Ok- I'll bite. Any niches in particular that need filling? I have some initial ideas but they're a bit flexible depending on what the group needs.
We have a fair few shooty boys, one moonlights as an investigator. Which is to say, he’s a jack of all trades, but master of none. What’s your ideas? PM me.
Hello, all! Delta Green is looking to recruit a player that would like to play a character well-versed in tradecraft, gun fighting, or any other kind of expertise!
Fluff and flavor for the character is up to you, but the team needs someone who can spy, shoot, or even offer expertise to the occult powers that be! Post here or PM me with your character ideas!
A healthy forewarning, we keep a pretty good and steady pace that the rest of us are more than happy with. If you can get with that and want a damn good story, go ahead and apply!
>CHARLESTON, WV >CAMC MEMORIAL HOSPITAL >2019.JUL.6 >0700
Donnelley scanned the garbage-strewn, street lamp lit parking lot with tired and practiced eyes. As his gaze swept the cracked cement and faded parking lines he wondered if there was a single place in Charleston that didn’t look like shit. He snapped his head to the right after he heard what sounded like whispering, only to find that it was a grocery bag gliding across the parking lot. “I wonder if they have a designated area I’m supposed to smoke.” He wondered aloud, spotting none apparent, “Fuck it, I’ll just tell them I don’t speak English or some shit.”
He shoved a cigarette between his lips and lit up, relishing the moment he and the stick of tobacco were sharing like the two hours had been twenty years apart. Then again, twenty years apart and he’d probably have kicked the habit by then. And then again, he had to wonder if his line of work had scheduled him in for twenty years from now. He shook his head, looking at the physical therapy packet he had folded in half in his hand. “Remember to do these stretches daily. You could do it while watching TV or something, whenever you’re bored. Set reminders. Oh, and use this cane if you’re having trouble with balance or uneven surfaces.”
The doctor’s words came back to him as if it was his epitaph and he was half-listening from his coffin. He took a long pull from his flask, knowing the smell of cigarettes would mask the alcohol. The day he needed a cane was the day he ran to the arms of a freight train. “Fuckin’…” He tossed the cane away and turned to face the automatic doors to the hospital’s emergency room, “What the fuck’s takin’ y’all so goddamn long…”
There was a flash of wild red curls in the glass windows of the automatic doors before they quietly slid open and Ava walked out with Dave by her side, now wearing a shoulder sling for his injured arm.
Ava had one arm wrapped around her stomach and a small plastic bag clutched in her hand. She was still dressed in her pale orange shirt, grey sweatpants and a pair of brown UGGs, with one pant leg bunched up around the top of one boot. She glanced around the entrance for a moment before her eyes landed on Donnelley. She nudged Dave to get his attention, then nodded her head in Donnelley’s direction.
Dave waved cheerfully at Donnelley. In his open flannel shirt and bandages he looked for all the world like a lumberjack who had been attacked by rogue paramedics.
His wounded left arm was in a sling, bandages wrapped around the upper arm to protect the injury. More bandages were wrapped around the days-old gash on his forearm, which they had cleaned thoroughly and stitched closed, chastising him for not coming in sooner. Beneath the open shirt his beater was gone, his chest and ribs wrapped tightly.
"Medium concussion, cracked sternum, three cracked ribs, a through-and-through to the shoulder, an' eleven stitches in my forearm," he said proudly. He blew on the fingernails of his right hand and mimed polishing them on his chest bandage. "Got the nurse's number, too."
“Yeah, they do that in case you’ve fallen and can’t get up.” Donnelley’s frown turned to a smirk, but it took a second, “‘Less Doctor Francis Chung had the hots for me too.”
“How’re you, Heracles?” He put his smirk and blue eyes on Ava, speaking through a cloud of tobacco-sweet smoke.
Ava was staring up at Dave, shaking her head with mild, but fond, exasperation. She turned her eyes up to Donnelley, the blue irises bright and clear of the cloud of opiates. “I’m fine, the bullet stopped in my abdominal wall and didn’t damage any of my organs.” She answered with a small shrug, her expression a little embarrassed as she glanced down. “My injury is actually a lot less severe than Dave’s. They didn’t even bother to remove the slug and said I could take Advil for the pain.” She said while lifting the back in her hand for emphasis.
She looked back up at Dave with a frown. “I can’t believe you were carrying me around with a cracked sternum and ribs.”
Dave shrugged, giving her a sheepish grin and rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I thought you were hurt pretty bad, and then you were stoned as shit, too… Besides, you're pretty tiny, so it wasn't no trouble."
He patted her gently on the shoulder and looked over at Donnelley. "How's your leg? You gonna keep it, or we gotta make you a pirate peg?"
“Oh, you’d be my cabin boy, son.” Donnelley chuckled, turning for the car and beginning his limp that he tried making out wasn’t as bad as it was, “Let’s get underway for some nuggets, my faithful crew. Y’all earned it.”
Ava watched Donnelley walk with a concerned frown and then glanced around the parking lot to make sure they weren’t being watched. She saw a cane a few yards away and glanced back at Donnelley and then up to Dave before following after their team lead. “Maybe, I should drive?” Ava suggested, looking between the two men. “It’s the least I could do after everything you both have done for me.” Especially after she had been pretty useless the past few hours.
"Yeah, sure." Dave dug out the keys and offered them to her. "I can do with a nap in the back seat." As they approached the car he removed his sling, moving his left arm with a wince. "Damn thing. Ain't like the joint is damaged. Don't wanna get caught in a gunfight with one damn arm."
Ava accepted the keys and frowned worriedly as he took off the sling. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it and just shook her head, unlocking the car for them.
Donnelley heard the locks disengage and began the process of getting himself into the Suburban. He grunted himself into the seat, pulling himself up with the oh-shit handle and waiting patiently in the passenger seat, rubbing his aching thigh. As the other two got into the Suburban he turned his head, “Nearest McDonalds, or one on the way to the Goldstar?”
"Nearest," Dave said firmly as he boarded the vehicle. "I could eat a fuckin' bear, and not bother to kill it first."
“Yeah I’m hungry too.” Ava agreed as she went through the process of adjusting the driver’s seat for her height. “We should get food for the other’s too.” She suggested, glancing over to Donnelley. “Unless they already ate? Can either of you call the others to see if they want anything?”
“We’ll just buy shit.” Donnelley chuckled, sucking in a bit more smoke and letting it out further with his chuckling words, “If they don’t eat it, we will.”
The nearest McDonalds turned out to be only ten minutes away and the Suburban, peppered with bullet holes as it was, garnered a fair bit of attention from bystanders standing in the parking lot. Sleepy contractors and businessmen gawked and stared at the rumbling SUV and Donnelley’s kissy faces as they rolled slowly into the drive thru.
“Wait up a sec.” Donnelley held his hand up at the first menu, sans speaker, the ones stoners the world over stopped at for a half hour to ruminate on the great and weighty decisions to be made. Donnelley would know, “I have a need. And the only cure is a goddamn McFlurry. One o’ them stroopwafel ones. What y’all wantin’?”
“Coffee,” Ava answered right away, eyeing the ‘McCafe’ menu intensely. “And orange juice and whatever has the most protein in it. I’ll have three of those.”
"Forty goddamn nuggets and a McFlurry," Dave said, sitting up from where he'd been sprawled in the backseat. "No shit forty of 'em. No fries. Just nuggets."
Donnelley nodded as if those were the truest wisdom spoken, “Good man.”
Ava smiled slightly, looking at Dave through the rearview mirror. “Screw it, I’ll get a McFlurry and some nuggets too, along with two McGriddles.”
The SUV lurched forward to the speaker and it crackled to life as Ava rolled down the window, “Welcome to McDonalds, can I take your order?”
Donnelley leaned forward and spoke up, voice raised enough for the attendant to hear through his shitty mic, “I want a hundred chicken nuggets, a large coffee, three McFlurries, one stroopwafel, the other two…” Donnelley looked at Ava and then Dave as they chimed in with their answers, “And ten McGriddles.”
The speaker was silent.
Donnelley looked to Dave and then Ava before the speaker crackled to life again, “We’re only doing breakfast items and our ice cream machine is down for maintenance, sir.”
Donnelley frowned. That would simply not do. “Son, I swear on my Ma’s grave and sweet little baby Jesus, I will pay you double under the counter if you fry me up some fuckin’ nuggets.”
Again, the speaker only stared back at them in silence.
Donnelley quirked a brow at Ava and then Dave, “You think he’s gonna do it?” He whispered to them.
"I think if we go on there flashin' badges an' bullet wounds he'll let us make our own goddamn nuggets," Dave said, fire in his eyes. "Shit, I'll pitch money, we can triple the bribe."
Ava grinned at the two men and started laughing, wincing as it sent dull throbbing pain through her lower torso, but it didn’t stop her. “You both are crazy.” She laughed, leaning back in her seat with a grin and a shake of her head.
“Alright,” the speaker crackled, “Just, um, just don’t tell my manager, okay?”
“Son, I look like a snitch?” Donnelley narrowed his eyes.
“I don’t even know what you look like.”
“You will if you don’t come through for me, partner.” Donnelley spoke. He nodded further down the drive thru, “Take us over. Dave, you got your cash? How much you puttin’ in, Ava?”
Donnelley gathered the bribe money with a devilish little grin on his lips. If it was one thing he learned from the Northern Alliance in Afghanistan it was that people were willing to do dumb shit if the payout was enough. And sometimes, it worked out. From Mujahideen to McDonalds, the wisdom rang true, “Here, take it, hurry.” Donnelley hissed in a hushed tone to his scrawny teenage co-conspirator leaning out the drive thru window.
“Thank you so much, man, really!” He shook his head, eyes wide at the assortment of ones, tens, and a hell of a lot of pocket change.
Donnelley touched a finger to his lips, “Don’t thank me, partner. Thank those taxes your ma and pa pay.”
“Just pull through and wait in the reserve stall, I’ll be out in a few.” The attendant swallowed, looking around and then deciding to just stuff the heavy wad of cash in his pockets. He smiled a toothy thing set in his pimply face, “Thanks again.”
Dave grinned, rubbing his hands together with something akin to childish glee
"Hell yes," he said. "Gettin' our nuggets!" He patted the back of Donnelley's seat. "Gotta admit, it's hard to be upset about bribery an' government corruption when it's puttin' food in my belly."
Ava chuckled again as she pulled through the drive thru lane and parked the SUV where the employee had said. “It’s definitely different than how we worked in my old department.” She said as she turned the engine off but left the keys in the ignition. “Shame about the McFlurries, but we can probably find a Dairy Queen.”
With James McMurtry’s Choctaw Bingo on the radio from Donnelley’s phone it was hard not to prolong the sense of great victory. Donnelley busied himself with a cigarette and nodding along with the beat before he turned to his two partners in crime, “I wonder if he got caught.” He clucked his tongue, “None of that was proper illegal, right?”
"Who cares?" Dave said around a mouthful of chicken nugget. "I've done plenty of illegal shit. Long as it's a victimless crime, government ain't got no business outlawin' it in the first place. Shit, I only got a carry permit an' a driver's license cuz Kaliah didn't like Mal drivin' around with me without 'em."
Donnelley chuckled, nodding along a bit more enthusiastically. He turned to look at Dave as he flicked his cigarette out the window and shoved a nugget in his mouth, “I like you, partner.” He turned back to face the front and poked Ava in the arm, “What about you? Got any rebellious streak under your belt?”
Ava stopped sipping on her iced latte at the question and set it down in the cupholder with a thoughtful frown. “Uuuuh.” She scratched her head as she wracked her brain, keeping her eyes on the road in front of her as she drove. “I...don’t think so?” She answered slowly, knitting her eyebrows together. “I like cycling and I know that annoys people that they have to share the road with me?” She glanced at Donnelley next to her. “Does that count?”
"Aw, shit, she's an outlaw biker," Dave beamed at her in the rearview mirror. "Never woulda guessed you for a Hell's Angel, sugar."
“Goddamn,” Donnelley chuckled, “A real as real One-Percenter.”
Ava blushed and shook her head. “I meant bicycling.” She corrected them quietly.
Dave crammed another nugget into his mouth. After the night they'd had the food was the most glorious thing in his life. "Hey, so what's the plan now? We gonna go find this Jay and fuck up his operation? See if they're summoning demons or some shit?"
Donnelley sighed, though a small smirk remained through the sobering reminder of the operation, “Well, we regroup. Plan out our next steps. I wanna hit these fuckers hard and fast.” Donnelley nodded, chomping down another nugget, “Ava can use her drones to find those mines and that old ass shed they said them Russkies were usin’.”
“Hey, your old team, BLACKBEARD. They ever get eyes on those mines?” Donnelley quirked a brow.
“Wait, what?” Ava asked, straightening in her seat and looking at Donnelley then Dave in the review mirror. “Who’s Jay? And there are Russians in an old shed?” She asked, sounding and looking completely loss as to what they were talking about.
“Um,” Donnelley looked back at Dave, realizing what happened hours ago was withheld from Ava thus far. Not that he wanted to talk about it much past the good intelligence they got from it, “Jay is working with the Russians, who are working in them mountains, I guess.”
“One question remains, is it mob or are these Russian Intelligence guys over here? Ones illegal, and the other…” Donnelley shook his head, muttering, “One’s a real fuckin’ problem.”
"We never got to the mines," Dave said. "Me and Clif were on our way there when that thing… Well. You saw what it did."
He fought back a shudder. Thundering footsteps and a bovine roar echoed briefly in his head before he continued. "Anyway, we need bigger guns if we're gonna take that thing, and if there's damn Russian spies involved we're probably gonna need more guys. You got another Working Group in the area?"
Ava continued to frown, understanding a little better about what they were talking about but not sure how they came about this information. If it was important though, they surely would have told her, right? “I’ve got two drones,” She began, willing to move past that omission of information. “One is an aerial drone and the other is a terrain drone, so I can give us a birds eye view and we can send the terrain one down into the mines if it can fit.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Donnelley nodded, looking out the window to those heartbroken hills framing the sunrise, remembering that big beast, the firefight, and wondering just what secrets were weaving themselves in those mines, as he sucked in a spoonful of stroopwafel McFlurry. “Fuck, this shit’s so good…”
>THE SAFEHOUSE >BLACKRIVER COUNTY, WV >2019.JUL.6 >0330
The room was a little more breezy now that there was a fair few extra holes shot through it. Moonlight speared in through some, and the window in the room offered enough light to see Foster and the bastard they’d caught crawling away. Jason did what he needed for the bleeding and the pain for the stranger. Funny that, taking away a man’s pain only to give it back later when he needed. “When do you think he’ll wake up?”
“Don’t know.” Donnelley shook his head, folding his arms tighter as he turned to Foster, “You still never answered me.”
Foster nodded, sighing and shaking his head, “I’m a goddamn Operations Officer, Donnelley. I recruit assets, I don’t raid bomb factories in Iraq, I find people who know and then tell you where the factories are.”
“I get the goddamn difference, Foster, but when people are shootin’ at you do you not think you should shoot the fuck back?” Donnelley hissed. “Or do you just tell me to shoot for you?”
Foster shrugged, which only made Donnelley more angry to be looking at Foster’s smug fucking face. The only man even more self-righteous and smug than himself. Donnelley shook his head, pointing at the door, “Out. Let me get to work. Wouldn’t want your hands to get too dirty.”
Foster only turned and closed the door behind him. Donnelley rummaged around in his suit coat pocket and pulled free his flask, taking a long pull from it and growling as he capped it back up. “Can I get some of that?” Donnelley almost flinched, but the bag over the man’s head obscured his eyes from it.
“You’ll get more than you’d like soon, boy.” Donnelley said as he followed Foster out of his room to step into the living room, dirty and covered in brass as it was now.
He looked at the faces of Working Group UMBRA, taking a bit of time to pay special attention to each one, his blue gaze falling on each. He drew in a breath and let it all out, “We’re pretty fuckin’ compromised if anybody didn’t know. We got a wounded here and some changes to make. Charleston is our best bet to find safe haven.” He frowned, “What say y’all, my beloved fellowship?”
Ava blinked her eyes as Donnelley’s voice registered through the comfortable fog settled over her mind and turned her head to look at him from where she was laid out on the couch on top of a bedsheet they’d repurposed into a makeshift stretcher. She’d gotten changed into a set of non-bloody clothes at her insistence. She didn’t want to continue to smell the dried blood or feel the scratchiness of the blood stained cloth on her body. So now she was dressed in a soft pale orange t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, to keep pressure off her side and to be more comfortable.
The fentanyl lollipop had long been taken away from her when the raspberry flavor started to make her want to puke, but the opiates were still in her system and numbing the pain of her side. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and wool and her thoughts were coming to her at a crawl which normally would bother the Hell out of her, but right now she didn’t mind the feeling. She knew what was going on though...Vaguely.
“You have my bow.” Ava muttered dazedly, lifting up a hand and then letting it flop back down on her chest.
“If Charleston’s our best bet, then let’s go,” Dave shrugged. He stood behind the couch, leaning against the back with his rifle in arm’s reach. He jerked his head towards the garage door. “I ain’t gonna be able to set up a lab in some rat-hole motel, but I rigged up a couple of little pipe-bombs that we might be able to use for somethin’.”
Laine nodded, already knowing that was their destination then grinned at Ava's slurred oath, the pain meds were definitely working.
"I'm going to get cleaned up, then pack my things. We need to take the books and projector, I'm going to be in trouble if I don't get that returned soon," Laine said, then glanced at Donnelley, meeting his eyes and said in a firm voice, "I'll be joining you in a few minutes to speak with our guest."
“Please do.” Donnelley nodded, turned to Dave, “You too, BLACKBEARD, learn how UMBRA does things.” He smirked.
“Already planned on it,” Dave growled. He narrowed his eyes, returning Donnelley’s nod.
Pari had remained quiet, standing in the corner closest to Ava with her arms folded. Her gaze flitted between Donnelley and Dave. It wasn’t her place to make comment on the assailant they’d captured, but her thoughts were on him too, she had so many questions - and this was only the first day of her work with UMBRA. She just breathed a weary sigh, lowering her head to look down at the floor while she waited for the meeting to be over. She hadn’t much to pack, on account of the fact that she hadn’t yet unpacked, so she set her mind to making herself as useful as possible and attaining a maximum efficiency of the time available.
Pari turned to face the direction of the kitchen -- she’d pack what she could, and what was suitable from the supplies they had there. Everyone would need a snack at some point, but it might not be crossing their minds. There were linens she could bag up also, an extra blanket here and there for the motel wouldn’t go amiss. Then there was Ava, her eyes tracked the room until they fell back on the young woman, someone would need to assist her with her things too. Pari could make herself useful in that endeavour.
“As for everyone else…” Donnelley shrugged, “Get to packin’ your shit. Bare essentials, I’m leavin’ your ass in the dust if you take too long.”
He looked over his battle weary team once more, “Dismissed.”
Donnelley opened the door with his music blaring out of the phone. He didn’t necessarily care if he woke their subject up, that was the point. He watched the other man tied to the chair wriggle, sack over his head move with his quickening breath. He loved these moments. First impressions were everything and Donnelley was a man who loved good ones. He dropped his bag of tools on the floor, the duffel clanking heavily on the floorboards, making their friend in the chair jump.
“Fuck you!” It was a powerful set of words, sure, but the distress was apparent in his quivering tone.
Donnelley laughed, looking over at Laine and Dave as he switched the music off on his phone. He kept the smile as he took a few steps toward their guest and leaned in close to the sack, just next to his ear. “Shut the fuck up!” Donnelley leaned away and crossed his arms, speaking in a tone that switched from angry torturer to hotel receptionist, “Speak when spoken to, please. Look, man, this is where you decide how nice I’m goin’ to be. We’re gonna ask you some questions, it’s your choice if you answer ‘em. Be nice to my associates.”
Laine stood near Dave as they watched Donnelley begin his work on the prisoner. She had freshened up and changed out of her coffee stained sweater to a sleek black shirt. Her bra was back on, it was time for business.
She watched with her arms crossed, keeping her expression neutral but she winced slightly at the duffel bag of tools. Laine's stomach knotted as she told herself it was mostly for show, to intimidate. Mostly. Donnelley was CIA and the stories of their interrogation methods were not as secret as they probably liked.
Laine held up a recording device and pushed the buttons to start it, setting it on the side table. "This is Special Agent Heather Laine July 6th 2019 recording the interview with..."
She glanced at Donnelley and Dave then spoke their full names into the recorder. "Suspect being interviewed was caught after an assault with intent to murder National Park Ranger Frank Wilkins, a federal witness."
Laine stepped over to stand before the hooded prisoner. "Please state your full name for the record. And please understand that your cooperation will benefit you because you are in very deep trouble right now."
Dave cracked his knuckles, unintentionally punctuating Laine’s words. His shoulder was wrapped, courtesy of Pari’s ministrations. The agent had looked him over while he sat and talked with Ava, masking his anger behind soft words until Laine had come to tell him they had a prisoner. Then he’d given her hand a squeeze, gotten his hunting knife out of the garage, and joined Laine and Donnelley with their new companion.
He had winced when Laine used his name. He didn’t like having his identity attached to what they were doing, especially in light of the current situation. But at this point here was nothing for it; he was already going to have to explain a bullet wound to Kaliah when he next picked up Mal, and that seemed scarier than anything the Feds could do for some reason. That was a worry for later, though. Right now all that mattered to him was beating a little justice into the scumbag tied to the chair.
“MacCready?” The Subject chuckled, and then laughed heartily, “I heard of you!”
“That’s not what she asked.” Donnelley bent down for his bag and unzipped it, retrieving a pair of large rusty pliers and snapping the teeth together, “You’re not being very nice right now.”
“Fuck you, I ain’t even been read my rights!” The Subject snarled.
“Laine, please read this man his rights.” Donnelley asked, if looks could kill, the man would’ve been reduced to a black mark on the floor.
“What you heard, boy?” Dave growled, taking a step forward as his heart jumped in his chest. His hand went to his knife. “Gonna want to be real careful how you answer that.”
“I heard y’all been into shit that ain’t any better’n what me and mine’re into.” The Subject chuckled, then cooed, “Rights, please and thank you.”
Laine pressed her lips together, it was a charade of an interrogation, reading his rights with pliers snapping at him already. She recited the Miranda rights to him and once she was done she added, "And while you have the right to remain silent, I don't recommend it. Your best chance is to talk and speak the truth. Your boys left you behind, you don't owe them anything."
“What the fuck do you wanna ask me?” The Subject’s head turned dismissively away from Laine.
"Let's start with your name and where you're from, and who you were with tonight. Simple questions," Laine said, ignoring his gesture, her voice even and noticeably lacking the country twang of the men in the room.
“I dunno.” The Subject shrugged, “My name’s Michael. Whoever put us up to this gave us a fake name, obviously, because who the fuck names their kid ‘Just Jay,’ right?”
The Subject’s chuckle guttered out into clearing his throat. Nobody here was in a laughing mood. Donnelley stepped back from the Subject to sit on the desk in the room, drumming his fingers over the particle-board.
“So you’re what, some hillbilly mercenary?” Dave snorted, shaking his head. “Guy just picked up you an’ your buddies at the local taproom?”
“Yeah, sure. And you’re what? Some Brotherhood boy waitin’ for the Aryan Uprisin’, hoss?” The Subject laughed, “I’m from Tennessee, boy, and when we want to start some shit we don’t run to the hills and holler at the people below us that we’re gonna do somethin’. You and your fuckin’ ilk need to get with it. Revolution ain’t gonna start itself.”
“So, that’s my name, where I’m from. That’s who hired me and the boys. Fuck else?” The Subject hissed, the sound of contempt in his words. “Is that what this is? Is that who y’all’re with? Buncha fuckin’ MacCready Brood musclin’ in on…” Donnelley got the feeling that Michael almost let something slip. He figured these boys weren’t the best at OpSec.
“On what?” Donnelley whispered, putting his hands on his knees as he bent down to ear-level, “Musclin’ in on what, Michael? What’s Just-Jay got down here in bumfuck West Virginia to muscle in on?”
“Nothin’.” Michael muttered, trying to get his ear away from Donnelley, but the CIA officer chased it with a smirk.
He was loving where this was going, “Oh, okay. I was worried for a second, Michael. Turns out y’all were just shootin’ up a cabin full of folk for nothin’.”
“Cut the recorder.” Donnelley’s hand shot under the chair and he growled as he toppled Michael onto his back, and placed his hands on his bent knees again. Towering over Michael, “You’re all alone, boy! Answer the goddamn questions!”
Donnelley roughly slapped his hands on Michael’s collar and hauled him back up onto the chair’s four legs. Donnelley lightly patted Michael’s cheek, the man flinching away as Donnelley cooed, “Please, Michael. I want to get to know you.” Donnelley grabbed Michael by the chin and back of his head, forcing him to look at Dave, “Recorder’s off, you want some of this?”
“Yup,” Dave grunted. He stalked towards the man, cocked back a fist, and fired a firm jab into the bag where he guessed the bridge of his nose was.
“I ain’t my kin, boy,” he growled. “They’re up there hidin’ in them hills. I ain’t. I’m makin’ shit happen.” He hit him again on a whim, this time in the mouth.
“You Tennessee boys need more range time, though. Way I figure it, all you did was let us put points on the board. How many of y’all you figure we killed? An’ all of our shooters are still breathin’.”
“You can’t hit me!” Michael cried out, “Miss, ma’am, you- they can’t do that! You read me my rights! I got rights, you fuckin’- Oof!”
“Bless your little heart, son.” Donnelley landed a good hook into Michael’s solar plexus and bent down again, cooing, “All alone, boy.” He stood back up and hiked up his sleeves, watching Michael gasp desperately for air, “Now, I’m gonna put that recorder back on. You better answer them questions ‘fore this Texas boy here shows you somethin’ good.”
Laine watched from her corner, arms still crossed under her breasts and her full lips pressed together to keep herself from interrupting. When Michael called out to her, she merely looked at him with a pensive expression, tilting her head slightly as if watching some curious specimen under glass. Finally she spoke up, her tone even with a hint of sympathy she did not feel.
“Michael, you’re not answering questions. If you don’t answer questions, then we have no use for you,” Laine said, taking a deep breath. “Do you understand? Please, do yourself a favor. Tell us more about Just Jay and what he is doing in Blackriver County. And what it has to do with silencing a park ranger who found a murdered girl.”
“Jay told us he wanted Frank because important shit was happenin’ up in these here hills, okay?” Michael sniffled, more likely blood than snot, “He told us to come with him and make sure you folk knew not to fuck with us anymore.”
“Turned out well for you, you think? ‘Cause all I learned is you’re a thin-skinned bitch with a glass nose.” Donnelley chuckled, “How did Jay get you from Tennessee to West Virginia, how long you worked with Jay?”
“A while.” Michael said, Donnelley placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder and took up a fistful of his shirt, “A few months now! He picked us up in Tennessee, paid us a fuckin’ lot just to stand around and act tough. I’m pretty sure Jay’s with the Brotherhood, he cooks and sells. People he knows does, leastways.”
“Meth?” Donnelley growled, fist tightening.
“Uh huh, yeah.”
“What else?” Donnelley asked.
“Guns.” Michael whimpered.
“So he runs guns and drugs. You’re his muscle. I’m guessin’ his little hillbilly Ho Chi Minh Trail cuts through Blackriver. And I’m guessin’ if Frank opened up his mouth about murdered hikers it’d put some heat where he don’t need it.” Donnelley nodded at Laine and looked back at Michael, “Am I close?”
Michael only nodded. “Mhmm.”
“Who does he sell to?” Donnelley asked.
Michael whimpered again, a useless little bleating. He shook his head, letting it hang as he took in a shuddering, pitiful breath. “I don’t know…” he whimpered.
Laine moved forward, looking down at the hooded man. She lay a light hand on his shoulder and spoke in a gentle tone, sympathetic. “Michael, I think you do know, but you’re afraid to tell us aren’t you. Just Jay and his buyers, they are dangerous men.”
Her eyes flicked to Donnelley and she caressed Michael’s shoulder in a comforting gesture as Donnelley’s fell away, before removing her hand from him. “I know you’re scared, I can hear it. But these men here, they’re dangerous and you’re at their mercy right now. A few punches isn’t anything to a tough man from Tennessee but you know that’s just a warm up. I can help you, Michael, if you tell us what we need to know. I can keep them from hurting you.”
“R-Russians.” Michael stammered.
Donnelley’s ears perked with his brow, looking at Dave and then Laine. “Don’t hear that every day.”
Dave frowned, chewing thoughtfully at the wad of dip he’d crammed into his lip while Donnelley and Laine were talking to Michael.
“Fuck do Russians want out in bumfuck West Virginia?” He grumbled. He shook his head. “If I got shot over some goddamn mob misunderstandin’, I’m gonna be even more pissed off.”
