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>SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE CLARKSBURG, WV
>JUL.19.2019
>1300...///

The old faded red Camaro rolled over hot asphalt, windows down and music cranked up. The muscle car roared and belched black smoke as it topped a hill, sun flashing off the windshield as it came cruising down the empty road. AC/DC squawked from the ancient speakers thumping and shrieking over the rattling the car made when pushed around a curve too fast. The driver with a cigarette burning between his lips framed by a full brownish beard, his grown out dark blonde hair blown back by the wind.

Resting his tattooed arm on the door frame, Queen grinned around the smoldering menthol as they made rapid time to Clarksburg, to the location Tex had given them. His white trash persona was in full blast from the old muscle car to his Molly Hatchet t-shirt and can of beer snugged against his crotch as he drove.

Beside him was Ghost, dressed the same as always, brown cargos and dark gray shirt, biceps bulging and testing the seam strength. His red brown beard obscuring his features along with the ball cap and Oakley shades. Their long guns were carefully stashed but both were strapped, not unaware they were bound to find trouble.

Queen figured they would but for now he enjoyed hauling ass through the West Virginia hills, heading to find this team UMBRA. A bunch of Feds weak on fire power, investigation nerds like himself but they were soft and new. He grinned, glancing at Ghost, "How'd you think they'll like us?"

"I'm sure you'll be everybody's favorite," Ghost grunted. He watched the passing scenery, feigning nonchalance. In reality he was nervous. He hated meeting new people, working with new teams. Teams of normal people. He hated having to play the chameleon, to try and blend in among the sheep. He was out of practice; with THUNDER it didn't matter. THUNDER already knew he was a wolf.

The big Operator shifted in his seat, feeling his Glock dig a little. The low slung car wasn't conducive to appendix carry. "You gonna let your dick cause trouble?"

Queen scoffed, pushing his own sunglasses up as they slid down his nose. "My dick causes good times," he grinned, taking a drag of the Kool then shot a glance at Ghost. He was stone face, more than usual when they were alone.

He sniffed, trying to lighten the mood of his teammate, "Don't you worry, probably a buncha stuffy academics and stiff neck Feds. You can have me all to yourself."

"Yeah, yeah," Ghost snorted, shaking his head. "I just wanna get this done. You know I'm not big on… interdepartmental cooperation."

Queen, unable to resist, chuckled as he glanced at the t-shirt pulled tight across the older man's defined chest, "That's the only thing you're not big on. It'll be alright, you'll be the goon to cover their asses and maybe get to kill commies and Nazis in one mission. See, a bright side?"

Ghost gave one of his rare genuine smiles, the gesture taking almost a decade off his weathered face.

"Hard to get any more American than killin' Nazis and communists," he said. "If we can throw in a few Muslims it'll make it a perfect little vacation."

Queen could see the smile and rather than relax him it made his gut tighten. What was a flippant joke to normal people was reality for Ghost, the display of teeth more shark than man. "Yeah...hey, who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky. Uh...check the GPS, I think the turn off is coming up."

Ghost chuckled again at the thought of scoring the Holy Trinity of kill streaks. He checked the GPS and nodded, his smile fading.

"It's this one coming up," he said. They were just a few minutes out, and he felt his mirth fade, replaced by the gnawing nerves.

The neighborhood was run down, faded and peeling, with big mongrel dogs in yards and most cars were a decade old or more. Except one and Queen whistled, "Someone's slumming it. What do you think? Horny housewife or she looking for a score. Probably both."

He gestured to the bright brand new teal Prius then looked at the address of the rundown yellow house it sat outside. "Christ, it's ours. Well...civilians, am I right?"

Queen revved the engine a few times as if to rid himself of the taint of the Prius then spotted a familiar figure on the porch, smoking.

The Chevy Camaro rumbled to a stop, music cranked up at white trash levels and parked behind a big Ford truck with Texas plates.

Ghost dismounted almost immediately, stepping behind and then around the truck. His eyes swept the area, side to side, a quick peek into the Ford before moving on. They finally settled on Donnelley and Ghost approached the porch.

"Tex," he said, giving him a small nod. He stopped short about ten feet out; this was Donnelley's turf, not his. There was nothing wrong with asking permission before you entered another man's territory.

