope I’m not interrupting anything?” She asked, looking between them with an uncertain smile. “Foster thought I should let you know, Frank is starting to look through the mugshots.”

Donnelley near jumped from his own damn skin at Ava’s voice coming from nowhere all of a sudden. He took a step back from being in Laine’s space that seemed a little too eager given the witness and another sheepish smile, “I’ll be right in. I saw his face too, could be I might have a couple cents to throw in with Frank.”

Laine blinked at the sound of Ava's voice, turning away from Donnelley as he stepped away. "No, nothing, Ava. It's fine. I'm just going to finish my cigarette."

She glanced at Donnelley, her eyes holding his eyes and said quietly, "We should talk later, if you feel like it."

Donnelley looked back at Laine and he nodded at her, “Sure.”

He held her gaze for a span of time and then turned to walk back to the motel room with Ava. Back to business. He sighed, shaking his head as if that would shake away the bad memories he’d just pulled the gravestone and dirt from over. Before they opened the door inside, Donnelley asked Ava, “He find anyone close yet?”

Ava looked up at him and shook her head, her curls bouncing around her shoulders with the motion. “I don’t think so, there are a lot of pictures to go over.” She glanced back over to where Laine stood smoking and then shift her gaze back up to him. “It looks like you and Laine are getting along better, that’s good.” She said with a small smile.

“Yeah,” Donnelley said, struggling to keep a grin from his lips, glancing back with Ava before he turned the knob and cracked the door open, “We get along.”

He pushed the door open and strode through, clearing his throat into his fist, “Alrigh’,” Donnelley nodded, feeling a new man since the cigarette, or perhaps only just a tick better than he was for some different reasons, “Let’s play Guess The Master Race, Frank.”

[hr]

During the remains of the meeting, Pari had quietly observed the behaviour of Donnelley, Foster, and Laine - thinking back on the car ride from Charleston. The woman hoped that whatever it was that was sat on the edge of the knife didn't threaten their case, or anyone else. Dave's earlier outburst sprung to mind too... But she had her own things to think about, and so she quashed the thoughts about it all to the overflowing shelf and made her way outside of the room, taking a blanket she'd saved from the cabin, and her laptop with her. The cool breeze was refreshing, despite it being cold, the heat of the day was still sat comfortably in her skin.

She started with deep breathing as always before working through her favourite asanas. Her body was warmed up from a quick jog she'd taken prior to the debrief, and so she moved into a headstand as quickly as her body would allow. Headphones in her ears pushed quiet, ambient music and drowned out nature and the sound of the road overhead. She found some comfort in the exercise, with her weight resting entirely on her forearms, the familiar rush of blood to her head was equally comforting. The equilibrium of the world was turned upside down.

Muscle memory had her legs move, one to fold behind her back, the other to point up to the sky - and then switching, slow as honey. She interlaced her fingers behind her head for a split-legged pose. All the while, her mind replaying the images and conversations she'd already had in time with her clarifying breaths.

She thought of Maria. Of the suggestions she'd made. Of the River Styx and Donnelley's suggestion of Celtic myth. Her lips pursed, a tightness in her stomach that she pushed through with another breath. A river of time and shimmers in Blackriver. She let the thoughts trickle like water through a sieve as the space in her mind went blank. With her eyes closed, the noise of the day was drowned out, and she remained in her pose for as long as her body allowed.
Shimmers, spaces, gaps, ritual sacrifice - cosmic strings.

Death wakes the sleeper…

Death wakes the sleeper…

Death wakes the sleeper…

She turned her hips, both legs straight and pointed to the grey sky above. The pull of the muscles from her stomach and over her glutes raced with a burn over her thighs and she sighed. [i]"You're so concerned with being right, Parinaaz, that you miss what's right in front of you..."[/i] a voice echoed over the music. It was a part-mocking, part-flirtatious jab from years gone by - but the clarity was as though it was said in front of her face - here and now.

[i]"Here's a little time we can borrow..."[/i] The same voice came again, this time it truly felt that it was outside of her body, a whisper in her ear that was enough to break the spell. Her eyes shot open and her arms immediately trembled under her weight. Breaths came quick and fast and so she brought herself back down. Knees grazed the blanket and she lay on her side - heart racing.

Pari's throat felt dry, and there was a cold chill across her skin, rolling onto her back she looked up towards the dull sky; "What's in front of me?" she panted, placing a hand on her chest as she worked on finding a calm centre again. Intrusive memory aside, she felt clearer in her mind, at least.

[hr]

Ava glanced up from her notebook at Donnelley and Frank as they fell into a routine of Donnelley holding up a picture, asking Frank if the man looked familiar and then Frank answering with a dull ‘no’. She had sat herself on the edge of one of the beds and was using one of the nightstands as a makeshift desk, adding everything Laine and Pari had spoke about Dulane to her section on the mines.

She looked back down at the white pages, her eyes tracking up to where she had written down and underlined The Sleeper, followed by a question mark. She frowned down at the words, remembering the strange feeling that had crawled over her skin at the first mention of it. A nagging sense of familiarity, like she had an experience relating to it before.

Taking her glasses off, she rubbed her eyes and then shut her notebook. She needed air. “I’m.. going to get something from the vending machine.” She said to whomever was listening as she put her glasses back on and stood up. She grabbed a few ones from her purse and left the room, nearly running into Laine as she took her first step out the door. “Oops!” She squeaked and tried to duck out of her way. “Sorry!”

Laine stepped back as the door knob jerked out of her hand and Ava almost barreled into her. "Hey," she said, backing up, "Where are you off to?"

“Just getting a snack from the vending machine.” She answered, holding up the dollar bills in her hand and adjusting the glasses on her face. “No luck on the identification yet.” She told her, glancing to the door with a frown. 

"I'll come with you, I need a diet Coke," Laine said, "And that can take time, memory is a tricky thing sometimes." 

Laine walked with Ava down the breezeway, the pair of ancient vending machines in the alcove near the pool. She found a couple dollars, change from her coffee earlier and began feeding them into the soda machine. 

"So, what do you think of the Dulane story, about the [I]Sleeper[/I]?" she asked, punching the Diet Coke button, glancing at Ava's reaction to the question.

Ava frowned at the question, the corner of her eyes tightening slightly as she looked over the snacks available. “I think...it’s very in line with everything else I know about Blackriver.” She said, putting in her own two dollars and pressing the buttons for a bag of mini chocolate chip cookies. 

The can thunked inside the machine then nothing. Laine sighed, then hip checked the vending machine a few times until it rattled loose and fell out. "Nothing else?" Laine asked as she snatched the can up, and then looked at Ava. "You had a look on your face when Pari was talking about it"

“Oh.” She grimaced as her snack dropped down without fuss along with her change. She rubbed the back of her neck and then wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s just...I don’t know how to explain it.” She looked at her reflection in the glass, biting her lip as she wrestled with how to put what she felt into words. 

“When I heard The Sleeper...It felt like Deja vu?” She answered, her voice and expression betraying her uncertainty. “But, not normal Deja vu. I felt...weird and unsettled and like I…” She trailed off in thought and then audibly sighed in defeat, finally lifting her blue eyes up to Laine. “I’m sorry. I’m not great at explaining how I’m feeling.”

"It's a strange story alright, and unsettling" Laine said, tapping the top of the can with her fingernail. "But deja vu is just a phenomena of your brain processing information in a funky way that makes you feel like you've seen or been somewhere before. But...it was something else? Maybe you've come across something like this in your information analysis for the Program but you don't actively remember it."

“I...Guess, but I’m not sure how likely that is.” Ava said with a frown. “I have a photographic memory and I think I would be able to remember something like that.” She looked down and crouched to take her snack and change out of the machine. “But I suppose it’s possible, or like you said maybe I am hearing about it for the first time and my brain is just being weird about processing the information.” She said, continuing to look down as she tried to open the bag of cookies. The bag wouldn’t tear easily at the seams so she started pulling at it harder with more vigor than was necessary.

Laine watched her struggle and then held her hand out as an offer to help. "Must be nice to have a memory like that," she said, "I write a lot of notes."

Ava flushed as she handed her the bag of cookies. “Thank you.” She said quietly. “And I still take notes, it helps me keep information organized.”