He gnawed at his dip for a moment more, then pushed it aside with his tongue. “Look man, I’m gonna level with ya,” he said. “I ain’t what you’d call a professional when it comes to this sorta thing. All I really know how to do is hurt ya. But this shit about Russians, it ain’t really helpin’ us. Least not with the bigger picture. What else you got in that head of yours? Why we got hikers turnin’ up skinned out like whitetail? An’ why is Jay so worried about it he’s willin’ to send you boys on a suicide mission against a house full of Feds?”
He cracked his knuckles for emphasis.
“I don’t fuckin’ know ‘bout no hikers, man! Jay just told us to come with him and shoot y’all dead!” Donnelley reached over with his pliers and snapped them shut around Michael’s nose, “Agh! Fuck!”
Donnelley let go, “You know I fuckin’ hate it when you say you don’t know somethin’. What do you know?”
“I know Jay is runnin’ Guns and drugs to Russians! I don’t know who the fuck these guys are, but they talk about London a lot and they meet Jay in an old shed out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere and… and…”
“And?” Donnelley spoke up, “And what?”
Michael shook his head, letting it drop as he choked back tears. Donnelley looked at Dave and then Laine. “Cut the recorder.”
“No! Look, that’s all I know, it’s Russians from London! Russians from London!” Donnelley forced out a laugh as he cocked back his elbow and let fly a strong cross to Michael’s jaw, snapping Michael’s head to the side. “Russians…” Michael slurred, his head lolling. “London.”
“So, these Russians, the meetin’s. What do you know about ‘em?” Donnelley asked. “Talk, Michael, or I’ll show you what else I have in my bag.”
“‘Lectrical burn… Ozone…” Michael whimpered. He let go a pitiful sound as Donnelley grabbed him by the back of his hair and yanked his head up.
“You just sayin’ bullshit or am I gonna have to keep goin’ on you, boy?” Donnelley spoke close to his ear.
Dave felt his stomach roll; the idea of beating on a defenseless man was sitting poorly. Still, he told himself it was necessary. BLACKBEARD had been wiped out, good men dead, and Donnelley’s team had lost two more. Ava was gutshot, he’d been hit...People were dying. Answers might stop the killing.
“You can’t keep hittin’ him in the head like that,” Dave said. “He ain’t gonna be able to talk if you knock his brains out.”
He put a stiff right into Michael’s belly, then another.
“Work him lower down some,” he said, swallowing his own disgust. He punctuated it with a kidney-shot.
“Please,” Michael wheezed out, “Please, please.”
“Alright.” Donnelley bent down in his bag again, retrieving a power drill with a thick bit in the end this time. He gave the trigger a quick squeeze and the whir was enough to have Michael yelping. “Electrical burn and ozone.” Donnelley frowned. He knew. This guy knew something, because the last time he smelled electrical burn and ozone in places they had no business being was Pakistan, Somalia, and Chechnya. “You sure they weren’t Chechens?”
“I don’t kn-...” Michael cut himself off like a little boy almost said something he wasn’t supposed to. “They were speakin’ Russian to each other, accents and stuff when they were talkin’ to Jay.”
"Names," Laine said, frowning at Donnelley when he got the drill. "Names and places, unless you went blindfolded which I doubt then you have an idea how you got to these meetings in the middle of nowhere. And what about the smell, when and where did you smell it?"
Michael kicked uselessly at his restraints, struggling arms not gaining anything by wriggling against the zip ties that held his wrists to the arms of the chair, “I…” Michael sobbed, “I. Don’t. Know!”
Donnelley jabbed the drill bit against Michael’s hand, “You don’t know, or you don’t want to speak? Pleadin’ the Fifth is a thing in court, but this ain’t no courtroom, boy.” Donnelley spoke over Michael’s sobs, “What about the smell, give me somethin’, man!”
“It was always before they got there! We’d get there first and then it would start to smell! Something loud like thunder or some shit and they’d just fuckin’ walk out of the fuckin’ shed like they’d been there!” Michael stammered out, tongue working quick, “Billy, he’s another guy with our boys, he looked into the little shed one day and there wasn’t anyone in there and they walked out after the noise! I swear! I swear!”
Michael shook his head, “Its weird shit, but I swear! That’s how it happens!”
Donnelley lifted the drill and stepped back. It was true then. He’d seen it in Chechnya. Maybe that’s what was going on in Iraq, that’s how they’d get to those villages and then disappear. He looked at Laine and Dave, then back to Michael. He set the drill on the table and moved his hand to Michael’s shoulder, ignoring him flinching away from it to rest it there, “I believe you.” Donnelley said, voice solemn as ever, “I do. Thank you, Michael.”
“Is that it?” Michael whispered.
Laine ground her teeth as Donnelley put the drill to the man's hand but waited and said nothing when he did not need to use it. Her attention was taken by the stuttering story now spilling out. It was strange, nothing like she had heard before but it made her scalp tingle at the description.
Whatever Michael had told them would never be admissible after the beatings but it was information they could use. She spoke up, trying to ignore her nagging conscious, "Do you have any recollection of where these places are? Anything, roads, landmarks, what the house looked like?"
“Broke down. Real old. Jay… he said we… we were out near the mines. Some of the local guys said nobody came up to those parts anymore. Said some guy named Dulane blew up the mines.” Michael shook his head, “I don’t know anythin’ else, I swear.”
Dave frowned and looked over at Laine and Donnelley.
“Them mines,” he said, his voice low. “That’s out near where my team was.”
Laine took a deep breath when the mines were mentioned, Dulane and the strange happenings that stretched back into history. The books she brought from the library still sitting on her bunk.
She glanced at Donnelley, then at the hooded man in the chair. "Thank you, Michael. Your information might save lives."
“Do I get anythin’? Lighter sentence, somethin’?” Michael pleaded, “I told all I know, I don’t wanna get killed for tellin’ y’all. Please?”
Laine looked at Donnelley, tilting her head slightly towards the door then said to Michael,, "We can work something out, the State Police will need to hear your testimony as well."
“Laine, Dave,” Donnelley interjected, “Outside, for a second.”
Donnelley turned for the door and placed a cigarette between his lips, casting a glance at the Team going about packing their things before he led Laine and Dave out to the front porch. Once they’d settled, Donnelley lighting his cigarette, he spoke, “Under what jurisdiction is this Workin’ Group operatin’ under?”
Dave shrugged at the question. His hand rested on the grip of his Sig, still worn on his thigh, and he played his eyes over the treeline before answering.
“I dunno, never thought about it,” he said. “I’m just one of them...You know. Independent contractors. I figured y’all would handle the particulars.”
“Laine?” Donnelley did not look away from his cigarette.
Laine watched him light his cigarette and his question touched her nerve. She remembered what he said but it was a different thing to be faced with that fact. She stared at him, "No. You're not doing that, Donnelley. I stood by while you beat information out of that man because we're pressed for time but...no, something else. We can figure out something else."
“He’s a loose end,” Donnelley said through a cloud of smoke, “Before all of this, if I took him out of that chair and locked you two in a room, how do you think that’d go?”
“The Program does not prosecute. The Program eliminates very special threats to the United States and the only way we can do that is if we remain faceless. If we expose Michael’s story to the wrong people then people will know about the things they shouldn’t.” Donnelley shrugged, “You might be FBI, Justin might be a Ranger, Dave might be just some guy, I might be CIA. But right here, right now?”
“We are The Program. Whatever Michael knows, nobody else should.” Donnelley frowned a tad deeper.
Dave laughed bitterly, shaking his head and leaning against the wall.
“You know, my whole life I grew up thinkin’ any minute the black helicopters were gonna come, an’ I was gonna get carried off to some black-site and tortured because I was a threat to the system.” He looked over at Donnelley. “Now I’ve got some guy in a back room with a nose that I broke, an’ I’m talkin’ about puttin’ him in a shallow grave out here in these hills.”
He sniffed and crossed his arms, growing silent for a moment.
“If killin’ this man will keep my boy safe, I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll even pull the trigger. But Donnelley...If I find out there was some witness protection thing an’ you just thought this was easier, I’m gonna hold that against you.” He held the agent’s gaze. There was pain in his eyes, and a bone-deep weariness, but no fear. None at all. “You sure he’s gotta die?”
Laine crossed her arms and looked at Donnelley, "I remember what you said. But I agree with Dave, are you sure that..."
She bit down on her lip and shook her head, then whispered harshly, "I catch killers, I don't fucking...stand by and..."
Her words caught and she closed her eyes, the reality was there, in plain sight. Michael would have killed them all for his paycheck and if they let him go he knew their names. And it was her damn fault for pretending the interrogation was anything close to legitimate and speaking their real names in front of the suspect.
Laine rubbed her face with both hands, then shook her head, "So that's it? This is what we become."
Donnelley nodded, slow as slow. He felt sympathy for Laine. He knew he was like her once, an unflinching loyalty to the law and a trust that working through the law was the only way. His time in The Program, even just the CIA, made him privy to the fact that some laws only tie your hands. “So that no one else has to.” He whispered, holding her gaze.
He looked to Dave, “I’ll do it.” He said, knowing what it was like to cradle a child in hands that had clutched a rifle. That had clutched knives in places the public would never know about. Bottles too. Dave and his boy didn’t deserve that. He turned for the door, “I’ll do it.”
Dave looked over at Laine, then sighed heavily. He spat on the floor and then followed after Donnelley. He caught up with the man in the hallway.
“It’s one team,” he muttered, falling into step beside him. “You watched my ass out there, an’ you don’t even know me. I’ll come with ya. Somebody gotta watch your back out in them trees.”
Donnelley nodded, just once. But he held the man’s gaze all the same. Donnelley didn’t really know where Dave had come from, he was an enigma from the time he found the man huddled in a tumbledown cabin in the woods up until they were killing folks together. But there was the same kind of bond there he felt in the Ranger Batts, the Berets, even with Kingsley and Smitty in Iraq. “All of this. Not everybody understands.” Donnelley nodded at the door, “It stretches the morals. But everything we do out here keeps your boy safe.”
He turned and continued on his way, “My little girl too.”
Dave nodded. “Then let’s handle business.”
Laine remained on the porch, lighting one of her clove cigarettes with a trembling hand. She watched Donnelley then Dave go, leaving to commit a crime that was a necessity to their survival. More than a crime. It was murder.
She stared off into the darkness, the glow of her cigarette the only light now on the porch. Hot unshed tears burned her tired eyes, guilt heavy in the pit of her stomach. For having to stand by but even moreso that she did not stand up. That she had been a damn fool and tried to walk a line between the law and the abyss, darkness that she fought against. But there was a deeper depth beyond the death of a piece of shit hired gun, as wrong as it was. There was a tortured dead girl, skinned and left. And she wasn't the only one. The greater evil still lurked in the hills. And to find it, she had to find a way to justify the means.
Laine took a deep drag and sat down in the rocking chair, smoking and waiting for the sound.
Donnelley opened the door and closed it behind him and Dave. He didn’t say a word, just unholstered his handgun, rummaging in his things for the suppressor.
“Did y’all come to some sort of plan for me?” Michael asked, a tired and weary hope in his voice.
Donnelley finished with the task of screwing on the suppressor, he didn’t even glance at Dave as he turned for Michael. He sighted up.
“Sirs? Ma’am-“
Donnelley squeezed the trigger twice, felt the jolt of the pistol in his hand, put two .40s in his chest. Michael flinched and sagged to the left, his head bobbing as he tried to draw a wheezy breath, sounding like he was sucking in liquid. Donnelley squeezed once more, another jolt, another of the sharp pops cracking into his skull. The bag saved most of the gore but there was still a thick stream of it dripping out of Michael’s head. Donnelley lowered his FN and sighed. “Alright.” Donnelley unscrewed the suppressor, tossing it back onto his bag. “I need a drink.”
Dave forced himself to watch, locking his eyes on Michael with gritted teeth and fisted hands. He managed not to jump when the suppressed weapon barked, merely narrowing his eyes and fighting back a brief urge to vomit. He stood there for a while until the urge passed, keeping his gaze on the corpse of the man they’d tortured. Finally he nodded.
“Yeah. Me too.”
Donnelley holstered his .40. He shook his head, looking down at Michael’s lifeless body and remembering what his voice sounded like just before. Hope. And nothing now. He looked at Dave, “Arms or legs?”
The burn replaced whatever pain he should’ve felt from taking a man’s life, but just like lives taken in the past the burn was gone like the smoke on the wind from his cigarette. Maybe that’s not how things should be, but that’s how they were for him now. He watched his team load their supplies in the backs of the SUVs, the bodies and brass sprinkled about the cabin soon to be the only evidence a battle took place here. Come morn they’d be twinkling with dew in the underbrush, but for now they were still yet warm.
The intake of a sigh through his nostrils brought the thick stink of gunpowder to him, a smell long familiar. He looked at Laine as she slid into the seat of the Yukon, but she did not look at him on the porch. He’d finish this last cigarette and join them, but for now, he was content to be alone in his rocking chair for the last time.
Dave edged his way sideways through the door, Ava cradled in his arms. He turned slowly to avoid knocking her against the door jamb, passing Donnelley with a nod.
“Alright sugar, down the steps,” he said, walking down them one at a time. After the gunfight he’d attached himself to the small woman; taking care of her helped him keep his mind off the violence of the night, and he’d always been the old-fashioned sort, quick to help a lady in need. He reached the driveway and headed for the car that he and Donnelley would be using to get into town.
“How you holdin’ up?” He asked, looking down at her. “Hangin’ in there?”
“Yeah,” She answered quietly, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she watched him approach the car. Her head still felt pleasantly foggy from the painkillers, but she felt a little more awake than earlier. “‘M sorry you have to carry me. I’ll walk next time, I promise.”
“Nah, it ain’t a bother,” Dave smiled at her as he opened the door to the back seat. “Lil’ thing like you, I can barely feel ya. Now I’m gonna set you down, okay? You scoot on in and lay down, we’ll be with ya soon.”
He set her on the seat, helping her get situated. “You need anything?”
Ava shook her head as she laid down on her back, using one arm as a pillow underneath her head. “No, I think I’m okay. Thank you Dave.” She said giving him a small, if slightly dopey smile.
“You’re welcome, sugar,” Dave said. He turned and headed for the house, leaving the door open so she could get some air.
He’d once again donned his flannel shirt, since the rest of his clothes barring the suit were still up in a cabin full of corpses, and wore his pistol belt and damaged vest. He reeked of sweat, blood, and gunsmoke; the only thing he wanted more than a beer was a shower.
As he made his way up the porch steps he looked over at Donnelley. A quick glance around proved they were alone, for the moment, and nodded at the other man.
“How you holdin’ up, hoss?”
“Good.” Donnelley ground the cigarette into the arm of the chair, not looking at Dave at first, but his tired eyes met his tired eyes, “Or good as I can be. Ain’t every day…” I execute a man in cold blood, he thought, “You get into a firefight. Haven’t had that much blood pumpin’ in a bit, partner.”
He sniffed, set his hands on his knees and leveraged himself standing, “You?”
“Same, or thereabouts,” Dave shrugged. “First real firefight. Did some dirt with BLACKBEARD, back home...Took my mountain back...But…” He shrugged again, unable to find the words. “It’s a different feelin’ for sure.”
Donnelley sucked his teeth, wasn’t that the truth. His first was in Dalhart, long time ago now. “Ain’t it? Used to like it,” He admitted, then looked at the car with wounded little Ava in it, “Sometimes, I don’t know anymore. Anyhow, let’s get this convoy goin’. Me or you drivin’?”
“I can drive if ya want.” Dave nodded at Donnelley’s leg. “Your shit’s still all busted up, and I think between you gettin’ monstered an’ me an’ Ava gettin’ shot, we’re kinda low on lucky breaks. You put us into an 18-wheeler and we’re all gonna die.”
He gave a ghost of a grin. “Hobble your ass to the car, I’ll carry your shit over. Gotta grab some stuff from the garage.”
“Hobble.” Donnelley feigned offense through a more sincere grin as he turned for the car, “Alright. Thank ya kindly.”
Smoke was still rushing through the air, and a biting chill had taken over for the early morning hours. The beautiful silver grey of morning was mottled with a sense of urgency. Pari sat in cleaner clothes now – a neat pair of high waisted sweatpants and a cropped vest shirt in a deep teal hue. She had taken a seat around from the porch, having loaded the trunk of the car with what she’d deemed as the essentials - as well as her own belonging from the bunk.
Pari sat in lotus position with her eyes closed, a hand wrapped around a pendant on a gold chain sitting at her collarbones. The other hand rested softly on her knee, the hand turned to face upwards at the murky sky, fingers pinched in a mudra.
It had taken her several deep breaths to quell the thoughts of the past that had been kicked up like sand and turned this way and that – but once more there was a line of serenity, a clear sunset over an oceanic horizon in her mind's eye. Everything was still again, her heart slowed down, and she felt herself return after the shock, panic, and events of the night. She’d be driving Dr. Laine and the men to Charleston, she didn’t want to be weighed down by any fright - she needed to be a signal of strength for those who may not be. From what she’d observed of Laine, and of what her gut told her, the woman was incredibly frayed. Soothing and alternative conversation might help ground her.
The door slammed shut on the passenger side, Donnelley shifting in his seat a few times to get comfortable. He made to roll up the window and then realized it had been shot out. He used his suit coat to brush away the grains of glass that hung on to their shapes and then sat quietly, glancing at the Yukon in front of them and then away. He didn’t know if Laine would ever look at him the same after witnessing and being forced to be party to what The Program sometimes needed doing. He shook his head, huffing. She would either grow to understand or would not. That wasn’t up to him. He instead turned his head to the back seat, “Ava,” he called out, “You alright, trooper?”
Ava blinked her eyes open as the car moved and a door slammed shut, looking up at the back of Donnelley’s head. “Yeah, I’m okay.” She answered, pushing her glasses up to her forehead and rubbing at her eyes to try and clear some of the haziness. “I feel like my brain is swimming in molasses though.” She lowered her glasses back down to look at him again. “Where are the others going? I know we’re going to the hospital, but I don’t remember much past that.”
Donnelley found himself grinning as he listened to Ava’s slurring. He nodded, looking to the Yukon and then back to the cabin, “Gettin’ us a place to sleep for a few nights. Can’t really get comfortable in the cars.” He smiled, looking back at Ava through the rearview, “You know, you’re pretty damn tough.”
“That’s because I’m high as balls right now.” Ava muttered with a small, crooked grin, her eyes falling half closed. “And I do my crunches.”
“I might start tremblin’ if you tell me you’ve been eatin’ your wheaties on top of that.” Donnelley chuckled, “But, really. I know some Rangers that’d still be hollerin’ about now. Slap a vest on you and teach you how to shoot, we’ll have a damn Terminator.”
“Where’d Foster get you from, anyway?” Donnelley’s brow ticked up.
“Dave already called me scary, before the shooting. Maybe I am scary.” She giggled before tilting her head at the question. “From CIA and Program Headquarters in Virginia. Before that, I just worked for the regular CIA, but then I had some weird dreams after meeting a weird man that made me draw weird things on my walls and so they transferred me to The Program.”
She paused for a moment with a frown. “I said weird too much in that sentence.”
“Yeah, well,” Donnelley clucked his tongue and shook his head, “That sentence was too much weird. I saw some weird shit in Pakistan. I got recruited by the Regular-CIA and now I’m with The Program too, makin’ sure all that weird doesn’t get a chance to get too weird. Eight years now.”
“And it’s probably the ginger.” Donnelley winked with a devilish grin, “No souls.”
“Noo, I have a soul.” Ava protested with a frown. “I’ve only been with the Program two years.” She pushed herself up on her elbows slightly so she could see him better. Her head swam for a moment, but she shook it off to focus on Donnelley. “What weird shit did you see?” She asked curiously, raising her own eyebrows with the question.
“Black slabs.” Donnelley nodded, bitter frown on him, “Deep in them mountains in Pakistan.”
He pursed his frowning lips and sighed, letting go of those memories for a while and wondering how much shit Dave had to grab, “What kind of weird man?” Donnelley shook his head, knowing how much prying bothered him when Laine was doing it, “You know what, never mind. How do you feel about the team? They been good to ya?”
She cocked her head to the side at the vague answer but her drug addled brain let it go as she lowered herself back down on the seat. “Oh yeah.” She nodded at his question. “Everyone is so nice, a lot nicer than I thought they’d be because of the things people say about Working Groups. I was real scared after I was shot and everyone was just so…” She trailed off as she struggled to think of the right word, her brows knitting together and the wheels of thought visibly inching across her face. “Nice,” She finally settled on. “I didn’t feel so scared.”
Donnelley smiled, looking at Ava through the rearview, “It’s what a good Workin’ Group does for each other.” Donnelley said, “Some say a Team is only as good as its weakest member. Takin’ a look at any of us?”
Donnelley nodded, “We’re some tough sumbitches.” Donnelley looked back to the cabin, “Jesus Christ, Dave, you tryin’ to pack the cabin too? I ain’t got that much shit.”
Ava grinned at his comments and let her head fall back, closing her eyes. There was a beat of silence before she muttered, “His eyes weren’t human.”
As they spoke Dave finally exited the house, his gear slung over one shoulder and a duffel bag over the other. He'd loaded it with what he could from the garage, from ammunition to ordinance. It went into the trunk with a heavy thud and he slammed the door.
"Y'all all settled?" He gave them a perky grin as he sat down in the driver's seat, masking a grimace as he pulled the door closed. The bullet to his shoulder had punched straight through, the high velocity round making a tiny pinprick hole in either side, missing the bone by a couple of inches and instead taking a bit of the outer meat. The bulk of his shoulder was covered with an angry purple bruise, the sister to the ones on his chest and his face.
"So we ain't got any music," he said, firing up the vehicle, "but I figure we can play some road games or do a sing-along. If y'all are good, we can stop for McDonald's when we get into town."
“Thanks, Uncle Dave.” Donnelley chuckled.
“Fuck yeah, McNuggets.” Ava slurred from the back seat with a grin, what she had been talking about with Donnelley leaving her mind at the mention of food. “It’s been...forever since I ate, I think.”
"...Shit I'm hungry, too," Dave said, suddenly feeling his stomach start to gnaw at him. "...Do y'all actually want nuggets? Cuz uh… I could actually eat."
“Fuck yeah, I’m hungry. Let’s get some goddamn nuggets.” Donnelley pumped his fist in the air before retrieving his cigarettes, “Y’all mind?”
“I don’t mind stopping for nuggets before we go to the hospital.” Ava said, not able to see Donnelley’s cigarettes from where she was laying down. “Hospital food is never good anyway.”
"Go for it. Nuggets it is," Dave said, smiling broadly. He fell in behind the other vehicle. "Oh. So we got a couple rifles, some thermite, a fuckload of ammo, and a couple pipe-bombs in the back. So uh… I'm gonna drive real careful."
“Thanks, Uncle Dave.” Donnelley echoed with the cigarette already poised between his lips. The flame kissed the end of his cigarette and he slouched back in his seat. They made it down the road and a break in the trees showed the sky the color of gold and blood. Another sunrise. “What a fuckin’ night.”
Laine sat in the passenger side of the Yukon they had rented earlier the previous day in Charleston only to be running back there in less than sixteen hours. Frank was in the seat behind her, crammed between Jason and Justin's broad forms and Tom in the far back seat with the box containing the library books and projector, and the Keurig machine she liberated. The hell if they would be stuck choking down motel coffee. The Baughman footlocker was under the box, locked once again.
She leaned her elbow against the door frame, the window rolled down so she could smoke without bothering the others too much. Laine watched Dave carry out Ava out the door, like a bridegroom in reverse. She took a drag from the black cigarette dangling between her fingers, it was one of her last cloves so she tried to savor it. Then he hobbled out, Donnelley was the last to leave and she glanced away. It hurt to look at him, a part of her wanted to forget and go back to how it was in Charleston but she could not. Somethings you just could not go back from.
Her conscious nagged at her, it wasn't all about Donnelley's dirty work that bothered her, he had been honest about that possibility from the beginning. It was the Program, no loose ends were ever left to compromise their important work.
What gnawed at her was how she had went along with it all. Laine knew in the back of her mind how it all would end yet she crossed that threshold into the room with the hooded man tied to a chair. A farce of legitimacy that even she could not pretend to have believed. Wasn't that why she hadn't bothered to read his rights until he demanded it. She had known, she had not tried to stop the beatings or the threat of torture. Laine had played her fucking part and then when it all slid out of her control she tried to escape responsibility.
Shame filled her and she drew on the cigarette deeply until her lungs burned and started to feel the same numbing sensation that the cloves had on her throat. If only it would do that to her head as the taunting thoughts bounced around in her mind.
She blew the smoke out in a stream, waiting as Pari made her way to the truck.
They were ready, and Pari finished collecting herself as she made her way over, a vibrant shawl draped over her shoulders to give her just enough warmth. She'd scooped her hair atop her head into a thick bun, only a select few strands had wriggled loose. She opened the door and the freeze hit hair - the wave of uncertainty, and still she took her seat and started up the car without too much of a fuss.
Laine had taken the front passenger seat, and had she not been leaning towards the window, she would have seen a smile from her new colleague. Pari stayed quiet for the first few moments, as she took the car over the gravel - feeling its bite against the tyres. This car was bigger than she was used to behind the wheel of but as her father had always said, "if you can drive one car, you can drive any car." She smiled at the thought as the car headed down the path, leaving the safehouse in the rear view mirror as they began to crawl the landscape of rugged mountains and dense forest.
Pari could sense that Laine's mind was at work, and as she took a glance at the boys in the back she saw that already the drive had lulled Justin and Tom to sleep. No surprise either, they'd been through hell.
Once the car tore away from the gravel to concrete, she glanced sidelong at Laine, "how are you holding up?" She asked, her expression serious but tone warm. It was a frank and heavy question to ask, but… They were in the line of frankly heavy work.
Laine had buckled the seat belt on and remained quiet as the truck pulled out, her only movement was flicking ash out the window. When Pari spoke, Laine reluctantly pulled herself out of thoughts.
"I'm tired," Laine answered, not looking over at her as she took another drag and watching the dark landscape. "How are you?"
"Tired," Pari answered with a shrug. "Not every night I wake up and get shot at… Really breaks up a seven hour sleep."
She turned right at a junction, taking to a longer strip of road. "I suppose this is a bit of a welcome to the mission though."
Laine huffed a smokey chuckle at that statement, then flicked a cascade of embers from her nearly finished cigarette. The memory of her own first mission had never faded, as being strangled by a living corpse had a way of staying with a person.
"You could say that," she replied, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you my introduction . There's some weird shit in these hills."
Laine finally glanced quickly at Pari, her green eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. The woman looked calm and pulled together, how Laine usually tried to be but at this moment she felt the threads fraying along seams in her mind. She took the last drag from her clove cigarette and snuffed it, then looked around for a place to throw it away.
"I might," Pari replied, eyes on the road. "You teased that story earlier too. I hope to hear it sometime, even if that time isn't tonight…" Her soft voice trailed off and she narrowed her eyes. "I've seen some weird things… Scary things… But, tonight… I was pretty scared of a young woman dying in my care…"
Laine looked back out the window when the subject returned to events of the last few hours. The gunfight had been sudden and frightening, catching them in the one place they were supposed to be safe. Ava's injury had shook them all, the least threatening of the group to suffer the most. She knew some of the punches the suspect... Michael, he had a name, she reminded herself. Some of the punches Michael had taken from Dave and Donnelley were revenge for Ava.
"You did really well, patching her up while Jason was unavailable," Laine sat, flicking a glance to the rear view mirror catching a glimpse of the big man who sat dozing behind her seat. "She very well might owe you her life. We already lost two people on this mission, so we owe you, too."
Laine took a deep breath, thinking briefly about the two former teammates still laying dead in the hills. Another death might have been a blow Donnelley could not have bounced back from so easily. She knew how the deaths weighed on him, how he felt responsible. Not unlike her own guilt she carried now.
"Were you a nurse or something before the Bureau?" Laine asked, unsubtly trying to steer the conversation away from the events of that night.
"Oh," Pari raised a brow and chuckled. "I'm not a nurse. My parents are surgeons though, so it would tickle them to hear that you thought that…" She cleared her throat, bringing back a level composure, she was concerned to hear they had lost two team members already, and maybe there were some questions about that for later. That meant her list of questions was growing longer still. Donnelley and Foster would be sure to appreciate it…
"But thank you, I just… I just did what needed to be done - just as you all did to fight them off. That can't have been easy." A quiet moment stretched on just like the road. Smooth and steady. "You have a good bond with them," Pari commented with a tilt of her head at the men in the back. "It makes everything easier when that's the case… Even the hard nights like this."
Laine shook her head slightly, a sardonic half smile forming on her lips before she said, "I hardly fought them, I popped a few shots in their general direction. I probably put a few holes in this truck rather than any of the shooters. It was...silly, we have actual operators but the training just kicked in, I guess. It's been years since I've had to pull my sidearm."
When Pari spoke of the bond, glancing sideways at her. "Yeah, maybe we do. Being involved with things like this, especially when you can't talk about it with your friends and family outside. It'll make those bonds."