Donnelley could feel something in the air change when he heard the car, before he could see it. When it rumbled into view and out hopped Ghost and Queen, he didn’t know whether to be happy or distrusting. Maybe a little of both. Donnelley took a long, slow drag of his cigarette and blew it out, “Ghost.” He returned the nod, and a small smile crept onto his face as he looked Queen up and down, “They give you an inch and you take a fuckin’ mile, boy. I’m surprised y’aint got a goddamn Dixie flag on that hood.”

Queen had none of Ghost's qualms about territory and casually walked towards the house as if belonged there. He flashed a big smile on his bearded face, his grown out hair hanging in lank strands held back as he pushed his sunglasses up. "Hell, you know me, I go just far enough."

He reached to shake Donnelley's hand, pulling him into a quick embrace and he whispered, "I'll keep an eye on Ghost, make sure he don't scare anyone."

“Best keep the other one on your dick, make sure it don’t find itself anywhere we don’t need it, partner.” Donnelley chuckled, giving Queen a few pats on his back before letting him go.

He looked to the door, to Ghost and Queen. His old team meeting the new. His old pack meeting his family in there. If anything popped off, he trusted Queen, and he trusted Dave and Jason to keep them if he couldn’t. He put his hand on the doorknob and twisted, pushing the door open and taking a step through, “Everyone, meet two of our guardian angels.” He said, “This is Queen and Ghost.”

Queen rolled his eyes slightly but the mischievous grin was still on his lips when reminded again of his troublesome dick. He hitched his faded denim vest made from an old jacket over an even older baseball t-shirt with the ridiculous as only a 70s band from Florida could be album artwork emblazoned across his chest. He was right behind Donnelley, leaving Ghost to bring himself along.

Ghost filtered in behind the other two, pulling the door shut behind him. His sheer mass filled the space, especially when compared with Donnelley and Queen. He played his eyes around the room and bolted on a smile, consciously focusing on arresting the tension he seemed to bring into every situation.

From behind the back of a recliner facing away from the door, Ava tentatively poked her head out. Her bright blue eyes peered out through her large round glasses at the newcomers with a mixture of curiosity and the usual nerves she felt meeting new people.

Her eyes played over the large, intimidating man behind Donnelley. He looked like a professional soldier, not unlike Jason and though it was hard to make out his face beneath the hat, sunglasses and beard there was a friendly smile on his face. She looked next to the leaner man beside Donnelley, distinctly handsome even beneath his own beard and long hair. She spied the shirt peeking out from beneath his vest and smiled a bit at the absurd, faded art she could make out.

“Um, hi.” She said, lifting her hand in a small wave. She picked up her laptop and set it to the side before standing up and approaching the two men. There was a polite, if slightly nervous smile on her face as she held out her hand for either of them to shake. “I’m Ava, welcome to UMBRA.”

Ghost stepped forward, pushing past Queen before he could say something ridiculous, get distracted, and trap him in a fatal funnel. He took Ava's hand and gave it a gentle shake.

"Ghost," he grunted, trying not to loom and not quite managing it. Behind Ava Dave stepped into view, an almost protective stance to him as the large Operator hovered over her.

Dave extended his own hand and watched as Ghost eyed it, then him, seeming to evaluate him for a few heartbeats.

"Hey man, I'm Dave. Dave MacCready."

Ghost nodded once and gave his hand a quick squeeze, seemingly dismissing him before moving off to the side and out of the doorway.

Queen gave a delighted smile when Ava approached, waiting until Ghost rumbled his greetings. His keen eyes watched the subtle interaction, how the man, Dave, instantly hovered over the little redhead. Hell, he would, too. His mind was already turning to how easy it would be to hook Ava's legs over his arms and...

He shook his head and then put his hand out, "I'm Queen. Pleasure to meet you, Ava. Thanks for the welcome."

His eyes glittered with joy and lust which did not fade at the sight of Dave.

Dave's grin almost faltered, first from the swift dismissal he received from Ghost, then at the unnerving light in Queen's gaze.

"Er...Howdy," he said, giving the tattooed man a nod.

Ava continued to smile as she shook Queen’s hand. “Of course.”

