[h1]Episode II: Sound Before the Silence[/h1] >CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA >16.JUL.2019 >1630.../// High summer and the sun was still bearing down angrily. Wispy clouds drifted on currents through the sky while the traffic at this hour in Charleston was to par. He watched the different people through their windows in their cars, stopping and going, most not even looking in his direction. The buzzing in his skin from the events a week or so before had mostly vanished, but there was that voice in the back of his head to keep watch. Russian mob, Aryan Brotherhood, they were too close now. Only a county over, miles away, but still too close. He raised his hand absently and dragged off the cigarette, blowing it out on the lazy breeze. Somewhere, a car honked and someone yelled, a twinkling cacophony of breaking glass and the crunch of a chassis made him flinch for his holster and look in the direction he’d heard. Just another accident on the road, the two people devolving into a yelling match about whose fault it was. He growled, shaking his head away from the commotion outside the library. He looked around himself, eyes scanning everywhere he’d post someone on surveillance and flicked his cigarette away, still smoldering. He found his way inside, keeping an eye out for Laine and settling for sitting down at one of the tables when he couldn’t catch sight of her. There was still that urge to shake his head at himself. Always one to tempt fate. The things they’d done to each other, with each other, it was wholly unprofessional. Dangerous, for both of them. He sighed, leaning back in his seat and taking out his phone. His eyes narrowed at the screen, a message from Dawant from five minutes ago. He hadn’t noticed. He scrolled through his contacts and found his way to the bathroom just as he tapped Dawant’s. It dialed a couple times until finally, “Davidson.” “Dawant.” Donnelley breathed, the lingering suspicion of Dawant coming back like a shove and he pushed down the instinct to yell, “You wanted to meet?” “It’s what my message said. Soho’s. Nice place. Italian.” Dawant said, “Tonight.” “Alright-“ the line disconnected and again, Donnelley felt like smashing the phone against the wall. There was no end to Donnelley’s propensity for being an asshole, and an equally bottomless pit of bitterness for people who could match him. “Fuckin’ piece of shit.” Donnelley growled as he exited the bathroom to retake his seat at one of the tables. His ears perked up at a mention of a name he wanted dead already. After all, he’d put a bullet through the man’s head. ‘The Carlisle residence had been the site of a gruesome massacre by unknown assailants…’ Donnelley felt his heartbeat quickening as he turned his head to the television in a far corner of the lounge, catching snippets, ‘Among the casualties are two officers of the New York State Police, Sergeants Hunnam and Valdez…’ He swallowed, shaking his head and sighing. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, but he had another urge for a cigarette and some fresh air. Laine stood in a row of books, the older volumes with the musty yellow page scent that was perfume to her. She inhaled and ran her thumb down the spine of the book she had returned not two weeks prior. [i]Backwoods Witchcraft of Appalachia[/i] with the frayed cover and rubbed gold lettering. She pulled it out again, drawing back on the few cultural anthropology courses she had taken in university. Appalachia, the hillbilly stereotypes of insular, private people who valued family and tradition were still alive and well according to the research she had done online. There had been the famous Hatfields and McCoy blood feud. Here they had MacOnies and O’Dhoules. Laine took the book again, it would not hurt to try and get Pari to look at it once more, though her frustration with the arrogance of her fellow FBI agent was starting to wear on her. There was something there, she could feel it but her own training did not include cultural anthropology to the extent Agent Bhatt’s would have. Laine took another book about the native plants and animals of the Blackriver National Forest, and another about the music of Appalachia that came with a CD but the sleeve was empty. She flipped through it, the back of the book spoke of the heavily Celtic influence of the folk and bluegrass music. Scottish, Irish and Welsh immigrants populated the hills, bringing with them their stories and songs. The blending of the early European settlers and the native people created what was the Appalachian culture stated the back cover of the book [i]Washtubs and Fiddles, a History of Folk Music in the Eastern Appalachian Mountains [/i]. Another section of the library she took a book on Native American folktales and another on the Celtic mythology cycles. A few more books went into her arms and she walked around to the counter that was in the heritage and history section of the Charleston Library. Mrs Clark, the librarian that had attended her two weeks ago was not there instead a small man, shorter than Laine, with heavy thick glasses and thin gray hair, who was organizing books on cart. “I’d like to check these out, please,” she said, setting the books on the counter. The older man turned, looking up at her with a push of his glasses. His name tag read Librarian Assistant Ailbe Doherty and she took note of the unusual first name. With a nod, he picked them up and began to scan, glancing again at the dark haired woman in a suit. “Oh, this is a good one,” he commented on the book about music, “You a fan of bluegrass?” “I really haven’t listened to it,” Laine admitted, with a shrug. “Is it still popular?” “Among certain types, the old folk and the hipsters,” Ailbe cackled and pushed his heavy glasses up as he stamped the return date on the cards inside each book.. “Not that I mind, at least it’s being remembered. Nothing worse than to be forgotten and memories have become short these days, strange thing eh? Information in the palm of our hand but we can’t even remember our own phone number.” Laine nodded, “Yeah, you’re right about that. I can still remember my home phone number from when I was a kid but I can’t remember my last cell number.” “Ah, it’s like that,” the librarian assistant said, “There was a time when we sang out memories, our stories. The old days, Mawma still talks about them. Now there’s a fiddle player. I never got past playing the spoons myself, but I was more interested in reading. She never read, always sang or told us stories.” “She still plays?” Laine asked, looking at Ailbe who seemed to be past retirement age and his mother must have been ancient. “That’s impressive.” “Arthritis gets her but she’ll play once and awhile, now let me get you that CD,” he said, shuffling around in the drawers below the counter. “You a teacher or something? Professor?” “No, I’m a psychologist,” Laine said. Ailbe popped up, “A head doc?” “Something like that,” Laine replied, “Do you know much about local history? Like the people that live in the mountains still.” The old man eyed her with a sudden suspicion that Laine found surprising. He pulled up the CD and put it in the sleeve. “My parents grew up without running water and Mawma can hardly write her name. Ya gonna put that in some sorta shrink study?” Laine shook her head, leaning forward slightly, “I’m interested in understanding the culture, it’s that I met a man here in Charleston and I don’t want to seem so ignorant when I meet his family.” Ailbe cracked a sudden smile, exposing the blinding white dentures. “Now that you think you can’t pick it up all from books but it’s a start. What you need to do is talk to the grannies, the old folk that still remember. Nothing like getting it from the first hand source.” “Thank you, uh..Ail...excuse me, how do you pronounce your name?” “Like ‘Alby’, it’s an Irish name, my Granny still spoke Gaelic, bless her,” Ailbe said, a wistful smile on his wrinkled face. “You gotta understand, it’s the women in our families that carry the stories, the records of babies born and elders that died. Stories of our history, the land and those things already long forgotten. Granny magic, some call it. Old wives cures and curses, most don’t take it seriously now days but the old women...my own Mawma and my Granny, I remember the superstitions and the tales they told us younguns to keep us in line.” Laine took the books and then reached for her pen, writing her phone number on a scrap of paper, “Look I’d like to talk more, maybe talk to your mother if she’d not mind. I find this fascinating. I’m not from around here so it’s all new to me.” “You don’t sound like it, where are you from?” “California,” Laine