Her gaze flicked once more to the mirror, catching a glimpse of Jason's handsome freckled face. He was still sleeping and she looked back out the window, at the side view mirror where the headlights from the Suburban reflected.
"I guess some of us are more used to it," Laine said, digging in her pocket to find the nearly empty box of Djarums, mentally debating on whether to burn another. Fuck it, she thought, there would be places in Charleston she could maybe pick up some more.
Lighting the clove, she inhaled it deeply then let the smoke out into the early morning wind rushing past the truck.
"You know, dude," she said, trying to stifle a yawn. "The things we see in our day jobs aren't exactly dinner table conversation."
Laine paused, then said, "So, your parents are surgeons but you followed this path. How much shit did you get for that?"
“So much, so very much…” Pari laughed dryly. “They wanted me to be a doctor too,” she shrugged again, wondering if Laine’s family had ever pressured her in one direction or another. “I rebelled a lot as a teenager… I think they just accepted it eventually when by some miracle I still ended up at Stanford… Even if it wasn’t for medicine…” Her voice trailed off as she took another turn.
Pari began tapping her fingers over the wheel, a gentle rhythm from her manicured nails. She was happy that she had an easier relationship with her parents these days, even if there were regrets somewhere in that mix too. She moved back on the conversation, wanting to steer it away from her family and back to the present; “and hey, whether you hit something or not - you stood up back there. You shot at them, you pulled your trigger when it mattered Laine.”
Laine grinned crookedly, resting her elbow on the window frame and held up the black cigarette between two fingers. "I know all about that angsty teen rebellion. And Stanford? Well, that's impressive. I went to UC Irvine for criminal psychology, from freshman to doctorate. An Anteater for life."
At Pari's comment about the shooting, Laine shrugged, "Maybe. But the boys did the real work, they saved our asses. We should, like, bake them a 'thanks for killing all the bad guys' celebratory chocolate cake or something."
As soon as the dry comment slipped her lips the image of the helpless hooded man who had been one of those bad guys popped into her mind and she visibly recoiled, sitting up in her seat. Laine closed her eyes for a moment then put the clove cigarette between her plush lips. Maybe a thank you card signed by the team for Donnelley for having to execute the man so he wouldn't run back to whoever the fuck Just Jay was and tell them all about Heather Laine, Joseph Donnelley and David MacCready.
"So stupid," Laine said to herself then realized she spoke out loud. She exhaled smoke out the window then turned to Pari. "Sorry, it was a stupid joke. I have a bad habit of that."
Pari laughed quickly, grip tightening on the leather of the wheel, “you’re right - that was a stupid joke. As if they need to be enjoying that kind of indulgence, right? Us girls on the other hand…” Her shoulders raised and her lips curled with a soft giggle.
She let a silence hang in the air, and she glanced sidelong at Laine. Pari’s eyebrow raised and she sighed. “I know we’ve just met and all, and I know that tonight has been especially difficult, and I know I’m no psychologist like yourself,” she stopped, taking another breath - wondering if she’d regret the words, and if she’d poked at something she shouldn’t have. She let it sit in her gut before she continued. It felt right, afterall. “Are you really okay?” The road was clear enough for her to turn her head to face the woman beside her, even if she was more concerned with the road outside of her own window.
Laine looked at the smoldering cherry at the end of the black cigarette, ash starting to build up until she flicked it into the wind.
"I'm pretty fucking far from okay," Laine quipped, watching the sky starting to lighten in the east, a faint changing of black to indigo behind the humps of dark mountains. She sighed, then gave a slight shrug, "I just need some time, some sleep. I've been going for almost twenty four hours and I haven't eaten since breakfast."
"I don't know what it is about Blackriver that amplifies feelings, memories... I've been here less than 24 hours… It's already under my skin, you know?" Pari admitted, her expression showing moderate signs of a concern. Eyes bright, focussed on driving. "You've been here longer than I have…" She wasn't really sure why she was saying it, and why her hands were gripping the wheel tighter still. Maybe she was searching for a reassurance from Laine that there was something hovering above them. She abruptly shook her head and cleared her throat. One of the men in the back stirred and her eyes shot to the rear view mirror.
"But also, yes. We'll eat at the motel, I brought as much of the food as I could. Sorry about that, didn't mean to suggest something else was at play. You're right -- it's lack of sleep, lack of food. We can remedy that though," Pari finished, flashing a smile at Laine.
"Blackriver is a festering sore, a weeping scab on the rot running through this country," Laine said after a moment of deep silence. "Things here are...well, they're not right. Someone is killing and skinning women in those hills. Something very big and very dangerous is in those hills. We have people dead up there. And there are those here that don't want that information to leave the county."
She glanced at the rear view mirror, Frank sleeping with his head on Jason's broad shoulder, mouth slack. "They were willing to kill a team of FBI agents to get at a witness. That tells me they are hiding something very damning. So the feeling you get in these mountains, something is definitely at play here, it's not your imagination."
Laine smoked quietly, watching the sliver of gold starting to glow beyond the deep blue rolling hills making the sky start to blush. Day was breaking, another sunrise.
Ava leant away from her laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of her, resting her back against the couch behind her. She took her glasses off so she could rub at her dry eyes for a moment, then lowered her hands so she could squint at the time in the corner of her screen. The numbers coolly told her it was almost three in the morning. She had woken up nearly two hours ago from a fitful sleep and being one of those people that could not go back to sleep once awakened, she opted to get some work done instead.
She quietly grabbed her laptop and left the bunkroom so she wouldn’t wake up Agent Bhaat, taking her pillow with her. From there she sat herself down in the living room, using the pillow as a cushion to sit on the floor and the coffee table as a makeshift desk.
The rest of the cabin was quiet, leading her to believe she was the only one awake so she hadn’t bothered to change out of her pajamas. It also looked like the others weren’t back yet with the witness. That worried her, especially knowing that they had some kind of encounter when they went to extract their asset, though exactly what happened she didn’t know. Foster didn’t elaborate when he told them and she hadn’t received another update since that initial call, so she hoped they were alright.
She put her glasses back on her face and looked at the front door. That was another reason she didn’t want to go back to sleep.
Ava let out a heavy breath through her nose and picked up her wireless headphones, sitting next to her on the table. She put them on over her ears, gently running her fingers over the designs of pressed flowers engraved into the red and gold surface of the ear pads. She turned on the music app on her phone, playing a soothing instrumental track of violins and a piano.
Pushing the coffee table gently away, she stood up, stretched and headed for the kitchen to make herself another cup of coffee.
The door to the garage opened and then closed, a weary Dave entering the cabin in jeans and a wife-beater. He'd vanished into the garage the moment his team returned from town, grinning like a child with a new toy as he unpacked bags of fertilizer, lengths of pipe, and various chemicals. He spent the hours since setting up his lab; jugs of acetone, bleach, and ammonia were stacked against the wall, bags of fertilizer on the opposite side, and the small workbench had been covered in a scattering of odds and ends of pipes and tools. He had gone through the electrical kit he purchased, laying out bits of wire and connectors, and labeled things as appropriate. The biggest addition was a hand-drawn sign, NO SMOKING, that he had duct-taped to the door. Things were sure to get interesting when Donnelley saw that.
With the lab set up and fatigue setting in, Dave entered the house in search of caffeine. He didn’t necessarily need to start building anything right now; he still hadn’t talked to Foster about getting phones to use as detonators, and he hadn’t hit up a Radio Shack to buy the fixings for any other means of detonation short of using an old-school fuse. Still, he didn’t want to sleep. Not right now, with his mind churning over the interview, the dead girl, and the thing he’d seen just a couple of days before.
He walked towards the kitchen, pulling up short as he came upon Ava, her coffee mug in her hand. He noted the headphones and took a few steps into her field of view, waving a hand.
“Hey, you ain’t in bed yet?” He asked, leaning against the counter. “Ain’t your parents gonna get pissed if they catch you sneakin’ a snack?”
The sudden motion out of the corner of her eye gave Ava a start. She quickly turned to face the movement while pulling the headphones off her ears. “Oh, Dave, you surprised me.” She said with a relieved sigh as she settled her headphones around her neck, her hair fluffing up and out against the band of her headphones.
She smiled slightly at his joke and wrapped her other hand around her mug. “I was asleep, but I woke up a couple hours ago.” She explained, glancing down at her coffee, which was a rich golden brown from the creamer she added and gave off the faint heavenly scent of vanilla. The tiny sounds of violins and piano drifted into the air from her headphones as she took a tentative sip of the hot coffee.
“What are you doing up?” She asked, lifting her deep blue eyes back up to him. “I didn't wake you, did I?” She asked, a crease appeared between her furrowed eyebrows as a hint of worry entered her tone.
“Nah, I ain’t been to bed. After that shit on the mountain…” He shrugged. Being trapped in a cabin by a monster the size of a Ford and seeing his team torn apart was the kind of experience to keep a man up at night. Then there was Clif, and that fucking trap… He shook his head and gestured towards the door. “Been out there, gettin’ my stuff laid out. I don’t know what we’ll be needin’ so I don’t want to go mix up HME and then leave it layin’ around.”
“Oh, yeah, that seems like a smart idea.” She glanced back down at her coffee, rubbing her thumb back and forth over the ceramic while trying to think of the right thing to say. Dave was clearly haunted about what happened to him and she wanted to do...something to help him. He seemed like a nice man, despite his unnerving knowledge of homemade explosives, and seeing the thousand yard stare in his eyes whenever it was brought up…
“Uh,” She raised her eyes up and bit her lip for a moment. “I’m not...great at advice, but if you want to talk about what happened, I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.” She offered, giving a small but uncertain smile.
He drummed his fingers on the countertop, debating with himself. Talking about things would probably help. Still, he wasn’t even sure what he’d seen himself; he’d never had a look at the creature, and while he hadn’t mentioned it to the crew, some of the parts immediately before he’d kissed that fender were a bit hazy.
“We can talk about it, sometime,” he said slowly. “But uh...Maybe by the light of day, yeah?” He gave her a grin. “You already can’t sleep. I don’t wanna make it worse by giving you nightmares when you finally do nod off.”
He walked around to the coffee pot, taking down a mug and pouring himself a cup. “So what you been up to, since you ain’t sleeping? Workin’ on that virus of yours?”
She moved out of his way and leaned back against the island in the middle of the kitchen, watching him pour his coffee. She raised her eyebrows at the sight of his muscles flexing as he reached for the mug, they were more defined than she had originally estimated. She took a long pull from her cup, shutting her eyes and enjoying the smell and taste of perfectly sweetened coffee.
Ava opened her eyes when Dave spoke again and lowered her mug down. “Oh, no, I finished that before I went to bed.” She answered. “Right now I’m putting together a new identity for the witness and I have a program running that’s compiling information on local hospitals.” She frowned, tapping her finger against her mug. “I wish I knew how extensive this new identity has to be though. If he has family in another part of the state I don’t want them to think he’s dead.”
“Shit, man,” Dave muttered. “I don’t even like tryin’ to buy ammo online, and you’re inventing people and creepin’ through hospital records. You’re kind of a scary gal.” He raised his coffee mug in a brief toast.
Ava flushed at the idea of her being considered ‘scary’ especially by a mountain man like Dave. She snorted as she looked down at herself in her pastel NASA t-shirt and pink plaid pajama pants. Not to mention her hair was a puff ball of red tangles after being in a braid all day, especially since it had been wet. “Only when you put me in front of a computer.” She responded, lifting her mug up in response to his with a smile twitching up the corner of her lips.
A thought popped into her head and she straightened slightly. “Oh! Shoot, I forgot, did you happen to find a bag of seeds with all of your, um, stuff?”
“Yeah, I found some seeds.” He grinned. “Plannin’ to throw ‘em off our trail, huh?”
She shrugged awkwardly, reaching up to rub the back of her neck. “It seemed like it made sense at the time. Like it’d look less weird, you know?” She smiled crookedly and shrugged again. “Besides, my neighbor loves gardening and she’ll be needing fall vegetables soon so I thought I’d help her out.”
“Not a bad plan,” Dave nodded seriously. “Gotta keep the Feds on their toes.” He took a sip of coffee, biting back a chuckle. He’d bought nearly 250 pounds of fertilizer. The seeds she’d purchased wouldn’t have been nearly enough to make use of it. It was like buying twelve cartons of butter and a single potato. “I’m sure your friend will appreciate the gesture, too. I probably oughta take a look around town, see if there’s anything souvenir-like that I can pick up for my boy. He’s already gonna be upset I took off on a new job without warnin’.”
Ava perked up at that little tidbit and a more relaxed smile spread across her lips. “You have a son?” She asked curiously, tilting her head to the side. “How old is he?”
“Fourteen.” Dave smiled and rolled his eyes. “Teenagers, lemme tell ya. Nobody in the world is moodier than a teenager. I’m in for it when I get home.”
“Ah,” She nodded in understanding, a soft chuckle bubbling up from her chest. “Sounds like you’re going to have to get him something really nice as a peace offering.” She leaned back against the island again, her eyes studying his hands briefly for a sign of a wedding ring or even a tan line of one. There was nothing though.
“I’ve got a pretty moody cat, he’ll probably ignore me for a couple of days when I get back home. Bribery doesn’t work as well on cats though.” She said with a roll of her eyes.
In the quiet of night and the stillness of the house it was easy to hear the crunch of gravel under tires. The opening and shutting of car doors and Donnelley’s muffled voice, ’Get him searched, no cellphones.’
The sound of a key rasping into a lock came and the door opened to reveal Donnelley with a cigarette dangling from his lip. He sauntered inside with a tiredness in his eyes and a slur to his voice from the lack of sleep. “Get that man a chair,” Donnelley thrust a thumb back at Frank just entering, and then pointed the thumb to his own chest, “And get this man a drink.”
He chuckled at his own cheesy antics and went for the door to the garage, the sound of his lighter flicking audible to Ava and Dave before they heard Donnelley stop in his tracks at the door and the sign on it. A few beats of silence before, “The fuck’s this?” He came back into view from the hallway, cigarette tucked behind his ear, “Who went’n wrote that?”
"Me," Dave said, glancing at him. "I got chemicals set out all over the place. You smoke in the wrong place you're gonna blow us all up." He jerked a head at the door. "Pain in the ass, I know, but you want me bein' the demo guy, I'm runnin' my shop my way."
Donnelley gave a nod and looked back at the door and then to Dave, “Alright.”
Instead of smoking in the garage he did what he usually did and lit up right where he stood. He drew in the smoke with closed eyes and let it out slow, nodding. He opened his eyes and gave a small smirk as he sat at the island table, “I love smokin’ indoors.” He gestured to Dave and Ava, “What have my two delightful rascals been up to at this hour? Swappin’ gossip?”
Ava straightened up and pushed away from the island as Donnelley sat down, relieved to see everyone back and in one piece. She shot a reassuring smile over to the man she was assumed was their witness, Frank while ignoring the mild embarrassment she felt from being in her pajamas.
“We were waiting for you to come back.” She said, doing her best to try and sound like a disappointed mother but was unable to keep the small smile off her face. “It’s past your curfew.”
Donnelley winked at Ava, “I’m a bad kid.”
Laine entered the cabin, her high heels replaced with Converse sneakers by this time. She gestured for Frank to sit in the living room in one of the comfortable stuffed chairs. Once he was settled she looked over at Ava, smiling at the sight of the young computer whiz looking like a kid who was trying to stay awake during a sleepover.
Her gaze flicked to Dave and he certainly did not look like any kid. His wife beater had its effect and her eyes lingered on his arms until she shook her head slightly, noticing Donnelley lighting up.
Laine rolled her eyes then said in a tired voice that was more raspy than usual, edged with a playful dryness, "He just likes doing what he shouldn't."
Laine dumped her purse and her blazer on the couch before heading into the kitchen, looking at the coffee maker, a silent debate going on within to try and stay up or go pass out. Laine snorted softly, ten years ago she would have hardly needed the coffee to stay awake, now she was dragging. She picked up two Keurig cups and started making them.
She brought a cup of coffee to Donnelley, then glanced at Frank in the living room. She spoke quietly, "Should he talk to him now or let him sleep?"
Donnelley took the offered cup and smiled to Laine, mouthing a thanks. He looked back at Frank on the couch, clutching his bag and looking forlorn at the way his life had been going this far. “Frank.”
The man looked up from his reverie and nodded at Donnelley, “Yeah?”
“You want to talk about Blackriver tonight or?” Donnelley cocked a brow.
Frank bit his lip and looked away, thoughts playing out on his face before he looked back to Donnelley, “I’ll talk.”
Donnelley nodded, looking to Jason who was sitting on the couch next to Frank’s, “Where’s his phone?”
Jason waved it in his hand, Donnelley placed his cigarette in his mouth and held his hand out. Jason tossed the phone over and Donnelley snatched it out of the air, the entire time, Frank watched in curiosity. “Frank, you have the contact information for any of the other Park Rangers you work with?”
“Um, yeah.” Frank said, his tone curious.
“Okay.” He went to work getting the SIM card out of the phone and tossing it to Ava before cracking the phone in half on the corner of the counter.
Ava quickly moved her cup of coffee off to the side as she reached out to catch the small plastic and metal chip with her free hand. She grimaced at the shattering of the smartphone against the counter, but didn’t say anything, having a good idea why it had to be done.
Frank jumped from his seat but didn’t come any closer to Donnelley and the others, “That was my phone. My parents!” He rose his voice, “If they call-“
“I don’t give a shit!” Donnelley snapped at Frank, “I got people makin’ threats on every life in this room because you know somethin’!”
Donnelley stood from his seat and sucked in smoke as he took a few steps into the living room, “You’re under my protection. They track your phone and it’ll lead right to you- to us. I just cut that little trail of breadcrumbs.” He placed his hands on the couch in front of him and leaned towards Frank, “You’re welcome.”
He turned for the kitchen again and sat down at his seat, “Just answer our questions. We’ll get you a burner in the morning and you can make a call to mommy and daddy, unless you don’t know their numbers by heart?” Donnelley’s brow ticked up, “You’re a good son, though. A good man. Good men answer questions.”
“Fuck, man…” Frank ran a hand over his face, “Yeah, okay. Sure. Makes sense, I’ll answer your questions, sure.”
Donnelley gave his tight smile, “Thank you, Franklin.”
“Francis.”
“Uh huh.” Donnelley loudly sipped his coffee for a few long seconds.
Laine crossed her arms over her chest, holding a cup of coffee close. She glanced over at Ava, "Do you mind putting on another cup, I think our friend here will need one."
Turning back to Frank, she asked, "How was the mood at the station since we talked? Any other visitors?"
Frank shook his head, “No. I wasn’t around to see them if there was. I packed my bags and left pretty soon after we talked.”
He looked away from Laine and then to Donnelley before he spoke again, “That guy. I’ve seen him before.”
"The guy in the Challenger?" she asked, "Please, go on. Where have you seen him? Do you know who he is?"
Frank nodded, “He used to meet with the station chief in his office. Used to show up in a suit to look official. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe he is but…” he sighed, shrugging, “All I know is I’ve seen him before a few times.”
“Well, he said he’s a friend of yours back at the motel.” Donnelley chimed in, coffee mug halfway to his lips.
“He isn’t. I don’t even know his name.” Frank shook his head.
“You know the name of your supervisor?” Donnelley asked.
“Hoffman. Phil.” Frank frowned, his voice was hollow and reedy when he spoke again, “He’s… he’s the one who told me to shut the fuck up about that missing hiker and his wife.”
Dave watched the activity with equal parts interest and confusion. He had pieced together that Frank was the Ranger they'd discussed previously, but this talk of Challengers and motels was new. He glanced at Donnelley and Laine, reading the tension in their postures, and then quietly returned to the garage.
He returned a few moments later with his plate carrier strapped on over his beater and his SLR hanging from its sling. He'd kept his Sig in arm's reach while in the garage, but now it rode strapped to his thigh, his duty belt buckled around his waist. He gave Ava a reassuring wink as he walked over to lean against a nearby wall and fished out his Cope, snapping it a few times and then shoving a generous portion into his lip.
Ava gave a ghost of a smile at Dave’s wink, hoping that they wouldn’t be having a shoot out any time soon. She had palmed the SIM card into her pocket while she brewed up a cup of coffee for Frank. She processed the bits of information with a thoughtful frown as the Keurig finished and she took the coffee over to Frank. She handed him the mug with a slight smile, trying to help put him at ease. “Here you go, if you want creamer we have that too.” She told him before looking up to Donnelley and Dr. Laine with curious eyes. “What happened exactly? You were discovered?”
Laine inhaled the aroma of the French roast and sighed deeply, listening to Frank. At Ava's inquiry, she glanced at her, "He was watching Frank at the motel and he made sure we knew he was there. We managed to lose his tail in Charleston, hid out at another motel to make sure. We never saw the Dodge Challenger he drove or anyone else acting suspicious again. Then we came back here."
She clocked Dave's sudden appearance, nodding slightly at him and his weapon. Right now there was no need to take chances. Turning back to Frank, she asked, "Tell us about the hikers, what you told me. And add the details you held back, please."
“The dude was fucking terrified. We found him in one of the old mines they never boarded up out in the mountains.” Frank eyed Dave and all his armor and weaponry before turning back to Laine, “His wife… she, uh…”
“She was like that girl. The one I found…” Frank’s hands were restless, going between folded together to splayed out so he could look at them and back and forth, “My partner was with me, Billy, we called it in and Phil told us to mark it down on our map and we got back to the station and that guy was there.”
“They had a talk, him and Phil, and Phil told me to stop talking about the hikers and that guy would handle it from there.” Frank shrugged, “I just did what I was told. I was new, I’ve never seen anything like that, okay?”
“So,” Donnelley got up from his seat and sipped at his coffee again before he spoke, “Foster said you called him before you called the Sheriff. That’s why I’m here, Frank. You said you saw a shimmer in the air that led you to the girl you found. She wasn’t the first one you found like that?”
“No.” Frank shook his head, “I’m sorry.”
“How did you know to call Foster? Who gave you his information?” Donnelley asked.
“Billy. He wasn’t new like me.” Frank frowned, “Billy was on leave and, um, he was in town one night. Charleston police said he got robbed at gunpoint and killed.”
Donnelley nodded, making for the stairs and taking them two at a time, albeit slowly with his bum leg, “Wait up!”
Once he came back down he had his tactical gear and his Honey Badger in his arms, which he dumped on the couch, “Dave over there makin’ me nervous.” He smiled back at the man in question. Out of his pocket he produced a small recorder and pressed record, “Joseph Donnelley and Doctor Heather Laine interviewin’ Park Ranger Frank Wilkins. July Sixth, 2019, West Virginia, Blackriver County.”
Donnelley pointed to Frank, “Go ahead and tell us everything again.” Donnelley slipped his carrier over his head, “From the start, please.”
Frank did as he was told, running through everything he’d said thus far with Donnelley nodding along, “So, guy’s a regular at your station and only Phil Hoffman knows him. Billy…”
“Britt.” Frank filled in.
“Billy Britt is Foster’s asset and after the incident with the lost hikers, he goes on leave to Charleston and somebody decides to rob him?” Donnelley raised his brows.
“Yeah.” Frank nodded.
“Well, if that ain’t the most beautiful scent of conspiracy I ever heard, I don’t know what the fuck is.” Donnelley looked to Laine and back to Frank. “Phil Hoffman know the Sheriff?”
“Um-“
A car horn blared from outside and Donnelley sat ramrod straight at the sound. He looked to Laine, then to the others. Jason wasted no time in jumping up and going upstairs for the rest of his gear. All the while, Donnelley paused the recorder and tipped one of the blinds up with a finger. At this hour, all he saw was headlights.
“Fucking Christ.” Donnelley kept his eyes out the window and gestured behind him, “Frank, get the hell upstairs. Dave, there’s a light machine gun in the garage, set up at this window and lay some hate into this fucker if you hear him bein’ rude to me.”
He stepped back from the window, “Anybody doesn’t want to shoot back with me, get to your rooms and stay on the ground. I’m goin’ to have a friendly conversation.”
Ava jumped at the sound of the car horn and glanced with wide eyes toward the front door. She felt a cold sweat break out over her body as she stood frozen to her spot. Her eyes flicked between Donnelley and Dave armed to the teeth, readying for a fight. She glanced back to the door, the thought flicking across her mind if these walls could stop bullets. She supposed that depended on the caliber…
She finally nodded at Donnelley’s orders, not trusting herself to talk over the tightening of her throat and forced her legs to move. She grabbed her laptop off the coffee table and shut it, hugging it against her chest to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.
"Shit," Laine hissed when the horn blared, the hot coffee sloshing over her hand and onto her sweater as she startled. Setting down the mug, she wiped her hand as she hustled over to the couch, pulling her Glock from the holster and the extra magazine from her purse, tucking it into her waistband.
"Ava, go to our room, stay down and away from the windows. Wake Pari up," she said, moving towards the window, peering through the blinds without moving them. There was not much to see, only the blinding headlights. "I'll be right there."
“Yep, I seen it.” Dave headed for the garage, returning a moment later with the weapon, a typical SAW-style with attached ammunition box. He carried it to the window, sitting down and opening the feed tray.
“Go on now, get out of here sugar,” he said, glancing at Ava as he pulled the belt across the feed tray and closed the top cover with a snap. He racked it back and engaged the safety, settling it into his shoulder. “We got this. Keep yourself low to the ground, y’hear?”
Ava looked at all three of them and swallowed thickly before nodding again. “Okay...Okay. Be careful.” She said quietly and then forced her legs to move to the women’s bunkroom. She opened the door and ducked inside, shutting the door with a little more energy than she meant to because of her nerves.
She rested her shoulder on the door and thumped her head against it, still clutching her laptop and trying to catch her breath. She was bracing for the sound of gunfire at any moment, the anxiety brought on by the building tension feeling like it had a vice grip on her chest. It felt like the calm before the storm.
Keep it together, just keep your head down and it’ll be okay. She tried to tell herself as she lifted her head and glanced over to Pari’s bunk.
The Agent was already awake, primed and ready behind the door that, apparently, Ava pushed open. She breathed a sigh of relief as she made out the redhead.
She had been sleeping when she was woken by the sound of Donnelly entering - and for a while, she had forgotten even falling asleep in the first place. Her notebook had been beside her on the pillow, and she hadn’t even washed the cat-eye liner from her lids. It wasn’t like her to drift off like that, but she’d attributed it to the trials of the day. It didn’t take long for her to sense a surge in the tension, and so she’d snuck out from her bed to meet the others…
In her nightwear, she looked a world away from the professional FBI agent of the day, there she was in matte silk turquoise harem pants that cinched at the ankles - fastened with a bow on each. The turquoise colour was sophisticated, and the pyjamas were by her own admission, expensive. Her feet were bare, toes painted in a similar hue that stood out upon her rich olive skin. Pari’s hair too, was different, flowing to the middle of her back in loose mahogany curls.
“Ava,” she said quietly, holding out a hand, two fingers held together and facing upwards. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? I’m sorry I drifted off to sleep…” Pari’s apology more of a confused muttering in the direction of the woman in front of her.
Much like her bottoms, her shirt billowed around her curvaceous frame - obscuring it in the blanket of light comfort.
Ava looked up at the Agent and shook her head, her eyes terrified and mouth set in a grim line as she reached out to grab her hand. “No, no. We have to get to cover. The others came back with the witness but they were followed or tracked somehow and there’s a strange car outside and…” She trailed off as she realized she was starting to ramble and took in a deep breath. “They’re gearing up for a fight.”
"It's alright, that's right - first things first, breathe," Pari said calmly, dropping down into a squat until she set one knee on the ground. She made sure her head was lower than the windows. She then took deep breaths of her own in time with Ava - it helped nobody if either of them got into a panic over this. "There are more of us than them," she added, not knowing that for certain, but wanting to make Ava at least feel better. Pari brought the two fingers she had held out closer to her chest, reciting quietly under her breath; "om namah shivaay, om namo bhagwate rudraay…"
Ava followed her example, dropping down onto her knees and ducking her head low while still clutching her laptop. She focused on Pari and tried to follow the timing of her breathing, her hackles raised as she waited for the quiet to be shattered with gunfire.
She listened to Pari recite what sounded like a mantra or prayer of some kind and reached up to grasp where her Saint Michael’s pendant was tucked underneath her shirt. She had never been a particularly religious person, but it wasn’t like a prayer would hurt and maybe saying a mantra of her own would keep her calm. She started muttering under her breath, in Latin, “Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio.”
>LIVING ROOM...///
“Remember,” Donnelley grunted as he worked at buckling his helmet’s chin strap, “You hear yellin’, you squeeze that trigger.”
Donnelley winked at Laine, “Let’s see if he stands a chance against my Southern charm.” He chuckled, clenching and unclenching his hands in hopes nobody would notice they were trembling. He roughly grabbed the door handle and opened it, closing it behind him. He had his eyes closed, half-expecting the shooting to start now they had him in the open. None came, and he used that tiny bit of relief to fuel his cocky fucking smirk. He used his left hand to shield his eyes, the other was on his Badger’s grip. “Howdy!”