Laine glanced up from the couch where she was still tucked in and working on her own laptop. She stood up, though still dressed in casual black jeans at least she had put on makeup and black form fitting t-shirt. Her dark green eyes scanned over the pair, they certainly looked like men Donnelley would know.

"I'm Dr Laine," she introduced herself, her husky southern California voice suddenly feeling distinct with the drawling accents of Dave and Donnelley. "I'm with the Bureau, Behavioral Analysis."

She offered her hand towards the lean tattooed man, ignoring his traveling gaze, it wasn't the first time.

"Howdy, Doc," Queen grinned, his blue gaze licking over her then back to Ava and Dave.

She nodded, then shot a glance at Donnelley before turning to Ghost. The man was huge, about Jason's size but older, even with the rich chestnut beard and sunglasses obscuring his face. Laine held her hand out to him, her eyes on her own reflection from his dark tinted Oaklies. Somewhere in a corner of the room, a pair of blue eyes narrowed. Donnelley’s jaw set despite himself.

"Ghost? Thank you for your help, I'm Dr Laine, BAU."

"Behavioral Analysis." There was a hint of genuine interest in Ghost's voice, something he for once didn't have to fake. She was a good looking piece, for one. That helped. But she was also a wizard, and people who dealt with psychology always interested Ghost. She'd bear watching. "Well, I'm just Program. But pleased to meet you. Doctor."

"Nice to meet you as well, I do profiling serial killers to put it simply," she elaborated, hearing the interest. Laine tilted her head slightly, "No day job?"

Ghost glanced up and caught Tex's eye. He held his gaze, then gave him a slight nod of acknowledgment. The barest tilt of his head.

"This is my day job." He released her hand and stepped to the side, moving further into the room.

Pari set down her laptop on the bed and made her way through the safehouse to introduce herself. Since the earlier morning briefing, she'd applied a touch of makeup at least, but still wore the same jersey and cosy sweatpants. She moved quietly until she came to the front room. Her soft gaze fell on the two newcomers, an incredibly robust looking man - like an absolute bastion of ultra-masculinity. She was reminded of the action heroes of movies - this man would fit right in to them.

Beside him was yet another rugged man. He seemed rougher around the edges, and yet refined at the same time. She glanced to both Laine and Ava, hoping they might catch her too. Another day, another set of muscle through the doors, she thought to herself. Her intuition was trying to tell her something. The two men had intense auras about them, that was for sure.

With a smile, she spoke out into the quiet. "Hello there,” she announced to the room. “Good afternoon to you both, I'm Parinaaz Bhatt, FBI.” Pari spoke with a nod of her head. “It's nice to meet you both." She reached her hand out to the more refined at first, the larger had seemed to escape through the room to the furthest corner, but she gave him a friendly wave.

Queen dragged his eyes away from Laine's ass as she had turned her back to him and looked up as another female voice was heard. He grinned, arching his brows in interest as certain parts bounced under the basketball jersey.

"Queen, DEA," he said, deciding to join the normal people giving off their day jobs. It might make him less intimidating and less like the unreadable mass that was Ghost. "[I]Namaste[/], Agent Bhatt. A pleasure for us to join, y'all."

He took her hand to shake, giving it a gentle squeeze, his eyes focused on her dark gaze, "I'm even willing to forgive a Boston jersey."

"Ah," Pari smiled with a twinkle in her eyes as she gave a polite bow of her head. "Namaste Khush Raho, Queen," she chuckled. "As long as you aren't repping the Heat, we'll get along," she added with a laugh and without any real malice to her comment.

Biting his lower lip slightly Queen looked her over then gave her a sheepish smile, "I live in Miami, you might have to fight me now."

The woman laughed again, this time bringing a hand up to her chest. “You’re funny,” Pari remarked. “Let’s let our teams fight it out though.”

He chuckled, tucking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans, "We can...care to make it interesting?"

Queen ran his tongue along his back teeth, watching her expression, his pale eyes a shade of something that hovered between blue and green but never lost their sly gleam.

“Oh? Are you talking about a wager?” Pari asked, tilting her head to the side. Her posture relaxed, and she placed a hand on each hip. “Interesting how?”