Laine pulled the bag open and took a mini cookie from the bag before handing it back, "My fee."

She popped it into her mouth, looking over at the pool, only slightly green but otherwise in decent condition behind the iron fence. "So you would remember anything you read or saw? But not why this story is tickling your mind, so likely not something you came across working."

“Yeah.” Ava confirmed with a frown as she took the bag and dug out a cookie. “I don’t...like it, this feeling.” She confessed staring down at the small, hard lump of sugar and chocolate that was in her hand. “It...It feels like I should know it.” 

Pari rounded the corner to the vending machine, a cola wasn't her usual craving - but something told her that this podunk motel wouldn't be stocking kombucha or anything of the sort. Sugar would rid her of the shakes too, the gnawing feeling that she wasn't enjoying. She rolled her coin between her fingers, spotting Laine and Ava engaged in conversation - and a bag of cookies reminded her of her hunger too. Cola [i]and[/i] chocolate... The guilt subsided at the site of the red can in all of its glory - a peanut butter cup beside it. "Can't even remember the last time I had one of either of these..." she said aloud as her treats hit the basket in the bottom, turning to look at the two women with a smile - hoping she wasn't intruding on something private - even if her gut told her they were having something of a meaningful conversation. “How are you holding up today, anyway?” she asked them both.

Laine nodded a greeting at Pari as she approached then cracked open the Diet Coke and took a sip, "I'm doing better, thanks."

She glanced at Ava who still looked troubled and said, "We were just talking about what she thought about Dulane's story."

Ava looked up at Pari with a smile and held up her snack. “I’ve got cookies, I’m okay.” She said before eating the one she had in her hand. She glanced over to Laine as she mentioned Dulane and she quickly looked back down at her bag of cookies. “Yeah,” She confirmed. “It had, um, an effect, I guess would be the best way to describe it.”

“Oh?” Pari responded, bringing herself to the girls, opening the chocolate. “What kind of an effect?” she asked, trying not to sound too nosy in her questioning. She took a bite of the chocolate, stopped in her tracks by it. After a moment to let the flavour sit, she sang its praises; “holy shit...ake mushroom, that’s something.”

"No it's peanut butter," Laine quipped, then looked at Ava's nervous demeanour. "Maybe we should talk back at our room."

“What about the boys?” Ava asked, lifting her head to look between the two women. “And the mug shots?”

“I’m sure they’ll figure it out… Besides, we’ve more important things to worry about-” Pari began, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Like saving all of the chocolates from inside that prison…” She glanced back at the vending machine and gave a quick wiggle of her eyebrows, attempting to lighten the mood, and put Ava at ease.

"Good point, also they might think something happened to us if we don't come back,"  Laine remarked then put another two dollars in the soda machine to buy  regular Cokes. "Maybe Frank and Donnelley are thirsty after looking at all those [I] handsome [/I] faces."

She turned to go the way back, the two cans tucked under one arm, then addressed both, "Grab one for Dave if you have another dollar. And I'll take a Snickers if you're feeling generous, Pari."

Ava smiled over at Pari at her joke of liberating chocolate and nodded to Laine. “I can get a few more sodas.” She said and fed the machine her remaining change to get a soda and water. The soda for Dave and the water for Foster and with both in hand she joined Laine but waited for Pari. 

Realizing she hadn’t answered Pari’s original question she waited for the woman before saying, “So, um, that effect I mentioned? It’s hard to describe, but when you spoke about The Sleeper I felt...Really weird Deja vu.”

“Deja vu...” Pari repeated, coming down to her haunches to collect all manner of confectionary from the drawer. She looked up at Ava with a raised brow. “And you said this was a feeling? Or did you… [i]see[/i] anything along with it?” Her hand reached in to scoop up the goods, and she continued; “how did it feel for you? Do you feel it still now?” Realising that this was probably not the best time to discuss it, she shook her head before bringing herself back to her full height again. “You know what, let it settle for now. But, if it’s alright with you - I’d like us to revisit this conversation, maybe we can do an exercise of sorts…”

Ava flinched at the question of ‘seeing’ things along with the feeling. She looked down at the ground, her hair partially falling down to hide her face as shuffled her feet for a moment. “What...kind of exercise?” She asked hesitantly, brushing some of hair aside so she could look back up at the two women.

Pari's eyes tracked the motel wall, confectionary in hand she gave a gentle shrug of her shoulders. "A guided meditation would be the best way to describe it. We can do it together. Finding sensory triggers to tap into whatever it was that deja vu'd." Her eyes narrowed, had she explained that right? A glance at Ava and she suddenly felt vulnerable, slightly uncomfortable with having suggested it. "It.. it's gentle, it's not like being probed… Or intruded upon, I… err, I wanted to with Dave too -- about his experience in the woods. It's intimate, it's nice." Finally, she flashed her usual warm smile. "Think about it, I won't coerce you into it." 

“Um,” Ava frowned as she glanced away, her fingers fiddling with the crinkling bag of cookies. Her immediate instinct was to say no, she didn't want to dig too deep into the feeling she experienced. But she didn't want to be rude to Pari, especially after all the woman had done for her. 

“I'll think about it.” She said quietly as the three of them approached the motel room where the others were.

Laine glanced at Pari's suggestion but said nothing, she had known enough new age chakra bullshit from her mother's yoga phase to want to roll her eyes. LA gurus popped up after reading a few books from famous yogis then charged upper class ignorant women for their [I] wisdom [/I]. At least Pari was a legit Hindu, assuming her nose ring was religious and not just a fashion statement. 

Ava did not seem too enthusiastic either, the young woman practically flinching away from the suggestion of a meditation to delve deeper into something that seemed to bother her. While it was certainly healthy to do so a person had to go at their own pace and a method they were comfortable with.

[hr]

Donnelley held up what felt like the hundredth goddamn mug shot. He sighed, grimacing as if the next words out his mouth were hurting him physically, “This fuckin’ one?” Donnelley asked, “I got a bit of recognition.”

“N-...” Donnelley caught himself frowning, but Frank snatched it out of his hand with wide eyes, shaking it for all of them to see. “This! This is him!”

“Yep,” Donnelley snatched it back and threw it fluttering face up on one of the beds, tapping it with a forefinger once it landed, “That’s him. We got our Jay.”

On the bed was a mug shot of a blonde man, handlebar mustache drooping off the end of his lips and a receding hairline atop it all. Stubble dusted his jaw and he wasn’t altogether ugly, nor beautiful. Though, Donnelley could empathize. “Jackson A. Mitterick.” Donnelley smirked around, “Wonder what the A stands for.”

“Asshole,” Dave said, leaning over to look at the picture. He curled his lip, disdain in his eyes; he hated racists. He particularly hated AB, whom he considered to be not only racists but hypocrites as well. He would never sing the praises of his father, but at least Big Joe was true to his fucked up ideology. He didn’t work with other races just to make a dollar. 

“Stands for asshole.” Dave examined the man carefully. He was generally unremarkable, except for the mustache. “He don’t look so tough. Wouldn’t mind gettin’ him in a room alone.” The memory of those M249 rounds stitching a ragged line of holes up the hood of the truck to the windshield came to him and he perked up slightly. “Hey, you think I hit him with that SAW? Maybe he bled out that night. Be nice.” 

Donnelley folded his arms and stared down dagger-eyed at the picture, as if willing the man dead, “I was gonna say Adolf, but that too, probably. Funnier.” He sniffed, turning away, “Now all we gotta do is search prison records for Jackson Mitterick, middle name somethin’-A. Man lookin’ like that walkin’ down the street though, don’t need a middle name to figure he’s ours.”

He shook his head, “More’n likely we’d know after he shoots at us.”

"Yeah, well, he ain't catching us off guard next round," Dave growled. "I'm gonna see if I can get hold of some party favors while I'm home. No promises, but maybe we'll have a surprise for his ass."  

“Truss him up and shove a fuckin’ pipe bomb up his ass.” Donnelley frowned a tad deeper and looked to Frank, “That’s our guy. We get rid of him, you and your family are safe. But, you’re gonna have to cooperate, understand?”