Laine could not return his wink, her face tense and knuckles white as she gripped her gun. She might as well be crouched naked for all her slacks and sweater would protect. She held her breath, her finger slipping to the trigger as she peered through the slats of the blinds, making out Donnelley's silhouette as he stepped out.
She glanced at Dave with the machine gun, her eyes betraying her nervousness. It had been years since she had pulled her weapon in a situation like this. Her mind second guessed her position crouched by the window. Why hadn't she brought her tactical gear, she had rushed up from the lecture unprepared and now was in a goddamn situation that might get her killed.
Licking her dry lips, she looked out at the brightly lit parking lot, hearing the voices going back and forth.
Dave steadied his breathing, letting the pounding of his heart energize rather than debilitate him. While he wasn't an expert with the machine gun, he understood the basics and had fired plenty of them in his younger days. He held it securely against his shoulder, his weight bracing the weapon on its bipod as he trained the sights on the vehicle outside. He kept both eyes open, cheek resting the stock, visually scanning the treeline.
By now he was no stranger to killing. His body count wasn't high, but it was sufficient for him to overcome any mental resistance to the act of taking a human life. In the moment, anyway. He knew that if it came to shooting he could perform. There would be time for moralizing afterwards, provided he lived through the next few minutes.
Nothing at first, then a window rolled down on the vehicle and he heard the familiar voice, “I told you you were scared!” The other voice laughed, slapping the outside of his door as he howled, “Got the vest and everything!”
“Nah,” Donnelley patted the hard plate in his carrier, “I use it like a weight vest, I like doin’ calisthenics, you know? Keeps me in shape so I don’t lose my breath pipin’ your sister.”
“Oh, funny, partner. You’re a comedian. How many guns you got on me?” The voice asked, a menacing smile in the tone, headlights still blaring into Donnelley’s eyes.
“Just this’n.” Donnelley jiggled his Badger. “The rest are on your friends in the treeline.”
Donnelley didn’t actually know if there were any others in the trees, but if he was going to assault anywhere, he’d make sure it was as much of an unfair fight in his favor as he could. The voice chuckled a bit, “Alright. It was good talking to you, partner. How’s Frank?”
“Real talkative.” Donnelley’s smirk widened.
“Oh? I don’t think he’ll be in the mood to talk after this.” Donnelley’s smirk disappeared as he dove to the ground, throwing open the front door and scrambling on his belly inside just as the thunderous report from a hail of gunfire went up. He couldn’t tell where or how many, but he knew it was automatic fire that lasted a good ten seconds. Ballets slapped into the timber of the walls and stitched along the wallpaper and tables. Stuffing from the couches exploded upwards and floated back down around them.
As quick as it had come, it had gone. His earpro shielded his ears from most of the damage and he rolled onto his back, his Badger pointed out of the doorway and finger on the trigger. “NODs!” He said, reaching up and flipping his down, “Cut those fuckin’ lights and get your NODs! Roll call! Dave, Laine, Frank, how’re we doin’?”
“I’m, um,” He heard Frank’s voice as he shuffled on the ground, “I’m okay!”
Donnelley stood and slapped his hands over the lights, cutting them off, before he crawled to where Dave and Laine were crouching. He whispered to Dave, “You good?”
As the night erupted in gunfire Dave responded in kind. A surge of aggression rolled through him and he clicked off his safety as the window shattered in the incoming firestorm. He felt something solid slap at his shoulder, the fingers tingling, but he squeezed his trigger and cut a long burst into the front of the truck.
His rounds stitched their way up the grille and hood, shattering the windshield as the vehicle began peeling back in reverse. He put a second, more controlled burst into the retreating truck and then switched his focus as muzzle flashes in the treeline caught his attention.
He heard Donnelley call for NODs and ignored him; he could see the enemy's starbursts well enough to engage. Besides, damned fool that he was he had left both his helmet and his NODs in the garage.
The lights died and then Donnelley appeared by his side.
"I'm fine," Dave grunted in response to his enquiry. "Ain't dead yet." He sent another chattering burst towards the trees as a particularly long string of muzzle flashes caught his eye.
“Need me to get your NODs? I can swing by the garage after checking on everybody.” Donnelley shifted to see where Dave was firing, sure enough he saw them beyond the treeline, moving in pairs. “Fire at any of that fucking movement,” Donnelley paused as he heard the cracks of disciplined fire coming from the others upstairs, “I’ll take the others out the back and see if we can’t repay these guys in kind.”
"Get 'em if you can, don't take any chances. I can just keep shootin' at their muzzles." Dave punctuated the statement with a quick burst.
The gunfire was sudden and deafening, especially once Dave started firing. Laine ducked down as the glass shattered above her and the blinds shook wildly like a cat was tangled in them. Once it stopped, she could see through the twisted slats as the truck pulled out and the muzzle flashes flared in the darkness. Laine fired a few rounds in the direction of one then dropped back down.
She saw Donnelley with Dave, vaguely outlined in the darkness and she belly crawled over, her heart pounding against her chest so hard she swore it beat a rhythm on the floorboards.
In a low voice, she asked, "Our fucking friend from the motel. Where do you want me?"
“Yeah, we’re gettin’ real friendly now. Stay with Tom. He’s switching with Dave on the SAW, watch his six while I take Dave with me outside.” Donnelley nodded, “Are you okay?”
"Got it," Laine moved up to a crouch. She looked at Donnelley's face, his expression blocked by the goggles. "I'm good. Didn't get hit. Just..."
Her hands were trembling but she managed a breathy sound between a laugh and sob, "I'll be fine, go do your thing."
The crack of gunfire ripped through the still air and Ava jerked in shock. She must have twisted her back too suddenly because there was a sharp pain in the side of her stomach, like someone had just punched her, but she ignored it as she threw herself down onto the floor. She let go of her laptop to wrap her trembling arms over her head in a vain attempt to protect it from the onslaught of bullets. Tears stung her eyes and her heart hammered in her chest as she screamed inside of her head, mentally begging for the shooting to stop.
Pari was flat to the floor. Her palms held still, and when the immediate sound subsided, she pushed herself up, into a plank to assess what had happened. She had not been hit, that much she knew - but the breeze that whistled through bullet holes alerted her that even though she might not have been, Ava might have - that was before she could even think about the rest of the team. “Ai ghalya,” she cursed, steeling herself to move across the floor to Ava, who was also on the floor. The white of her pyjamas was turning red around her abdomen.
In some absolute irony, it was Pari who was alone with Ava in the room, bullet wound and all. She’d had some kind of deep obsession with gunshot wounds ever since… The reading, the researching, the watching, the reading again, and again, and again… But even she knew that was all theory, and nothing but a fixation set in the wells of grief. She never thought she’d ever have to use that information, certainly not alone - while still under fire. She wasn’t a trauma medic until tonight when she had to slip into those shoes, for the sake of her colleague. “Ava,” she called out, still remaining as close to the ground as she could. “You’re going to be okay, hands on your stomach, I’ve got you. Okay? I’ve got you.”
Pari needed to find something to seal the wound - a cloth, or dressing or-- there!, hanging over the railings of the bunk was a fresh towel she’d taken from the laundry cupboard. She moved to it and pinched the corner between her thumb and forefinger, yanking it free as she arrived at Ava’s side. She folded it into a rectangle with precision, “lie back, we can do this, me and you. Okay?”
The shooting stopped, though the sounds of closer gunfire made her flinch, she told herself that it was probably the other’s shooting back. This was what they did right? They would be able to handle this in no time. Please let it be over soon.
Her side was really starting to hurt now, a steady burning pain that was cutting through the fog of adrenaline and panic. She looked up at Agent Bhaat as she started talking, relieved to see the other woman alright, but why was she saying…
Ava tried to move her arm to touch her stomach and cried out in pain as the movement of the muscles shot agony like electricity all up her right side. She rolled onto her other side, her breathing becoming fast and heavy as she looked down and saw bright red blossoming across the white of her shirt.
“Ah!” She screamed and frantically pressed her hands to the bullet wound, bright red blood smearing on her hands. Her blood. “What happened!? What happened!?” She found herself asking, not really understanding why those words tumbled out of her mouth. She knew what had happened, but maybe by asking it, Agent Bhaat would tell her she had not just been shot.
“Ava, Ava,” Pari began, meeting her eyes with her own. “We took some fire, and you’re going to be alright - but I need you to slow down if you can, deep breaths, nice and easy,” she said as calmly as she could before pressing the towel onto the wound, gently moving Ava from her side to her back, if anything, the dark towel would obscure the wound from Ava’s line of sight. The blood had been coming fast.
She had in her suitcase an actual first aid kit, packed with nitrile gloves and adherent dressings, better ways to manage this - but it was on the other side of the room and Ava was not yet calm enough to be left for even the twenty seconds it would take Pari to retrieve it. “I’m sorry that this hurts, I’m really sorry,” she said, her composure as cool as it could be, hopefully it would rub off on the girl. Pari then moved her knee to Ava’s stomach, letting that be the pressure. She took her now free hand and grabbed Ava’s, holding tightly to her. “Breathe with me, one… two… three….” She squeezed Ava’s hand in the intervals of her breaths, hoping it would help ground her and bring her from panic long enough so that she could make it to her kit.
Ava squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling down her temples from the corner of her eyes as she let out another yelp of pain from the added pressure on the wound. “It hurts! It hurts!” She gasped out, squeezing tightly onto Agent Bhaat’s hand. She tried to focus on the sound of the other woman’s voice. She was calm, her voice was soothing and she said she would be okay. She didn’t know what the Agent’s medical background was, but she didn’t care. She needed to hear that right now.
She forced her eyes open, her vision blurry from the tears but she focused on Agent Bhaat’s composed face. She started taking in shaking breaths in time with the squeezes of her hand, trying not to move her stomach too much as she breathed.
“That’s it, good girl,” she said reassuringly, nodding down at Ava. Pari internally chided herself for calling her a ‘girl’. But in this state, it was easy to see Ava as simply a young girl, but the reality was that she was an accomplished young woman, just like Pari was, just like Laine was. “You’re doing great - I know it hurts, I know it does but that’s your body fighting back.” She forced a smile, and squeezed her hand again. “It’s because you’re made of tough stuff, the toughest in fact, alright?”
Ava squeezed her hand back and didn’t trust herself to reply verbally so she just nodded, her lips trembling as she tried to breathe through the pain burrowing into her stomach.
“Okay, Ava,” Pari began, “my first aid kit is in my suitcase. I need to get it so we can properly dress your wound and so that we can move you.” She stopped talking and smiled, squeezing down again on Ava’s hand. “You’re going to have to be tough for me for a little bit, I’m going to move to it alright - and I need you to hold this down. Do you think you can do that?” Even if she sounded confident in her voice, inside she was wondering whether doing that would leave the girl worse off. She needed a second pair of free hands.
“Jason, on me!” Donnelley called out to the house, cracks of semi-automatic fire and Dave’s long strings of bangs ringing out into the night to offer rebuttals at the bursts of incoming fire.
Jason appeared from upstairs and nodded at Donnelley, he had his full gear on and looked ready to gunfight, “Where do you need me?”
“Go check on the girls. If none of them need patching, get outside with me and Dave.” Donnelley clapped Jason’s shoulder.
“Roger.” Jason disappeared upstairs, taking them two at a time.
Donnelley and Jason moved upstairs, opening the door to the men’s bunkroom to see Tom and Justin returning fire at whatever movement they saw in the moonlight. Justin ducked and swore as a bullet threw up dust on the windowsill he was at. He rushed to another position. Donnelley addressed the two of them, “Justin, watch the east side of the cabin from here. Dave and I are taking the west and Tom’s getting the SAW watching the North. Alright, boys, let’s go!”
Donnelley and Jason rushed downstairs, Donnelley himself going for the garage and retrieving Dave’s comms and NODs. He set the equipment down next to Dave, “Comms and NODs are right here. Switch with Tom. You’re with me, hoss.” Donnelley smirked in as good humor as he could manage.
Laine held her position, a few feet behind Dave to watch his back. Her voice caught in her throat, her hands gripping the Glock, feeling the sweat prickling the back of her neck. She watched them in their gear, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. "Donnelley," she said suddenly, as he was turning away. "Be careful, all of you."
“My middle name.” Donnelley grinned before he pushed off his back foot and he and Dave were gone to the backdoor.
Ava swallowed back a sob as she nodded to Agent Bhaat, squeezing the other woman’s hand tightly. “Please, don’t leave me alone.” She said, her voice shaking as much as her hands. “I’m scared.” She slowly moved her other hand to the towel and pressed it against the wound. She cried in pain again, but managed to keep the pressure on.
“I’m not going to leave you, you don’t need to be scared, I’m right with you. Talk to me, tell me something - tell me anything. Just keep talking…” Pari first scanned the room, to absolutely determine where her suitcase was, it was in the corner by the desk, about seven steps away. She kept her knee against the towel, which had a heavier feel to it now - it had to be changed. It would be soon. The woman kept a firm hold of Ava’s hand until she had moved one foot far enough away. Ava had it now, she dashed - keeping low as she moved.
Ava reluctantly let go of her hand and moved it to help keep the towel in place. She could feel the blood seeping through the towel and sticking to her skin; her shirt and pants starting to feel heavier as the blood soaked in. She could smell it in the air now, the sharp metallic tang as she shut her eyes and tried to breathe through the panic. “I-I bought seeds today!” She blurted out in keeping with Agent Bhaat’s instructions to talk to her. It was the first mundane thing to pop into her head and she needed to think about something other than the blood oozing out her.
“Seeds, huh?” Pari responded as the handle came into her grip. She pulled it, the wheel stuck and made it awkward – that damned gravel, still she had it, and she made her way back to Ava’s side. “Tell me about the seeds, are you growing flowers?” she asked as she reached for the zips. Ava breathed sharply through her nose and opened her eyes when felt Pari move back to her side. “J-Just poppy seeds for flowers.” She answered, keeping her hands pressed tightly to her side. “The rest are vegetables for fall, like pumpkin and squash.”
“Those are nice vegetables, my mother makes pumpkin sabji in the fall…” Pari commented, the first aid kit now in hand, open atop the rest of her belongings on the sprung suitcase. She reached first for a pair of gloves, blue – slipping her hand into them with a snap. She pushed her knee back against the towel and peeled open the top of a hemostatic dressing, it was about the only trauma item in the damn thing. She wasn’t her parents – she was no surgeon, she just needed to stop the bleeding until they could find one. “Maybe if she ever tells me her secret,” she continued, lessening the pressure of her knee on the wound so she could slide the towel away, “I can make it for you, for everyone… I’m no cook b—"
The door squeaked open to reveal Jason’s large form. He eyed the two women, one of them on the ground with a bloodied towel and the other applying pressure. It didn’t take much of an analytical mind to piece together what happened. He frowned slightly at Ava, feeling something for her. She probably had never been in a firefight, let alone shot. “You got this?” Jason asked, eyes on Pari.
He knew what she was working at, and from the looks of it, she knew her way around a bullet wound. If he was going to provide cover for the others outside then he’d best get to another room. He didn’t want to draw more fire to the women’s bunk lest Pari join Ava on the floor.
Jason in the doorframe was a welcome sight, and Pari did her best to smile through her nerves to nod up at him. The reminder that they weren’t alone hit her hard, she hadn’t thought of everyone else since she’d been treating Ava. It was a strange pull back to the reality of it that only allowed her confidence to flourish all of a sudden. “We do, we do,” she said – repeating herself with another nod while her fingers worked to apply the dressing to Ava’s wound. She moved as quickly with it as she could – packing an open bullet wound was bound to hurt. But Ava was strong, “Mr Jimenez here would like that pumpkin sabji too I’ll bet—so we’re going to make sure you and your green thumbs are fit as a fiddle.” Ava gritted her teeth, barely registering the familiar rumble of Jason’s voice through the pain as Pari worked on her wound. Through her pain she felt relief. He was a medic right? That meant he was here to help didn't it? She glanced over at his blurred figure in the doorway, to see what he was doing and to keep from looking down. She didn't know what the woman was doing and she didn't want to look. It was probably best she didn't. She didn't trust herself to speak without crying more so she nodded again; bloody hands gripping tightly to her already ruined shirt.
Pari’s observations alerted her to the fact there was no exit wound, and she placed two fingers under Ava to check for any blood-- none. That meant the bullet was still in there, as she had suspected - meaning that while not worthless, her work was simply a finger in the dam - extra time, until they could get Ava to someone with the necessary skills to finish the treatment. “Mama was right, I should have been a doctor…” Pari sighed, thoughts of home drifting lazily against her already crowded thoughts like clouds. She began opening another dressing from the kit.
At Donnelley's command Dave slapped on his helmet and flipped down his NOD's, the world leaping into green-tinted clarity. For values of clarity, anyway. They cast things in the usual fuzzy emerald, obscuring distance detail in favor of contrast and movement.
He turned the machine gun over to Tom without a word, snatching up his SLR and clipping it to his 1-point. A brass-check confirmed he was ready to rock, and he paused just long enough to dig his Cope out of his back pocket and freshen up his dip.
"Let's kill these cock-suckers," he growled, following Donnelley to the door.
“How many does anybody see outside?” Donnelley spoke into his headset.
“I clock three on the northeast.” Justin’s voice came from the other end.
“Four to the south, two to the southwest.” Jason’s voice.
“Thank you kindly.” Donnelley spoke. He gave a quick check on his Badger and ensured his .40 was in the holster before he placed his hand on the doorknob outside. He turned to Dave for a quick moment, smirk on his face, “Get our slay on.”
Donnelley pushed the door open and he and Dave were off at a dead sprint for the trees, dust kicking up behind them and an accompanying series of pops and bangs. Donnelley dove into the dirt behind a tree, leaning out the slightest bit to see the telltale signs of the last muzzle flashes from the enemy’s position. He knew where to shoot. “At our 12, cover me, I’ll move up and cover you.” He spoke to Dave, before he spoke into his comms, “Tom, Justin, keep their heads down.”
“Roger.” And then the fireworks went up. At the sound of Tom and Justin firing, Donnelley rose his Badger and squeezed off a few rounds before sprinting to the next nearest tree. He was close enough now to see their figures distinctly, perhaps thirty meters between him and two black-clad shapes in the darkness. One ducked as Dave’s rounds slapped into the tree and dirt in front of him.
The other stood and aimed his weapon but before he could squeeze his trigger, Donnelley’s IR laser touched his chest and he squeezed off three rounds of his own, stock jolting against his shoulder and the satisfaction of seeing the man crumple, dead. The elation was short-lived as he ducked back, yelling as bits of bark stung his face before he was on his back. His friend had clocked him quickly after. Target acquisition that good meant they too might have had NODs.
Dave waited until Donnelley was set, squeezing off controlled triplets on semi. Movement drew his eye and he hammered five quick shots, two smacking the tree before the rest dropped the target. Then he flipped the switch to auto and rattled out a sustained burst, revelling in the throaty chop of the Kalashnikov before sprinting ahead, passing Donnelley. He threw himself against a stout tree, heart pounding, and drained his mag on another covering burst before quickly knocking it loose and seating another.
"You're good!" He roared back at Donnely, racking the rifle with the distinctive klak-klak and leaning out to begin covering the man with controlled singles.
Donnelley burst forward again, fully aware of the wound in his thigh now. The lack of traction his choice of footwear gave him plus another target aiming his way meant he took a tumble into the nearest tree and slammed himself into it with a loud grunt, “Fuck!” He barked, before taking it all in stride and raising his Badger to bear, trying to sight up with his red dot and IR laser through the thumping of his own aching shoulder.
He ignored the cracks of gunfire and the thunk-thunk of bullets into his cover as he squeezed off another series of three rounds. He watched another body drop before ducking back behind his tree and hearing a louder series of automatic fire punch into his cover and sweep wide to his right, puffs of dirt jumping at him in his squatting position. “Multiple at our 12 o’clock!”
He felt the hard rain of more bark cascade over him as he took fire from somewhere at their 6 o’clock. Hopefully Dave would sight up on them. “Get back to the cabin, we did good enough!” He flinched again as puffs of dirt gently peppered his slacks, “Fuck you!”
He took off at a dead sprint, pain tearing into his right leg and by the time he got to the wall he had to lean against it. His leg was throbbing and burning like he’d sprinted a mile and threatened to buckle under him if he wasn’t leaning his weight into the wood of the Safehouse. “Fuck,” he gasped through gritted teeth, clutching his leg, “me…”
A string of bullets thunked into the wall beside him as he let himself fall, unable to determine still where the shooters were and settling for crawling for a nearby tangle of roots.
Dave heard the order and followed Donnelley, falling back towards the Safehouse. The whickering snap of bullets told him he had incoming and he let himself drop, skidding on his side and bare arm as another burst cut the air above him. He caught sight of muzzle flashes, a steady sustained burst, and began a frantic low-crawl to the nearest tree.
"Donnelley, at our eight!" He called, then swore fluidly as another series of rounds hammered his tree and kicked up detritus to either side of him.
Dave waited for another burst. When it came he took a breath, flipped to auto, then leaned around the tree and cut loose with three long bursts, emptying the weapon before pulling back to reload.
[Hr]
Laine covered one ear with her left hand, her other hand still holding her Glock. What little it would do to hamper the deafening roar of the SAW as it barked out bursts towards the treeline. She turned to see Frank, the young ranger huddled between the overturned coffee table and the sofa.
Glancing at Tom then towards the garage she made a decision. Giving him a wave to let him know she was moving away, Laine crawled to where Frank Wilkins crouched. His fear was palpable and no wonder, those bullets were especially for him.
"Come on," Laine thought she spoke quietly but in reality it was almost a shout. Her ears were ringing and the sounds around her were muffled, as if she hearing through cotton. "Follow me, it's not safe here."
She gestured to the shattered windows, anyone could come right up to the dangling blinds and look right at Ranger Wilkins. Not taking chances, she pushed him forward.
"Go, crawl that way, once you're in hallway go in the bathroom, first door on the left," Laine instructed, rising into a crouch while she waited for him to get moving before she kept low, holding her gun at her side.
Escorting him to the bathroom, she swiveled on the balls of her feet to keep an eye on the compromised window and then back at Tom on the machine gun.
Once Frank was inside, she went to position herself at the door and glanced towards the woman's bedroom across the hall. The door was closed but she knew Ava and Pari where there. Another burst of gunfire from the outside made her pause then glance over her shoulder at Frank.
"Not a nice way to be popular. How are you holding up?"
“Fuck…” Frank breathed, his hands now noticeably trembling, “We’re gonna be okay, yeah?”
Laine tried to smile then nodded, "Donnelley and the boys know their business. And there is a big fuck off machine gun in the living room. We'll be alright."
She paused then met his eyes, changing the subject to hopefully get him focused on something else, "You said the woman hiker was found like the other victim. What was her name?"
“You want to talk about this right now?” Frank questioned, his eyes betraying his incredulity at the woman asking him questions in the middle of a firefight. He laughed nervously, “Bethany. Her name was fucking Bethany Miller. Daniel and fucking Bethany Miller, are you happy?”
Laine nodded, thinking over their names and tucking them back in her memory, "Thanks, Frank. I appreciate it, the name was part of our deal. Speaking of, you'll need to talk to Ava once this is over. She's making your new iden-"
Her words were cut off as another staccato burst of gunfire sounded outside. The choppy sound of the AK and then the chattering Honey Badger and the counter argument from the enemy. It sounded closer and she tightened her grip on her gun, her attention shifting towards the hallway.
A muffled voice, unclear made Laine tilt her head, reaching up to rub her ear the clogged feeling not going away. "What did you say, Frank? Speak up."
“I said, can we talk later? Jesus Christ, I’ve never done this before.” He reached up to cover his ears, leaning his back against the bathtub and making great pains to take in deep breaths.
"Distraction not working for you?" Laine said louder than she meant to, "I'm sorry, yes we can talk later once this is over. Just sit tight, we'll be fine."
Her own nervousness was masked for his sake, it would do worse to remind him this wasn't something she did on a regular basis and how she made sure to get the names just in case somehow Frank Wilkins caught a stray bullet.
She caught sight of movement rather than the sound of heavy footsteps and turned to see Jason heading towards them.
Jason nodded at Frank, still not in the frame of the doorway like Laine, “He alright?”
Laine looked up at him, then nodded, "He's doing good, as best as can be expected. We'll hold up here, put more walls between us and the bullets flying. How's everything going?"
“All things considered,” He glanced in no real direction as another burst of AK fire punctuated by the pops of another rifle rang out, “Alright so far. I gotta go, call me if you need me.” And he was gone at a jog upstairs.
It almost seemed like any time Donnelley even thought about moving from cover and firing back they would sense it in the air and send a few shots his way. When he heard Dave’s AK ring out and Jason or Justin’s fire from above him he decided the time was right, “I’m moving!”
He burst out from behind cover and unceremoniously pitched onto his stomach in the dirt, about fifteen meters from where he’d been. “Jason, suppress those fuckers on our 8 so me and Dave can get the fuck back inside.”
“Ahead of you.” Jason said, apparently switching to full auto and letting loose a spray from his rifle.
“Dave, move!” Donnelley spoke into his comms.
Dave moved, scrabbling to his feet and pounding for the Safehouse. Jason's suppressing fire kept the guns off him long enough to reach the Safehouse door, which he barged open with as little ceremony as possible. He stumbled inside, a victim of his own momentum, and leaned against the inside wall for a moment as he caught his breath.
"How many of these fuckers do they got?" He muttered, checking himself over briefly. He heard the enemy fire start up again and swore. Donnelley was going to need cover.
Dave steeled himself, raised his rifle, and stepped out around the doorway. As he sighted in a series of rounds impacted along the wall, throwing up chips of wood and paint. Then a hammer struck Dave in the chest and he pitched backwards, rebounding off the wall up land hard on his back.
His breath left him in a rush. He coughed, trying to pull air, cursing God and his own luck. He'd been hit. Dead center. It echoed in his head as he fought for breath, pushing himself to a seated position, his head swimming and his chest numb.
"Donnelley," he gasped, triggering his comms. His voice was hoarse. "Donnelley, I'm hit, if you're movin' do it now!"
Then, bracing himself with one hand and raising his rifle with the other, he began sending shots downrange at random, determined to die fighting.
Donnelley’s eyes widened when he heard Dave say he was hit. An instinctive urge to make sure Dave wouldn’t be lost snapped his muscles into motion as he pushed off his stomach and took off as best he could. Heroics and adrenaline or no, his leg was beginning to get to him. By the time he made it to the door, beads of sweat were forming on his brow and he let go of pained breaths with each step his bum leg took. “One comin’ in!” He roared through gritted teeth and pain as he flopped inside the back door onto his shoulder, another impact to it as hard as the tree.
“They’re pullin’ back.” Justin’s voice over the comms.
“Watch ‘em go, keep shootin’. Jason, get the fuck down here.” Donnelley said, wasting no time in crawling towards Dave. He pushed himself up to a knee, injured leg shaking and refusing to support his weight. “Where were you hit, friendo?” He asked, eyes scanning for any spots of wetness on his person. “Shoulder?”
"Chest," Dave grunted. His rifle clicked on empty and he lay down, reloading on his back. "Dunno if it stopped it… Can't breathe."
“Oh shit…” Donnelley breathed. They didn’t have the equipment to deal with a bullet to the lung. “I’m reachin’ under, alright?”
He did as he said and wiggled his fingers under Dave’s plate carrier after he loosened it a tad, feeling for wetness. There was none such and even when he did think he was onto something he frowned to realize it was probably just sweat. He continued on before he felt it, a grin forming and he let go a chuckle at the newly formed lump in Dave’s plate, “Ain’t went through. Let’s go, brother.” Donnelley stood and offered his hand.
Dave reached up, hauling himself upright. It hurt like hell; he'd probably cracked a few ribs, if not broken them outright. Still, it was gratifying to hear that he wasn't bleeding to death. Not yet, at least.
He took a few deep breaths, wincing but nodding with satisfaction.
"Okay," he growled. "What's the plan?"
Donnelley shook his head, the relief he felt at not finding a bloody hole in Dave’s chest seeping away to be replaced with concern, “They’re pullin’ back. I don’t know if they’re regroupin’, but I want us to get out of here soon as daylight comes.” Donnelley frowned deeper, “They were here for Frank and they know we ain’t givin’ him up easy. They’ll wait to get our guards down or try again just when we think they got bored of us. It’s what I’d do.”
"Yeah, okay." Dave flipped up his NOD's, checking his rifle and taking a quick inventory. "Six mags left." As he looked over his gear he became aware of a somewhat disconcerting amount of red smeared across his vest and rifle. The source proved to be his left arm; blood streaked the limb, courtesy of a neat hole drilled through the meat of his shoulder. The previously numb injury immediately began throbbing, as though it had been waiting for him to notice it.
"Well...Shit," he said. He flexed his fingers. "Fuckers shot me twice!"