"That's generally what I mean, a bet," he said, then looked her over, glancing back at Donnelley. "I dunno yet... it'll have to be something. Something you value, yet wouldn't mind losing."

Queen raised his brows at her, then scratched his bearded cheek with his thumb, his smile returning, "What do say, think about it?"

“Hmmm,” Pari mused. She narrowed her eyes and glanced across into the middle distance, thinking about what sort of object would meet the criteria, and eventually she decided it was vague enough for her to be comfortable with it. A smirk played on her lips, and she looked back up at Queen, meeting his eyes with her own - holding her stare confidently against his, noticing the colours that danced around his irises - like seafoam. “You’re on, Queen.” She replied playfully, raising a brow at him as she folded her arms over her chest. “No getting upset when we thrash you though, eh?”

Queen shrugged playfully, then flashed a lascivious grin, "I'm flexible, I don't mind getting thrashed."

Ava jumped as her phone in her back pocket started buzzing silently. She fished it out and gave a quick look at the screen. “Oh, Donnelley.” She said, holding up her phone and pointing to it. “This is the guy.” She said, before sliding her thumb across the screen to answer it. “Hello?” She answered, looking back at Donnelley as she headed for the kitchen so they wouldn’t disturb the others.

In the far corner of the room Jason watched the greeting silently, arms squeezed over his broad chest and leaning against the wall. He eyed Ghost first but was getting distracted with Queen’s flair as he made his way around the room. It didn’t occur to him until then how uncomfortable he felt not being the biggest one in the room. He never consciously recognized it, nor was he one to measure up to anyone in the room, but Ghost’s curtness and bulk had Jason’s back tensing between his shoulder blades. It wasn’t just a size thing, either, but he tried not to dwell on it.

He rocked himself from the wall and threw his hand out at Queen with his best playing nice smile, “Jimenez. DIA.”

Queen had drifted from the playful conversation with Pari to study the room again, especially without Donnelley bird dogging him. That was until the large handsome Latino man made himself known.

The smaller man grinned, a flash of interest in his pale eyes as he reached for Jason's hand, "Queen. DEA. Too bad, just one letter off and we could be best friends."

Jason gave a hearty chuckle at the quip. “Seems the only friends you guys can make, anyway.”

His tattooed hand gripped him, giving a short shake and Queen made a quick study of Jason's olive skin and unusual freckles the dark brown eyes that held a wariness he saw more often than not in his line of work.

Letting go of his hand, Queen hooked his thumbs in his front belt loops, asking, ¿Acere, qué bolá?

Jason cocked his head as he made sense of the dialect, one he wasn’t too familiar with but swore he had heard before.

“Todo es un revolú, broki,” Jason replied in Puerto Rican slang. “¿y tu, hermoso?”

Queen's grin grew, his sea colored eyes twinkling with delight, "Boriqua! Soy de Florída, mano. "

He was genuinely tickled by another to speak Spanish with to keep his skills sharp. Queen glanced at Ghost, remembering how he didn't like when he couldn't understand the language. He shrugged, then replied in English, mostly, "It's going much better now."

His keen gaze caught brooding in the man, not that it wasn't appealing in some manner but he felt compelled to reach out to Jason, "Que, paso? La Pinché?"

“Figured everyone doing this would feel the same,” Jason replied. He glanced at Ghost for a moment, then looked back at Queen. “Agency woes. Get me liquored up and I’ll be your chatty Cathy. Had a close call recently.”

Queen rubbed the new beard growth and cocked an eyebrow, "Yeah, you get used to it or you learn to uh...deal. DIA bullshit? Intriguing, mano... I'll bring the liquor after we finish our business tonight."

He smiled, his gaze flicking over the big man with a glint of appreciation. "I'm gonna go grab my bag from the car, it's nice to meet you, Jason."




Donnelley entered the kitchen, footsteps quiet as if the person on the other end would see him there. A moment after, a smiling Avery traipsed in after him, “What’re we doing?”

“Shut up.” Donnelley shushed Avery, nodding at Ava and then continued looking at her with one part expectation and another part hopefulness.