Donnelley had a drop of sympathy in his eyes, “We’re the ones you call for shit like this. And worse. Taliban ain’t killed me, some tweaker Nazi piece of shit ain’t.” He smirked something fierce and clapped Frank on his shoulder, almost toppling the kid, “You’re almost home, Frank.”

Frank only nodded. The bathroom door opened after the sound of the sink and a flushing toilet stopped. Foster stepped out, tucking his shirt back in and looking between Dave and Donnelley, “Any luck?”

"We got him," Dave said. He tapped the photograph. "Piece'a shit's name is Jackson Mitterick. Validated AB scumbag."

He glared at the photograph. "Now we gotta find the sumbitch." 

[hr]

Laine opened the door to the men's motel room where they were reviewing the mugshots, stepping inside carrying the sodas. She caught end of what Dave was saying and looked over, interested. 

"Positive ID? Nice work," Laine said, setting the two Cokes on the table. "So what now?"

Ava perked up and smiled, both in relief to get her mind off the previous conversation and the knowledge they were successful. She put down the sodas she got next to Laines and reopened her bag of cookies. 

“I could look into him further?” Ava suggested, fishing out a cookie and then offering the open end of the bag to Frank to take one. “If I have his name, I can find out a lot about him.”

Donnelley put his hands on his hips and turned to the women as they entered the room, “Jackson A. Mitterick. Prison records, place of birth, family members, blood type.” Donnelley smirked, “I wanna know this man better’n his mother.”

Ava nodded, an expression of firm resolve on her freckled features. “I'll turn over every stone I can.” She promised before eating another cookie.

Laine looked at the mugshot of Mitterick and frowned slightly, he could possibly be her killer but she had her doubts based on his interaction with Donnelley and leading the attack against them. She tapped it and then added, "I could request criminal records and known contacts, not that I doubt your skills, Ava."

Ava smiled at her and nodded. “Please, we should use whatever resources we have at our disposal.” She shifted her focus back to Donnelley. “Are we still planning on installing that back door virus on the Sheriff’s station computers?” She asked with her head tilting to the side slightly.

“We’ll give Blackriver some time to cool off.” Donnelley shook his head, “Let the hornets rest ‘fore we kick ‘em again. Too hot for us to try anythin’ that risky.”

Donnelley’s phone buzzed in his pocket, the long vibrations of a phone call. When he fished it out, he saw it was Dawant. Pressing it to his ear, he spoke curtly, “Go.”

“Russians. Nikolai Gorochev. Whereabouts Unknown, but I will tap my contacts. Gregory Carlisle is north of New York. In five days, the FBI will raid his house and take him into custody.”

“Well,” Donnelley looked around the room at the eyes on him, “Can’t have that.”

“No. We’ll get him first. If any of you are seen landing or arriving by car or subway to New York, I will tip off the Feds. Wait for me, and I’ll take you to Carlisle.” Dawant growled, he really wanted in on this at all costs, “We do this together. Or you don’t do it at all.”

Donnelley frowned, glancing at the window and wondering if Dawant was watching them now. He stuck a finger in the blinds and pulled one down just a hair. Sure enough, a car was parked at the end of the lot, facing them, no headlights. “Fine.” Donnelley growled back.

“Good. Three days.”

“Hold on- Dawant?” Donnelley looked at his phone before the lights from the car shined in on the motel window. Tires crunched on pavement and Dawant was gone. “Fuckin’ asshole.”

Laine raised her eyebrows at the one sided conversation, glancing towards the window when he looked through the blinds. [I]Dawant[/I]. She pressed her lips together, looking at Donnelley questioningly. 

Ava frowned nervously as the phone call took place, quietly walking to another part of the room, putting distance between herself and the window. She glanced to Dave as she listened to the phone call, sitting down on one of the beds, but ready to dive down should anything happened. She perked up as she heard Dawant’s name at the end and felt some of her nerves turn to confusion, her brows furrowing at Donnelley as she waited for an explanation.

Dave grinned when the girls entered, but his look of mirth was quickly replaced by a frown. He listened to the one-sided conversation with a sense of frustrated bewilderment, catching Ava’s eye long enough to give her an animated shrug. When the headlights filled the room he was on his feet in an instant, drawing the Glock he’d borrowed from Foster and training it on the window, his lips drawn back in a feral snarl. As the car pulled away he slowly relaxed, his face coloring in anger and embarrassment at his reaction.

“So?” He asked hotly, shoving the gun back into its holster. “What’d the [i]fuckin’ asshole[/i] want?” Dave cocked an eyebrow as he echoed Donnelley’s words. 

“Dawant,” Donnelley frowned as he stuck his phone back in his pocket, sighing and shaking his head, “He’s holdin’ this fuckin’ entire case hostage if he doesn’t get it the way that [i]he wants.[/i]”

Donnelley took a spare glance out the window before turning back to the others and taking a seat. Foster spoke up, “And what does [i]he want?[/i]”

“In on the case.” Donnelley growled. “And the whole goddamn world.”

“Well, we’ll let him in.” Donnelley glared Foster’s direction, but the other man was unperturbed, “He’s useful. He’s a good asset. We’ll bend to his terms, there’s nothing for us to lose if we don’t. Except this whole fucking case. But what is the way that he wants?”

“Gregory Carlisle is going to be raided in five days. Dawant is going to call us in three. If we’re seen in New York subways or airports, he’ll tip the Feds and Carlisle will be out of our hands.” Donnelley shrugged, as if there were nothing in the world he could help at all.

"What happens if you catch Carlisle?" Laine asked, glancing at Donnelley. "If the Bureau is raiding him, they've got a hell of a lot of information on him. I could try getting my hands on it, so we...you will have more information that would be useful when interrogating him."

Donnelley clucked his tongue, “If the Bureau get him, he’ll be beyond our reach. If we try to get him into our reach after the FBI’s got ‘em, someone’s goin’ to ask why.” Donnelley frowned, “Jason is under suspicion from the DIA because we took him on a field trip outside his AO and [i]someone asked why.[/i] Too many people gettin’ too close to the Program is not a problem I want.”

The hissing crack of a soda can pierced through a pause in the moment. "Dawant is desperate, he wants to do good on this case," Pari commented, an eyebrow raised. "What are the chances of us bypassing all this talk of bureaucracy and jurisdiction and [i]jargon[/i] and just hitting him where he needs to be felt? He clearly wants to feel important, feel like he's being heard. Acknowledgement for what he's already done…" 

Laine sighed, "I mean that I have contacts in a lot of places, FBI field agencies to small town PDs. A side benefit for assisting on difficult cases. If I know anyone on the team investigating, I could possibly get a look at what information they have gathered, his contacts, maybe other Sinaloa connections. Before they raid, of course. It's a long shot but if you're taking Carlisle then any more information you have to work with would be an advantage."

Laine glanced at Pari, shrugging, "Do you want us to bake him a cake? Donnelley said he'll be involved to a point but you know what this job entails. Weird shit, weird scary shit."

“You’re right,” Pari said, resignation in her tone. “Forget I said anything,” she sighed, her eyes withdrew from the scene as it played out, and focussed on the can in her hands.

Foster strode to the center of the scene, the great debate in this mildewy auditorium in South Charleston. He eyed Donnelley knowingly before turning to Laine, “Do it.” He said, “Tap your contacts. Make it fucking fast.”

He looked at Pari, mooning into her soda can, “And you. Bake him a cake, hit him where he feels it. We have a fucking useful asset and we should develop him.” Foster looked each of them in the eye, “He knows his shit. CMC isn’t a bunch of soccer moms sucking down kale smoothies and box wine and lobbying for mandatory vegan school lunches.”

“But while Laine taps her contacts, and Pari plans a feel-good party for Dawant.” Foster glared around, “Dawant is going to feel like we give a shit about how he feels about this case. Pari is going to keep Dawant happy, meet with him, call him. He needs to feel like we’re all hinging on his approval and at his beck and call. That we’re on [i]his[/i] leash.”

He looked at Donnelley, “Wait for his call.” Foster turned to the rest of them in the room, “As for all of you, get some sleep. Go home. Play nice with your goddamn bosses, spend time with your families. This case’ll be here when you get back in a couple weeks.”

Laine nodded at the instruction, "Of course we give a shit, he's put a lot of work and heart into looking for Maria.  I'll go make some calls now, before it gets any later."