“I got shot twice once too.” Donnelley smirked at Dave’s dismay of almost meeting his end twice in one night, and three times within one week as well. Even his most hellish rotations in Afghanistan as a Ranger didn’t hold that many wounds for him. He guessed the Program just had a way of doing that. “Gets the heart rate up, tell you what.”
“I think that wound needs some alcohol sometime,” Donnelley rapped his knuckles on Dave’s plate, “Lucky.”
Dave snorted. "Yeah, if you say so." He shivered, the reality of things starting to sink in.
With a conscious effort he forced the thoughts of his own mortality away. His death in some backwater shit hole, his son left fatherless, Kaliah trying to explain to a heartbroken Mal why his fool of a dad had gotten himself killed without even telling them he was going into danger… He balled it up, shoved it into a closet at the back of his brain, and locked the door tight. Then he got angry.
He let the anger in, tightening his hands into fists, gripping his rifle. "So I'm gonna go to the garage, and fill a few fresh mags while we're figurin' out our next move."
“Have Jason look at that shoulder, tough guy.” Donnelley wagged a finger at Dave, before lightening up, “You did good. I’m glad to have you.”
Dave grinned despite his anger, shrugging his uninjured shoulder.
“Just doin’ my part, man,” he said. He suddenly frowned, glancing around. “Speakin’ of, where’s Foster? We need to find his ass, he might be hit.”
“We need to ask his ass why he’s so damn keen to not sling lead when lead needs slingin’.” Donnelley looked like he’d tasted something bitter. “Keep workin’ on that terrorist shit. We won’t be around to do it soon, can’t really do that in Charleston.”
"Yeah, alright," Dave said. "But we're gonna need some real ordinance soon." He shook his head and sighed mournfully, "Most I can do on short notice is a few pipe bombs…"
With that he turned and trudged into the garage, a forlorn look on his bruised and dirt-streaked face.
[Hr]
Laine watched Jason vanish around the corner and glanced to the closed bedroom door. The wall of that room faced the parking lot and would have caught the gunfire. Maybe it would be better if they came into the bathroom with Frank.
She stepped across the hall and opened up the bedroom door, her voice still unnaturally loud, "Hey Pari, Ava- oh shit!"
Her eyes widened with shock at the small red haired woman on the floor, with a blood stained towel and smears on the pastel pajamas. Laine shot a look at Pari, her mind racing. Jason left Ava like this, she must have it under control. And she dare not move her even across the hallway.
Glancing over at Pari she asked, "Need any help? I've got Frank stowed in the bathroom."
Keeping her tone calm she asked, "Ava? You need anything?"
Ava started when she heard Laine shout, squeezing her eyes shut as the small jerk of her body created another wave of pain. She almost didn’t hear Laine ask her question over the blood rushing in her ears and the distant, though not as frequent gunfire.
“S-something for the pain!” She gasped out.
"Right, I can do that," Laine said, concern etched on her face. "Just hold tight. Pari, I'll be right back."
Ducking out of the room, gun still in hand, she looked at Frank. "Sit tight, alright?"
Moving quickly, Laine bounded up the stairs where Jason had gone and poked her head in the men's bedroom to see if he was there. He was and she nearly ran right into him as he was walking out.
Laine stepped quickly back to keep from headbutting him in the chin. She shot a look up into his green eyes, her own gaze sharp with fear and focus on her task, "I need something for Ava's pain, do you have one of those lollis you gave Donnelley?"
“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded, turning on his heel and going for his bag of tricks. He pulled free one and handed it to Laine, “Is she doing okay? Pari’s got it?”
"For now," Laine said, taking the narcotic candy. "Pari seems to have the bleeding under control but Ava needs a hospital. How's it look outside?"
Jason nodded, some amount of relief filtering through him as he walked next to Laine, “They’re withdrawing. Regrouping or going home, I don’t know. It’ll be quiet for now.”
She joined him going back down the stairs, almost forgetting the vice like grip she had on her Glock. Once at the bottom of the stairs, Laine made a quick turn into the hallway, her sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floor.
Pari felt Laine’s return in her footsteps against the floorboards. With the dressing in place, she’d taken the blanket from the kit and applied it to Ava. She wish she could have taken the girls bloodied clothes away, but this was an emergency and what would do would do. Her hand reached out to the bunk and she pulled a pillow free, placing it atop her now-closed suitcase to slide it under the woman’s feet.
That was as much as she could do. She placed a hand on Ava’s shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze, despite everything that had happened, Pari’s eyes held all the warmth of a hearth fire. Just as well too, everything else around them seemed so harsh, cold, and synthetic. Bullets scattered across the ground, smoke lingering in the air. She could smell blood, discharged weapons and burning - and now the chemical smells so associated with sterile equipment. “See, told you we’d be alright,” she said after a pregnant pause. Finally taking a look at her own clothing - the knees of her silk bottoms were red, and the sleeves of the shirt had not gone without stains either. That vision of turquoise and crimson ticked the hand of the clock that was the gravity of the situation, a tense string held in silence until it broke for Pari. Not yet, not yet... She thought to herself.
Ava let out a hard breath as she felt Pari move her hands away, her side still burning with pain but now there wasn’t the sporadic stabbing of agony from Pari tending to the wound. She opened her eyes from the tough on her shoulder and took in deep breaths without moving her stomach too much. She looked up at Pari with tears still in her bright blue eyes, but she tried to force a smile on her face.
“Y-Yeah, you did. Thank you Agent Bhaat, I...you...Just, thank you.” She said shakily, her throat feeling like it was burning from both her screaming and trying not to scream. She coughed and let her head drop back against the hard floor, the sound of gunfire no longer reaching her ears. “Is it over?” She asked tentatively, the hint of hope in her voice tainted by an edge of fear that bullets would start flying again.
Laine entered the room, holding up the lollipop and spun the stick between two fingers. She set her gum down on the dresser and stepped over to Ava laying on the floor. Pari had done well to get her stabilized and one look told her sacrifice of the designer silk pajamas.
Tearing open the package, Laine looked down at Ava, speaking up, "I brought you a goody, this will help with the pain. Just suck on it, like you would a piece of candy. Twirl it, switch sides, just don't bite it."
Her face froze and her mouth contorted a moment with another bout of ill timed humor. Biting her lip to keep from laughing, she offered the opiate laced sucker, raspberry flavored by the smell.
Ava nodded and reached up for the pain killer, her hand crusted over with spots of dried blood. She stared at her hand for a moment, her face growing pale as the reality of what happened started to set in. Oddly, the pain had been a convenient distraction from the fact that she had been shot and if the bullet had been a few inches higher, she’d be dead instead of in pain.
She snatched up the lollipop and stuck it into her mouth, willing the magic of painkillers to get to work so she could have a few moments of relief from the pain and the fear.
"If you start feeling nauseous or very sleepy, stop using it," Laine said, knowing enough about basic opiate effects to figure the lollipop wouldn't be much different than oxys or morphine. She put a light hand on her forehead, Ava felt slightly cool but not clammy and to cover her concern she gently stroked the wild curls back. "You're doing good and it sounds like it's winding down out there."
She glanced up at Pari, her eyes concerned and tired. "Do you need anything?"
Pari had to tear her eyes away from Ava before she registered Laine's voice. She knew what that was in Ava's mouth, she knew all too well -- and while it didn't bother her, while she didn't crave it, it was a jarring sight. It had been a strange night where so many echoes of her own past fired through to her now. As if that same eerie vibe that had shuddered through her upon arrival had stuck around inside, like a magnet for ghosts.
“Actually, a glass of water would be nice,” she said finally, letting her lips curl upwards with a small smile as she worked the stained gloves free from her hands.
Laine watched Pari hesitate as she looked at Ava but the humming ring in her ears kept her from hearing anything clearly other than "glass of "and "nice".
"Don't give her anything to drink," Laine said loudly, then made the drink motion with her cupped hand, shaking her head.
“Oh no, no-” Pari said with a shake of her head, her smile widening as she let out a dry chuckle. She motioned with her hand to herself, Laine’s hearing had blown from the noise. Truthfully, Pari’s own ears were ringing too, but perhaps Laine had been closer to the action - weren’t they all? Where had their assailants come from? She held an invisible glass in her own hand and lifted it to her lips, with a point of her own finger to her chest. It didn’t matter, they’d be moving out of the room before long, the humour of the moment was more than enough.
Despite all that had happened, Ava found herself smiling around the opiate lollipop in her mouth. Perhaps it was the absurdity of an unexpected game of charades mixed with the relief of surviving her first gun fight, but she had to smother a laugh to keep from jostling her injury. Or maybe it was the drugs starting to take effect. Either way, she snorted back a giggle and just continued to watch with a small smile.
Laine nodded at the gestures then rubbed her fingers in her ears, "Damn machine gun, I feel like I have cotton stuffed in my ears. Hopefully that goes away soon."
She shook her head, her short black hair flying back and forth. "And the ringing. Alright, water for you and ..."
Laine glanced at the goofy smile forming on Ava's face, then raised her brow, "Looks like the candy is kicking in. I'll check on the guys, too."
She left the bedroom, pausing only to pick up her gun and made her way to the kitchen. She still took precautions, staying low and away from the windows. Laine picked up her shoulder holster and once she was in the more sheltered kitchen she buckled it on. Putting her Glock in the holster, she began to feel a little more comfortable.
Other than Tom still manning the SAW and keeping a watch, the living room and the kitchen were empty. Laine took out two bottles of water from the refrigerator and glanced around, unsure if it was so quiet or it was her muffled hearing. Her gaze caught the hand written 'no smoking' sign on the door that lead to the garage. That was new.
With the water tucked under her arm, she knocked a few times then turned the knob to test if it was locked. The door swung open and she spotted Dave surrounded by an ATF agent's wet dream.
She looked him over, he was dirt streaked and blood stained, looking worse for wear but at least up on his feet. On his arm was a red mechanic's shop rag, stained with something not as dark as engine grease
"Hey Dave, is it all over?" Laine asked, trying not to be so loud even if she couldn't hear herself very well.
Dave was busily packing HME into a length of pipe when the garage door opened. He glanced over, reaching for the Sig that sat on the table in easy reach.
“What, the gunfightin’?” He shrugged, giving Laine a crooked grin. “I dunno, I guess. Hey, you believe they didn’t put a single round through the garage?”
He waved a hand around the room. It was miraculously untouched; probably for the best, given its contents. “Motherfuckers can’t hit a goddamn garage, but I get shot twice in one night. You believe that shit?”
Laine could not help but return his smile, shaking her head slightly, "I guess you're lucky."
Her gaze raked over him, a quick study of the numerous bruises and scrapes on his exposed skin but other than the bloody bicep she saw no other wound. "At least you're still standing. Where else did you get hit?"
He bent, picking up his vest. He’d removed it after the bullets had stopped flying. It was a risk, but his chest was killing him, and besides; if they took contact now, the garage would probably go up and leave him in enough pieces that a vest wouldn’t matter anyway.
The vest met the worktable with a hefty thud, and he pointed out a small hole in the dead center of it, right above the heart.
“Somebody’s lookin’ out for me, huh?” He grinned. “Shit hurts like hell.”
Dave grabbed the hem of his beater and raised it; the center of his chest was a livid bruise, swollen and red, already beginning to darken to purple at the edges.
Her eyes ticked up as she saw the damage on the vest but when he raised his shirt, her lips parted with shock. "Jesus fuck..." His form as well as the contusion was a sight to behold. "That's a damn rainbow of bruise."
Laine looked at it for a beat then flicked her eyes down the washboard stomach, before dragging her gaze away with a sharp shake of her head. "You are damn lucky, dude. I think we all need vests, Ava was hit, a bullet through the wall got her in the abdomen. Jason checked on her and Pari's stabilized her, she's stopped the bleeding and treated for shock. We got her a nice dose of fentanyl for the pain but she needs to go to a hospital as soon as possible."
She paused to rub at her ear, the muffled feeling seemed to be getting better but it still felt clogged like it needed to pop.
"She's resting in the bedroom right now," Laine added, tilting her head slightly at the door.
“They hit Ava?” The small smirk of amusement that had appeared when he caught her shifting gaze vanished, replaced by a hard glare. He headed for the door, snatching up his Sig and shoving it into his holster.
“God dammit, she ain’t ever hurt anybody, she didn’t deserve this,” he said. He felt a surge of rage, the same righteous fury he felt when he thought about the other innocent people who’d been hurt in all of this. “I swear, we didn’t kill nearly enough of them fuckers.”
He skirted around Laine, heading for the bedroom with mingled fear and hate in his blue eyes.
"Don't go in there full of righteous fury, she needs to stay calm," Laine said as he brushed past her and she followed him a few steps behind, stopping to get the water.
DAVE/PARI/AVA
Dave strode quickly through the house, passing Tom on the machine gun without a glance. He slowed as he neared the women’s bedroom, taking a breath and pushing his anger down. Laine was right, they didn’t need to see him all worked up. It wouldn’t help.
He forced a smile and then went inside, taking in the scene for a moment before kneeling beside Ava and Pari.
“Hey, sugar, how you doin’?” He patted Ava’s shoulder gently. The sight of the small woman lying there, bloody and scared, set his heart to thudding again. He ignored it, forcing his fisted hands to relax. “Doc here gettin’ you all patched up?”
Ava turned her head to the door as it opened and she smiled around the lollipop as Dave walked in. Her blue irises seemed brighter set against the red puffiness of her eyes and her skin a shade paler than normal. “Hi Dave, I’m glad you’re okay.” She greeted, her voice soft and slow, likely thanks to the drugs taking affect in her body. “I’m alright, Pari said so.” She looked over to the woman with a curious expression to her glazing eyes. “Can I call you Pari now? Or do you like Agent Bhaat better?”
“Pari is fine,” she grinned in response, running her hand over Ava’s shoulder comfortingly, “or hey-- now that we’ve been through the ringer, you could call me Paz if you’d like.” Her eyes flicked up to meet Dave who’d swung in to see that Ava was alright, and Pari gave him a look over, mostly at the raggy cloth he’d used as a bandage. She shuddered at the thought of it. “How are you holding up Dave?” She narrowed her gaze at his shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind taking a look at you there, even just to clean it off and dress it before we can get you to Mr Jiminez…”
“I don’t mind you lookin’,” Dave snorted. “But it ain’t that bad. I only got shot a little. Mostly it’s just scratches from hittin’ the dirt in a tanktop like a damn fool, and not wearin’ a proper shirt.” He prodded his chest and winced. “Vest stopped the bad one.”
“Bad one?” Ava repeated, looking over to Dave with a concerned expression. “What happened?” She asked worriedly, her eyes dropping down to him poking at his chest.
Pari raised a brow and a smirk played on her lips, “and people can get sepsis from a papercut. I know that Ava and I will definitely feel better if you take that….” she waved a hand over at his makeshift bandage “thing off and get a sterile bandage on it.” She could see he was playing macho, brushing off his own injuries - they probably weren’t as bad as Ava’s and he was more concerned about her than himself. “Oh, and you’re not a fool,” she said softly, “what you did tonight was very brave.”
“I got shot a little, sugar,” Dave said, giving Ava’s shoulder another squeeze. “They hit my vest, it didn’t go through. Don’t worry ‘bout me.”
He nodded at Pari. “Thanks...Just doin’ what had to be done. We can take a look at my shoulder, if you wanna.”
She smiled in relief, relaxing back against the floor underneath the blanket Pari had laid over her. “That’s good. Is everyone else okay? I’ve only seen Dr. Laine and the last time I saw Jason there was still shooting going on.”
“Everybody else is fine,” Dave said. He smiled at her. “You’re the only one layin’ down on the job.”
Satisfied that Ava was alright for the time being, Pari stood up and moved around to Dave’s side, taking with her a fresh pair of nitriles and some wound wipes. She decided her silence to allow them time to talk was more valuable than anything else she could add to the conversation. The woman came back down to her knees beside him as unobtrusively as she could and untied the knot in the rag before putting on her gloves.
Thoughts were rolling through Pari’s mind like waves, pooling at a shore before retreating to the emptiness again, she occupied herself by thinking of music - a soft and melancholic guitar melody. Pari was as gentle as she could be in her touch, and somewhat methodical in the way she wiped away at the dry blood, doing her best not to disturb Dave and Ava both.
“Everyone is okay?” She repeated and shut her eyes with a relieved sigh, moving her arms out from under the blanket to rest them on her chest. “Oh good, maybe he did hear me.” She opened her eyes to look down toward her stomach, hidden beneath the blanket. “Could have done without this though.” She added, dropping her head back down.
“Yeah, everyone is okay,” Dave said. “We got a little scratched up, but I’m the only other fool who got himself shot. Twice, can you believe that? Startin’ to think maybe I’m as tough as my boy thinks I am. Or as dumb as his mother says. Maybe a bit of both, huh?”
Ava smiled up at him and started to chuckle but quickly stopped herself as she felt the bandages pull with the movement of her stomach. “I don’t think I should laugh yet.” She said, but she shot him another small smile.
“So...what happens now?” She asked with a furrowing of her eyebrows. “I have to go to a hospital, don’t I?”
“Most likely,” Pari interjected finally, peeling free another dressing from it’s packaging. “Gunshot to the abdomen should be fully checked out by a real doctor in a sterile environment.” She focussed on Dave’s wound for a moment, letting her words hang in the air. “It’s not as easy for us right now, but we’ll get you someone.” As she carefully placed the dressing onto Dave’s arm, she cast a glance to Ava with a smile - looking her in the eye, she could tell that the drugs had kicked in - Ava’s eyes were glassy and her pupils were dilating.
“Yeah, we’ll get you where you need to go,” Dave said. His tone was still light but there was a hard edge to it. He fully intended to see that Ava got some real medical attention. The idea of the only one of them who got hurt being the one who was the least threat rankled with him. “Get you poked at by some guy in scrubs, and maybe loot the candy bowl for ya.”
“Score me anything cherry flavored.” She smiled up at them, making a conscious effort not to laugh. “Even if the lollipops aren’t laced with opiates.”
“I like cherry too,” Pari said with a smile, tying off the dressing in a neat knot with a decorative bow on top. “Alright Dave, would you like a lollipop too?” she asked with another smirk. “Or even a gold star? You’ve been good, hasn’t he Ava?”
Ava grinned and nodded as best she could. “Definitely gold star. I’m not sharing this lollipop, even if the flavor is kind of gross.”
Dave grinned and flexed his arm, checking his range of motion. “I’ll take the star,” he said. “Gotta pass on the lollipop, though. Need to be sober for now. But Christ, I’d kill for a beer.”
He shook his head and glanced over at Pari. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For patchin’ me up.”
“Just doing what had to be done.” Pari replied.
Donnelley was busy holding a bag of ice to his leg, sitting on the chair he’d used last. The remains of his coffee and its mug were spilled over the island table and he sighed. His leg was throbbing, pulsating like a knife in and out of his thigh. He heard somebody enter the kitchen, turning to see Laine. “Howdy.” He hardly looked up from the ice on his leg, except to light the cigarette between his lips, “How’s everyone?”
Laine turned at Donnelley's greeting, the fact she had heard him dimly registering in the back of her mind. She looked him over, a faint line of concern forming between her brows. She moved over to him, opening one of the bottles of water and handing it to him. Laine grabbed some paper towels and began wiping up the mess, glancing over at him.
"Howdy, yourself," she said, turning the mug up right. "How is everything, did they all leave? Shit...you didn't get hit too, did you?"
Her gaze dropped to his thigh, it had been the one wounded not 48 hours ago. His dark slacks made it hard to tell if he might have been bleeding. Laine sighed, her green eyes flickering sympathetically up to his face, "Your leg must hurt like hell, I hope those stitches held up."
“Me too.” Donnelley chuckled. He shrugged his broad shoulders and shook his head. He lifted the bag of ice from his leg to reveal there was no bleeding hole. “Part of me thinks I’m stupid for runnin’ out there with Dave. Shouldn’t be on this fuckin…”
He bit his lip, complaining and getting angry at his own choices wouldn’t endear him to many people. He knew Laine well enough that it probably wouldn’t for her. He gave a small smirk to her, “How much of you thinks I’m stupid for that?”
Laine tilted her head slightly, looking away from him to the figure of Tom at the gun and the ruined blinds beyond where she had been when the guns opened up on the Safehouse. When she looked back at him, her lips settled into a half smile.
Laine rested her hand on her hip, leaning the other on the back of the chair beside her. "Just a little but there's a fine line between stupidity and bravery. You did what you had to do, though walking out there in full view did have me wondering if I should get you on the couch," she said with a hint of a wink, maybe it was just a twitch of her tired eyes.
“You tried that before, remember?” He smirked, and then maybe his mind went to other places than therapy. Places they’d almost gone together before and he gave a mischievous chuckle. “You did good too. Shot back with us, I wasn’t expectin’ that.”
She dragged the chair out and plopped down in it, leaning back but her eyes remained on his. Laine nodded, huffing a short laugh. "Well, I am an FBI agent, and though it's been some time since I've been in the field I still have to pass my firearm qualification. But I don't think I hit anything except maybe one of the rental cars."
"More importantly Ava was hit, bullet through the wall. Jason thinks she's alright to leave her in Pari's care, she has her bleeding under control and treating for shock and pain." Laine rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply, "But dude, Ava's shot in the abdomen, she is going to need a hospital. We can't keep her here for long, too much can go wrong. And honestly you need your leg x-rayed and Dave should get checked out."
Opening her eyes, she leaned forward, her dark hair sweeping over her shoulders to frame her face as she looked at him, "What do we do now?"
“Goddamn it.” He rubbed his hand over his face and leaned back in his chair, the urge to have a drink now growing stronger than his reminders to himself to stay sober. “We have to go. They know where our Safehouse is now, we gotta get to Charleston or somewhere public. They’ll think twice then, and Frank will be safer.”
He snorted, “We all will too.” He looked in the direction of the women’s bunks, shaking his head, “She’s so goddamn young.”
If Ava became a casualty it’d be the third kid he’d let die under his care on this Op. If that happened, Laine would have him on a couch for sure. “I’m gonna…” He gritted his teeth and got to his feet, or foot, and nodded towards the door, “I’m gonna get some fresh air. Come with me?”
"Charleston or hell, even Clarksburg. It's crawling with federal agents. But I suppose it might be better to be able to reach out to the State Police," Laine pressed her lips together, then sighed, looking at him.
Donnelley would carry this heavy, as he did with the deaths of Laurie and Gwen. She nodded, "Ava is young but she's not a kid, she's strong. She's holding up right now, Dave went to see her and Pari."
When he asked her to come with him outside, she stood up and took a few steps to where she had left her blazer and fetched her Djarums and lighter. Laine paused at the door, looking over at Donnelley, a hint of nervousness in her eyes as she turned the knob. "They cleared out, right?"
“Justin,” Donnelley spoke into his comms headset, “They cleared out?”
“Yeah, I don’t see shit. I think we scared ‘em off good.” He heard Justin’s chuckle and gave him one back.
“Thanks, partner.” Donnelley slipped off the headset, placing it on the island table and joining Laine.
He placed his hand on the door and pushed it open, holding it there until Laine stepped out with him. He looked out at the cars in the driveway. If Laine was right about her marksmanship and only hit the cars he had no way of telling. They were filled with holes. He hoped they would still run, because he hadn’t worked on an engine in a damn long time. He pushed that to the wayside and grunted into his rocking chair. “Your call. We either go to Charleston and get Roy’s boys to keep an eye out, or we get cozy with your Fed friends in Clarksburg.”
Laine stepped outside, the night air still scented with odor of the firefight. The very air seemed to hum with the residual energy of the explosion of violence. Or maybe it was the ringing in her ears. It had started to fade and she could hear better but it was still noticeable.
She flipped the black box open and drew out clove cigarette, lighting it up. Laine kept an eye on Donnelley, his hobbling pronounced as was the relief from getting the weight off his leg once he sat down. Taking a deep drag she thought over his question then blew a stream of smoke into the deep dark of the early morning.
"Well, now that I think about it, the feds that are in Clarksburg are a bunch of nerds working at the CJIS staring at fibers and fingerprints," she said, a hint of a self effacing grin flickering on her face. "More comfortable with forensics than firearms. You know the type. No, I think your instincts are right, we should go to Charleston. Roy has proven to be a friend and dedicated to this case and she's our best bet. Plus there's more places to hide and hold up, more hospitals and an airport."
She put the cigarette to her lips then paused, adding, "I'd rather not have to explain this to someone else. She'll understand, I think. Roy knows that Blackriver is a festering boil."
Donnelley inhaled sharply, letting out the smoke as he replied to Laine, “Yeah, but I don’t think she was expectin’ a war here.” He frowned, the events of the night weighing down on him the less adrenaline he had coursing through him, “I fuckin’ wasn’t. If these guys are serious, we need to put Frank up with Roy in the Station.”
“And we don’t need him weighin’ us down,” he said, his voice quieter as he looked at Laine, “I want to know who that guy was. Everythin’. If we’re goin’ to move forward with this case, he needs to be taken out of the picture.”
"If? I think these guys are pretty fucking serious, man. For all they know, they attacked a cabin full of FBI agents with murderous intent. Whacking a witness right in our midst, and probably killing everyone else," she replied, flicking the black cigarette, a tiny flurry of embers popping in the darkness.
"They're worried, which means we're on the right path. There is still so much more we need to do here, though," Laine said, "There is Dulane and the mines and I want to track down Daniel Miller, his wife was the hiker killed like our Jane Doe. But you're right, Frank needs more protection and we have enough to occupy our attention."
She looked at Donnelley, the glow of the cigarette lighting his face and the care and worry rested as heavily on his features as did the burn scar.
“Charleston it is then.” He sucked in smoke and blew out a stream of it before opening his mouth to speak-
“Help!” A cry in the darkness, “Help, I need a medic!”
Donnelley’s brow rose as he finished off his cigarette in a series of puffs before flicking it off the deck. It came again, “Medic!”
He didn’t recognize the voice. He stood, arms doing most of the work to get him up on his feet again. He limped towards the cries for help, drawing his .40 the closer they got. “Med-“ he quit his bleating when he saw Donnelley and Laine. “Hey… look, I’m-“
“Shut the fuck up.” Donnelley kept his handgun at low ready, limping closer to the man and kicking his rifle away from him, “I’d like you to meet some friends of mine. It’ll be fun. Trust me.”
“Come on- gugh!” Cut off by Donnelley’s oxford to the temple hard enough for Donnelley to feel an ache in his foot afterwards.
Laine kept silent as they approached the wounded man left behind in the retreat. That in itself was telling about the damage done by Donnelley and the tactical team and about how their attackers were organized. Maybe the boys had killed their leader and the organization of the team crumbled or he wasn't as concerned about leaving his men behind.
When Donnelley spoke, Laine frowned, her first instinct being to read the man his rights and worry about keeping the questioning clear of anything that would get it thrown out of court.
The kick sounded like he had hit a ripe watermelon. It reminded her that Donnelley was Donnelley and not Agent Davidson, he had told her that he was not in the business of making arrests.
Laine looked down at the now unconscious man and said quietly, "He needs medical attention if we're going to question him. What are you going to do?"
“Keep him alive… enough.” Donnelley snorted something at spit it on the man’s chest. “Let’s get Jason. We’re gonna find out if this guy knows anythin’.”
ROLLS - Dave DEX - 13 Dave Machinegun - 15 - Die-motherfucker-die, get some! Dave Long Gun - 15 (again; at least he's enthusiastic) Awareness - 14 (I see you, motherfuckers) Dex - 8 (You see me, motherfuckers) Long gun - 8 (fucking hell, git gud Dave) Dex 13
Justin long gun (sub roll) - 16?
Laine Dex 19, handgun 7
Donnelley - DEX = 21, He is Neo Marksmanship, Long Guns = 21, Moon is out to Play, Goons are out to Slay Long Guns 2, Electric Boogaloo = 26(I hope I used my own system right), Joseph Wick DEX = 24, I’m up - they see me - I’m down
Ava DEX - 6, ouchie Ava Will power - 18, success?
Jason big dick energy, long guns Nat 20+4 =24
Pari’s Yoga and Shiva dex energy - 19 Pari's sensual healing - 21
He couldn’t tell for how long he’d been walking. Only that he’d felt weaker and weaker as he went on. He didn’t bother counting the hours, but another rumble from his belly and the cramps almost brought him to his knees, like a fist twisting in his guts. He didn’t deserve food, he thought. Only punishment, with no hope of atoning. Such concepts were not for Finnen Pale-Feather, the boy that had forswore his own tribe and now had hurt his only family left in the world.
After he’d realized what he’d done, Sevari’s rifle barrel yawning open in his face and ready to take him from this world, after he’d wandered alone for however long he was, he wondered if he should’ve just let the man squeeze the trigger. Perhaps that was what he deserved. But he chose a lonely escape to the trees and hills and rocks of the Reach. A poetic thing. Born here, alone. He would now die here, alone. He crouched down on the game trail and hung his head low, hands covering his face as if there was anyone else around to hide his sobs from.