Ava looked over to him with a frown and a slight shake of her head. “Yes, I know what clearance I am.” She said, glancing away to focus on the phone call. “How can I not be high enough to request the records of a past agent?” She asked, a slightly frustrated note entering her softly spoken voice.

The teeny voice answered and whatever it was they were saying, made her frown deepen and a crease form in her brow. She looked back at Donnelley and shook her head, covering the speaker with her hand. “He’s just spouting a lot of jargon at me and not giving me a straight answer.”

“Let me see it.” Donnelley beckoned for the phone, almost letting the irritation from the person on the other end of the line make him snatch it from Ava’s hand.

“Ma’am, whatever clearance you have is irrelevant. You need to submit the proper forms with the proper signatures-“

“This is Joseph Donnelley, Office of Operations.”

“Uh Huh.”

“I’m the Team Lead on this case. I’m going to put in a formal request with my Case Officer’s signature on it, and if it gets approved, I’m going to find you.” Donnelley seethed, almost unexpectedly feeling a fire being stoked, “You’re on thin ice. And when it breaks, son, I’ll be under it.”

He disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Ava, thankfully having the restraint not to slam it against the counter top. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut, “I need me a drink.”

Ava tucked her phone into her back pocket again, frowning up at the man. “I’m sorry that didn’t work.” She said, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed over her chest. “Do you think going through Foster will get us the information?”

“If there’s one thing the Army taught me it’s that every bureaucratic bullshit problem can be fixed.” Donnelley shrugged and snorted, “Even if you’re sitting at a goddamned Four-Star’s desk by the end of it.”

“Baughman’s files are too important a lead to let die.” He rolled his jaw, shaking his head a bit, “Almost like someone doesn’t want us to see the things.”

Ava arched an eyebrow, her frown deepening with worry. “That can’t be...right? Why would someone do that?”

Donnelley chuckled, trying to be reassuring after his words put a frown on her face, “Just one of my crackpot theories,” He smiled, “Let’s hope it stays that way. At least we got the BLACKBOX.”

“We did.” Ava said, perking up slightly with a small smile. She glanced over in the direction of the living room and then back at Donnelley, the smile still on her face. “Ghost and Queen seem nice, how long have you known them?” She asked curiously. “And, I’m guessing those are their codenames? Or nicknames?”

“Yep.” He nodded, taking his own look at the living room. Ghost brooding in the corner behind his Oakleys and Queen being Queen and ogling everyone. He looked back at Ava. “Just keep everything professional with them. We ain’t gotta be friends, just work together well enough. You remember all them rumors about Working Groups and Operations Officers kept you up at night?”

He left it unsaid, raising his brows and nodding at the two in the living room, “They’re some of the best at what they do. I’d know, I did it with them.”

Ava’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Oh.” She said with a downward tilt of her lips and a concerned crease forming between her eyebrows. “Should I...I don’t…Okay.” She said, shifting on her feet as she considered the unspoken insinuation hanging in the air. “I’ll keep that in mind and try to stay out of their way.” She added, folding her arms back over her chest, holding herself as a new wave of nerves fluttered in her chest.

“We’re all in agreement to stay in our lanes. Nobody’s gonna mess with your work.” He nodded and smiled, hopefully reassuring Ava. The last thing he needed was some nerves about teammates fucking things up, “We’ll all get along, trust me.”

“Right, Avery?” He turned to the younger man, still waiting next to the fridge. The other man smiled and held a thumb up.

Ava smiled both at Donnelley and Avery. “Alright, I trust you.” She said to Donnelley, unfolding her arms and bracing them back against the counter she was leaning against. “Speaking of work, since the files didn’t pan out, what can I do next?”

“I’d like it if you researched what you could on the River Valleys Retreat. They have to have some sort of paper trail online if they’re still in operation in the Twenty-First Century.” Donnelley nodded, “You and Queen can try to find out who this Renko guy is. Maybe he’s an asset, maybe he’s an obstacle.”

The redhead nodded. “Right, I can do that. I also fiddled with that back door virus for the Sheriff’s station during the break. Just polished it up so it’ll be more effective when we eventually use it.” She didn’t know where to start tracking down Renko, but maybe Queen would have an idea. She tried to ignore the little anxious twinge she felt to be working with Queen already. It’ll be fine. She told herself.