said truthfully. Ailbe snorted and cackled, “No wonder you ain’t got any culture, well I’ll be sure to call you if Mawma wants a dinner guest.” “Please do, Ailbe,” she said, tucking the books against her chest. “Take care.” “Same to you, Miss Laine,” he said, handing her library card back. She did not bother to correct him, instead making her way around towards the exit. Donnelley was not at the table or the couches so she walked towards the doors, her books clutched to her chest. There she spotted him, the scarred face and red hair so distinct and she smiled at the sight. A physical response in her body almost made her blush and she forced it back, focusing on the task at hand. “I think I got what I needed,” Laine said as he came towards her, “At least for now. Any word?" Donnelley flinched at her first word. His face went from angry furrowed brows to something softer as he turned to her, but some amount of trouble still hung on his brow, “That’s good.” He murmured, casting a parting glance at the television as he turned back for the door, “Dawant wants to meet tonight.” Laine looked him over, the expression of a man with a heavy weight on his mind. His glance at the television drew her own and she recognized the name of the town, Yorktown and the end of the report stating the deaths were now being investigated but no suspects had been announced. She cut her gaze back to Donnelley and nodded at his statement about the meeting. The death of the policemen was something they still had not spoken of since the night at the bar. Laine had thought about asking since but in the end had not wanted to spoil the mood of the last two days. Now it was out there, hanging between them after the CNN news clip. She brushed her hair back behind her ear as they walked towards the car, this time the Ford rental with the racing stripes. Once they were in the car and the books were put away in the trunk Laine asked, "So, I have to ask. Is it going to be bad, are they really investigating or is it 'investigating' per the Program?" “Somewhere, I wouldn’t be surprised, is someone from the Program takin’ someone high up from the FBI or whoever on a golf trip and askin’ for a favor.” Donnelley frowned, the engine roaring to life, “I ain’t goin’ down with that ship.” He turned off onto the road, avoiding the route towards the crashed cars, and put them on their way towards the hotel in Charleston they’d gotten a couple nights at. He tried telling himself that he’d done the right thing that night. That it was all in hope of securing at least one more sunrise. Nowadays, he wondered if there was ever a line to be drawn where another sunrise couldn’t justify anything on the other side of it. He rolled down his window and lit a cigarette, a bitter look on his face. “Ava’s got a possible residence for Jay.” He said, eager to change the subject. Laine wanted to push, to find out what became of Carlisle but she could see the strain on Donnelley's face and she softened, letting the matter drop when he changed the subject. "That's great," Laine replied, then looked sidelong at him, "What's your plan with Jay? Donnelley’s lips ticked downwards a bit, shaking his head, “Pick him up. Ask him questions.” He said, pausing as he turned the wheel to turn down another road as the green arrow appeared on their traffic light, “Take him off the board. By the time we’re done in Blackriver there’ll be no damn trace of Russians.” Laine crossed her arms when he answered, watching the traffic and finally she said, "Ask him questions or beat it out of him? What happens if he just tells you what you want to hear?" “Ask, [i]Laine,[/i]” Donnelley shot a look towards her as they drove, his brows furrowing a bit before he looked back to where he was driving, “Contrary to whatever you think of me, I’m not doin’ this shit for [i]fun.[/i]” He swallowed, looking down at his hand on the wheel and releasing some tension from his knuckles, “I don’t appreciate the fact that I feel like you’re wantin’ me on a leash. We’ll handle Jay better.” "I don't think you do it for shits and giggles but I also know you have a lot of good reasons to want to put a beating on Jay. But it's been proven that torture isn't the most effective interrogation method," she replied, glancing at him. "What's more important, that we get correct information or you get a little revenge and a quick confession of what you want to hear." She reached for her pack of cigarettes, the conversation that brought back memories of a helpless man hooded and tied up still haunted her, no matter what a murderous asshole he was. Laine lit her cigarette and stared straight ahead, then asked, "What happened with Carlisle, anyway? How'd his interrogation go?" Donnelley slid another glance her way and brought it back to the road, shaking his head, “Do you not think I know that? I read people for a livin’. I’m gonna know everything I can know about Jay before I go after him.” He had a tiger’s grin on him then, “I’m gonna have him turnin’ tricks for me, just you watch.” “Far as Carlisle goes,” Donnelley shrugged, the lie coming easy because he didn’t want to remember the worst part of it all, “Wasn’t nothin’ to it. He broke easy. Some people well up with that guilt and start spillin’. He told us he wasn’t workin’ for the Sinaloa after a bit, he was workin’ for the Russians. They turned him.” “Just like how I’m gonna turn Jay. He’s our best bet of getting to the Russians and ID’ing the HVTs for us.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, “When we hit these dudes, we’re gonna hit ‘em like a goddamn train. One fell swoop, no more of this headless chicken, piecemeal snatch and grab, firefight bullshit.” Laine pushed the button to crack the window to let out the smoke from her cigarette. "You're right, of course. You know this game better than I do. Turning people and making deals or threats. And you're right, sometimes people feel guilty about certain crimes and spill their guts." She took a drag and blew the fragrant smoke towards the window. "I also know that Carlisle flipping on the Sinaloa cartel must have been a risky move, those types don't exactly like losing such a valuable asset. So the Russians must have made him on hell of an offer or threat. Or both, considering it's the Russians." Laine looked at Donnelley, "Carlisle has a family, which would be left to the wolves if he flipped on the Russians so what did you offer him? Something like what Wilkins got, a new ID and some pocket money. Carlisle is a fucking millionaire made on the bodies of children do you really think it would be [I]guilt[/I] that got to him?" She turned and flicked ashes that streamed into the wind, "I don't suppose there's a chance I could talk to Carlisle. I'm curious about his connection to the recent victims and missing girls from the New York area." “Carlisle had to be,” Donnelley sniffed and puffed off his cigarette, “liquidated. He came to be too much of a risk.” Donnelley sighed, knowing Laine would be looking at him with a face that could kill. He shook his head, brows furrowing again and a troubled look in his eye, “If you’d have been there, you would’ve understood.” Laine did stare at him and pursed her lips, her jaw flexing, "He's dead, that's just fantastic. I guess those girls that disappeared after modeling for him can just wait a little longer for any sort of rescue or justice. Because he was a risk, probably tied to a chair with a hood over his head." She turned away, watching the traffic before looking back at Donnelley, "Tell me then because I don't understand why you had to kill him." “There was an interdimensional monster comin’ after him and we needed the help of a guy who knew magic to banish it or it would’ve killed all of us.” Donnelley recited, deadpan and then looked to Laine, “I shot him in the fuckin’ head so it wouldn’t come again. See?” “It sounds too fuckin’ stupid for me to make up, why would I lie to you!?” Donnelley slapped the steering wheel to punctuate his words, his knuckles white around the steering wheel, his voice growing louder, “I fuckin’ saw it! I heard it. You think we killed all of his security on our own? That thing came from nowhere and it [i]looked at me![/i] Lickin’ its fuckin’ chops.” He slammed the brake pedal and the car squealed to a stop so close to another car, Donnelley had to swerve left to keep from hitting it. “Fuck!” He screamed at a dead stop and awkward angle as he ran a hand through his hair, taking a series of deep drags of his cigarette. Seeming almost to age before Laine’s eyes, he muttered, “It was right [i]fuckin’[/i] there. Right fuckin’ there.” "A monster, what do you mean interdim-" Laine felt the seat belt lock up as she pitched forward at the sudden stop and swerve, reaching out for the dashboard instinctively. She had bit her tongue and winced, tasting blood. Surreptitiously she blotted it with her bazer's sleeve. Laine looked over at Donnelley, the expression on his face as serious as she had ever seen on him. The night she drove the team in a frantic race in the darkness, Donnelley bleeding. Something had chased them, the thing she had not thought about in weeks. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" Laine asked before, leaning closer, ignoring the honking and traffic around them. Probably for the same reason she had not asked by about Carlisle earlier, to let the world fall away just for a little while and lose themselves in each other's arms. "How... alright, a monster. Christ, what the hell," Laine said, shaking her head and took a drag of her cigarette. "Does this have to do with the Russians? I remember what Michael said about the smell and light at the shack in the same area as that...that thing that attacked you guys in the hills." Donnelley nodded as the traffic around them began to move again, righting the car so they could move with it, “It was the Russians. Ava cracked Jay’s email and the Russians talk about this Hound they send after hard targets.” Donnelley sighed, “I’m thinking we saw that Hound.” Laine stayed silent for a moment, mulling over the information that the rational part of her instantly wanted to reject. Despite Mrs Baughman and the big [i]thing[/i] that she knew had chased them for awhile in the hills, it was not something her mind wanted to latch onto. Just the imagination, like the voice under the pier. Laine took a drag of the clove cigarette, it had seemed very real at the time but in the light of day and the police and her parents assurances that it was only her imagination reacting to trauma, she had sealed it away behind that logic. Mrs Baughman had cracked that wall and chips were being knocked away by experiences with UMBRA. “What did this Hound look like?” she finally asked, glancing at Donnelley. “It was a real thing, not just...like a mirage or something?” “It was [i]fuckin’ real.[/i]” Donnelley looked at Laine, “It wasn’t a fuckin’ [i]mirage or somethin’[/i], I heard it killin’ Carlisle’s security guards and I saw it stalkin’ around us.” “I don’t see shit like this all the time, but when I do…” Donnelley shuddered, “That’s the shit that’s out there, Laine. The shit we keep away for another sunrise. Mrs. Baughman and whatever brought her back.” Laine felt her skin prickle, goosebumps rising under her blazer in the summer heat. The sense she got from Donnelley was that it was very real to him and he had seen so much more than she had. The hole in his leg proving just the most recent. She reached over, laying her hand on his shoulder as he drove. “I believe you,” she said, “It was real and you say it followed you when you took Carlisle. But it was going after him not protecting him.” Her eyebrows ticked up slightly after she spoke, the strangeness felt for a moment silly and she reminded herself she had accepted it as reality. “Then Carlisle certainly must have known a lot of sensitive information. Do you think they would have sent that Hound on the FBI or was it because it was the Program doing the snatching? If they have this sort of weapon, I’m fairly certain they are aware of those that fight it.” “Maybe. I don’t know.” Donnelley shook his head, taking another drag, “I don’t know if they cared. They just wanted him gone, maybe they knew we were comin’, I don’t know.” Donnelley frowned, letting the car come to a gentle stop at a red light, flipping on his blinker. He looked around the corner and turned right when it was clear, “One of my guys placed Nikolai Gorochev’s daughter here in West Virginia.” Laine rubbed her hand in a gentle circle on his shoulder before withdrawing it as he made the turn. "That's the guy Michael told us about, right? Some big man in a bratva, do we know anything about his daughter? I remember about Russians they don't involve women in their business." Donnelley pursed his lips and shook his head, “I don’t know. I know she’s got a husband and no doubt a security team.” Donnelley shrugged, “If we get to the daughter, we can possibly get to Gorochev. Flippin’ Jay, we can ID Gorochev’s officers.” "Maybe she's there for her husband, he's probably someone important to marry the boss' daughter. She might be unofficially involved with the business I just remember how misogynistic the Russian mafia tends to be," Laine replied, then glanced at him, "I'm still convinced Maria's killer is a local, but these Russians, they're operating in the same area." She took a drag from the black cigarette, a prickle returning when she remembered Frank's story. [I]Come and see...[/I] Laine wanted to see but she still felt the strands slipping through her fingers. "This guy Jay, how do you plan to get to him. As dangerous as these Russians are, how do you think you can flip him?" She finally asked, flicking ashes out the window. “All depends on what he’s into.” Donnelley shrugged, taking a drag and flicking his own ash, “Could be anything. Maybe he’s got a daughter needs some fine schoolin’, maybe his momma’s down on her luck and he wires her a shitload of money one day. Maybe we give him what Wilkins got in return for what I want.” "I hate rewarding dirtbags like that but that's probably the best way to get him," she said, then fell silent, her mind wandering to her side if the Blackwater mystery. "Do you think that Maria might have gone through Carlisle's hands? She was taken by the Sinaloa, then ended up here." “Carlisle was their lynchpin on the East Coast. Even if she wasn’t modeled, he’d probably have come in contact with people who moved her and other girls.” Donnelley nodded, “He gave us the name of his old Sinaloa contact, someone called the Doll-Maker.” Laine looked at him, "Doll Maker? That's a creepy nickname, he doesn't happen to like skinning girls and making life sized dolls does he? It would make my job easier." She snuffed out the butt of her cigarette and dropped it in a nearly empty coffee cup. "Any idea where he might be?" “Absolutely no clue. Maybe my guy can get close to him. He’s got connections with the cartels.” Donnelley clucked his tongue, “Either way, it's goin’ to be a real eventful next few weeks.” "Anything will help, I'm struggling with the profile," Laine admitted, turning to look out the window. "There is the possible age of the killer or was it two, because of the signature change. I need to get the Miller file, she's an outlier compared to the other victims, it might shed some light on something I might be missing. And you're right, there is more information that'll need to be collected and sorted." She reached around suddenly, reaching back and her fingers touched the book about the history of music. Laine brought it to her lap and took out the CD. "Do you like bluegrass? The guy at the library suggested it if I wanted to know anything about mountain culture of Appalachia." Without waiting for an answer and wanting to get away from her own doubts that crowded her mind over her part of the case, she popped the CD into the player that was conveniently installed in the rental Ford Focus. “Must be the Irish in me.” Donnelley rapped his finger along to the beat, one of the first smiles of the day on his face at the cheesy banjo picking away, “Ain’t too bad. Makes me wanna get me a fiddle.” "Music for the Celtic soul," Laine replied, a small smile forming on her lips as she watched him. "Among all the meth and grinding poverty there is still pride and love of culture in these people." She told him briefly about the conversation with Ailbe, his old Celtic name and fiddle playing Mawma. "Granny magic, he called it. I suppose it's superstition mixed with local homeopathy. But he said they still have a strong oral history, like their ancestors that had no written languages." “Like that Santeria stuff down in Florida and whatnot. The [i]old ways[/i]. I like it.” Donnelley chuckled, before something played across his brow. He looked at Laine, flicking his finished cigarette out the window, “What If this guy’s one of those? I told Pari the people ‘round here are all Celtic blood. Go for the Celtic myths. The Cartels chop people up like cube steak for Santa Muerte, what if this dude’s skinnin’ girls for whoever this Sleeper is.” “I know I’m real fuckin’ behind, probably, but… what if Clyde Baughman came down here for the same reason we are now, just different people?” Donnelley shook his head, “That tape Baughman had, the sacrifice, the cloaks, everythin’, the Shard. He’s Delta Green, we don’t interfere in homicides unless