She took her Diet Coke and went to grab her laptop and her phone, sitting back on the bed she slept in to get to work.

[hr]
>2019.8.JULY
>6300...///

As the sun began to lazily rise, the warm hues of oranges and pinks chasing away the darkness of night, Ava stepped out of her motel room; glancing around the parking lot as she shut the door behind her. She only saw their vehicles dotting the cracked and weathered asphalt of the parking lot and she relaxed. 

With no danger evidently present, she stepped away with her phone in hand, passing it between her palms anxiously as she walked the short distance from her motel room, to the one she knew Donnelley and Foster were staying in. 

She had awakened early, begrudgingly, to a voicemail on her personal phone from the colleague she had asked to research the MacOnie family for living descendants. 

Unfortunately that request did not work out like she had hoped it would. It wasn’t so much that her colleague couldn’t find the information, it was that he said he wouldn’t…

Ava grimaced thinking back to his terse tone on the voicemail, obviously annoyed with her request. Perhaps she had been a bit too vague in her asking? Though she didn’t know what more she could have said, Working Groups operated under a certain level of secrecy and she didn’t have permission to delve too deep into their case. She had hoped he would have been understanding when she at least said it was work related, but apparently not.

Shaking her head she looked up at the motel room door, her stomach twisting with the guilt of failure and having to report that failure to her superiors. It was too early for this, especially without any coffee on hand.

She rubbed her hand over her jaw and scratched it before sighing and steeling herself. She reached her hand up and gave a tentative knock on the door.

The sound of muffled music became apparent before the door lazily yawned open to reveal a matching Donnelley, a fitting rap song of slow tempo accompanying his yawning and stretching. A peek through the door behind him showed a glaring and groggy Foster, frowning at Donnelley’s broad back. Both slow, tired spectacles complemented each other, the rap song indicative of his Texan heritage and alternative qualities. He was shirtless, scars and tattoos laid bare to the morning air on his lean torso as he stuffed a cigarette between his lips and scratched at his beard, which was more red than black now that it had some time to grow over. “Howdy.” He looked Ava over as he rubbed sleep from his eyes and sensed something off about her troubled brow, the tiny form of her seeming just a tad moreso this morning. “What’s up?”

Ava’s eyes widened slightly behind her glasses at the sight of the scars and tattoos on Donnelley’s torso. Her eyes traced down to a pair of small, somewhat circular scars on his abdomen. She rubbed a hand against her bullet wound, the dull ache pulsing through her side a little more noticeably.

“Um, good morning.” She said, dragging her eyes back up to his. “I’m sorry, I thought, uh, nevermind.” She looked down, realizing she had woken him up and kicked herself for not thinking of that before knocking on the door. She held up her phone in her hand. “I heard back from that colleague about the MacOnies, and, um, he...didn’t have anything for us.” She grimaced glancing back up at him. “I’m sorry.”

Donnelley shrugged his shoulders as he lit his cigarette, his words accompanying the smoke from his lips, “Whatever,” Donnelley smirked at Ava, hopefully alleviating her concern about some sort of punishment for some other asshole’s doing, “Dog won’t hunt, ain’t my concern. Fuckin’ squares back at Langley.”

He glanced at Ava before his eyes went back to the sunrise, “Meanin’ no offense. You’re one of the best things happened to this Workin’ Group, far as I’m concerned.” He nodded, “We’ll get ‘em anyway, help or nah.”

Ava flushed at the compliment, smiling slightly as she felt some of her anxiousness ease away. “Ah, thank you.” She said, stuffing her phone away into her pants pocket while rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m glad I’ve been able to help.” 

She followed his gaze to the sky, surprised for a moment as she actually took in the colors painted across the horizon, especially the way the purples and pinks played on the few wispy clouds drifting by. “That’s a pretty sunrise.” She noted with a grin. “Pretty like a picture.”

She glanced back at him, her mind drifting to the file, what little information she had glimpsed of it and his reaction to it when Foster tried to get him to talk about it. “If it’s alright, I’d like to thank you for everything. I’m not used to any of this, but,” She shrugged, eyes flickering away briefly as her mind grasped for a moment for the appropriate words to put to her emotions. “Even after the shooting, I felt... Alright, because you and the others were there so,” Ava returned her eyes to him with a smile. “Thank you.”

Donnelley paused with his cigarette to his lips before he drew in a lungful and let it out through smiling teeth. He shrugged, “It's what we do. It might seem a lonely life, nobody to call for help sometimes. You stick close to each other.” He smiled, gesturing to the picturesque skyline, “I’ve seen a lot of people lose hope, out in the field. But you like this sunrise here?”

Donnelley sighed appreciatively, “You pay attention to ‘em. Every time they happen, it might only be because we stood against somethin’, made it out of some shit situation.” He nodded to Ava, “Count those sunrises.”

Ava nodded slowly as she digested the words. It made her feel a little more confident, a little more steady in her being part of this Working Group. She gently touched where her pendant was tucked beneath her shirt, the image of The Archangel Michael striking down evil coming to mind. 

“That's a nice sentiment.” She smiled, glancing back at the sky. “I'll keep that in mind.” She fought back a sudden urge to yawn and shook her head. “Some coffee will probably make it seem even nicer.” She chuckled, taking off her glasses to rub at her eyes. 

A crooked little grin appeared on her face as she looked up at his blurred features. “Or McDonalds.” She said in a teasing tone to her soft voice.

Donnelley chuckled at that, looking at Ava, “Maybe.” He nodded, “Maybe I’ll have some nuggets waitin’ for y’all when you get back. Anyhow, I better get packin’ soon.”

“Right, me too.” She nodded, putting her glasses back on. “If I find anything on Jay before we meet back up, I'll be sure to give you or Foster a call.” She promised as she turned to head back to the women's shared room. She glanced over at the sunrise as she walked away.

[hr]

Laine held a book in her lap, writing page numbers on a scrap of paper. The title was partially hidden against her thigh, [I]Backwoods Witchcraft of Appalachia[/i]. She smothered a yawn, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Sleep had been fitful again and Laine had woke before Dawn and could not go back to sleep so she sat up with the lamp glowing over the library books. 

Her tired gaze fixed on the wood cut print of a goat like man, labeled "Lord of the Woods". It was an eerie image, the crude art somehow making it even more menacing. A native legend that looked like a hybrid of Cernunnos and Baphomet, something rumored to have haunted the hills and hollers of West Virginia for generations. Nothing else other than a few patched together native stories roughly translated from a people all but gone and a couple of recorded sightings from white men through the decades, mostly hunters. 

Another Shawnee legend was mentioned as a dark entity, a relative to the Cyclone man that had all but vanished from legend when the white man arrived. It was something the people were wary about and feared, yet it was unnamed though some historians think it was associated with the Lord of the Woods. Laine sighed, leaning her head back against the headboard as she started to doze off, the book sliding off her lap. 

The sound of something thudding against the worn carpet of the room woke Pari from her sleep, her head jolted in the direction of it - a book. One of the books that Laine had asked her to look into, most likely. A scholarly text on Witchcraft, just like the many she had on her own shelves. As sleep still sat in her and had its hold, her brow furrowed - a knot clenched in her stomach. It was just a reminder that her theories had been wrong. Wrong enough for Donnelley to steer her away from what she was doing. Maybe her colleagues would believe the books, the written texts of men. Not the spoken words of a recovering addict. The feeling was cloying at her, and she was unable to straighten herself out, thinking of the whispers in her ear, too. She closed her eyes tightly, scrunching through to her nose. 

As the woman prized herself from the thin sheets of the bed, her feet touched down on the carpet. How many people had dragged through their dirt and germs onto this thing? Pari recoiled, and it only forced the knot to tighten more. Still, she picked up the book on the open page. Books deserved more than a dirty floor after all. “Lord of the Woods”. Her warm gaze scanned over the words and she sighed, defeated, before placing it on the dresser as Laine slept. It was worth more than the River Styx and Hades. 

She bit something back, reaching to her case for toiletries. A shower would wash away the insecurity so off she went as quietly as she could, closing the door behind her. 