Choking cries that shook him from shoulders to haunches, wet hiccups to no one. He stayed like that until it was over, heaving in one breath and letting it out ragged on the mountain air. He looked around himself, as if expecting someone to be staring yet only heard birdsong and the wind rustling the trees. No one. He sniffled, wiping a forearm over his eyes. He pressed one nostril closed with a thumb and blew the snot out the other, shaking his head as if the sorrow was only tangled in his hair to be shook away, and not twisted around his heart like thorny vines.
He looked back from where he’d come, looked in the direction of where he was going and saw no difference. Sighing, he continued on, deeper into the mountains. A lonely path, a lonely man. His careful footsteps did not disturb anything in the forest. Birdsong and wind accompanied his thoughts like an undercurrent, tickling through his long raven hair. He stopped for a bit, rested his back against a young tree and his eyes scanned the trees. Finding nothing, they went to his hands and forearms. The thin cuts of Sora’s claws, deep and open. The blood was still smeared in places and only recently dried. A lone crow’s caw took his eyes from himself and back to the trees, grating and nasally like a crone’s cough.
A lone crow perched itself on a branch, and its gaze did not leave his own. Not once. Finnen remembered what his mother had taught him of the Crow-Wife traditions of crow counting as omens. A lone crow was an omen of bad luck. An understatement, Finnen thought. “You’re late.” Finnen chuckled ruefully. He remembered that crows too were not only omens, but the eyes of the first Witch-Mother of the Crow-Wives. Watching and waiting, for reasons unknown. “Keep your watch then, Crone.”
The crow did not answer. They stood staring at each other until his smirk faded back to nothing. He was the first to break the stare and walk on...
He walked on until the path took him to a break in the trees, a sheer cliff at his toes. The valleys were laid out before him like a painting, or more like something to be painted. His eyes scanned the low river valleys and the high peaks. A hawk circled down below and a flock of birds took flight from their perches in the trees. He took another step towards the edge. He could hear the ground shift as pebbles bounced down the cliff, their percussive fall like children’s laughter beckoning to come follow.
He swallowed, closed his eyes. His ears perked up, hearing the keening winds buffet the treetops and the sound of a far off river feeding into or trickling away from the Great River Karth. He was starting to lose balance, swaying with the winds and the pebbles fell again. He lifted the weight from one foot to step on the air and nothingness in front of him before he heard the sharp call of the crow again.
He faltered, stumbled. His foot came down, heel knocking into the loose dirt at the edge of the cliff and his breath caught as he plunged downwards. He found a strong root that his fingers clutched onto and immediately his grip tightened, the strength in them the strength to live. He dangled by one arm and looked down, the ground below nowhere near a safe distance to drop. That was the point, but not anymore. Not anymore, he thought, his mind racing with all the reasons not to.
He swung his other arm onto the root and hauled himself up, clamoring and smacking at the dirt, desperate clawing back to safety. He lay there, breath heaving and arms burning. The crow called again and he opened his eyes to it. Two crows.
A death omen.
Something in Finnen made him smile. Then chuckle, and suddenly he was laughing. He laughed at them, “Wrong.” He giggled, the victory of living, “Wrong, wrong!”
The laughing turned darker, and each laugh bit deep in him and tore at the things he’d done for death. The victory of living while others were left with the opposite. “Wrong!” He screamed, and the laughs turned to sobs as he got to his knees. He’d almost killed Sora. He’d done a lot of horrible things, taken lives aplenty with zeal and pleasure, but Sora’s? Was he truly just a killer, made only for making dead men like his father had made him for?
Maybe. Maybe… “Wrong!” The crows did not leave him be, cawing at him now that his laughs were no more, cawing like they were the ones with reason to laugh. “Wrong!”
He grabbed up a fallen branch and tossed it like a javelin at the crows. It sailed just past them but yet they did not leave. Only stood in silence now as if they felt disrespect. Finnen stood before them, chest and shoulders rising and falling with his haggard breath. “Wrong.” He whimpered.
>ROAD TO CHARLESTON >6 MILES TO MOTEL 6 >1200HRS...///
“Nobody impedes our progress.” Donnelley’s Texan was running through his speech like a bronco as he push-checked his .40 cal and placed it in his lap, “Jason, you stay put. Just survey the scene and let us know if anybody seems off.”
“Laine, we’ll go in there, grab him. We’re out and away quick as we can make it. We only interview him at the Safehouse.” Donnelley nudged her as she drove, giving a smile at Jason through the rear view, “Gettin’ fun now, ain’t it?”
Laine pulled out of the tavern parking lot, glancing at Donnelley as she turned onto the street. "He said he thought someone might be watching him, and I wouldn't doubt it."
She caught his smile and felt a reluctant grin tug at the corners of her mouth, "You're enjoying this too much."
Donnelley’s eyes tracked a lone billboard as it passed, a weatherworn and rusty-cornered thing, ‘Remember God Loves You.’
“Just a good feelin’ gettin’ out the office. Couple friends, some guns, some danger.” He flashed a wicked grin and shoved a cigarette into it, lighting up to savor the moment, “This life’s good sometimes.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Jason returned Donnelley’s smirk from the backseat. The sound of his handgun’s slide being racked and the business in his eyes told Donnelley the man was ready for anything.
The Explorer rolled out towards the edge of town, passing the weathered birdshit streaked sign that marked the end of Whitetree and entering Blackriver County. They headed south along the highway, passing the occasional peeling billboard set against the rolling green mountains advertising the next Dairy Queen or Chevron gas stations. They passed a lone billboard, Motel 8 exit 63 in five miles. Laine glanced at it, sixty bucks a night on a lumpy suspicious mattress and a free breakfast of cereal cups and stale croissants. She had stayed at enough during her consulting trips to know the one down the road was the same as any. Same mediocre art prints, same TV bolted to the wall, the same Bible in the drawer. The safehouse was a nice change.
In quick order and quiet driving, the three of them came up on the hotel. It was a dingy little thing, a courtyard parking lot with the hotels attached to the front office, their front doors all opening out straight to the parking lot. Two levels, and Donnelley estimated probably forty rooms. He took note of the cars, however few there were, in the parking lot. Most of them were tired SUVs and sedans from the dawn of the 2000s that hadn’t looked to be washed in a good while. Their brakes squeaked into one of the many empty parking spaces, Donnelley’s eyes scanning their surroundings. “Alright, all business from here. Jason, I’ll keep you on my phone. Laine, let’s go.”
Donnelley pushes open his door and shoved his handgun inside his IWB holster, taking another scan of the parking lot. He retrieved his phone, ringing up Jason and nodding at the man through his window before he and Laine made their way from the car towards Frank’s room. “Which room was he in?” He asked Laine, keeping his eyes on the hotel windows and the quiet parking lot.
Laine parked the SUV and got out, adjusting her Glock on the shoulder holster beneath her blazer. She scanned the parking lot, checking to see if any of the vehicles had people waiting and watching.
"204, second floor," she replied, knowing the layout of cheap motels rarely varied. "This way."
Laine walked quickly to the first flight of outdoor stairs, creaking steel steps showing flakes of rust around the bolts.
“Okay,” Donnelley nodded at Laine’s back as he followed her up the stairs. A few steps until they got to the door marked 204 and Laine rapped her knuckles on the door. Seconds passed by in agony as Donnelley turned away from Laine, watching her 6 o’clock.
The door opened after a bit and Frank sheepishly chuckled at the sight of Laine, relief apparent in the soft huffs, “You’re here!” He exclaimed.
Laine gave him an assured smile, "I told you we would be. Now grab your stuff, the car is waiting."
She glanced back at Donnelley, "Everything good?"
“Ye- Wait…” Donnelley’s eyes narrowed to slits as they tracked a Dodge Charger rumble into the parking lot, coming to a stop in the middle of it. “Jason…”
“I’m tracking him.” Jason’s voice came from his phone.
The passenger side door of the Charger opened up and a man in a black t-shirt stepped out, blonde hair under a gray baseball cap, folding his thick arms as he looked up at the two of them at Frank’s door. “Y’all some friends of Frank’s?”
Donnelley glanced back at Laine and noted Frank busy with packing his things. Why he hadn’t done it before they got there had him cursing everything about this. He turned back to the man in the Charger, “Sure am!” He smiled, a baring of fangs in his mouth, “Who’re you?”
“Just some friends of Frank’s too.” The man smiled and nodded, “You look scared, partner.”
Donnelley’s smirk hadn’t left him as he sucked his teeth and took a step towards the handrail of the balcony. He took a moment to scan the road for more cars and then snorted something into his face and hocked it out in the Charger’s direction. “Nah.”
The man in the Charger nodded a few times, slow, his smile fading more with each dip of his head. “Alright. I’ll be seein’ ya ‘round now!”
“Lookin’ forward to it, hoss.” Donnelley waved as the man retreated back into the Charger. The car didn’t move an inch, and neither did Donnelley’s eyes away from it.
He turned his head slightly towards Laine, “Tell Frank to hurry the fuck up.” He brought his phone closer to his mouth, “Jason, they even look at you wrong, I want you to light them the fuck up.”
“Uh huh.” Came Jason’s stern acknowledgment. The beating of his heart apparent in Donnelley’s ears as he made himself look as steady as he could for Laine and Frank.
Laine heard the stranger's voice and cursed internally. No luck in a clandestine operation, there was certainly eyes on them. She stepped inside, "Frank, seriously. We need to move. Anything you don't have in that bag can be replaced, come on."
She stepped back out, glancing at Donnelley then at the Dodge Charger. Without a word she met his eyes and held them, her hand brushing the lapel of her blazer in a gesture that let the Glock peek out. As Frank was exiting the room she asked in a low voice, "Do you think that dude will give us trouble between here and the truck? Maybe I should flash my badge."
Donnelley shook his head, placing his hands on his hips in easy reach of his holstered pistol, “Somethin’ tells me he doesn’t give a shit about badges.” He clucked his tongue, “He’s goin’ to wait until it’s them and us and no one else. It’s what I’d do. He’s just tryin’ to spook us by showin’ up like this.”
“Which means,” Donnelley rose his voice, “that we should probably hurry the fuck up, Frank.”
“Okay, okay!” Frank hopped to attention and stood at the doorway. It took everything Donnelley had to not grab Frank by the collar and haul him to the Suburban.
“Let’s go.” Donnelley said, turning for the stairs.
They made the walk to the Suburban and loaded Frank into the back with Jason, every limping step Donnelley took he expected a bullet, lightning bolts of fear coursing through him and bidding him to run. The firefight never happened. Donnelley counted that as a plus as he climbed into the passenger seat after loading Frank next to Jason, Donnelley wincing and hissing as he gingerly lifted his injured leg into the passenger seat, slamming the door. “Just drive. We’re not going to the Safehouse. We go to Charleston, rent a different car and then go to the Safehouse at night.” Donnelley tore his gaze from the Charger to Laine, “Understood?”
Laine put the truck in gear and backed out of the parking spot, looking over her shoulder. She nodded, "Got it."
Her voice was tense, the mood translated in the tight shoulders and the stark line of tendon along her neck. She had to trust Donnelley now, it was his experience that would get them out of this. As she tore out of the parking lot, Laine gripped the steering wheel, forcing herself not to floor it down the highway. The last thing they needed was some Blackriver deputy pulling them over.
"Is he following?" She asked, glancing up at the rear view mirror. Laine looked back over at Donnelley, the fine worry line forming between her brows, "How's your leg holding up?"
Jason thrust his thumb over his shoulder, from which Donnelley could see that the Charger was still behind them, though following from a good distance. Donnelley nodded to Laine and then answered as he put his attention back on where they were headed down the road, “Jason, be ready to put some rounds down-range if you need to. It’s all country from here to Charleston,” Donnelley rolled his jaw and muttered, “Prime opportunity to get rid of us.”
He rubbed at his leg, chuckling nervously, “Fuckin’ throbbin’ after those stairs.” He glanced at Laine, “Just drive. We’ll make it okay.”
“Frank, how you doin’?” Donnelley asked, eyes still on the road ahead.
“I’m, uh, I’m alright.” Frank said between glances at the Charger.
“Keep your head down. This thing’s armored, no rounds are getting through that glass.” He said, a half-lie. He knew the vehicles Foster had procured for the team were armored, but they wouldn’t stand much of a chance against explosives or large calibers.
“O-okay.” The young Forest Ranger nodded, shimmying lower into his seat.
An hour of steady driving brought them the gift of seeing the sign telling them they’d entered Charleston. In time, they saw the buildings, people, cars. Modern life and people living it, blissfully unaware the two cars that had just entered their sleepy existences were itching to pull over and have a good old fashioned shootout or a high speed chase. To Laine’s credit, she guided them true through the city, following Donnelley’s directions to take them through crowded streets and making turns that often doubled back on where they had just been a few street signs before.
>CHARLESTON >GOLDSTAR MOTEL >ZERO HOUR...///
After a tense block of time that Donnelley couldn’t gauge, they’d shaken their tail, bored or looking to watch for another opportunity to intercept them. They checked into the first cheap motel they found, exchanging one cheap safe haven for another. They’d gotten a smoking room, Jason and Frank in the room adjacent, connected by a door between. Donnelley took his fingers from between the blinds and sat back down in the chair he’d made as his roost. His cigarette smoldered in the ash tray and the smell of tobacco mingled with clove. The lights were off, the only source being the residual glow of the streetlights.
The intensity of the morning had wound down and with it, the conversation. He guessed not being faced with death was an easy opportunity for shoulders to grow cold once more. He rolled his eyes, not about to prod at that fire. He glanced at Laine again before deciding his efforts were best spent on finishing his cigarette.
Laine rubbed her tired eyes, the smoke from her cigarette drifting up from the ashtray on the nightstand. She had kicked her shoes off and sat up on the bed, pillows propping her against the headboard. She watched Donnelley as he kept an eye on the parking lot but it seemed like they had lost their tail for now.
Her thoughts drifted to the night before and the morning, to the hostility and jealousy he had displayed. Laine sighed, picking up her black Djarum and took a long drag before tapping it back into the heavy glass ashtray. She shifted against the headboard, feeling the restrictive band of her bra which would have been off by now on any normal night. Laine glanced at Donnelley who was smoking with a concentration then shook her head. The fuck if she would sit here uncomfortable because of his presence.
She reached behind under her shirt and unhooked her bra then pulled her arm through each sleeve and the straps, pulling it out from the bottom of her sweater. Laine sighed deeply with relief, dropping the black satin lingerie beside her on the bed.
Freedom.
Now more comfortable, she leaned back and picked up her cigarette. The air was thick with unspoken tension that had nothing to do with Frank or whoever was after him.
"So," Laine said, the soft raspy quality of her voice seemed more noticeable. "Are we going to talk or stare at the walls avoiding each other?"
A flick of ash and she crossed her feet at her ankles, her long legs stretched out. "I wanted to apologize for last night, you didn't need me butting in."
He blew out his smoke lazily in a sigh, hanging his head for a moment and nodding. He glanced at the bra she left on the bed and the shared hotel room. Normalcy, comfortability. It was as alluring as diamonds to him. He looked at Laine, “Yeah.” He nodded, “You didn’t… need me being an asshole about things.”
He held her gaze, searching them for the same things he saw when she was looking at Jason. He shook himself from that fool’s errand, he had to stay professional, especially now. Keeping everyone at arm’s length was a good way to avoid shit like the diner. There wasn’t any place for those things on a mission. “I’m sorry though. You were concerned, and I’d say the same thing if it was you with a hole in your leg looking for liquor.” He recalled the night watching the tape, gingerly holding her injured foot, the moment of tension wanting to be released.
And how it wasn’t, “How’s your foot?”
“We both said shit we didn’t mean,” she agreed, recalling the bottle remark. It had been apt but rude. She met his gaze and held it, “Stress will do that.
His question caught her off guard and she glanced down at her bare feet. Wiggling her toes she turned up the one that had been cut by the broken glass, looking at the healing scratch. It seemed so long ago, the haunting film and the strangeness that had enveloped all of them, invading their conscious to use their memories against them. Laine put her foot back down and gave him a half smile, shifting herself to sit up.
“It’s healing,” she said, her green eyes flickering with recollection of his care and the unspoken moment that had passed unfulfilled between them.
“You did a good job. Speaking of injuries in the line of duty, if your leg is still hurting, I have some Tylenol. I know it’s not the same as a couple of shots of Jack but you’re welcome to it," Laine added quickly, her teasing tone more gentle this time.
“Oh, thank y’kindly, miss’m.” He snorted, rolling his eyes at Laine’s teasing. His smile remained as he held Laine’s gaze, fading a bit as he made himself look somewhere else. “Be appreciated if you spared me some.”
Laine slid off the bed and went into the bathroom where she had left her purse and dug out the small bottle of painkillers. She shook out four pills, then filled a paper cup with water before returning to the bedroom.
As she moved, the grey sweater clung to her natural shape which bounced slightly with each step. Laine approached him, her gaze on his face watching his expression as much as where his eyes might wander. A mischievous hint of a smile touched her lips as she handed him the cup and Tylenol.
"Here," she said, her hands now settling on her hips. After a few seconds she moved to sit on the end of the bed, facing Donnelley in his chair. Her thoughts hovered between wanting to enjoy the tentative peace as the warmth returned slowly and the need to confront him about the diner.
She clasped her hands then unclasped them, settling her palms against her thighs. "At the diner, what was that about?"
Laine knew or assumed she knew why, just as he had reacted to Bakker. But she wanted to hear it from him, hoping that maybe she was wrong. She did not do well with controlling, possessive behavior, a natural part of her would always rebel against it.
Whatever friendliness was back on his face had evaporated as quickly as it had come with her question. He knew the apology was going to have to be sometime, but he wanted it to be on his terms. Having it here and now, against his will, it made him feel trapped. Cornered. He never did well when pushed, he tended to push back. Rebel against it.
“Just a thing, you know.” His tight smile returned but as Laine looked at him with no amusement in her eye he knew he had to continue without the smile, “Again, I know. I am an asshole. I just…”
What was he even going to say? Maybe everything between them was imagined, or not as strong as he thought. A few looks here and there, a held hand, a hurt foot. It’s not like they’d made anything official, ever. He shook his head, looked away from her with a face like he’d chewed over something bitter, “What do you want me to say, Laine?” He shrugged, “What… You can’t…”
A part of him felt the telltale clenching of his chest, a rising anger boiling to the surface and a pure animal aggression snapping his body to action. But this was Laine, this wasn’t some security guard at his daughter’s school. He rubbed his face, “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t hold his tongue before it flapped something stupid out, “I guess Jason’s safer.”
Laine watched silently as he struggled to hold his temper, to keep himself in control. To his credit, he did, for the most part. She could almost taste the bitterness when he mentioned Jason. She turned her face now, breaking eye contact as she rolled over his accusation.
Maybe Jason was safer. Maybe he was just a handsome troubled man that would be a distraction and nothing more. A fuck buddy. That's what she had retreated to after the spectacular failure of her longest relationship. Maybe he was safer because despite the physical attraction she had not felt that same spark as she had with the man sitting in front of her. And he was a colleague, a coworker, not her team leader.
Her jaw tensed and she swept her hand through her dark hair. "Yeah, maybe."
Laine turned back to face him, her eyes finding his gaze. She stood up, unable to keep still and put her hands on her hips, pacing a few feet before turning back to Donnelley. She held her breath for a moment, a rush of conflicting emotions rising within, knotting her stomach.
"You..." She started then took a deep breath. "You are an asshole for doing that. I will not be treated like a thing, something to be possessed. We haven't even started..."
Laine stopped, then ran both hands through her hair, raising her arms up that turned into a back arching stretch as she looked up at the ceiling. She was acknowledging it, the unspoken feelings that had happened. The smoldering of sparks that occurred over the months.
She dropped her arms and looked at him, a sardonic grin trying to appear on her lips but she fought it back and it became more a feline curling of her lips, "You are fucking bold, Donnelley."
Donnelley slowly raised his shoulders and his hands rose barely an inch from the arms of his chair, “Yeah,” he rolled his jaw and nodded at her, eyes still suspended on her own, “Maybe.”
He stood too, puffing on the dying ember of his cigarette to put life back into it, all the while their gazes never left each other, “I didn’t mean it that way, though.” He said quietly, “You’re not a thing. You’re a person who can make their own choices.”
Part of him wanted to keep digging his fingers deeper into the wound, some kind of sick need to push Laine away and give a childish ultimatum between him and the man in the other room. Another part of him wanted to turn that aggression into something else more passionate, but that was reserved for the people he could give a shit about waking up next to the following morning. “So, there. Sorry.” He shook his head, “I am sorry.”
His apology sounded like he had a tooth pulled but she nodded her acceptance. Laine bit her lower lip slightly in thought, then said, "Alright."
She looked at him and her gaze lingered on his extensive scar then moved to his eyes. Part of her wanted to ask how many times he had said sorry until his wife got tired of hearing it but it was petty and mean. Though she felt it was a sincere apology, it was still words and there was still his underlying insistence of her making a choice. That irked her still and she turned away, rocking on her heels.
"Well, I guess I'll go next door, I hope Frank's a heavy sleeper," Laine said lightly, looking over to the door that connected the rooms.
His expression didn’t shift away from annoyance as he stared at her, watched her face. He figured she was joking but now of all times to do it, he huffed a cloud of smoke through his nose and turned away from her, grasping up his flask in his coat pocket, “You think you’re so fuckin’ funny, don’t you.”
She looked back at him, the teasing grin forming on her lips turning to one of chagrin. She bit her lip and raised an eyebrow, unable to keep sarcasm out of her voice, "Yeah, sometimes."
Laine sighed when she saw him draw out the flask, her expression softening. He had been insecure about whatever he thought she might feel for Jason, that was certain, and here she was rubbing salt into the wound. She tried to meet his eyes, it had been petty, and Laine felt a rush of remorse for the snark.
"Bad timing," she admitted, rubbing her hand against the back of her neck, "I apologize for that. Look, if I really wanted a different roommate I would have said so."
Laine waited a beat, her gaze flicking over to the flask and the thought of drinking while on the job not being a good idea passed over her mind. It was gone as quickly as it formed, there was no way she was going to point that out and wondered briefly if he was testing her reaction as she had just done with him. Or more likely it was habit to soothe frayed nerves, part of which she was responsible for tonight.
"I could use a shot," Laine said, glancing back up to his eyes. "If you don't mind."
He sighed, looking at her and pursing his lips. She knew how to dig deep into him just as well as he could to her, though it remained to be said that he made it all too easy this time. He always figured her to be a sharp one, but never imagined the possibility that he’d feel her edge. There was still a camaraderie there between them, still a connection. And as he once again took the opportunity to glance her over in the glory of her curves and all, there was still that need put into him by years of marriage to mend bridges by breaking beds. He settled for offering out the flask, dangling it in front of himself by thumb and forefinger, “I thought you’d never ask.” He said, a twitch of a smirk at the corners of his lips as he jerked the flask away from her reaching hand, but nothing more, “Drinkin’ on duty. Been hangin’ around me too long.”
He placed the flask in her hand and sat back down, grinding the smoldering cherry of the cigarette into the ashtray.
She reached for the flask only to have it jerked away, dangling in temptation before her until he relented. Laine took it, eyeing him with the hint of a coy smile on her lips. "You're a bad influence," she said, sipping from the flask.
The path of his gaze had not escaped her and she knew what it meant, the idea spiking in her was as dangerous and tempting as the whiskey. Even more so because it was in the darkest part of the night in a strange motel room and death lurked like a persistent shadow.
He sunk lower into his seat and undid his tie, the ends hanging down either side of his chest and framing the two undone buttons on his shirt. A grin slowly grew across his lips and just like that night in Charleston he felt a fire in him. Lonely motels, alcohol, a woman and risk were a combination that always led Donnelley into trouble. “Always have been.” He spoke as he undid his cuffs and rolled his sleeves to the elbow, muscles writhing in his forearms as his fingers worked and he put his hand out, “Please?”
Laine let her own gaze travel over his lean body, lingering on his forearms now exposed. There was probably something Freudian about her admiration of a man's arms, especially those like his. Hard muscles won from labor, the line that flexed amid the dusting of fine ginger hairs held her gaze until he spoke again. She took another sip, the whiskey firing a path through her torso and stoking the warmth already building deep below.
She snapped her gaze back up to his eyes, feeling the heat of the whiskey and her awareness of their mutual interest flush her pale cheeks. "I bet," she said, handing him the flask. "Making kissy faces at rednecks and Taliban."
Laine grinned, her eyes were tired but now sparked green in their depths. She sank back on the foot of the twin bed she had claimed, looking at him still in the chair.
He took her own roaming eyes as cue to let his do the same. Roaming over the sensual curves and linger on the soft rise and fall of her chest. He met her eyes as he took a quick pull from his flask and capped it. He sighed appreciatively at her and set his flask on the table next to him. “There’s the chance we’ll have to sleep here.” Donnelley clucked his tongue and made a show of looking out the window, “Or we could leave now.”
Without turning his head his eyes settled on Laine, “If we really got to.”
Laine could still feel the tingling from the whiskey, and from his direct blue gaze. She turned her head when he looked away and ran her hand over her face. She was not thinking clearly because there was a strong urge to straddle his lap, wounded thigh or not and that would certainly lead to other things that could not be undone in the light of day.
"Well," she shifted herself on the end of the bed, finally looking back over at him. "It's so late, if I fall asleep I'm not waking up with the sun. It might be better to stay awake for awhile or just leave, but I'll leave that up to you, boss. Tactical decision time."
Donnelley nodded, something playing across his brow. The task at hand seemed to filter back in to the forefront of his mind and he sighed, “We’ll mount up, haul ass back home.” He looked at her fully, turning his body in his chair to face her and wore his urges plain for a few moments, biting his lip and chuckling as he stood, “Goddamn.”
He snatched up the keys, tossing them in the air and catching them in his waiting palm again, “I'll wake up Jason and Frank. I’m drivin’.”
Laine nodded, it was the right decision, there was much more at stake than their personal desires. A knowing grin formed at his remark, her brows ticking up slightly as if to agree with the sentiment.
Laine pushed the preoccupying thoughts aside and stood up to fetch her shoes. "I'll make a pit stop while you do that."
She went into the restroom and shut the door, turning on the cold water Laine cupped her hands in it to splash her face. Half the reason was to help wake her up, the other half would probably need a whole cold shower to settle but distraction would have to do the trick. Riding back to the safehouse would hopefully be uneventful, they had lost the Dodge Challenger on their way here.
Laine dried her face and neck, then stepped back out into the room and put on her holster and blazer, then slung her bag over her shoulder. She glanced towards the connector door that stood ajar, calling out, "I'm ready when you are."
Jason emerged from the door first with a hand at Frank’s back. The two of them looked groggy, though Frank was worse for wear. Donnelley followed them out of the connector door and watched them as they went. As the sound of doors opening and shutting on the Explorer sounded, Donnelley looked from the open door to Laine. He spun the keys on his finger and offered her a little smile. It seemed responsibility and risky careers kept getting in the way of their little moments. He looked away for a moment and huffed a chuckle, appreciating her in the dim light of the motel room’s lamp. He settled on her eyes and smirked. The fact he wanted so badly to jump from his chair and hold her down by the wrists on that damn bed, and then did not get to, simmered just below the surface. He shook his head and chuckled as he turned for the door, “Goddamn.”
Laine stuffed her bra into her purse as she stepped out of the room. She had her blazer back on, covering her holster and the telltale bounce of her unfettered chest. Meeting Donnelley's eyes she recognized the desire and matched his smirk with her own little half smile and shrugged her shoulders.
With a sigh, she passed him on her way out and said, "Well, back to work."
The faint scent of her perfume might be noticed, a sensual light musk that drifted after she had stepped past him. Laine headed towards the truck as the others climbed into the back and she opened the passenger door, pausing to glance around at the motel lot. It seemed as quiet as a parking lot might be at the darkest hour of the night.
Laine climbed into the Explorer and buckled in, glancing behind at the two tired faces then have Frank an encouraging smile. "We're heading home, you'll be safe there."
“Don’t call it a Safehouse for nothin’.” Donnelley’s grin shone white in the shadows of the night as he opened the door and grunted himself into the driver’s seat. He looked around for any reaction to his dumb joke, but Jason was still rubbing sleep from his eyes and Frank was understandably not in a joking mood. The only one who showed anything was Laine and her shaking head and a small smirk.
The engine revved to life, “Alright.” Donnelley said, “Let’s go.”
Lightning bugs and campfires. Stars in the sky and lonely clouds drifting on the currents of lazy winds, leaving their mark on those on the ground in the rustling of trees and the chills of backbones. The fire warmed Sevari’s palms and the juxtaposition of the cold Skyrim winds and the heat of the fire made him shiver. It was a lonely night. He hadn’t spoken to anyone after Ivy, and Finnen was gone. He hadn’t even spoken to Jaraleet for a while.