they’re our kind of special.” “What if it’s all just happenin’ again, because Clyde didn’t finish the job? The Sleeper told him he could have his wife back?” Donnelley asked. Laine sat very still as he spoke, the thought that tugged at the fringes of her mind about the story of the Lord of the Woods and the grieving chief and the strange artifacts found in the foot locker burst to the forefront. Her fingers trembled as she reached for her Djarums, almost dropping them. She opened herself up to remember that night. The black cigarette was pushed between her plush lips and she remained silent until finally lighting up. "I've thought about it," Laine admitted, "Why else he had all that stuff, those research papers and Native artifacts. And how the hell a dead woman was ...was undead." She swallowed hard, unconsciously touching her neck. "You think Clyde was made the offer, the one thing he desired most to ignore what was happening. He must have gotten close, if that's what happened. I can’t imagine how long he kept her there, a sad joke of a wish granted. And look what it cost.” Laine let her cigarette smolder between her fingers, the crackling sparks of the burning cloves holding her gaze. “I wonder what it offered Dulane. We never got a chance to ask. And it’s pretty clear, death awakens the Sleeper. He offered those men he blew up. The dead girls are an offering, that’s clear. And the Russians, they can summon fucking monsters and appear in a shack in a flash of light. What the hell is going on?” She shook her head slightly, then sighed, “We need to go back and look at Clyde, look at everything. I’ve been focused in on just a killer of girls but it’s more than that, it’s just a piece of this puzzle and everything is woven together.” The black cigarette waved in the air as she motioned with her hand and then she took a drag, blowing smoke through her lips as she huffed a dry laugh. Laine looked over at Donnelley, “I’m going to need a cork board and a bunch of red yarn.” Donnelley shook his head and chuckled, “Some damn tinfoil hats next.” [hr] >CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA >SOHO’S RESTAURANT >1900.../// For a Tuesday, Soho’s was bustling with activity. Servers weaved through each other, the loud din of conversations melding together into the makings of a headache, the smell of a hundred dinners. Donnelley fixed the cuffs of his dress shirt and frowned at the feeling of being overdressed. Then again, slacks and a polo was asking a lot of the man, let alone the dress shirt, chinos, and blazer ensemble he wore now. “Welcome to Soho’s, how many?” The hostess asked, a skinny middle-aged woman with makeup that was not overstated, and looks that made Donnelley’s eyes linger before he remembered who he was with. He hoped Laine didn’t notice. “We’re actually meeting a friend,” Donnelley smiled, “Dawant?” “Oh! Yes, he’s at one of the booths, let me take you!” The hostess waved them along to follow her. Through the restaurant they went, Donnelley glancing at all the different dishes as if he hadn’t eaten a sandwich, a parfait, and drank some coffee beverage he didn’t even know how to pronounce because a hipster couple in front of had ordered two. But his stomach grumbled. Once they’d caught sight of Dawant, Donnelley had to act like nothing was wrong. In his mind though, he was racking his brain for reasons why Dawant would try to foil THUNDER’s hit in New York. “Davidson,” Dawant offered his hand to shake and Donnelley took it, all friendly smiles, “Doctor Laine, how are you?” Laine stood beside him, dressed conservatively in a charcoal knee length skirt and black cardigan, her high heels bringing her height to almost match Donnelley. Her attention flicked from the hostess greeting them to his response, a habit engrained in observing others. A small inquisitive expression quirked the corner of her lips at his reaction to the nice looking hostess and she looked quickly away, focusing on the crowded restaurant. She said nothing but followed along, only changing her bemused smile to a professional one when Dawant came into view. Laine shook his hand, "I'm well, thank you, been busy. And thank you for your time, we appreciate it." She slid into the booth across from the retired detective, looking him over surreptitiously. Laine took a menu, flipping it open. She reminded herself not to order anything with red sauce as she wore a crisp white blouse under the cardigan. Laine looked up at Dawant, "And how have you been?" “I am well, even better knowing that our last deal is done.” Dawant short a glance to Donnelley, who perked up a bit at that. “I spoke to your other teammate, Pari. We had a very enlightening and educational discussion last time.” “Did you?” Donnelley said, deadpan. “We did, would you like to hear how I’ve been useful this time?” Dawant smiled. Laine forced herself not to look over at Donnelley at the cryptic words of Dawant. Instead, she focused on the man across from her and said, "Absolutely. I'm curious." “If you didn’t know, Nikolai’s daughter is in West Virginia right now.” Dawant said, absently perusing the menu. “I know.” Donnelley frowned, doing some of his own perusing. “But do you know where?” Dawant smirked. Donnelley looked up from his menu at Laine and then to Dawant, his eyes narrowing. He pursed his lips, putting down his menu and folding his hands, “No.” “River Valleys Retreat.” Dawant put down his own menu and smiled at Laine and Donnelley, “Ever heard of it? No? I don’t blame you. It’s well hidden among the mountains, Blackriver county, no websites, no commercials. All advertising is by knowing people.” “So, you know people?” Donnelley asked. “I know one. He’s another specialist in the CMC I know. Rest assured, none of what we’re doing is sponsored by anyone.” Dawant leaned forward, “I know y’all ain’t no goddamn FBI. But that’s good, I told Pari as much.” “I want the fuckin’ gloves off. I can’t tell you how many fuckers I tried putting away that walked a day later.” He shook his head slow, “Ain’t no more. I helped you get Carlisle, I want to get at the real pieces of shit pimping out these girls for big money.” “River Valleys Retreat is where a lot of ‘em will be.” Dawant leaned back in his chair. Laine looked at Dawant, the hard lines in his dark skin each earned by years of stress. No doubt he had a roll of Tums in his pocket and Advil PM at his bedside, if not something stronger. "I agree," she said abruptly, "I can't tell you how many cases I've been involved in that get stymied by pissing matches over jurisdiction and distrust. Believe me or not, I am actually FBI, I'm with the BAU. I am a profiler, I've worked with all sorts including those in the Seattle PD and King County sheriff's department. I can understand where you're bitterness is coming from because it can get pretty thick over there." Laine shifted forward, "We want to catch these men and find Maria's killer. I've been working and found identities to other victims buried in that location. I know you made the arrest of Wayne Williams, I'd like to discuss that case because it bears some resemblance to the signature of our killer. If you don't mind, Mr Dawant." She looked quickly at Donnelley, "After you, of course." “Let’s roll this back a bit,” Donnelley said, eyes never leaving Dawant’s. He rolled his jaw and pursed his lips, “I told you not to dig too deep, remember? It might be in your best interest to stop inquiring as to who we really are. As far as you’re concerned, we’re the people you call when shit’s fucked. That’s all you need to know.” Donnelley frowned, “Secondly, thank you for that information. Let’s talk about Wayne Williams, we can discuss how much you’re pissin’ me off later.” Dawant laughed, lightly slapped the table, nodding, “Alright, alright. I like you, you’re an asshole.” Donnelley had the slightest smirk at that, “I’m on your side, man. What do you want to know about Williams?” Laine nodded, glancing at Donnelley again. It was a strange place to be in, both FBI and not FBI. She only raised an eyebrow slightly at the remark by Dawant and said, "You start to get used to it." She looked at the menu and then glanced around the neighboring diners. This subject might spoil dinner for some but Laine was used to it and no doubt Dawant and Donnelley would not lose their appetite. "I want to know about his victims, I know he was charged for two deaths but the information pointed to him being suspected in many more. What was it, like [I] twenty [/I] reported missing girls at the time and did you have any luck with finding them?" Dawant sighed, the good humor in him fading somewhat, “No.” He shook his head, “There were twenty, but we got him on two. The charges