Laine woke from the size as the door closed and she blinked, the book was gone and so was Pari. She rubbed her eyes as the shower was heard and rolled off the bed, stumbling over to the Keurig plugged in beside the microwave. A new box the disposables cups sat on top of it. She dug out a hazelnut flavor and popped it in, fetching the mug that had a postcard image of the capitol building printed on it. 

Once it was done, she slurped it up desperate for caffeine and found the Snickers bar that she never ate yesterday. Laine put another cup in, letting it brew into another tourist mug. Still dressed in an oversized t-shirt and leggings, Laine found another book and paged through it, scanning the information about the Blackriver mines as she sipped her coffee, leaning against the table. 

Never one to waste water, Pari was as quick as she could be in the shower. Hot for half, cold for the rest. The ice water refreshing - enough to lift her spirits as the rinsed foam of her shampoo circled the drain. She turned the tap, feeling it squeak in her hand as the water stopped and she climbed out, wrapped in a less than stellar towel.

If the carpet of the bedroom was a sore point for her, then the tiled flooring of the bathroom was worse. She could see an outline of grime where the tiles met the wall. She used another towel as a mat to lower herself down onto. Her knees pressed into the threadbare cotton as she brought her hands together, setting aside moments to pray properly for the first time since she’d been in Blackriver. With each affirmation and prayer she uttered, she felt herself drawing back into the box she kept herself in. Routine and familiarity was how she managed everything, and the last twenty-four hours, she’d been dangling over the edges of that box a bit too much. The knot unfurled and she opened her eyes with a smile on her face again to dress. Now that the steam and smell of perfumed wash had slipped away, the scent of coffee crawled under the door to greet her.

Pari pulled her hair into a half bun, working an oil through the lengths, dressing in a cropped shirt and comfortable fleece sweatpants - perfect for a flight, and comfortable inside. She left the bathroom, finding Laine awake now, “good morning” she said softly, padding over to her bed with folded clothes in her arms. 

"It's morning alright," Laine said, taking a bite of the chocolate bar then glanced at Pari, "Hopefully it'll be good, I'm both glad to be getting out of here and dreading the pile of work waiting for me at the office." 

Her hand held up the book about the history of the mines, "And I'm still struggling to catch up here. Too bad there's no Kindle version of this one. Have a chance to read any of those, I'll have to return them before I leave Charleston."

“If you want to read on the break, I’m technically a part-time professor of sorts at Stanford, [i]well[/i], enough to have access to the e-library of the Philosophy department, I can send you some material.” Pari said as she packed the clothes into her suitcase. “And I have a collection of sorts on my own shelves that I can bring next time maybe… Probably not the same though.”

Laine raised her eyebrows, then gave her a half smile, "If the Stanford library has books about Appalachian history and superstition, then by all means, send them my way. It's not my specialty but it helps to understand this area and its people. It's foreign to me, though killers tend to have similar traits no matter what culture, any additional information could help. It's like case studies, I was going over cases where victims were skinned and why. Great midnight reading, let me tell you."

She sipped her coffee then nodded at the dark blue mug with bright gold "WV" on it. "Help yourself, I should probably shower."

Laine spotted the book about backwoods legends, "That has some interesting stuff in it. One of the stories... about a chief who grieved for the loss of his wife so greatly he found a way to bring her back. Though...if it was anything like, well I doubt it had good results. Pet Semetary shit," she muttered then paused, glancing over. "Read that part about the Skinwalkers. It'll keep you up at night, they don't just dress in wolf skins according to those stories. Might be something. They skinned people, too."

“You’d be surprised what the students will write a thesis on, do research on,” Pari replied quickly. “We can’t discount other cultures either, there are places when folklore crosses over, and influence each other, and within that there is context... Skinwalkers, for example, -- they exist in one form or another all over the world. But, the Navajo people refer to theirs as yee naaldlooshii… Frightening stuff indeed, but exciting. Hell, even in Indian culture we have our yuyukkhuras, therianthropes, ailuranthrope…” Pari’s eyes lit up, and her mouth curled upwards into a mischievous smile. “Sorry, I’m rambling - that’s irrelevant… Look, I’ll send you what I can anyway - if there’s anything.” Her brow furrowed at her apology, and she moved across the room to take a cup of coffee.

As Laine gathered her towel and change of clothes, she listened then added, "I knew about the Navajo Skinwalkers, creepy stories. But, as you say, legends travel. Apparently the Shawnee or whatever other tribes might have been around had those stories too. Too bad they're all gone, no reservations in West Virginia. And I don't know if it's irrelevant. They wore skins and in that book they talk about them being evil, not just wearing skins of deer and wolves and transforming but stealing faces. Human faces."

She started to head to the bathroom and paused, "It might just be a coincidence, but right now we have to sort through any motivation for this killer or killers. He reminds me a little of Ed Gein or Katherine Knight, but they both had very different reasons for skinning their victims. And the amount of torture he put Maria and Bethany through ... sophisticated and keenly sadistic. To maximize agony and it reminds me of a couple of Satanic cult leaders  that murdered three girls in Massachusetts. Very brutal killings and he said they tortured them to 'bring them to a point of such physical and emotional pain as to make a greater sacrifice.' Hell, I still haven't finished my profile, things are a lot weirder in Blackriver."

“Weird is just a language you haven’t attuned yourself to yet, Dr. Laine,” Pari replied mysteriously, her eyes darkened and she frowned slightly as she took in Laine’s words, there was little she could add or say about it now. She was still sitting on something, the spine-tingling whisper fresh in her mind. “Our [i]Wendigo[/i], is as much of a concept as it is a physical being. We’re looking at killers motivated by power, but power that can be gained from a being that we need to identify. It’s power over someone, sure. It’s sexual power, sure. But it runs deeper, death wakes the sleeper and our sleeper must be giving back.”

Laine looked at Pari for a long moment, her brows ticking up at the other agent's words. "Yeah, well, I don't really know about Wendigo but I kinda know my way around serial killers and their motivation.  But thank you for the insight. I'd better shower, I have a long drive home."

She picked up her toiletry bag and made her way to the small restroom, closing the door behind her.

[hr]

There was something in her gut that made her wonder if that had been the best way to have closed things off with Laine, and as Pari slipped into her boots to leave, she contemplated leaving the woman a note -- anything, to be of use to her. To ease the feeling that she'd made a misstep somewhere. She glanced out of the window, staring down the line of rooms until it hit her. Foster.

She had time, so she left her things by the bed and made her way out of their room and towards his. She hadn't yet taken the time to talk to him privately - now seemed as good a time as any. She knocked three times, "Foster?" She spoke against the door, letting her eyes run over the contrast of grey and orange. The sunrise, the crisp air of early morning breathing life into her, "can we talk?" 

The door opened and Foster stepped aside, straightening his tie and moving back to his suitcase, which was filling with whatever meager clothes he had in the way of a wardrobe. He spoke as he worked, calling over his shoulder, “What is it?”

The woman tilted her head to glance in the room, before walking herself in, confident strides with the unmistakable bounce in the step of anticipation. "It's about the team, actually. Some…" she paused, eyes narrowing as a smirk grew upon her full lips, "feedback…" She drew her dark gaze back to Foster, watching him as he packed. She almost wanted to suggest he roll his clothes, as opposed to the folding he was doing but she pushed that down. "And some requests, actually." 

“Mm?” Foster stopped his working and turned to Pari, an expression of quiet contemplation on his face, trying to suss out what was coming. He put his hands on his hips and shrugged, “Well, speak your mind.”

"The group is tense," she began - stating the fact as clear as day, her stare intense. "We can't continue to live on top of each other while we're here. Everyone needs space…" Pari said, watching Foster's expression carefully. "A safe space."

There was more to her words than could be taken at face value, "a place to recharge, to be who we are." She thought to the evening before, her apologetic behavior, her withdrawal, and how that had all gone away following prayer. "For me it's the prayer room, for Ava it becomes her place to draw or work on her computer, for Laine - a place for her to read in peace… it's the room where we disconnect from [i]this[/i]-" she motioned at the space around her, "and reconnect with this…" her hands came to her chest and she smiled. "We all need a place to retreat to… Recharge our batteries, rinse away the strain." 