She pushed away from the counter and rubbed the back of her neck. “I guess I can get started on that now.” She leaned to the side slightly to see into the living room better, her eyes on Queen for a moment. “Or, maybe after a little lunch? Do you think the others are hungry? Maybe Avery and I can make something or go get some fast food?”

“Oh, do you guys think they have In-N-Out here?” Avery perked up, the Californian showing, “I haven’t had that since…” he frowned and looked off into the corner, “Like, ever.”

“I don’t know?” Ava answered with a curious frown. “We can look it up, but burgers sound really good right now. Worst comes to worse we can get Burger King or McDonalds.” She looked to Donnelley. “What do you think? You think everyone’s stomachs can handle that after last night?”

Laine was heading to the kitchen to get the two new men a beer when she heard Avery's suggestion.

Poking her head in, she looked sharply at him, "Did you say In N Out Burger?"

She walked quickly to him, "Is there one here? I never thought to look, holy shit. Google it!'

Laine fumbled for her phone, "It's the best thing after a night of drinking."

“Relax while you can. Me and the boys are goin’ to Benwood tonight.” Donnelley said, folding his arms.

Ava’s grin at Laine’s excitement faded as Donnelley made his announcement; the smile falling to a thoughtful expression. “Already?” She asked, arching her eyebrows in slight surprise. “Well, I’ve got some more information for you about the place, I’ll go print it out.” She said before she exited the kitchen.

Laine glanced up from her phone, her brow furrowing slightly at his announcement. There was not much she could offer other than moral support and taking care of her end of things. Once Ava left, Laine moved over to Donnelley, "Who are you taking?"

“Queen, Ghost,” He pursed his lips in thought, and after a quick bout of consideration, spoke again, “Dave. I’ll leave Jason with you.”

His eye caught on hers for a moment and the quick flashes of memory from Annie’s Diner rose from the back of his mind. He quieted them. He’d been the one fucking her hadn’t he? Not that brooding mound of man. And then he was ashamed to put it in such crude parameters. “He and Avery are an army of two, Huh?”

“Oh, dude, I love that game.” Avery smiled the wider.

“See?” He smirked at Laine.

Laine met his eyes, a slight smile appearing then said, "That's fine, we'll be well protected I'm sure. I've been wanting to pick Jason's brain for awhile, going back to the cabin and what we found. And I want to know what Baughman was up to, his connection to what's in the hills, it'll help us with Dulane."

“Sure will,” Donnelley nodded, “Still got no answers to why he was ever here in the first place.”

He shook his head, a small growl escaping his lips, “Request for the case files got blocked.”

Laine's smile faded and she gave him a puzzled look, "Blocked from us? Why would they do that, we were the team to clean out his apartment and found his cabin and...and his project."

She gave a slight raise of her eyebrows at Donnelley, not wanting to mention the undead Mrs Baughman in front of Avery. "And now they decide cut us out...what can we do?”

Ghost entered the kitchen and gave Donnelley a questioning look. He’d grown tired of standing around awkwardly eyeballing the big Mexican and the redneck and had decided to see if there was food to be had. He squeezed past the other occupants of the kitchen and headed for the refrigerator, leaning down to peruse the contents.

“Who’s being cut out of what?” He asked. His deep voice carried its habitual edge and he made a conscious effort to relax that, smoothing his basso rumble for Dr. Laine’s benefit. “I only caught the end, sorry.”

“Bureaucratic bullshit, you know how it is.” Donnelley clucked his tongue and sighed, “Fuckin’ idiot ridin’ a desk wants a signature before he’ll put it in goddamn consideration. I don’t know how long it’s gonna take to get Foster to sign off on a fuckin’ paper for a ‘maybe.’”

"Hopefully as long as it takes him to realize it would help our investigation," Laine said, then looked over at Ghost in the fridge. "I can make some lunch, there is no need to go out for fast-food, we bought a lot of groceries."

“Gimme the address for his desk,” Ghost said, injecting a hint of humor into the statement. In truth it was only half a joke. He began taking out sandwich materials, closing the fridge with his boot. “So when do we go snatch up that Nazi prick?”