stuck and they washed their hands of him after that. I have my theories though. PD doesn’t like it.” Laine checked to see if the waitress was approaching before asking, "I want to know your theories, especially if the SPD doesn't like them." “Look, I’m not a fucking crackpot.” He cringed and looked away, wiping at his face, “Most of those girls didn’t fit the killer’s MO. They were tacked on as evidence. I know of two people with ties to the Aryan Brotherhood and some other volkist bullshit nonsense on the Force.” “They fuckin’ did it. They had a shitload of uninvestigated unwarranted violence incidents on them. These guys were pricks. After the case closed, I wanted it reopened. It fizzled out. Police wanted me to take my scheduled evaluation and they said I had degenerative ocular… something.” He looked at them both, pointing to his eyes, “I’m old as fuck but these things are sharp. I was a fucking sniper, man.” He shrugged, “Got myself tested on my own time and they said the same damn thing I just said to you.” "Tacked onto the Williams case to hide their own crimes," Laine said, "I take it internal affairs never bothered, there is no money in dead girls. Tell me about the girls you think they killed versus William's victims. And if they are still working for Seattle PD or not." She softened, furrowing her brow slightly, "I'm sorry, Detective. How incredibly frustrating it must have been, I admire your determination. I want to help you as much as I want to help our case." Dawant nodded, “They’ll get theirs.” He sighed, cleared his throat in his fist, “You look at Williams’ kills, he’s quick. It’s [i]all[/i] about the ritual of it, not the girl. Only thing that mattered to him was if they were light-skinned if they were black, Aryan features if they were white. They were kidnapped too. His last victim was white before we got to him.” “The ones I know are not him? They’re fucking dirty. Talking long deaths. Older than the killer’s preferred range. Prostitutes, homeless, they beat them. Rape. Whatever. Always darker, never white.” He growled, “Those were not him. They made sure he said they were in court, but I knew.” “Those guys are retired now. Could give a fuck about what they’re doing with themselves nowadays.” Dawant frowned. “The ritual?” Donnelley asked. “Huh?” “The ritual.” Donnelley repeated himself with a little more emphasis, “Said there was a ritual.” “Oh, yeah,” Dawant nodded, shifting in his seat and marshaling his thoughts, “Always found nude, positioned like they were praying at an altar or something.” Donnelley perked a brow at Laine before he looked back at Dawant, “Symbols?” “Um,” Dawant chuckled, “Shit, man, making me think… Some type of Jesus type thing, crown of thorns, had a snake kinda motif sometimes. Lucifer as a serpent, maybe.” “To him, it was almost art. Using them to give a message or something. Most killers want attention, but a lot of his shit was tucked away.” Dawant looked at Laine and Donnelley, “Anything else?” "A product killer," Laine said, "He wanted the body not the torture, killing was just a means to that end. The others are process, sexual sadistic killers. That's obvious, yet they turned a blind eye." Laine sighed, shaking her head slightly. "I think Maria's killer was both, until I find out what he did with her...the parts removed." She glanced at the approaching waitress then quickly as said, "There were no ceremonial items left with her body. Except..." Laine glanced at Donnelley, the silk cloth had been left but it was taken by the Blackwater sheriff's department. Another cover up for someone's crimes. A young apple cheeked waitress approached, smiling bright though, "Sorry about the wait, were you ready to order?" Laine nodded and said, "I'll have the lemon piccata with chicken and a glass of chardonnay. House is fine." “Chicken Parmesan,” Donnelley smiled, “And a Corona. Please.” Dawant ordered and the waitress busied herself away as he looked back at them, “Sometimes dead snakes. Sometimes live ones. It turned to newts after a while.” He said, “Williams liked his lizards.” Donnelley pursed his lips, thoughts to the tape and the man with a snake mask filtering back to him, “Where’s he from?” “Eastern Washington. Little place, Othello. Moved over to the Seattle area sometime and started killing folks.” Dawant said. Donnelley shrugged, nodded. It was worth a try, “Where’s Williams now?” “Dead. He died in prison.” Dawant shrugged. Laine took in the information, rolling it around. It was not as similar as she had hoped. "There was mutilation done, was it post mortem? What exactly was done to the girls?" “Eyes, ears,” he counted out his fingers, “tongue. All postmortem.” She shook her head, "That's interesting but it's certainly different from what happened to Maria. The only thing I see as a connection is the fact they were young women and killed for some sort of ritual purpose. What about the other women, the ones you suspect were killed by the two officers with AB connections. You said their deaths were drawn out, torture was used. Anything stand out to you in particular?" “Just senseless violence.” He frowned, “Same shit you see with NYPD beating gays up in the park. They just wanted to do it.” Laine pursed her lips, pressing them into a thin line, then muttered, "Assholes." "Thank you, though," she continued, "I wish there had been some justice for those women but maybe we can start with the ones in Blackriver." The waitress brought their drinks and left, Laine waited until she had moved away before asking Dawant, "How much do you know about the Sinaloa trafficking, Carlisle's old connection." “About as much as you do, maybe. Those guys they picked up in the Seattle and Tacoma area, Carlisle’s main contact. Doll-Maker. Muñecero.” Dawant said, sipping at his old fashioned, “We had him on our radar after FINCEN put him on the map for the Feds. The deeper I went in the East Coast and West Virginia, the more Nikolai started popping up. I figured they’d replaced the Sinaloa.” “You don’t hear much about the Tadjbegskye Bratva but they do a lot of the same shit the Sinaloa do. They’re edging in on the market here.” Dawant pursed his lips, “They’re mainly a European thing, but, you know. Here now.” “You know where Nikolai himself is?” Donnelley asked, “They’re in league with AB around here.” “Yeah, AB probably switched sides. Whatever’s better for money. Probably helps their image now they’re dealing with white people instead of Mexicans.” Dawant snorted, “Fucking idiots.” “Far as Nikolai himself? No. I’m sure you know more about him than me. All I know is he’s Tadjbegskye Bratva and pretty high up. I have friends in the DEA on overseas assignments who’ve heard of him.” Dawant shook his head, “I can’t help you with everything, but I can try to be useful.” “Well, you’re doing a good job of that.” Donnelley nodded, “Figure we get the princess, the king comes after her, he’ll be emotional, sloppy.” “See,” Dawant chuckled, “You talk like that and you wonder why I scratch my head at you. I’d ask you who you are, but you get real sensitive.” “It’s sensitive information. Play nice, you may or may not get an answer one day.” Donnelley smiled at Dawant, “Play wrong and you’ll get a fucking visit.” “Goddamn, I like you more and more. Real secret shit, G-Man. Makes me excited about our great budding friendship.” Dawant sipped at his old fashioned, “I’ll leave it be. For now.” Dawant slapped a hundred dollar bill on the table and stood, straightening his coat, “How about this for you, G-Man,” Dawant winked, “When you and your team of Men in Black come back, we be more careful. They’re not just in Blackriver, but when you inevitably go infiltrate the Retreat like James Bond, you’ll see why we can’t move freely even in Charleston.” “Spy shit. Mister [i]Spy.