Foster’s jaw set, evidenced by the muscle flexing in his cheeks and his gaze broke away from Pari for a second. “Do you know what Operation JAWBREAKER was, Pari?” Foster brought his gaze back to look on the FBI agent, “Days after Nine-Eleven, when some Jihadist pieces of shit hijacked a plane and rammed it into those two towers, me and a few other folks from the Agency flew into Afghanistan in a Russian helicopter to offer a fucking counter-point to the Taliban.”

Foster shook his head, “I lived in a mud hut with no running water or plumbing with Northern Alliance who barely spoke a fucking lick of English.” He closed his eyes, taking in a breath and letting it out, “If I could build a fucking Hilton in Blackriver, I would. Recharge? Why do you think we’re going home? Pari,” Foster slapped the back of his hand into his palm, “We’re here to do our [i]jobs.[/i] You, or Ava, or Laine, or Donnelley can do whatever the fuck you want when we have downtime, but we have [i]lives[/i] at stake here.”

Pari was taken aback by his words, the outrage that he displayed towards her, but she just took a breath, even if it did shake. This wasn't anything new to her, she'd fought for scraps from the table throughout her career. "With all due respect, I'm not asking you for a Hilton. I'm asking for a resource that in my professional opinion would be beneficial to this team." She remained strong in her spot, yet softened her gaze upon him and released the tension that had built in her shoulders. 

"Lives [i]are[/i] at stake, ours too. [i]You[/i] hired me Foster. Something about my file had you pick it out and you hired me, which means you have at least a sliver of trust in me. You hired me for my professional expertise - that doesn't begin and end with forensics and research into the [i]weird[/i] stuff." She paused, and softened further, "it extends to my team, and how I can help them spiritually, how I can help protect them from what's out there." Pari exhaled, pushing back a strand of hair that had fallen over her eyes. "I meant no offense by it, Sir, I really didn't. Nor to suggest that what we had at the safehouse wasn't enough." 

She carried herself over to a chair in the corner, sitting herself at the edge. "These people that we're going up against? They scare the ever-living fudge out of me, Foster," Pari sighed, looking down into her lap. "People like that get their hands on someone like [i]me?[/i] They don't just kill me." She snapped her gaze back to him and gave a shrug. "My faith makes me strong enough to want to give them absolute hell before I'll let them. Being in touch here-" she brought her hand to her heart again, "makes me more powerful than you know." 

Foster gave a frown, “Okay?” Foster shrugged, “So what the hell is your [i]actual request[/i], because if mindful meditation and stretching in the morning was enough to put down the things I’ve seen, I’d be teaching a class at the goddamn YMCA.”

Pari smiled at him, a twinkle returned to her eyes and she stifled a laugh. "I might pay to see your crane, I must say…" She crossed one leg over the other, rolling her ankle as she thought on his question properly. "Spirituality is different to everyone. For me it is my prayers, meditation, yoga. But for someone else it could simply be quiet time with music, dancing… And others to study in peace, craft something. It's not one size fits all…" Pari pursed her lips and folded her arms over her chest. "My actual request, Foster, is for a single small room at the next safehouse. A private study if it makes it easier on paper." 

Foster sighed, rubbing his nose for a second and then returned to Pari, “You know what,” the thought of Donnelley or someone else going defunct on them when they really needed them was something they did not need, “A request is just that. I can request a Safehouse from the Agency proper next round. They can still say no, but I’ll do it.”

Memories of the men Peake and Guzman used to be, laughing and arguing, smiling and- even, at times- crying. And now they were nothing. Corpses in Chechnya. He remembered others, cut wrists in bathtubs, stepping off bridges, or just using the old saying- the 9mm retirement plan. He shook his head, “Donnelley and I have lost a lot.” He said, voice uncharacteristically hoarse for the otherwise squared away and distant Case Officer, “You come in here and insinuate that being more in touch with your sensitive side can heal me from what I’ve seen? What I’ve done?”

“It’s an [i]insult.[/i] You may as well be spitting on the distinguished stars at Langley. But,” Foster pursed his lips and nodded, “You’re right. Momentum is good, but, uh. An engine running on no oil seizes. I get you. We need space. Time. To ourselves.”

He crossed his arms, “I’m going to need the rest of you to accept more time in the field. Slower time, but more. But you can do whatever you need otherwise.” Foster snorted, hopefully good-naturedly, “Do your fucking [i]Om’s and stretches[/i], or whatever.”

"It's never my intention to insult, Sir," Pari said as she rose from the seat and stepped towards Foster. "And you know… It's never too late to find that something that fills your cup, the study is for you too. I see you doing your best Foster." Her voice quietened with a deep running sincerity. "We're all allowed to turn the volume down on the world when we need to…" As she came closer to him still, she gave him something of a knowing glance - but there was no judgement in her eyes. "I'm proud to be on this team, I want us to be the best we can be, all of us. That same need to nurture the team includes you too. Maybe one day you'll come to my UMBRA yoga class… But only when [i]you're[/i] ready."

“Sure.” Foster nodded, the faintest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips as he otherwise looked at Pari like he normally did. “I’ve got to finish packing. Remember, Dawant is yours. Keep him with us.”

Pari nodded, taking a peak at her watch, "I have a flight to catch, so I'll go and say my goodbyes… As for Dawant, I'm going to bake him one hell of a cake…" Without saying another word, she opened the door to step out, turning back to him briefly. "Have a nice break, Foster," she added before closing the door behind her. 

[hr] 

Laine loaded her bag into the back of the Suburban, the box of books and the footlocker that had been shuffled along since Baughman's cabin at her feet. She was dressed in black jeans and her Converse sneakers, the graphic printed t-shirt that she had worn in Charleston when she and Donnelley had first visited Roy. Not bad find for Nordstrom's, she glanced down at the purposefully faded vintage city skyline across her breasts. Next time she would be ready, Laine planned on packing a specific bag for when UMBRA was activated so she would not be missing essentials. Her Kevlar vest, her boots, and changes of professional and rugged clothes. 

The trip to the mines with Dulane loomed ahead and while she was eager to see his reaction and what else they might discover there was a knot of dread. Laine wasn't a fan of hiking or camping, bad things happened to people out in the woods and mountains. People vanished all the time and add in the inherent creepiness and danger of the Blackriver area, it made her nervous. Fresh air was for dead people, Laine often said and was only half joking. 

She grabbed the books and slid them next to her bag them looked down at Baughman's footlocker. Laine glanced up, spotting Donnelley exiting his room and she waited, giving a lazy beckoning wave when he turned around. Donnelley opened the Yukon’s rear door and shrugged off the bag on his shoulder. Reaching up and slamming it shut, he made his way over to Laine, “What’s up?”

Laine tapped her shoe against  the foot locker, "Baughman's stuff. Should I take it with me or does the Program have some kind of evidence protocol?" 

“You don’t live far, do you?” Donnelley asked, peering down at the locker full of horrors and shaking his head. “Keep it close and well hid. I’ll… probably be around. Somewhere. Don’t hesitate to call me if somethin’s wrong.”

She bent to lift the foot locker, remembering at the last moment to lift with her legs. Laine slid it into the back, putting her bag over it. "Sounds good, I'll keep it secret, keep it safe."

Laine smiled slightly, turning back to him. "I don't live far, a few hours drive. Ava and I are going to rent a car and I'll drop her off then head home. And I'll be in touch, hopefully with more information that's useful about Carlisle."

Her green eyes flicked over to his face, "And I'll call if I need anything. Same to you, alright?"

Donnelley smirked, “On my honor.” He said, “What if I need to not be bored? Think hangin’ out is an emergency?”

"Absolutely," Laine replied, her smile appearing again as she glanced away briefly to scan the area then looked back at him. "I know where the best shitty bars are in northern Virginia." 

“Hell, that’s all we need.” Donnelley chuckled, eyes lingering on Laine’s. The moment they’d shared in the bar in Charleston coming to mind. A silence enveloped the two of them as he looked away, “Well, you two drive safe, y’hear? No racing.” He smirked.

"I'll get her home safe and racing is impossible in that traffic," Laine said, "And you be careful out there, any friend of a cartel is a dangerous one. Talk to you later, Donnelley."

Laine flipped the keys against her palm, giving him a long look before walking around the truck to get in the driver's side.