The flask of whiskey he kept was getting more and more appealing as the seconds ticked by. For some reason, he was trying to cut back. But now seemed right for a drink. He reached into his pack and fished out the flask, uncorking it and drinking deeply, grimacing and growling with the large gulp. It burned all the way down, but it didn’t mask any of the footsteps behind him. “You aren’t quiet enough.” He sniffed at the air, smelling the tell-tale scent of an Argonian. “Jaraleet. Share my fire, friend.”
“Hmmm, I must be getting rusty. Or too comfortable, if not both.” The Argonian replied, nodding in acceptance to the Khajiit’s offer. He took a seat next to Sevari, his eyes going to the flask of whiskey in his hands. “I do hope that you are planning to share, my friend. It is quite rude to drink alone, or so I’ve heard.” Jaraleet said, letting out a sigh as his eyes darted towards the fire. “It has been a while since we last talked not since….Gilane, I think. The two of us, I mean. I suppose it doesn’t matter when exactly we last talked, but it has been a while.” He said somberly, shaking his head. “How are you holding up Sevari? Falkreath might be a breath of fresh air, a moment of respite, but men like us must always be ready for when those kind of moments pass away...not to mention there’s what happened with Latro…”
Sevari shook his head, “If anyone remembers the most it’s me… or Sora.” He let go a growl of a sigh, “I put my gun in his face. I didn’t know what I’d have to do.”
He lifted his eyes from the dirt and the stones arranged around his firepit to Jaraleet’s own, “What of you? How do you fare in all this?”
Jaraleet was silent as he processed what Sevari had told him, there was only one reason he could think about why the Khajiit would point his gun at the Reachman. “He hurt Sora, didn't he?” He said, his voice barely rising above a whisper.
He reached for the flask of whiskey in Sevari’s hand and took it from the Khajiit’s hand, taking a large gulp of the strong alcohol. “He made me promise to kill him if he ever hurt Sora, that's how I fare in all this.”
“Fucking Gods…” Sevari sat ramrod straight at that and did not protest when Jaraleet snatched his flask, instead grabbing it back when Jaraleet was done and taking a pull himself. “He told me nothing about that. When was it? The promise?”
He kicked his heel uselessly at the dirt, “Damn it!” Sevari ran a hand through his hair and growled, steadying himself. “What’s to do then?”
“After our little impromptu trial towards Gregor, back in the Alik’r.” He replied, his eyes drifting to the ground. He was silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond to Sevari’s question.
“I don't want to kill him Sevari.” Jaraleet said finally, shaking his head. “You, him, you are one of the scarce few in this group who…” He paused for a second, unsure of how to continue. “Understand me, I suppose. Who truly understand me, I mean.” He finished, reaching for the flask once again and taking another drink of the whiskey. “The three of us, we come from the same world after all.”
He fell silent again, handing Sevari his flask back once more, as he weighed his options. The minutes seemed to stretch by and, despite the warmth emanating from the fire, Jaraleet felt a chill run down his spine. “We should go out, search for him.” The assassin finally said, looking at Sevari in the eyes. “We find him, and we bring him back. Who knows what he might do, what might happen to him, if we don't find him in time.”
“We’d be leaving everyone when they need us most.” Sevari sighed, shaking his head as he thought everything over. Had Finnen truly fallen far enough that he was unable to be saved? What if this, their little group here, fell apart in their absence? Sevari stirred his fire and spoke, “You know there is a possibility we may have no choice. He knows everyone, he could describe us down to our damned eyelashes…” he looked sidelong at his Argonian companion, “Or scales.”
“He could be some raving fucking lunatic. You made a promise to Finnen that if he forswore what made him Finnen that you would put down what he became.” Sevari turned to his comrade, “We might have to go all that distance just to look him in the eye and chop his throat out.”
Jaraleet let out a sigh and shook his head; he knew that what Sevari was saying was reasonable, and more than likely possible, but that knowledge didn’t make it any easier to hear them. “I know all of this.” He said finally, his voice somber. “If it has truly come to all of this, if Finnen truly is completely gone, then I will carry out my promise.”
“Either way, I think we have to go and track him down. If he has become a threat to our group, then we must neutralize it as quickly as possible and the two of us are the best suited for the task, I feel.” The Argonian said. “And if not, then we can try and convince him to return with us.” He paused for a second, thinking of what he was going to say next. “I know it’s not easy to leave the group behind but, if it’s just the two of us we can move faster than if we all leave Falkreath.”
Sevari took in a breath, and as he blew it out, all of the things that Meg saw in him were gone. All of the notions of a good man vanished. Anything other than what he was, one of the Emperor’s sharpest knives in the dark, evaporated. He nodded once, almost relieved.
And then guilty.
But, he buried it well. Like he always did. Anything else could be saved for after the mission. “We have our task.” He nodded, “We set out in the morning.”
Morning, 18th of Sun’s Height, 4E208 Falkreath Campsite
After the strange encounter with Mazrah and the newcomer, Ivy, Gregor had taken a few minutes to decompress before he made his way to his second patient of the day. Maulakanth’s riverside attack had left a trail of broken bodies in its wake. One of them was already gone, of course, and Gregor felt a pang of sympathy for Daro’Vasora -- and Finnen. Gregor knew very well what trauma could do to a man. That said, his absence left only one more victim under his care.
Gregor stopped a little ways away from Sevari’s tent. The two had barely exchanged any words after their attempt at reconciliation had been brutally cut short by Sevari being shot by the Dwemer Centurions in the ambush. Gregor had been preoccupied by -- don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it -- and Sevari had been busy with getting enough rest. Until last night, of course. Gregor wasn’t even sure if he would find the Khajiit in his own tent.
“Sevari?” he called out. “Are you there?”
Out of the mouth of Sevari’s tent a travel pack tumbled out onto the grass, bloated with supplies. As the man himself emerged, bedecked in the same bloodied clothes he’d been wearing and sometimes washing since Gilane, it was clear to see where his money went when they got to town. He stood opposite the other man. Or opposite the lich, anyway. No matter the moment they shared before he’d died there was no getting used to looking a dead man in the face.
And so his own did not pretend any mirth at his arrival, but nor did it twist itself in contempt. Sevari rolled his jaw, looking away as he drew in a ragged breath and coughed something from his lung. What he spat to the side before retrieving his pack was dark and thick. “Gregor,” Sevari said, hefting his pack on his shoulder, “How do you fare?”
The lich ignored the question and watched with bemused curiosity as Sevari appeared to prepare for departure. “I wouldn’t go anywhere with that lung, if I were you,” Gregor said cautiously and took a step closer to Sevari. “In fact, I’m here to check up on your progress… and that, I’m afraid,” he continued and looked pointedly towards the wad of dark phlegm that Sevari had just spat out, “does not look healthy to me. Please, sit.”
“I’m not going to be doted upon by-“ Sevari cut his vitriol short, almost sheepishly he stood before he drew in a breath. In a way, he was guilty for almost having said what he was going to, by a lich. The man before him seemed worlds apart from the one he’d aimed his gun at in the Prison. He lifted a fist to his lips and gave a gravelly cough, trying to make it sound not quite as bad as it was, but still wincing from the grinding, sharp pains that were still accompanying. “By a man I hardly know.” He finished lamely.
Even so, he shrugged his pack off his shoulder and sat on it, legs crossed and elbows propped on knees, “I’m fine. I’ve lived through worse. Many have tried to kill me and none have done it yet.” He let out a cough and made to spit, but swallowed the metallic tasting mucus instead, “Fucking centurion isn’t going to be the one.”
Gregor smiled at that and knelt down at Sevari’s side. “While I admire your tenacity, mere willpower cannot make it so.” He thought about his own fight with Zaveed and the consequences that followed. “You need a healer too,” Gregor added softly, with Raelynn’s tear-streaked face looking down on him in his mind’s eye. He pushed the memory aside and placed a glowing hand on Sevari’s back, using Restoration magic to sense the injuries inside his lungs. He hummed while he worked and thought.
“A terrorist, a weaver of dark magicks, a lich. Now you’re my bed nurse.” Sevari snorted, shaking his head, “Where the hells did they find you?”
“They’re all related,” Gregor said absent-mindedly, his eyes closed. Raelynn would have found the source of Sevari’s internal bleeding within seconds, he was sure, but Gregor wasn’t nearly as skilled or experienced and he had to search every inch of Sevari’s lungs meticulously. “Restoration is a very useful skill for any man traversing the deepest, darkest places of the world in search of dark knowledge -- knowledge that was never parted with willingly, and that was needed for self-preservation and the preservation of my loved ones. The Dwemer are an existential threat to my family and their way of life. So there you have it. Terrorist, lich, necromancer, healer. All one and the same person.”
He opened his eyes and mouthed a quiet ‘aha.’ The golden glow that clung to his fingers intensified and radiated warmth as Gregor did his best to mend the tear that he’d found in the membrane of Sevari’s right lung.
Sevari noticeably loosened as he felt the light euphoria that accompanied healing magic. He nodded, “I never was any good with it. Opening people, rather than closing them.” He frowned slightly, looking at his hands for a good moment before he spoke up again, “Men don’t find themselves in wars and seek out lichdom as a first option.”
Sevari looked back at Gregor, almost surprised to realize he’d show his back to the man, “Then again, men don’t lose their families and resort to state-sanctioned murder as a method of grieving.” He coughed into the crook of his elbow and spat to the side away from Gregor, still dark, “I guess I’ve not a lot of room to judge. Why, Gregor?”
He paused for a moment, tracing the visible tattoos peeking out from beneath Sevari’s clothes with his gaze. The only sound around them was the wind and the distant clamoring of a town coming to life in the morning. When Gregor spoke, his voice was low, weak almost, and barely more than a whisper. “You must understand that I was driven to desperation. My father tried everything, to no avail… there was only one option that remained, and it was left to me.” His armor clinked as he shifted and moved a little further behind Sevari, moving out of the man’s peripheral vision, pressing his hands more accurately on the place where Sevari’s skin and clothes hid his injury.
“My lineage is… cursed, afflicted, whatever you might call it. My father and his father and his father’s father and all of their children were all killed by an illness of some kind. Not too young, mind you, but…” Gregor bit his lip. “Middle age is no time to grow old and perish. I watched my father die. There was nothing of him left in the end. His last words were ‘you have to do it’. I had no idea what he meant until I went through his library and found the journals that described his attempts to cure himself… to cure us all. Nothing worked. Magic, alchemy, not even prayer.” His tone took a turn towards darkness. “There was only one thing left. One thing my father hadn’t tried.”
The wind carried a gust of needles that danced in front of them for a few seconds before moving on to toy with something else. Gregor watched the needles go in silence.
“I thought it would work. I mean, it did, but… I thought it’d be a real solution. People died, but that was a sacrifice I was willing to make,” the lich whispered afterwards. He looked at Sevari, at the back of his head. “What’s a few lives to set things right? To defy fate?” Gregor laughed mirthlessly. “I was desperate. And I was afraid. That’s why.”
Sevari nodded along, finding too many things in the tale Gregor had woven that tugged at his regrets in the same way his own memories and dreams did. He busied himself with picking at a callous on his palm, “A few lives to set things right…” he mused, a bitter little smirk played across his lips, “Yeah.”
“The man you almost killed, that almost killed you. I’ve known him most of my life, on and off,” though on and off was to put the estrangement lightly, “He was a good child, a shy little boy who had trouble speaking louder than a mumble. His sister and I were the fighters, the brash ones, rough and dirty and spiteful.”
“Now look at him.” Sevari shook his head, slow and almost mournful, “First time I met him in years I hardly recognized him. The way he’ll tell you is that I came to him asking for a favor to smuggle me somewhere.”
“The truth of it is that I needed to know if the rumors were true. I could’ve asked any smuggler anywhere. I wanted to know if the reports were correct. That dread-captain Greywake was a little boy from Senchal who’d lost his family and waded through blood to find an answer to why.” Sevari shrugged his broad shoulders, “Imagine how I felt seeing the man who’d taken more than a few lives to make things feel right. Like I wasn’t looking at Zaveed. Like I was looking in a damn mirror.”
“I think that’s why I didn’t hand Latro over to the Dwemer or kill that fucking Argonian you and I keep around.” Sevari tried craning his neck to look at Gregor, but without success he just returned to looking at the trees and their swaying branches, “Why I didn’t just stab you in the throat when I met you in the Haunted Tide.”
“What’s a few lives, Gregor. What’s too many?” Sevari frowned, “It’s why I’m packed and ready. I was never fond of losing friends or making enemies out of them. Less so nowadays. I’m going to find him, Finnen. Gods know if hurting the ones you love and hold dear sentenced you to death, I’d be dead twenty times over. Meg told me I’m a good man. Hate to make her wrong.”
Gregor dropped his hands to his side and straightened up to his full height. He'd done what he could, but he wasn't sure if it was enough. He also knew he couldn't stop Sevari. Part of him thought it was irresponsible to leave like this, but another part of him wanted him to find Finnen and bring him back.
"If Megana said that, it must be true," Gregor said and stepped back into Sevari's view. He offered him a hand to pull him to his feet.
“What does she say about you?” Sevari quirked a brow his way. Honest curiosity, but the history between the two of them would have Sevari understand if the man thought it was a jab at him and certain life choices. He took the hand and his inquisitive gaze remained on Gregor as he was hauled up.
The lich bowed his head. "She was in favour of letting me stay, but she fears me. It was plain as day on her face. Now… I don't know. I don't wish to frighten her any more so I've left her be."
Sevari nodded, “Yeah, I’d do that too. She thought I hated her for a while. I cleared the air, but,” he looked Gregor up and down, knowing he’d be able to fill in the rest, “She’s not a killer. She’s not… like us. She couldn’t understand me if she wanted to, she couldn’t know the things I’ve done with her view of a good man intact.”
“It’s one thing to poke a man with a sword in battle. To stalk him for days, know his every move as well as he does, smile on his face and then strangle him to death in an alleyway after getting him drunk is…” Sevari sighed, shaking his head, “That’s a whole hell of another.”
Gregor nodded as well. That was evil. Was it as evil as cutting down one’s erstwhile ally in the pursuit of power, sacrificing his soul in the process? Probably not. But it was evil. “We both have to believe that our past actions don’t have to define the person we can become,” he said and placed a gauntleted hand on Sevari’s shoulder. “Megana doesn’t have to know. The past can stay in the past. Find Finnen and bring him back. Let your actions now speak for themselves. This war… it can be our salvation,” Gregor continued, his voice now full of pathos. “If we see this through to the end, if Daro’Vasora’s plan works, we’ll be…”
He trailed off and laughed softly. “We’ll have been in the company of heroes. That has to count for something.”
Sevari looked Gregor up and down, shrugging and nodding, slapping Gregor on the pauldron in what was the first friendly gesture the two had shared since their meeting, “I'll give you one thing. At least you didn’t tell me the same damn shit everybody tells me.” Sevari smirked, “I’m a product of my choices, I always will be and have been. Us both. It’s time to make better choices.”
“Agreed,” Gregor said and took a step back, giving Sevari one last appraising look. “I’ve done all I can. Don’t get shot again.” He made to turn and walk away but stopped himself in his tracks and turned back to face the Ohmes-raht.
“Should I go look for her?” the lich asked. While his helmet betrayed nothing of his emotions, his voice was as soft as a lover’s gentle touch and he radiated vulnerability. “She… wrote me a letter. She said that she’d be back.”
Gregor balled his fists and looked down at the ground. “Do you believe her?”
Sevari’s brows rose for a moment at Gregor’s sudden vulnerability. The truth of it all was that he barely knew Raelynn more than he knew Gregor. He knew that’s who he spoke of. He couldn’t tell him for sure, because he didn’t know what sure was. But he had led men before, had good Inspectors and trained rebels whose will to fight on hinged on his words. “She’s never lied to you before.” He said with a measure of surety, “She’s going to come back. The way she looks at you,” he said, recalling the way his wife would look into him and see his very soul through his eyes, “It tells me every time she looks away she makes a promise to herself it won’t be long until she looks again.”
“You don’t leave the ones you love and promise to come back to just… not.” He lied, looking away from Gregor and remembering promises and vows to people long gone, “She’ll come back.”
He could still see her lying there, her raven hair spilled out over the pillow, her back to him, while the first rays of dawn began to spill in through the window. “I’m sorry,” Gregor could hear himself whisper, barely more than a breath, with naught more than a note on the nightstand to explain.
The tattoo on his forearm burned. Gregor shook his head. He had seen how Sevari looked away. “That’s exactly what we did,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
Sevari reached down and hefted the pack on his shoulder again, knowing it was nearing the time to meet Jaraleet so they could set out soon. He frowned, looking off at a hundred faces he’d lied to in service to everything from the Empire to his own greed. He’d recruited Finnen and though he had left so many just like him to the wolves, Finnen had become something more than just an asset. He met Gregor’s eyes once more, “Not anymore.”
Gregor could only hope that the same was true for Raelynn. He unclenched his fists and squared his shoulders, and the momentary window of vulnerability closed shut. The lich’s emotions shrouded themselves in inscrutable chainmail, steel and black cloth once more, torn and ripped and filled with holes as it was. He gave Sevari a wave and turned around to go back the way he came with the same slow, plodding footsteps that were now distinctively his.
Ava tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove her rental car down the modestly busy highway, taking the three of them to Charleston to meet with the CID.
The drive from the Safehouse had been relatively quiet. The radio was set on a local country music station with the occasional bout of static as they drove through areas with spotty reception, offering white background noise to fill the silence between bouts of small talk between Dave and Agent Bhaat.
Ava didn't speak much as she focused on driving, using it to distract from her nerves. She was anxious, impersonating an FBI agent was hardly in her wheelhouse. She could make convincing FBI Agent fake identities, but pretending to be one...At least she had Agent Bhatt to coach her and Dave was in the same boat as her, which also helped.
“Um,” She finally spoke up as she glanced over her shoulder to merge into the next lane to head for the upcoming off ramp. They were getting pretty close, it seemed like a good time to offer up an idea she had been mulling over. “So, I thought I could research hospitals and clinics in the area? Find which ones would look the least secure and the easiest to steal from? Or which ones have a history of keeping spotty inventory? Maybe a lot of malpractice lawsuits?” She suggested, shooting a questioning look over to Agent Bhatt from the corner of her eye.
“Smart place to start,” replied Pari cooly as she set her gaze upon the scene outside of the window. “Anything that you’re able to do, discreetly, helps. Trust your instincts on it.” Her head turned to catch Ava - she didn’t want to encourage the girl to take her eyes off the road, but she offered her a smile of reassurance.
A few quiet moments passed, until Pari broke the silence again - addressing the elephant in the room, so to speak. “You’re both not FBI, and this is all of our first day - we don’t want anything to go wrong. Simply follow my lead and we’ll be alright, if you have any specific questions then now is the time.” She took a glance in the rear view mirror at Dave in the backseat, and offered him a smile too. “Before we get to the appointment, we’re to make a stop at the mall in Charleston. First step to being an FBI agent is to look like one…” her voice trailed off, and her smile grew in the rear view to show her teeth. She hoped that Dave would be amused too, and not offended.
Dave quirked an eyebrow, lips twitching in a good natured smirk. "We about to play makeover?" He asked. "Ya'll are gonna have to help me with the eyeliner, I can never get it right."
He shifted his weight around, grimacing. His carry pistol, the little p320 Compact, was still in his bag up in the mountains. All he'd had on him when he'd been picked up was his 226, complete with tactical light. Unfortunately, that had ridden on a thigh rig, which was not at all suited for interacting with the public. Now he was perched on the edge of his seat, a full-size duty pistol jammed down the back of his pants and two spare magazines loose in his cargo pocket. Things were far from comfortable.
"Hey, y'all think they got a huntin' store, or a gun store at this mall? Cuz I've got a pound-and-change of German steel stuck between a couple of vertebrae."
“There's probably a Wal-Mart.” Ava suggested, glancing back at Dave in the rear view mirror. “If not, well, we are in West Virginia. There's probably no shortage of hunting stores or ammo stores.” She grimaced as she guided them onto the off ramp. “I need a shoulder holster anyway, if I'm getting a blazer I can finally wear one discreetly.”
For what it was worth, the feeling of being a fish out of water was not unusual for Pari. She’d spent much of her life forcing herself into the shoes of an all-American girl, and for a while they had fit - and she’d been happy. But now, she wondered if she wasn’t just happier in Mumbai after all. She glanced to Ava and Dave both, and in that moment she couldn’t have felt like she had less in common with either of them. She kept those thoughts quiet, and didn’t let them leak out onto her expression however. First day jitters, that was all.
“You might make a nice woman, but it’ll take us a lot more than a slick of eyeliner - why don’t we just stick to the suit for now?” She smirked back at him, over her shoulder this time - not through the reflection of the mirror. “Hunting store? I don’t know - let’s not be taking too many diversions all at once. Eyes on the prize, yes?”
Dave grinned at her, his steel-blue eyes bright among the dark bruises around his eyes. He'd never had a problem talking to strangers; he may not always know what was going on, but he was friendly enough to get by in most situations.
"I think I can manage stayin' focused," he said, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head.
Pari chuckled before turning back to the front, “alright then Mr. MacCready.”
"You can just call me Dave," he said. "The 'mister' makes me sound old."
“How long have you been with the FBI Agent Bhaat?” Ava asked the woman curiously as she slowed to navigate the city streets, glancing around for a sign pointing them toward a mall or shopping center.
“That’s a good question… I started as an analyst when I was around 26 or so, did a job. I had a… sabbatical of sorts.” Pari sighed, a finger tapped over her thigh, she saw no reason to hide the truth, but maybe she could brush over it for now. “Not long, really. I’m… more of an academic, truthfully. What is your background Ms. Moore?” She asked, keen to move on.
“Mostly computers and information, some mechanical engineering.” Ava answered with a stiff, embarrassed shrug. “I've been a contractor for Booz-Allen for almost a decade. The past two years I've been working for The Program.” She glanced back over to Agent Bhaat. “What field of academics do you work in?” She looked back at the road and perked up noticing a sign advertising a mall. “Should we try our luck there?” She asked, nodding her head in the direction of the shopping outlet.
"Fine by me," Dave said. "I'm just along for the ride. I think Donnelley mostly sent me as muscle, since I'm not exactly a scholar." He scratched the back of his head and felt a brief spark of irritation at his missing hat. His eyes ran over the outlet, checking for threats out of habit. Locals milled about doing local things, but nobody stood out as a possible danger. He certainly didn't see anybody in dark robes wielding sacrificial knives.
"I think this spot's okay," he said. "If they even got a suit store."
“I’m sure you’re more than muscle, Dave, you might just be able to spot something we can’t,” Pari said as the car rounded a corner. “This mall should be fine too, we don’t need to make too much of a thing of it,” she added with a shrug of her own, crossing one leg over the other and placing her hands into her lap. “As for your question, I study religious iconography in crime, I’ve written a lot of papers - give lectures at my alma mater, in between my work with the Bureau, of course…”
“You think the murder might have been religiously motivated?” Ava asked curiously, steering the car over to the mall parking lot. She found an empty space easy enough and parked, picking up her small tan purse that contained her two phones, her wallet, fake FBI badge as well as her handgun and multipurpose tool.
"Not much other reason to cut people open on an altar," Dave said. "Least that's what they were doin' in my Ozarks."
He opened the car door eagerly, taking a moment to stretch before adjusting the gun jammed through his waistband. His eyes combed the parking lot again.
"Alright, let's try to make this painless," he grinned. "And no ties, that ain't negotiable. I hate the damn things, and I don't wanna get strangled because I had to put a ribbon around my neck."
“I think that Foster thinks so,” Pari said, “enough that he called me in to take a look over it all. From my conversation with Dr. Laine earlier, I’d say yes, but to what extent? I’m not yet sure.” She sounded thoughtful in her words, and once the car came to its stop she picked up her purse, checking for the third time that she had placed the wrapped bills in there. They were present. Pari also took her sunglasses out to wear. The large frames complimented her, and covered her eyes. She wanted to inconspicuous, and this way she could at least pass it off as a stylish choice. “Okay then, one hour or less for this - then we should be on our way.”
Ava nodded in agreement as she locked the car and tucked the keys away. “Wouldn’t want to keep this Detective waiting.” She said, the lenses of her glasses having darkened into sunglasses once the light of the sun hit them. She looked at Agent Bhaat, poised and professionally dressed as though she was about to step into a courtroom, and then to Dave, in rumbled flannel and worn jeans with a giant bruise taking up half his face. They weren’t the most subtle trio but hopefully people were too consumed with their own business to pay them much mind.
This promised to be an interesting shopping trip if nothing else.
"In and out," Dave nodded. "Course, might be fun pissin' off a cop and gettin' away with it for once."
He laughed at the thought. His dislike of police officers went back a long way, and he'd developed a bit of a history back in Arkansas. Nothing too serious, but he'd spent a night or two in the drunk tank, and had taken a few lumps. The county deputies in his homeland were a baton-happy sort.
"So what am I lookin' for, anyway? Black? Grey? I feel like black is gonna make it look like I'm dressed for a funeral. Blue might go well with my bruises, though."
“If you piss off a cop then it might well be your funeral…” Pari said only half-admonishingly, raising an eyebrow at Dave. He was joking, of course, and Pari was too - but still, she wanted to shoot down any notion of rebelliousness. “As for the colour, I’m feeling a navy blue too. Matches your eyes,” she smiled and turned on her heel to begin on her way in. “Is there anything that you need besides the blazer, Ava?” she asked, glancing to the colleague at her right.
“I don’t think so.” Ava answered, looking down at herself with a frown. “I need a shoulder holster but I guess that can wait since I have my purse.” She said while adjusting the straps on her shoulder. “Dr. Laine said a blazer would be enough to help me look more official.” Though she had always thought she dressed very professionally, it turned out there was a difference between IT professional and Alphabet Agent professional. This is why I have trouble with fashion.She thought with a slight frustrated crease between her eyebrows.
She looked around to make sure no one would overhear them then look up at Agent Bhaat from beneath her tinted glasses. “Have you...worked on cases like this before?” She asked.
Dave edged a little closer. "I been wonderin' that, too. I ain't got a clue how to go about interrogatin' somebody. I mean I figure we won't be using car batteries, so you're gonna have to feed me some lines, unless you want me to stand there and look pretty."
“You’re putting me on edge with all this talk, Dave,” Pari said sharply. Glancing to Ava for some assistance in reining him in perhaps. She followed it with a chuckle. “Stand and look as pretty as you can, and maybe take in the details of the room. How does that sound?” There was a confidence in her tone that she could sense the other two had been looking for, and suddenly she felt less out of place all of a sudden - she was the voice of authority here, to them, at least. She had the answers, she liked the feeling - it put her at ease and she felt decidedly less useless.
“Yes, I’ve worked cases like this - not… Not exactly like this, but I know the standard procedures and how to follow them, and so soon, will you both.” the Agent added with as reassuring of a smile as she could manage.
Ava glanced down when Agent Bhaat took a sharp tone with Dave, awkwardness and worry of an argument bubbling in her chest. She tapped her finger on her necklace and only looked back up at the mention of the case.
“Okay.” She agreed with a slight nod before glancing over at Dave to see his reaction to the instructions.
Dave laughed at the sharp reprimand, the sound carrying with it good natured humor rather than mockery.
“Alright, sorry,” he said, raising a hand. “I’m a nervous talker. Kinda outta my element. Didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Don’t apologise,” Pari replied, mirroring him by raising a hand of her own, “we’re all nervous - and you have more reason to be than Ava and myself to begin with, so… just be nervous with us,” she clarified, offering him a smile. “Shall we?” She said at last, turning on her heel to make her way inside.
It was a wonder they had been able to find a tailor at all, it had taken some trial and error on their part - stepping into regular clothing stores hoping for formalwear, but it was in the inbuilt department store that they’d seemed to find a winner. The place was clean and bright with a heavily polished floor, there were women in the aisles offering samples of perfumes, and even more women coaxing customers into seats to try age-defying serums and other magical products for just about every worry a woman could ever have.
Pari stood with Ava by the fitting room, the customer attendant over by the till also waiting anxiously it seemed. It was probably the first time she could say she’d been visited at her store by a bruised up gentleman, his Indian colleague, and quite possibly the shortest woman in Charleston. There had been raised eyebrows, and an attitude that would have made Vivian Ward’s toes curl. It wasn’t until she was shown cold hard cash that she understood the trio were serious.
Some twenty minutes later, after some further trial and error, and quite a collected pile of unsuitable shirts, Pari called out to the navy blue velvet curtain. “Are you ready Dave?” She then glanced down at Ava at her side with a smile.
Dave studied himself in the mirror, fussing with his collar. The stiff dress shirt was already chafing at him figuratively; he figured the literal chafing would start after a couple of hours. He bit back a bit of grumbling profanity.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” he called. After cracking his knuckles and giving the mirror a final glare he opened the curtain, pasting on a bright smile. “Well?”