[/i]” Dawant walked toward the front door of the restaurant and disappeared down the street. Donnelley shook his head, tipping his head back and taking long pulls from his Corona. He sighed, “I don’t know if I like that guy, or I want to kick his teeth in.” Laine watched him leave and frowned for a moment. "He has information that's for certain." She looked at Donnelley, unable to ask the questions on her mind in the crowded restaurant. "I don't know anything about the spy shit," she said, "I just investigate regular old sociopaths and sexual sadists. What are we doing to do with the Russians?" “You already got the femme fatale look goin’.” Donnelley smirked. “Far as the Russians go, we pick up Jay, get him to spy for us, maybe. The daughter, can leave that to me, Jason, and Dave.” “I have to wonder what he meant by that. We’ll see why we have to be careful even here.” Donnelley clucked his tongue and swigged at his beer, “This shit tastes like sour water.” Laine grinned at his comment, brushing her short black hair back behind her ear, "So, are you going to throw hot men this woman until she gets seduced?" She sipped her wine, a slight smile still on her lips at the mental image of the trio in tuxes like a bachelor line up. "I thought you liked Corona," Laine said dryly, " As for Charleston, no doubt there are eyes there. I mean, as much as we've tried to keep a low profile Jay knows your face and maybe the rest of us. What do you think of changing cities maybe another place like Clarksburg or Huntington?" “Have I not been trying to seduce you with my wily charms since we met?” Donnelley smirked, “But I like Charleston. The proximity to Blackriver makes it easier to get there. Clarksburg has too many Feds, too many people might ask questions.” "And hasn't it been working?" Laine replied with an arch of her eyebrow before sipping her wine, glancing to the side at him. "Charleston is nice, it's a large city with amenities, close to Blackriver and now probably compromised," she countered, "And that's fair about Clarksburg but there are other cities if we are worried about being attacked again or spied on maybe a longer commute is worth it." “Maybe you’re right. Going to be living the high life at another Goldstar.” He snorted. "You're the boss," Laine replied, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "I'm sure you and Foster will put us somewhere safe." [Hr] >17.JUL.2019 >1800.../// It would not take long to pack, Laine had a bag now prepared with both suits and casual clothes, nightwear and toiletries, her soft bulletproof vest and FBI issue helmet and sturdy Doc Marten boots. It was another layer to her regular travel kit, added after the gunfight at the safehouse. Her gear was stacked on a chair and atop it sat an enormous fat stuffed cat with a cartoonish face. They were in her bedroom, her bed neatly made after they had made such efforts of tangling the sheets the night before. "Do you need to stop and get anything before we get to Ava's?" Laine asked Donnelley as she pulled on a black tank top over her bra. She was dressed in form fitting black skirt over black tights. "Heels or sneakers?" she asked, holding up high heeled half boots and a black and white pair of Airwalk sneakers. Donnelley slipped the Exodus shirt over his head and looked Laine up and down, a tiny smirk forming on his lips at the sight of her, “Sneakers.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped his black Vans on his feet, falling back and stretching the entirety of himself, grunting, “Fuckin’…” He let go a series of pops from his back and sat back up, running a hand over his face and slipping on the black hoodie and Thrasher cap on his head, “Foster gave me the address to the Safehouse we’re usin’ in Clarksburg.” He cleared his throat, placing a cigarette between his lips, a sarcastic tinge to his voice, “Hopefully it’s got good location, I refuse to settle.” Laine put the boots aside to slip on the skater sneakers, leaning down to tug them into place. She grinned as his back popped, tempted to go straddle him by surprise but she pushed it away. Business now, she reminded herself, even if they were dressed like they were still punk ass teens going down to the park. "Don't smoke in my house," she said, playfully plucking it from his lips and put it between her own. "So he went for Clarksburg, I'm surprised. We keep a low profile it's at least safer, I would think. At least until we know what is going on in Charleston." She picked up a lightweight hoodie that had a Siouxsie and the Banshees logo on the back. Laine picked up the large stuffed cat, holding it up, "I got it for Ava, in case we share a bed again. She's a real cuddler. This might deter her." Tossing it towards Donnelley to carry, she added, "Not that its bad I just am not a fan of sleeping with a human backpack latched on." With a chuckle, she shouldered her bag and grabbed her laptop case. "Ready?" “I’m not that rude,” He grumbled, glancing away from Laine before catching the huge stuffed animal, “Don’t even smoke in my own house…” He followed her to the door, waiting for her to get everything in her house in order, “Yeah, lot of Feds might deter people from pryin’. At least if it’s a nosy FBI guy we can wave him off with ‘out-of-your-clearance.’” “Let’s be off.” Donnelley grinned. "Most of the FBI that live and work there are analysts anyway, not as nosy as investigators," she said, locking the door behind them as they stood on the stoop of the townhome. She lit his cigarette and politely gave it back to him but not before stealing a kiss, then put the cigarette between his lips. "I'll drive this time," Laine said, "Back to being professional." [hr] > VIENNA, VIRGINIA > AVALINE MOORE, RESIDENCE >17.JUL.2019 > 1900.../// Ava bounced her leg up and down as she waited for Laine and Donnelley to arrive. She was killing time and trying to relax by watching a few episodes of Batman The Animated Series. All of her clothes were already packed and waiting by the door, as was the two cases containing her drones. Thor was already with Mrs Grier, though she got the sense the cat understood she was leaving again and was mad at her because he disappeared shortly after being let off his leash. She cracked a smile watching Harley Quinn proclaim she was armed and then hit Bruce Wayne in the face with a mannequin arm. She giggled and shook her head, glancing over at the clock on the wall as her smile faded. Any minute now, they would be pulling up and it would be back to work. Back to Blackriver. Her leg bounced a little more as she rubbed a hand gently against her side. She still felt the occasional twinge of pain when she moved a certain way or picked up something heavy, but other than that she thought she was mostly healed. Physically anyway. She was worried about going back. They were armed with more information, but that didn’t mean they would be out of danger. If anything, the risk has only increased as they drew closer to the heart of what was happening in Blackriver. She patted her hands on the arms of her chair for a moment before she got up and stood in the middle of her living room. Needing something to do since the show wasn’t cutting it as a distraction, she started walking around. She moved around one of the geometric terrariums she had for decoration filled with sand, pebbles and pretty silk flowers on the end tables. She rearranged the small stylized ceramic fox figurines on her mantle below the television, playing around with the order of the rainbow of colors they came in. Eventually she found herself in her kitchen and staring at her pantry. She was debating making a cup of tea when she saw movement from the corner of her eye, outside her bay window. She looked and saw the familiar racing stripe clad Ford Focus pulling up to the curb outside her house. Her heart leapt up into her throat at the same time she felt relief seeing they had made it there alright. This was it. Time to go back. “Okay,” She said, taking in a deep breath, holding it for a moment and letting it out slowly. “You can do this. You can do this.” She said on the exhale. She took in another deep breath and this time on the exhale reminded herself, “You aren’t alone. You aren’t alone.” The knock came at her door and she pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket. She pulled up the feed for the security camera on the doorbell, just to be sure and relaxed some of the tension from her shoulders when she saw Laine standing there beneath the porch light. She tucked the phone away, put a smile on her face as she crossed to the door and opened it. “Hi Dr. Laine.” She greeted, her eyes taking in the dark, punk rock outfit that hugged her hourglass figure. She peered around her to where Donnelley was standing, dressed in similar dark attire. She glanced down at her own shirt, a baseball tee with pink sleeves that went to her elbows, depicting an adorable cartoon turtle with a happy little smile on its face proclaiming ‘Shell Yeah’ in pink bubble letters. Ava looked back up at her with a sheepish smile. “Don’t judge me?” Laine grinned when Ava opened the door, her small frame even more childlike with the pastel cartoon t-shirt, "Why would I? And hello to you, too. Ready?" Ava nodded, taking a step back and opening the door wider. “Yeah, I have all my stuff right here.” She said, picking up her waiting duffle bag and slinging it over her shoulder. With the toe of her sneaker she tapped one of two hard black cases, the smaller on top labeled EVE and the larger on the bottom named WALL-E. “I’ll need some help with these.” The mad cackling of Mark