Ava stepped out of the motel room with her laptop bag over her shoulder and shut the door behind her. She leaned against it with a sigh, looking out at the parking lot as everyone milled about, packing up their things into what vehicles remained. Almost home, all that was between her and the comfort of familiarity and home was a few hours.

She glanced over to her left and blinked seeing Dave sitting down next to the men’s room. He looked like he was staring off into space ahead of him, a backpack by his side and a can of soda in hand. [i]Wait.[/i] She narrowed her eyes as she focused on the can, before they widened in surprise as she realized he was not drinking soda. She couldn’t say she blamed him after the past few days he had.

Pushing away from the door she adjusted her laptop bag as she walked over to him, a smile coming easily to her face. “Hey,” She greeted him with a small wave. “Coffee not cutting it today?” She asked, nodding her head to the beer in his hand.

“Huh?” Dave glanced up at Ava in confusion, then looked at the can and quirked a grin. “Oh, yeah, well… We got like, a case of it in there, an’ nobody else is drinkin’ it. So...You know. If I’m gonna be sittin’ on a bus for however-long, I might as well catch a buzz first, right?” 

He stretched his legs out in front of him and then indicated the case beside him. “You want one? I got plenty.” 

Ava shook her head. “No thanks, but I’ll sit with you for a bit.” She said as she picked up her laptop bag and she sat down next to him, settling it on her lap so it wouldn’t get dirty. “So, ready for some down time?”

“Heh, yeah,” Dave’s grin widened, his eyes focused into the distance. “Gonna get home, check on my dog, an’ then go pick up my boy. Take him out on the mountain...We was gonna do some long-term campin’, last round. Dunno if we’re gonna have time this visit, but I wanna get him out of the house at any rate. Don’t like how much time he spends on them computers.” He winced and gave her a sideways glance. “Er...No offense.” 

“None taken.” She chuckled, patting her bag. “I try to take my breaks from them too.” She looked over the bruise fading on his face and nudged him with her elbow. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but you did real good yesterday.” She said with a smile. “Your idea helped us get a name.”

“Well, thanks, sugar,” Dave said, giving her a pleased smile. “I appreciate that. Your computer shit there’s doin’ the heavy lifting though, so good job to you, too.” He nudged her back. “Got us a pretty good system goin’ here, I think.” 

“Ah, thanks.” She said sheepishly, looking down as she fiddled with a cute charm of a small cartoonish white cat hanging from the strap. “And we do.” She agreed, looking at him from the corner of her eye. “Will you be joining us again after the break?”

“Yeah,” Dave said, his smile fading. “Yeah, I think I will. I’m invested now...Gotta make sure these sons’abitches see justice, ya know? I…” He shook his head. “I can’t sit out, knowin’ what I know.” 

He glanced over at her and quirked an eyebrow, grinning. “Besides. Motherfuckers shot us. Gotta pay ‘em back for that, right?” 

“I’ll leave that to you and the others for that.” She said, returning his grin with a small smile. “I’m not much for shooting.” She tapped her finger on the small charm. “I think we’ll get them.”

“You just track ‘em down,” Dave nodded. “Me an’ the boys will do the shootin’. Everybody’s gotta be good at somethin’.” He chuckled to himself. 

“So how you gettin’ home, sugar? I’m lookin’ at a long bus-ride with a fadin’ beer buzz.” As if to illustrate his point he drained his beer, set the can aside, and then crack open another one. 

“Laine and I are going to get a new rental car and carpool.” She answered, frowning at the idea of taking a long bus ride home. “It turns out we both live pretty close in Virginia.” She looked at the parking lot. “Can’t you get a ride with someone? I can’t imagine a bus ride will be fun. Beer buzz included.”

“I’unno, didn’t think of it.” He frowned as he tipped back the beer. “Guess I could ask around. I kinda figured everybody would be doin’ their own thing. Didn’t think anybody’d be headin’ back towards Arkansas.” 

She shrugged. “I don’t think it’d hurt.” She glanced over to the suburban and saw Laine getting into the front seat. “Looks like Laine is ready to go, I probably shouldn’t make her wait.” She turned back to Dave and offered him a smile. “Thanks for helping me the last few days. It was nice to meet you.” She said while offering him her hand.

“Well, it was nice meetin’ you,” Dave said, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll see ya in a couple weeks. Be safe, sugar. Enjoy your break.” 

“Thanks, you too, have fun with your son.” She grinned as she released his hand and stood up with the help of the wall. She gave him a small wave as she walked away, heading for the Suburban.

As Ava made her way off, Pari took her place. She was stood beside Dave with her suitcase beside her, the wheels having ticked over as she walked. "That's a nutritious breakfast," she said with an uptick of her brow, standing with a lean on the handle of the case. "How are you feeling, Dave?" She asked with a small smile.

“I been a hell of a lot worse,” Dave said brightly, taking a long draught of beer for show. “Ain’t as sore now. Well, mostly.” He cocked his head. “How are you feelin’? You seemed a little… I’unno. [i]Off[/i] lately? I know we don’t know each other that well but...Just kinda what I seen.” 

He nudged the case beside him. “Wanna beer and a chat? I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

"I know I was, I'm sorry about that. I'm feeling better though," she gave a small shrug of her shoulders before joining him on the curb. "I wasn't really prepared for how much this might get under my skin, so… I should be more careful next time." Pari's eyes fell on the case of beers and she shook her head, "I'm sober, but thank you, I'll take the chat though. You and Ava get along well, you make a nice team, actually." 

“Fair ‘nuff,” Dave said. He set his beer aside and laughed softly at the mention of Ava. “Yeah, she’s a lil’ spitfire and I don’t think she even knows it. Smart kid.” He watched the small woman for a moment, then looked over at Pari. “So? What’s under your skin? God knows there’s plenty goin’ on to bother somebody.” 

Pari took a long look at him, smiling at his words about Ava, but averting her gaze when he asked her his questions, her back slouched. "I'd say Ava getting shot, that threw me." She took in a breath through her teeth, and rested her head in a hand, she felt that she could trust Dave, there was something about him that made it easy to open up. "I lost someone I loved a lot to a bullet, and I've never really been able to live with… Well, could I have saved him? Could I have done anything…? Seeing Ava like that-" Pari straightened up and looked across the parking lot to the redhead, all smiles and joy now. "I was… Scared out of my mind, you know?" 

Dave nodded along as she spoke, picking up his beer. “Yeah, I feel you,” he said when she’d finished. “Scary thing, seein’ somebody shot like that. It was my first time, too. Seein’ someone shot like that, I mean. Somebody who weren’t involved.” He sniffed, pulling his mind away from those Arkansas woods those years ago. “But you did good. Handled it just right, while Donnelley an’ me were out gunfightin’ you were in there doin’ what needed to be done. Shit, I don’t know if I’da been able to patch somebody up like that.” 

"I think you'd surprise yourself  under pressure…" Pari replied, before coyly smirking, "but I don't know… if that filthy rag you sorted yourself out with is anything to go by…" She gave a sideways glance, before giving him an easy nudge with her elbow. "You boys keep us safe," she smiled, settling her elbows back on her knees. 

He grinned broadly. “Hey now, I’m a man who works with what he’s got,” he said. “An’ what I didn’t [i]got[/i] was...You know… Anythin’ related to proper medical equipment. Worked though.” He chuckled to himself, looking at his wounded shoulder as though he could see it through the sleeve of the [i]WEST VIRGINIA - ALMOST HEAVEN[/i] tourist shirt he’d donned for the trip home. 

“We keep y’all safe, but you guys are kinda the drivin’ force behind all this. Shooters can’t shoot unless we got somethin’ to shoot at.” He frowned at his beer, mentally tallying how many he’d had since the morning started. “Sorry, I’m ramblin’. What I mean is, I think bein’ scared is okay. You done good.” 

Pari smiled back at him, her eyes were drawn to his broad shoulders before they flicked back to his eyes - half of his face still concealed by his thick bruise - which had been fading for the most part but was still obvious. “Hey, I’ll make an FBI Agent out of you yet,” she chuckled, recalling the image of him in his suit, sat in the office on their first mission - in hindsight of the present circumstance, it was a nice memory. “Teams need every part, you’re a pretty big part of this one -- so I’m saying you did good too. But thank you, that…” her hand reached over to her hair, fingers toying with a loose curl; “that means a lot to hear.”