The suit itself was a simple charcoal number, conservative and boring enough, in Dave’s eyes, to fit the image of a Federal agent. He’d left the jacket just a bit large to accommodate his pistol, but otherwise it fit well, accentuating his broad, fit build. His feet were jammed into a pair of leather dress shoes that made him sorely miss his hiking boots.
“Not bad, huh?” He spread his arms and turned in a circle.
Ava returned Pari’s smile then looked at the curtain as Dave walked out, cocking her eyebrows up. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised Dave cut such a nice figure in a suit, he was a fit man after all. Even the glaring bruise on his noggin didn’t detract much from his appearance, though it did make her think of an action star that had just gotten into a fight.
She smiled at him. “You look very handsome.” She said and she meant it. “Can you give us a little Blue Steel?” She asked in a gentle teasing tone.
Pari immediately pinched at the arm of her sunglasses, pushing them down her nose so she could peer over the top of the frames. She leaned forward slightly to look at him, in just about as much surprise as Ava was, “holy cabooses,” she muttered, her mouth opened slightly, and she blinked several times as if doing so would break the mirage. “I’m sorry, I thought asked for Dave - not Clark Gable…” she joked with a sigh of amused disbelief. Where was the harm in making him feel good about himself, after all?
He grinned and made a show of brushing off his shoulders, clearly pleased with the positive reactions.
“Alright then,” he said. “Step one accomplished. Glad y’all were here, or I’d still be starin’ at the racks. Or just wearing the same shit I was.” He picked up his old clothes, bundling them into a careless ball. He had already transferred the contents of his pockets to his suit trousers; the spare magazines he’d had to palm off to Ava to stash in her bag until he could get a holder for them.
“Really though, thanks for the input,” he said as he joined them.
“You’re welcome.” Ava said, adjusting her purse from one shoulder to the other, fusing with it to make sure that her new blazer didn’t wrinkle. It was a light cloud grey, a perfect complement of her skirt, shirt and her pale skin tone. “So, I guess all that’s left to do is go see the Detective?” She asked, looking between Agent Bhaat and Dave. She eyed his bruise again and wondered if they shouldn’t make a quick stop at the make-up counter.
“That’s quite alright,” Pari said, handing over the payment to the assistant, she waited for the woman to count the cash and provide the receipt, as requested by Laine. Once that had been done, she folded it and placed it in a safe pocket inside her purse. A structured navy blue tote, faux leather with two compartments, and a pocket in the front which housed her phone. She turned from the counter and gave another smile at her colleagues, looping the accessory over her left shoulder. The woman turned her wrist too, and looked at the hands on her watch - an eyebrow shot up and she bit down on her lip, exhaling from her nose. “Yes, we should leave about now. I don’t want to keep people waiting… I know you wanted to go to another store, Dave, maybe we can do that afterwards -- the three of us could even have lunch? For the purpose of work, of course” she suggested, eyes darting behind the dark lenses from Ava to Dave and back again.
Ava bit her lip, thinking about the virus she needed to work on as well as the new identity for the witness. On the other hand, it would give them a chance to go over whatever they learned with the Detective. Maybe give her a better idea of where to start digging around for their drug dealer. “I wouldn’t mind that.” She said after taking a brief moment to think it over.
Pari could sense a feeling of apprehension from Ava, and so to help level her confidence she raised a finger to the air as she had done earlier in the safehouse; “the agenda then, our meeting. We can then touch base with the cabin,” she added, leaving names out of the equation for now - they were in public afterall, “we’ll finish up in town for shopping-” her gaze moved to Dave, and the casual manner in which she spoke suggested that she was simply referring to a grocery run. “If there is time after that, we’ll find somewhere to eat together to decompress. Then head back to the cabin shortly after.”
Dave fiddled with his shirt cuffs as the women planned. Ava seemed sharp as a whip, and Pari clearly knew what she was doing. He was content to let them handle the schedule. This was mostly their gig, anyway; Foster had put him on the tactical team, which made the best use of his skills. As far as he was concerned, he was a bodyguard for the day.
“That sounds good,” he said. He gave Ava a friendly nudge, and then caught Pari’s eye. “My shoppin’ list can wait, none of it’s that important. I think makin’ time for a bite to eat sounds better.”
Ava looked up at Dave with a small smile at the nudge and then back to Agent Bhaat. “Okay, I like the sound of that.” She fiddled with the collar of her blazer. “We don’t...need to tell anyone we had to get this from the Junior Miss section, right?” She asked, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.
“I won’t say anything about it,” Pari said with a shrug as they moved through the store towards the exit. “At least not to the team, I can’t promise I won’t say something to you though,” she added with a measure of innocuous humour to her tone, laughing softly at herself.
“Aw, don’t listen to her,” Dave said. He patted her on the shoulder. “I think the jacket looks great. Now what time did we have to have you home by?”
It was they way that Dave executed his joke that cracked through the professional veneer that Pari tried her best to maintain, and she brought a hand to her mouth and laughed into it, stopping in her tracks to try to brush it off. She reached her free hand around Ava's back and gave him a light slap across the arm.
Ava blushed brighter but still had a slight smile on her lips from the gentle teasing. “Before the street lights come on.” She told him, trying to inject a grave note into her tone and not entirely succeeding.
“Well, we better get a move on then. Daylight’s burnin’,” he said. He glanced over at Pari, quirking an eyebrow. “Unless you want to make it dinner instead of lunch?”
“Oh, I’m sure the others would worry if we were out for that long, Dave.” Pari answered, once again able to find her level of composure. She began forwards, moving past the joke now - there was only so much she was willing to press Ava.
“I also have work waiting for me at the cabin when we finish with the Detective.” Ava reminded Dave gently as she followed along behind Agent Bhaat. “I don’t want to put it off for too long.”
>CHARLESTON, WV >STATE POLICE STATION, SOUTH CHARLESTON >1220HRS...///
When the door opened, the State Trooper manning the desk lifted her eyes at the three oddballs. Glimpses of them offered between the passing officers and detectives bustling around. Ever since the Blackriver Case activity in the place had ticked up to an unlikable degree for some, and a satisfying fast pace for others. Another suit had come in before these three to see Detective Roy and the arrival of even more was not a good sign. Either for the arrival of them like the four horsemen of the apocalypse signaled something big in West Virginia, or just the very mundane and normalized eye-rolling of having Feds swing their dicks around in your neck of the woods.
They approached the desk and State Trooper Morales rose, not even bothering with a greeting, “Detective Roy, yeah? This way.”
In a few moments time, they were at the detective’s door. As if she could sense their presence, Roy answered, opening the door wide for the three of them. A slight hint of confusion on her face that it was not Laine or Davidson at the door. She waved them in anyway, closing the door after them. She sat at her desk and there was another suited gentleman seated at the other end of the room, adjacent to her. An older man, age apparent in the wrinkles and crow’s feet on his dark skin, tight curls of gray atop his head. He nodded at them, Manila folder on his lap.
Roy piped up, hurried tone but friendly smile, “Sit, there’s a lot to go over.” She gestured to the two seats on the opposite side of her desk before gesturing to the man that had preceded them, “This is Joe Dawant, a former Detective for the Washington State Police working with us on this case.”
“Hello.” Joe smiled and nodded again as the three investigators took their seats, “I’m here on behalf of the CMC, Center for the Missing Child. We are a non-profit organization that helps law enforcement in cases of violence and exploitation of young children and teens. This case has some… far-reaching roots. It crosses state lines, that is. A lot of them.”
He coughed into a fist, gravelly barks from years of smoking, “I don’t believe I’ve caught your names.”
“Good afternoon Detective Roy, Detective Dawant, I’m Agent Parinaaz Bhatt, these are my colleagues, Agents Taylor and Miller.” Pari said with a levelled confidence as she stood forwards, glad that they had gotten Dave in a suit, and Ava into a blazer. She hadn’t been expecting another presence in the meeting, and it just reaffirmed to her that anything less than perfect simply would not do. “I’ve liaised with the Washington State Police more than once. They run a tight ship.” she added, in as diplomatic a fashion as she could, her eyes bright and inquisitive in the room.
What he had followed with interested her - she knew of the existence of the CMC, to hear that he had a case in Charleston set something ringing in her mind. She glanced to Ava, as if to check the woman was alright and gave her a confident smile. “I’ve also heard of the CMC, Detective Dawant, I’m curious as to how the case has brought you all the way from Seattle…”
Ava responded to Agent Bhaat’s smile with a polite nod, opening her purse to pull out a hardcover black notebook. She had picked it up when they were shopping for her blazer. A small cache of school supplies had been set out in anticipation for the end of summer and it gave her the idea to take notes during the meeting. It gave her something to do, made them appear more professional and she could note down anything said that might be of interest to the case that wasn't in the files.
She looked up at Detective Roy and former Detective Dawant with a raised eyebrow. “I hope it's okay if I jot down notes?” She asked, trying not to stare specifically at Joe. To hear that this case may have multiple victims across state lines, especially children, made her stomach curl.
“Of course,” Joe nodded, “So, as Detective Roy would be able to tell you, the dental records came back on your Jane Doe. It matched with a cold case in Seattle, Pacific Highway area.”
He frowned a bit deeper, shaking his head, “I’m sure most of you know that with the airport nearby it makes Pacific Highway a place ripe for abductions and sex trafficking. Rapes and drugs are prevalent in the area. Meth, coke, black tar, you name it.” He placed his folder on the table and opened it to reveal pictures of a twelve year old girl, Hispanic, smiling at a birthday party with her parents and a few friends. Her first day getting ready for school in the US, playing in the park, hugging her mother. “This is your Jane Doe. Maria Vasquez has been missing for years. Five. And in those five years, CMC has been trying to track her down with everything we had at our disposal. Contacts in the FBI, US Marshals, ICE, because State Police is overworked as it is and Seatac Police?”
He snorted, “I don’t fucking trust any of them. If they’re not harassing people and ripping off drug dealers, they’re fucking hookers.” His eyes darkened as his head downturned, “I know this. But this,” his finger tapped one of the photos of Maria, “This is the first real break in this case we’ve had. And she’s not the only girl missing.”
“International Parental Abductions is what we’re looking at. Children with foreign born parents are taken from their mothers and fathers and shipped off someplace else. Cartels do it all the time in the southern states and as their meth and heroin travel north, they bring girls south.” He crossed his arms and nodded at the picture in the folder, “Maria Vasquez. Taken when she was twelve. I’ve been trying to bring her parents peace for five years, because everyone else but me and the CMC gave up.”
“We’ve been able to prosecute two perps working for the Sinaloa cartel around the Port of Tacoma and the Seattle area, five more in Los Angeles and San Francisco in relation to cases connected to Maria Vazquez’s abduction from Seatac and a fucking slew of other minors. We have reason to believe that Sinaloa and/or Tamaulipas cartel are operating in and around West Virginia.” He stepped back to his chair, “It could explain… the, uh, state… of Maria Vasquez. Cartels are ruthless and brutal to rivals and those they associate with. She could have been used as an example to what happens to drug mules or sex workers that belong to the other side. As the capitol city in West Virginia, Charleston has the population to support a drug and sex trade operation.”
Pari took hold of the picture of the girl, of Maria Vasquez, and she made sure to examine every detail of her in that picture. Her smile and the way that the photograph had captured happiness in a single frame. The look in her eyes of a future - that she had probably been too young to consider, because twelve years old is still about school and playing children's games. Her hairstyle - probably with her mother's assistance. She never reached the age of fighting back against her mother, rebelling just a little bit. Learning about herself. She stopped being twelve when she was taken, and that stung Pari but it was exactly that reason that made it so important to place Maria Vasquez in her memory, so she would be more than the girl stripped bare. More than Jane Doe, more than flesh. These photos were her soul, and Pari would honour that.
She drew her eyes back from Maria, and then to Dawant and Roy in turns, the very same veneer that Dave had cracked earlier was mended, there were no signs of even a hairline on it now, just an inscrutable severity. She looked at Maria, and in a way she saw herself. Born of immigrant parents, it was status and circumstance that stopped them from being one and the same. She thought of Rohan too, but it had to be compartmentalised for now. So she placed the photograph down, glancing to Ava - she was doing well with her notes. Good. She'd pick up the exact language and phrasing, Pari was digging beyond that, and they needed both pieces to create a whole picture. Three pieces in fact, and her gaze shifted to meet Dave's eyes.
"You said there are other missing children," Pari said finally, cutting through the tension at last, "I'm guessing you have the information on them with you? Are there any links between these missing children? Communities, shared schools?" She didn't think that cartels were behind her murder - at least not leaving her body in such a state - but her theories were for Team UMBRA only, they were for Dr. Laine to filter through with her psychology expertise and find the truth of it, but cartels were a damned obvious place to start anyway. She squinted slightly, vexed that she hadn't thought of that herself. "And the information on the cartels, the perpetrators you've already put through - I might find those profiles useful within our investigation, too."
“Yes, of course,” Joe nodded, “I'll have to go through the channels, you know, but I can get them to you in reasonable time.”
He shrugged then, frowning slightly, “But I’m afraid profiles on the perps, their connections, everything like that, I don’t have on me currently. Detective Roy called CMC and CMC called me. Rapid Response, I can get you that information in time, but I’m also here to advise as well. First and foremost, really.”
"Please," Pari said softly, this had really hurt the man. Spending that long in a case. "Take your time, it just helps us to see the bigger picture, and we will, together."
“I’m mainly here to tell you about Maria, a background on potential leads. Now that that’s done, well.” He left the rest unsaid, conveying it in his looks at Roy and the rest, “Feel free to keep the folder. It’s all copies from our database anyway. If you need me, just ring. Or Roy will.”
He handed over a business card, “Anything else?” He asked, “Parents’ number? They’ll want to speak to the people who found their girl. Thank all of you. I’m going to arrange for Maria to be brought back to Washington for a proper burial.” He had a smile that was heavy at the corners, “If any of you have the time, I’m sure I or CMC could tell you where the grave is.”
She held the business card in her hand, and placed it into her purse. Pari could feel the strain, that this was painful and personal for him, and she gave him a nod of her head. "I would appreciate that, Detective Dawant. If there is anything at all, we have your details." There was nothing much else that could be said on that matter, and as she had done already, she took a look at both Ava and Dave - it was heavy subject matter, and she wondered if they would want to talk about it once they left - to be emotional, in whichever way that manifested for them.
Ava kept her head down as she jotted down notes, she may not be an investigator but she knew how to take detailed notes. It also helped keep her mind off the tragedy that befell Maria and her family. Five years. What had her life been like those horrible five years? And why kill her now?
She glanced up feeling eyes on her and she met Agent Bhaat’s sympathetic brown eyes. She gave a ghost of a smile to show she was okay and then it was gone as she looked at the Detectives.
Part of her wanted to spare Detective Joe anymore of the gruesome details. He didn't need to know what kind of torture that little girl went through before she died. She could already see how much the case had weighed on him and for it to end like this…
She went back to taking notes.
Dave, true to his word, had sat quietly throughout the interview. Pari seemed to have things well in hand, and while the questions were more common-sense than he’d expected, he didn’t feel a need to interject. Everything was running smoothly, which made him feel much more confident in his role as Agent Miller, FBI.
While Pari asked the questions and Ava took notes, he occupied himself by simply sitting back and listening. As the story progressed he had to make a conscious effort to keep his mouth shut and his face impassive. A twelve-year-old girl, kidnapped...It made his blood boil. He clenched his jaw tightly when he saw the picture, quickly finding something else to look at. Dave didn’t consider himself a violent man. He had always preferred talking to fighting, and despite his childhood (or perhaps because of it) his few bar fights had always developed after deescalation had failed. But this...It made him killing mad. It reaffirmed, in his eyes, that the people behind this had righteous judgement coming, and he was willing, perhaps even eager, to be God’s vengeful hand in this matter. Killing these men wouldn’t burden his conscience in the least.
As the talk wound down a thought occurred to him, and he raised a hand to draw the attention of those present.
“The drugs,” he said. “We found some...Uncommon drugs in the victim’s system. Stuff you wouldn’t find over the counter. You think y’all could give us a list of...You know… Local dealers, ones with a history of dealin’ hard-to-find stuff? Maybe some doctors who’ve been known to make some side money with their prescription pads?”
Roy frowned, “Uh, define ‘hard-to-find.’”
“Well, the drugs we found were sedatives,” Dave said. “The kind that paralyze you, but don’t really knock you out. They wouldn’t be somethin’ you’d get from a cook out in the boonies. So...Anybody with a history of dealin’ stuff you’d need access to a doctor for. Pills, things you can’t synthesize on your own, that you’d need to have a contact to get?”
“Oh, uh, yeah.” Roy nodded, “There’s a few people we’ve put away I can put you in contact with. It’ll take some time to schedule visits, but you can talk to them.”
“I can get you a list and send it to Special Agent Forrest or Davidson.” Roy said, “That good?”
Ava noted that down and looked back up, pushing her large round glasses up her nose after they slid down. “That would be perfect, thank you Detective.” She said with a small nod of her head. If she could get their names, there was little she wouldn't be able to dig up on them.
Pari gave a thankful nod to both Ava and Dave, before turning back to Dawant; “I’d like us to stay in touch on this, I’m a Seattle native myself - when I’m back there we should touch base. I understand this has been tough and drawn out for you,” the woman said, a softness in her tone now, and a warmth in her posture as she relaxed into the chair. “We’re going to do all that we can for Miss Vasquez and her family,” she added, confidently with a nod of her head. “We’ll dig deeper into those drugs and their source, the information on the cartel will be of great importance - and those missing children’s files will help our psychologist in profiling. Thank you, Detective Dawant.”
“Oh, uh,” Dawant pulled his phone free from inside his coat, smiling at the three of them, “We could exchange contact information. I’d probably have a better chance at getting things to you more timely if it didn’t have to come down from Forrest or Davidson.”
“Plus,” The older man winked at Pari, giving her a grin, “Us Seattleites gotta stick together out here, huh?”
"Of course, I have your details on your card," Pari said with a smile, tapping the front of her purse, "but here - take one of mine too," she added - reaching in to take one of her own from inside. A plain white cardstock with fine font, standard for FBI agents - generic in detail. Pari took a breath in through her nose as she held it out, currently unsure on Dawant, but a contact was a contact. She made a mental note to tell Foster about the encounter, that the Detective seemed friendly, and they'd found a commonality. Something as simple as being from the same place was enough to make a useful bond in someone. It might yield more information for the investigation, she shook his hand.
The woman turned back to Roy, offering a polite nod and her hand. "We look forward to hearing from you soon," she finished, glancing to Ava and Dave, they might have had their own parting words.
Dave stood and adjusted his jacket. Pari’s willingness not only to use her real name but to hand over her contact information had surprised him, but he figured it wasn’t his business. She knew what she was doing.
“‘Preciate the help,” he said. “We’ll keep y’all in the loop.”
Ava nodded as she shut her notebook and tucked it back into her purse. “Yes, thank you.” She said with a smile as she stood. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you both.” Hopefully they would get those drug dealer’s names soon and then they could really get to work tracking this mad man down.
The ride back was waves of asphalt and blurred trees. Ava volunteered to drive again, it was her vehicle, and Dave was sat in the back as he had been earlier too - which left Pari in the passenger seat. After a moment, the woman broke from her silence, turning in the seat so that she could see them both; “you both did well in there.” Pari’s tone was, as usual, somewhat clipped but there was a warmth to it now. The pressure of the task was off, and she even found herself slouching slightly in the chair.
“I understand this was thrust on you both, it’s not something in the parameters of your regular roles. That said,” her head tilted, eyes catching the scene beyond the windows, a soft focus through movement of green, grey, and what little blue peeped from between heavy clouds. “You both did well, we got what we needed and more than that too. Thank you both,” Pari added sincerely, placing a closed fist on her chest.
Dave grinned at the description. Not in the parameters… That was a hell of an understatement.
“Hey, thanks,” he said, straightening in his chair with just a hint of pride. “But you did most of the work. You kinda carried the team on this one. I think you deserve the thanks.” He thumped the back of Ava’s chair. “You too. You did good in there, I’m sure you were even more nervous than me.”
“Oh,” Ava jumped at the thump on her chair, her mind snapping out of the train of thought she had been locked in. She looked into the rearview mirror back at Dave with a small smile. “Thank you, I hope my notes will be useful for the others. And thank you for bringing up the drugs, they almost slipped my mind because of, well...” She trailed off and looked back to the road, thinking back to the little girl in the picture they saw and then the skinned corpse that was left of her.
Ava looked over at Pari, trying to push the thoughts from her mind as she gave her a grateful expression with a ghost of a smile. “Thank you for taking the lead, I learned a lot just listening to you talk with the Detectives.”
“Thank you, but, no carrying by anyone - we’re a team. But thank you,” Pari smiled, chuckling softly too before turning back to face the front again. She found that she couldn’t sit still, however. There was something still clawing at her - and while it was most likely the elephant in the car, it still had to be addressed. “I know that it can be quite difficult to deal with some of the subject matter - if either of you wish to talk about it, then please…” she said, as tactfully as she could without directly having to say it all again. Maria Vasquez’s life. “It’s good to talk about these things, so please don’t feel like you can’t, and that you need to keep it all inside.”
Dave’s mind was cast back to the photographs; the young girl, then the skinned, abused corpse she’d become. He felt the rage return and he clenched a fist, taking a breath to master himself.
“I just think...That we need to find these guys,” he said finally. His voice was calm, collected. Dangerously so. “We need to find ‘em, and then...We can make sure they stop doin’ this. We’ll take care of ‘em.”
Ava nodded in agreement. “If we can get those names of the drug dealers and even just get their electronics, I’ll be able to find whoever they sold those drugs too. I’ll work on the hospital list too, just to cover our bases.” Ava said with a frown, trying not to dwell on the five year gap between when Maria disappeared and when she was found again.
And yet… “Why wait five years?” She found herself asking out loud with a furrow to her freckle speckled brow. “Is there some kind of...occult significance to the number 17?” She asked, looking over to Pari curiously.
“I mean there are many if you turn over enough stones,” Pari began curiously, her eyes narrowing as her mind got to work in formulating words and theories. “I’m less concerned about the age and more about her background…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes closed. “Women have been used in occult rituals since they began - we all know the cliches - throw a virgin into a volcano, right? Witch hunting and burning,” She sighed, bringing her forefinger to her lips. “Her manner of death is curious, she was flayed. There are so many threads to this that we could clutch at. Ava, there is an occult significance to just about everything that has happened to her.”
Pari sighed again, gnawing over a particular thread that she’d pressed already with Laine. “Have you heard the story of Andromeda?” she asked them both.
“Oh! I love that story!” Ava said, her eyes suddenly brightening. “With the Greek Hero Perseus right?” Her mother had read her many classical myths and stories for bedtime, it was one of her favorite childhood memories. Her mind drifted back to that time, vividly recalling being bundled up in bed in her Batman pajamas, watching in wrapt awe as her mother excitedly told her stories of ancient heroes and demigods. Looking back on it, her mother really cleaned up a lot of the more...mature themes, but the heroics and excitement still got across.
The excited light in her eyes quickly dimmed and grew wide as she realized where Agent Bhaat was going with this. “Oh.” She said, her voice dropping down to a quieter note.
Dave looked from one woman to the other, his confusion plain. Greek mythology had never factored heavily into his childhood, and his “schooling” hadn’t instilled much of a love of the written word. He read slowly, when he read at all, and that usually wasn’t unless it was directly related to something he was working on.
“So uh...Let’s say, for a minute, that somebody didn’t know who Andromeda was,” he said. “You know, hypothetically. What would y’all tell him?”
“Well,” Pari began, turning in her chair to face Dave. She paused again before speaking, thinking of how best to explain it, as simply as she could; “The King and Queen of… Ancient Greece, and they had a beautiful daughter, Andromeda.” She explained, her eyes were bright as she both thought and told of the myth, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “The Queen bragged so heavily of the beauty of Andromeda, claiming that she was more beautiful than the… Sea Nymphs! This of course angered Poseidon, and so he took Andromeda and chained her to a rock, so that a sea monster, could ravage her and satisfy his hunger.”
Pari paused and glanced at Ava, she had watched the girl shrink following the realisation of the comparison. “Of course, in this tale Andromeda is saved by the great hero Perseus - there are several iterations and ways to tell the muth, but it is simply one of many stories of sacrifice, punishment, and ritual.”
“So...These guys are, what...Givin’ the girls to the monster, you think?” Dave’s frown deepened as tried to wrap his head around the parallels between the myth and their case. “Is that what you’re sayin’?”
Pari shrugged in response, pursing her lips slightly. She wasn’t sure how much to say, how many theories to pull from her mind and make real by vocalising them. “I’m saying that I don’t believe it was simply cartel violence.”
“The Program wouldn’t be involved if it was just the Cartels anyway.” Ava voiced, as she spotted the familiar bright orange and white signage of a Home Depot approaching them. She thought it over as she tried to make her way over to the home improvement store. Her mind flashed back to the pictures of the crime scene, her photographic memory unfortunately recalling every vivid detail from the quick glimpse of the body.
She sniffed and blinked her eyes, her chest feeling tighter as she steered the car over in the direction of the large box store.
“If it was just a Cartel thing I wouldn’t have spent two days in the mountains tryin’ not to get eaten by a giant-ass monster,” Dave added. He fought a shudder of his own, remembering the heavy footsteps, the unearthly roars, and Bear being ripped through a window like he was a rag doll. “Whatever the hell that thing was, it’s connected to all of this shit. Gotta be.”
That gave Pari pause for thought, she’d been avoiding the other elephant in the room. As the car pulled towards the store, she glanced down, bringing a finger to her lips again. “Dave, if it’s not too strange a request - I’d like to speak to you privately about that… About what happened. If you’d like to, if you’re comfortable with that.” She blinked, suddenly hoping that Ava would not find offense in the request. She recalled Donnelley’s comment about sharing everything. It was not that she wanted to leave anyone out, more that - she wanted to make something of the conversation that travelled outside of words. “Could we do that later? I would of course find it beneficial to my research to speak to the others too,” she added as a formality, sweeping her bangs back again.
“Yeah, we can talk,” he said. “Might be good to talk about it a little. I’m gonna need a beer or two, though. That was some…” He shook his head, trying to find the words. “It was some messed up shit.”
Ava grimaced and looked back at Dave in the rearview mirror with sympathetic eyes. She didn’t fully understand what had happened to him in those mountains, but she wished she had some way to help him. It sounded like Agent Bhaat did though, that was good.
“Hey, found a Home Depot.” She spoke up quietly with a slightly unsure smile, hoping that might pick his spirits back up as she pulled the car into the parking lot.
“I’ll give you a knock later then,” Pari said in his direction, before looking forward again to the building, she could sense that Ava felt a little off - but that she was trying. Quickly, a smirk grew on Pari’s lips, turning her mouth up at the corners, almost deviously. “We should hurry Dave,” she looked back over her shoulder again, her countenance inviting, tone not serious in the least, “we don’t want to keep young Ava here out too late now, do we?”
Dave’s own grin was back in a moment, his blue eyes sparkling. “Yeah, she won’t be allowed to come play with us anymore,” he drawled. He drummed on the back of Ava’s seat, then opened his door. “C’mon, I got a list of stuff I need. I figure we get inside, split up, get the different stuff on the list. Makes it a little less suspicious than us all wearin’ suits, walkin’ out of a hardware store with fertilizer, metal pipes, and electrical kits.” He paused. “You think Foster’s got any of them pre-paid phones layin’ around? Cuz I can use those too. Ah well, we’ll figure that out.”
He heaved himself up out of the car, taking a moment to adjust his gun. “C’mon, Cinderella, daylight’s burnin’.”
Ava sighed, but smiled, happy with the lightening of the mood; especially for Dave. She grabbed her purse and opened her door to step out. “I hope my car doesn’t turn into a pumpkin. I don’t remember reading that in the rental agreement.” She said with a small grin as she shut the door.
A slight crawling sensation tickled the back of her neck and up to her hairline, making her reach up and rub it. She looked around the parking lot with a curious if slightly nervous frown. Nothing stood out to her as being out of the ordinary.
It must have just been residual nerves and anxiety brought on by the meeting. She tried to push it to the back of her mind as she wait for Agent Bhaat to join them and she could lock the car.
If Ava had felt something, then Pari did too. A lingering sensation that something wasn’t quite right. A disturbing energy that washed in on the breeze and threatened her leveled confidence as she pushed the door closed, feeling it click. Her hand did not move from the handle, and she looked over her shoulder at her two colleagues. Eyes narrowed, and she gripped her purse tighter.
“Well… between the three of us, my list is all candles, bowls, trinkets of sorts. I think we’ll get away with it,” her words were spoken with a tapering cadence, and her smile was an uncomfortable one. “Just home improvements...”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Dave looked at the women with a frown, then played his eyes over the parking lot. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood briefly on end, but he shrugged it off, gave his Sig a comforting pat, and then jerked his head towards the Home Depot. “C’mon. Let’s buy some terrorist shit.”