Hamil’s Joker suddenly sounded from her living room and Ava jumped. “Jesus.” She said, pressing a hand against her chest and glaring over at her still playing television. “Go turn that off,” Donnelley smiled as he stepped up beside Laine, bending down and hefting up one, then both black cases, “I got these.” Laine stepped aside, letting him pass to pick up the cases but her eyes were on Ava. "Are you alright?" she asked the young computer analyst. Ava had good reason to be nervous as they were heading back into the belly of the beast. The place and situation that earned her a bullet. "By the way, there is something in the back seat for you." “Think you’ll like it.” Donnelley winked before turning for the car and taking the cases. Ava gave them both a curious look before turning off the television. “What is it?” She asked, grabbing up her laptop bag from the chair it was waiting on. She shut off the lights and pulled out her keys to lock the front door. As she locked it she glanced at Laine, the dim porch light catching the concerned crease of her brow. “And I'm okay, just a little nervous to be going back.” Laine nodded at her, meeting her eyes, "It's understandable, thank you for sticking with us. We're going to be in a safer place this time." She motioned her forward, following behind Ava as they went to the rental Ford Focus. The doors closed behind them in the idling Ford, Donnelley in the driver’s seat as he revved the engine a couple times, “How fast y’all think I can get us to Clarksburg?” He chuckled, a mischievous grin on his face, “Haven’t even broken 80 in this thing yet.” Laine slipped into the passenger seat, "Don't you dare, we don't have a carseat for Ava." “I'm big enough for a booster seat, thank you very much.” Ava said with a small grin as she settled into the back seat. Her duffle bag in the back with the rest luggage she settled her laptop bag next to her on the seat. Her eyes landed on the lump on the floor behind the driver’s seat and remembering what Laine said she reached over and picked it up. She blinked and then grinned widely in surprise when she saw the cartoonish face of a happy calico cat on the large, soft pillow. “Awe! It's so cute!” She said, giving it a squeeze. “This is for me?” She asked, taking the triangular ears in her hands and giving them a wiggle, the bright girlish grin still on her face. Laine smiled, glancing in the rear view mirror, "I figured you needed something to cuddle other than me. Just in case we get another two bed room for three." “Oh,” Ava flushed as she settled the plushie on her lap, the pillow as big as her torso. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She looked down at the gift and grinned again. “Thank you so much, I love it.” She said, looking up at Laine, eyes bright and her nerves about returning to Blackriver momentarily forgotten. “I picked it out.” Donnelley poorly hid a grin seeing Ava beam at her new gigantic plushie, “But, fine. If we gotta obey the traffic laws, I guess I’ll obey the traffic laws.” He shifted into first gear and they were off down the road, Donnelley mumbling in feigned dejection, “Dave would let me go fast…” Laine looked sidelong at him, then sniffed, "I'm still a better navigator." Donnelley’s sulking frown turned into a small smirk, a glance sidelong at Laine, “The best.” The mention of navigation made Ava look up from her new plushie. “Speaking of navigating,” She said, folding her arms on top of the cat pillow. “Donnelley, I was able to make a more detailed map of those dead drop sites and the shed. I used some satellite images and, uh, borrowed a little information from the National Park Service to map out as many roads and trails as I could.” "So you spent your break working, too," Laine said, turning to look at Ava. "I'll be interested in seeing those maps, maybe we can get some printed up. I brought my printer, maybe print it off in sections and assemble it on a wall if we're not allowed to go to Kinko's." “Kinko’s seems a little…” Donnelley frowned, “Unsecure. I don’t want some dude askin’ why we’re printin’ a big ass map of some forests.” “I want as small of a footprint we can have in Clarksburg. Bad enough we’ll have to relocate Dave’s terrorist lab there, right under the FBI’s noses.” Donnelley sighed, a little sardonic. “Can’t imagine the media shitstorm that’ll raise if we ain’t careful. Ain’t no amount of time on mine and Foster’s knees in front of some FBI Director’s gonna cover that up.” “What is the Safe House this time?” Ava asked. “Is it an actual house or another motel?” She frowned in thought as she flicked one of her plushie’s ears back and forth. “I've also been wondering where you're going to put all of the black market weapons from the dead drops? That might also get the FBI’s attention…” “We’ll just need our own stash spots. Whatever we can’t hide, we’ll give it some tannerite.” Donnelley shrugged, “Hopefully we get some good real estate.” Ava knitted her eyebrows together and settled back into her seat, watching her neighborhood pass them by from the corner of her eye. “I could try to find places to stash them? But that seems like something you and Dave might have better luck with.” She said to Donnelley. Laine leaned her head back, "I forgot about Dave's stash. Shit. Well, there is storage units in town. I hope he hadn't got a lab already set up in Charleston." [hr] >CLARKSBURG, WEST VIRGINIA >INDUSTRIAL PARK SAFEHOUSE >JUL.17.2019 >2220.../// The industrial area of Clarksburg was like any other Donnelley had been through. Warehouses, hardware stores, gas stations, and homeless camps on the outskirts. Junkies and tweakers mingling with the graveyard shift on the streets, life ticking by slowly at this late hour. The small house nestled away from prying eyes looked about as dilapidated as the Blackriver Cabin. A chain link fence hemmed in the property of cracked concrete and gravel. One of the Windows was boarded up, graffiti sprayed along the outside. After taking the key to the box and flipping it open to reveal the keypad, Donnelley looked at his phone while the Ford idled behind him. He keyed in the code Foster sent him and the lock on the rolling gate disengaged, he turned and perked his brow at the sound of distant pops of fireworks, or worse. What followed was either a police siren or an ambulance. He shrugged, pushed open the chain link gate and parked the Ford next to the small house. His eyes lingered on the peeling paint and mossy roof, “Home, sweet home.” He turned with a smile to Laine and then Ava, “How much y’all wanna bet this used to be a drug house?” Ava stared at the “Safe” House with wide eyes and a nervous twist to her lips. She could smell the mustiness of dirt, water damaged wood and mold from inside the car. “I miss the Goldstar already.” She muttered, reluctantly undoing her seatbelt. Laine eyed the rundown house and shook her head, "Well, we certainly won't be under the noses of the Feds in this neighborhood." She got out and lit a cigarette, looking down the street. There were other houses in similar condition, yards a few weeks past due for a mowing. One down the street had sun faded children's toys strewn across the grass and another had a white pitbull chained to a tree. Sidewalks buckled and weeds pushed through, a place long neglected by the city and the people here stayed inside. Laine turned back, looking over at their new home. What an odd bunch they would make in a neighborhood with elderly shut ins and generations of young parents still living with their own parents. Laine moved around the car, her sneakers scuffing the broken asphalt. "Pari's gonna shit herself." Ava got out of the car with her laptop bag over her shoulder and her new plushie under her other arm. Her eyes flickered around nervously as she quickly joined Laine and Donnelley, paranoid that someone would come leaping out of the heavy shadows. “Is there electricity and running water at least?” She asked, sticking particularly close to Donnelley. “I wouldn’t drink from the faucet if that’s what you’re askin’.” Donnelley said as he hefted his go-bag out of the trunk space, slinging it over his broad shoulders. He walked past Ava and Laine, putting a cigarette he’d kept behind his ear to his waiting lips. The door seemed to have an electronic lock with a keypad. That wasn’t conspicuous in a neighborhood like this. He keyed in the second code Foster had sent him and the deadbolt cane grinding open. “Flash!” Came a voice from behind the door. Donnelley stepped back from the door and ripped his handgun from its holster in less than a second, practiced, and muscles taut with it. He glanced at Laine and Ava, “Flash, dude!” Came the voice again. Laine looked up at the strange demand, her hand reaching for her own sidearm that rested in the shoulder holster. "Flash?" she whispered, furrowing her brow. "I'm not showing my tits for entrance to This Old Crackhouse." Ava’s eyes widened both at the sound of the voice beyond the door and the reaction from her teammates. She quickly backed away to Laine’s side, dropping her cat plushie on the ground as she fumbled with her laptop bag where her own handgun was tucked away. “It’s alright,” Donnelley held a hand out to Laine, “No one’s showin’ their tits today.” Donnelley’s phone buzzed again and he risked looking away from the door to his screen. Foster. ‘The Counter to Flash is Thunder. Second Challenge is Shadow, UMBRA.’ Donnelley rolled his eyes. For a man who’d dropped into Afghanistan, Foster wasn’t big on providing him with everything he needed. Then again, the tastes of an Afghan warlord were probably simple. Lots of AKs and a few million dollars in US cash. Come to think of it, Donnelley wouldn’t mind that either, “Thunder!” “Shadow!” “Umbra!” Donnelley rose his voice again. “I’m opening the door, I’m holstering my weapon.” The door creaked open to reveal a man a few inches shorter than Donnelley. A slight dusting of stubble along his jaw and tired eyes, a Caucasian man with sandy blonde, unkempt hair, clad in loose clothing, “What’s up, man, you guys are kinda late.” “Had a few detours.” Donnelley grunted. “Who are you?” “I’m the Safehouse Handler. I won’t be living with you guys, but I left my phone number on the kitchen counter. Three bedrooms, two baths. Come in, man, I made some lemon glaze salmon.” He cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly, “I made a lot. I didn’t know how many to expect, but, uh… yeah.” Ava stopped trying to retrieve her gun as the tension seemingly dissipated with the reveal of the man on the other side, for the most part. She crouched down and picked the plushie back up, keeping a wary eye on the strange man in the doorway as she dusted it off. She perked up at the mention of food, sniffing the air to try and catch a whiff of the dinner. “That was nice of you.” She said softly, with a little polite smile. “Thank you.” “Yeah, no problem.” The man beamed, “My name’s Avery. Program said to expect you guys any time from Sixteen-Hundred to Nineteen-Hundred. Salmon might be a little cold.” Laine dropped her hand from her gun and looked between the stranger and Donnelley, “We get house sitters now?” “Sometimes.” Donnelley grumbled, eyes not leaving Avery. He pressed the call button on his phone and within a few rings, Foster answered. “Hello.” “Foster. We got to the Safehouse. There’s a guy here.” Donnelley mumbled into the receiver. “Yeah. Avery, right?” Foster asked. “Yup.” “That’s your guy. He’s Office of Security, new guy. He’ll clean the place when you leave, but he’s not your maid. You guys are grown-ups.” Donnelley rolled his eyes at the smile in Foster’s voice, “Have fun.” “Fuck you.” Donnelley cut the call and placed the phone back in his pocket, jamming his gun back in its holster. He turned to Laine and Ava, “Let’s get inside. Take a load off for the night and wait for the others to get into town.” He followed his own orders and walked up the small set of concrete steps up to the front door as Avery stepped aside. He turned on the tiny porch, bathed in the dim light of a dying bulb, “This place reminds me of my slice of Dalhart.” “Quaint?” Avery asked. “Shitty.” Donnelley grunted as he lit his cigarette and set his go-bag down. “Yeah.” Avery agreed, his voice dropping a little dejectedly as he stepped out and took his place at the fence, playing lookout. Laine gathered her gear from the car and walked back to the front door, looking at the peeling paint on the rotting siding. Along the porch was grit from the worn roofing tiles that had been washed down with the last rain. “It reminds me of a party house I used to go to with my friends,” she said wistfully. “It was in a shitty house, spray paint all over the walls and a makeshift skate ramp in the backyard. It was in East Los, I think. It’s been awhile.” Ava set her laptop bag and plushie just inside the door, taking a cursory look inside before trotting back to the car to get her duffle bag. She saw Avery keeping watch at the fence and after shouldering her bag, walked over to him with a small smile. “I think the house looks nice, you did good work, thank you.” “Thanks. Just got out.” He chuckled, more than a little bashful at the compliment and at Ava herself talking to him. He ran his hand through his lengthy hair, “If there’s one thing they teach you in the Army it’s how to clean.” Laine glanced at the two and smiled slightly, a knowing grin flashed at Ava as the agent walked by. The interior of the house was a pleasant surprise, rather than dust and decay there was polished wood floor and comfortable furniture. She set her things down on the sofa and made a beeline for the kitchen, following the salmon stink. It was small but the stove was gas which made Laine happy. She picked around in the cupboards, stocked with staples already. The kid had done well preparing the house for an extended stay. "Avery," Laine poked her head out of the kitchen, "Did they give us a Keurig?" Avery looked over Ava’s head at Laine and nodded, “Yeah, it’s in the kitchen pantry at the bottom.” “Maybe Avery’ll ask to take her out.” Donnelley snorted and looked over at Laine, his voice hushed, “Could inspect the master bedroom with itme while they’re gone. Make sure he made the bed good enough.” Laine pressed her lips together to hide her smile, murmuring, "That would be adorable, I wonder if there's a malt shop in Clarksburg." She elbowed Donnelley, laughing softly, "Hush, we have to be professional." Laine opened the pantry and bent over to pull the coffee maker out, cradling it in her arms and took it to the counter to set it up. Donnelley stifled a cackle at Laine’s reaction to his proposal, jumping back at her elbow in his ribs. He finished off his cigarette and joined her inside, watching her set up the keurig. He cast a glance in Ava and Avery’s direction and smiled before stepping inside the house. He took his tour, looking inside the bedrooms and bathrooms. Finally he came back to the kitchen and watched Laine waiting for her coffee to brew. “Make me one?” Laine popped an Italian roast cup into the machine, setting a pair of plain blue mugs she found in the cabinet to the side. Coffee and salmon made her cringe but she needed caffeine. In the box of assorted coffee she found a French roast and put it into the machine for Donnelley. It would probably always remind her of the cabin in Blackriver, when that was all they had. What a desperate struggle, she thought wryly. Laine leaned against the counter beside him and handed Donnelley the steaming mug and said, "Careful not to scald your tongue." The front door opened as Ava stepped inside with her duffle bag in hand and then holding the door open wide for Avery as the Army vet carried in the two black drone cases. “Thank you so much Avery, you can just set them by the door. We can find a place for them later.” Ava said with a bright, grateful smile as she picked up her laptop bag and the large plushie from beside the door. Avery seemed to be soaking in purpose, absolutely beaming to be of use. He returned Ava’s smile and did as directed, smoothing down his black hoodie as he turned back to them, “Is there anything else you guys need right now?” He asked, “If not, I’ll get out of here.” Laine blew on her coffee, then shook her head before giving the young man an appreciative smile, "I'm good, thank you Avery for setting up the house and making dinner. It is certainly a pleasant surprise." “It really is.” Ava nodded, setting her things temporarily on the couch that was comfortable looking enough but judging from the shape the upholstery was in, it was likely it had come from a thrift market. She let herself drop into the cushions with a relieved sigh, smiling over at Avery again. “Thanks again, drive safe.” She said with a small wave. Donnelley raised his cup to Avery as the younger man waved to them before stepping outside and closing the door behind himself. There was a couple seconds of silence before Donnelley opened his mouth, “Best damn room service I’ve gotten at a safehouse.” He looked at the oven, teasing it open for a peek at the salmon. It looked like a chef had made it, and the smell alone was enough to make Donnelley moan, “Goddamn. Anybody wanna get some plates?” He opened the oven all the way and tested the pan with a finger before taking hold of the baking sheet and lifting it out, placing it on the table, “Man, they are missin’ out.”