“An FBI agent? Me?” He snorted goodnaturedly. “C’mon, I thought we were gettin’ along. But thanks, I appreciate the support, an’ I’m glad I could support you. We all gotta pull together. Shit like this -” he waved a hand vaguely, “- it can get to ya. I think we got a pretty solid team here. I’m glad I got paired up with you guys after...Well, you know. My old team.” 

She laughed at his comments, until he too opened up, and she placed a hand on his arm, giving a comforting squeeze. “I was really sorry to hear about that, and, well, if you ever want to talk about it - or not.” Pari clarified, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know what I mean. If you just want to blow off some steam...” she furrowed her brow, not sure where she was going with it. “We’re all here for you, is what I mean. For each other.”

His eyebrow rose and he gave her a crooked grin. “Well, if I wanna blow off steam, I’ll let ya know,” he said lightly, holding her gaze for a moment. “But uh...Thanks. I do appreciate it.” 

“Anyway,” she sighed, “I want to catch the girls before they head off, and then I’ve got a cab of my own to catch or something,” Pari leaned back from Dave and gave him a smile, opening her arms; “bring it in for good luck?” she asked with a roguish smile.

“Sure,” he said. He leaned in and gave her a firm hug. “You be safe now. Gotta get our whole team back together in one piece if we’re gonna face Aryan cartel monsters or whatever the hell Foster has in store for us.” He held her for a moment and then released her. “See ya soon, Pari.” 

“Safe travels,” Pari said as she stood up, “and take care - maybe when we get back, we’ll all get to see the other half of that face,” she added with a wink, before turning on her heel, suitcase in hand to catch Ava and Laine before they left.

He raised a hand as she left, then picked up his beer and gave it a shake. With a frown he drained the little bit that was left, sighed, and then cracked the next one in the line. 

The brakes of the Yukon squeaked to a stop in front of Dave, window rolling down and a punk song fading into an angry whisper as Donnelley turned the radio down. With a finger, he brought his sunglasses down and peered over them at Dave, speaking in his best Sheriff Deputy voice of authoritarian smug, “Sir, you can’t be doin’ that out here.” He said, “I’m gonna have to confiscate a few brews from you and see you off home.”

Dave looked at the beer, then looked at Donnelley. “...I mean, if you wanna trade beers for a ride, I’m down. But I ain’t [i]done[/i] drinkin’ so they’re goin’ in the floorboard.” 

“Fair ‘nuff, get the hell in, partner.” The locks of the Yukon clacked open as Donnelley awaited. Once Dave was in and passed him a beer, he put it in drive and they were off towards the their destination , guided by Donnelley’s phone’s GPS, “Where we headed?”

“Boone County Arkansas,” Dave said, hefting his backpack and his case of beer. He dropped the former in the back seat, the latter between his feet, and then cracked a beer and passed it to Donnelley. “You be real nice to me an’ I know a guy we can talk to about gettin’ some [i]authentic[/i] Boone County shine. None of this Eastern hill-folk trash.” 

“Come on, man,” Donnelley said, peering around a street corner just before darting into the road a little too close to another driver, raising the fuck-you-finger in response to his nagging, bleating horn, “I’m the nicest fucker in West Virginia.”

They continued their drive, Donnelley reaching over and taking a few long gulps from his beer, aiming to be almost-illegal by the time they crossed State Lines. “That’d be much appreciated though. What kinda hell you raisin’ on your break?”

“Seein’ my boy, mostly,” Dave shrugged. He grinned to himself as he relaxed in the Yukon, adjusting the seat until it was just right. “Gonna take him campin’, that’s kinda our thing… Might try and hit up his mama before we go hit the woods, though. You know how it is.” He chuckled. “Though seein’ me like this, it’s a toss-up whether Kaliah’s gonna pamper me, or beat my ass for doin’ somethin’ dangerous.” 

Donnelley laughed at that, “Trust me, it’ll be both. Sometimes one, sometimes the other, sometimes at the same time.” Donnelley chuckled, memories flashing by like the trees and buildings on the streets of Charleston, “My wife first got to knowin’ me when I was a Deputy in Dallard County. I was easy to wrangle then, bein’ so close to home, but when I earned my Ranger tab and jumped into Afghanistan?”

He grinned wide, “Them’s were some times. My wife [i]hated[/i] me, but she always put up with it. If not callin’ me a fuckin’ asshole the whole time.”

“Yeah, that sounds right,” Dave snorted. “I uh… I never really done anythin’ that dangerous. Like, as a job or whatever. Just turned wrenches and walked my mountains… Kaliah, she’s a protective type. And she’s smart. An [i]intellectual[/i].” There was a hint of bitterness to the word. “She’s a lawyer, always been smarter’n me, and I think… You know. She knows it. But she puts up with me, for the sake of our boy.” 

He glanced over at Donnelley and grinned. “Takes care of my dumb ass, too. Keeps me grounded. And sometimes she lets me stay over for old time’s sake.” 

“Hell, could’ve fooled me the way you handled yourself back in them mountains.” He guzzled down the majority of his beer at a red light after scanning his mirrors for any sign of a cop, “Wasted ‘em. Slayin’ some fuckin’ Nazis like my Pa’s Pa. I guess them MacCready boys train ‘em good. I don’t know how to feel about that, but I was real appreciative of it a couple nights ago, tell you what.”

Donnelley’s smirk faded as he fumbled with his pack of cigarettes, trying to accelerate to speed while fetching a cancer stick. “Meanin’, uh, I’m glad to have you. I told you that, that night. But I am. All y’all.”

Dave chuckled, the sound a little nervous. “Yeah, I could see why that might be worrisome to a government man...But hey, like I said...I ain’t my kin. You guys… [i]we’re[/i] fightin’ the good fight. I’m onboard for that. I’m glad to be here.” He drained his beer and bent to pick up another, taking an unopened one and putting it in the center console for Donnelley. 

Donnelley reached over and cracked the can open, keeping his eyes on the road as he spoke, “I never asked you, but why ain’t you runnin’ with your folk anymore?” Donnelley cleared his throat, “‘Less it’s sensitive. I get it.”

"My boy is black," Dave shrugged. "I don't truck with that racist shit. Don't make sense to me. Kaliah, his mama, she's smarter than anybody at that damn compound. Got a friend who's full blood Mexican and he's smarter than me too, and got a cleaner record. Just never could make sense of that ideology."   

“Ain’t it so well thought out? I grew up in Dallard, county over in Texas. My Pa was a tweaker sometimes and an alcoholic all the time. Hated blacks, hated Asians. Anyone wasn’t like us.” Donnelley shook his head, “Only ones who ever wronged me were people like us. But, hey, that’s alright. Wouldn’t have a dangerous edge to me the ladies can’t resist otherwise.”

“You and him close then? Campin’ and stuff.” He asked, reflecting on how he’d probably never get to camp with Tilly, show her everything he knew, spend time.

Dave grinned, looking down at his beer. 

"Yeah. He's my buddy," he said. "I see him every weekend, or near enough. Tryin' to make a mountain man out of him, like me. He loves them mountains, I tell you what. We go out days at a time." His grin widened as he warmed to his subject. "Plannin' on living hard this next time, while the weather's nice. No tent, nothin' but what we carry. Build a shelter outta what we find, hunt and gather… Real survival shit."  

He glanced at Donnelley. "You got kids?" 

Donnelley smirked and nodded, “Just the one.” His smile faltered a bit, “Bit of the same situation as you, you know? Only weekends.” He lied, knowing he hadn’t seen Tilly in years. She had to be a teen now, growing to be her own woman, and where had he been? Chasing the high of gunfights, a tasteful hint of a death wish, “Haven’t seen her in a while though.”

"Yeah, shit's rough," Dave nodded knowingly. "Mal, he keeps me going, man. He's the whole reason I'm here. Some fuckheads out killin' people on my goddamn mountain… Not where my boy plays, you know? That's [i]ours[/i]. Ain't lettin' some fuckin' weirdos take that away."  

“Hell nah, partner.” Donnelley regained his smirk as he shook his head, “We got some hours ahead of us, you wanna nod off, I won’t blame you.”