“Tonight.” He said, smirking at Ghost’s eagerness, “It’ll be you, me, Queen, and Dave. Eat light, ladies, wouldn’t want you gettin’ a cramp.”

Laine glanced between them, narrowing her eyes slightly at the use of ladies as a slur but only said, "So, carbs? Is that what you need?"

“Maybe Tex needs carbs,” Ghost grunted. He began building a sandwich, heavy on the meat. “Protein...That’s what I’m after. If a cramp is what kills me I fucking deserved it.”

She raised her brow slightly at the layers of ham between the slices of whole wheat bread, watching Ghost take a bite. "Protein, of course. Gotta feed all the muscles around here. Avery bought a bunch of chicken breasts, I'll start there.




Once he wrapped up the brief conversation with Jason and people drifted off to go back to work, Queen stepped outside to grab a smoke and fetch his bags. He stood on the porch, flicking the Bic with a tacky skull and roses printed on it and inhaled the menthol tobacco. Queen took a critical once over of the neighborhood, his dark sunglasses back in place. It was a low income and majority Caucasian block, families with multiple generations living in the houses. They would stand out only because they had no elderly or children but hopefully the neighbors would mind their own business.

Queen took another drag and turned his attention when the door scraped open.

Ava peaked out of the cracked door for a moment, checking to see if the man she was looking for was out there. The smell of cigarette smoke got to her before she even saw the long haired Queen. She smiled politely as she opened the door and stepped outside. “Hi, um, are you busy?” She asked, shutting the front door so the cigarette smoke didn’t filter into the house.

Queen saw who it was and grinned, his inspecting gaze hidden behind his sunglasses. "Not at all, just burning a little off the end of my life. What can I do for you, Ava?"

He used her name, a reminder he had paid attention when they last spoke, a way of making that personal connection. A simple trick but one often overlooked.

Ava returned his smile, her glasses darkening as she stood outside in the sunlight. She crossed her arms over her chest and shuffled on her feet for a moment. “Well, Donnelley wanted us to work together on tracking down someone and I just wanted to let you know. And maybe figure out a good place to start.”

Queen raised his brows, Donnelley doing him a solid for putting him with the cute ginger. "So you're the one that found Jay and his buddies? T... Donnelley mentioned that, hell of a nice job. Jay's a nice juicy peach of intel."

“Oh, yeah,” She said, her smile turning a bit shy as her cheeks flushed. “Thank you, I couldn’t have done it without the others.”

"Sure, sure," Queen said, flicking his ashes. "Someone had to bring you coffee."

He chuckled, then looked at her, enjoying the sight of the blush under the freckles. The grin turned slightly wolfish, "You have to tell me how you did it, I'm always looking for new tricks."

She blushed a little more and rubbed the back of her neck with a nervous chuckle bubbling out of her chest. “I’d be happy to later.” She cleared her throat, trying to will the heat away from her face. “I hear you have intel gathering skills of your own though?”

Queen could see she was shy, self conscious and it made him want to scoop her up and put her on his knee. Instead he glanced down, pinching his cigarette in a classic Eastern Bloc manner as he thought on an answer. He nodded, then said, "I do, it's my little niche in THUNDER. I'm a DEA undercover agent when I'm not moonlighting with the Program. Finding people and the naughty things they do and catching them doing it is my specialty."

He met her gaze through the sunglasses, just making out the blue under dark glass."Computers or leg work, whatever it takes, y'know. But I'm curious, what part of the alphabet soup did they pull you out of?"

“CIA.” Ava answered with a smile, her eyes widening slightly between her darkened glasses to learn he was an undercover agent. “I’m technically a contractor for Booz-Allen, but I don’t think the Program will let my contract expire any time soon.” She said with a light chuckle. “I, uh, like your shirt by the way.” She said, pointing to the absurd art on his baseball tee. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s great.”

Queen whistled, then grinned widely, "You're a spooky spook, I kinda like it. You're much better looking than most of the agents. But don't tell Donnelley I said that. He likes to think he's the prettiest ginger."

The blush returned to her cheeks at the compliment and she gently tugged her necklace out from beneath her shirt. “Ah, well, thank you.” She said, nervously fiddling with her pendant as she glanced down.

He gave a playful flick of the cigarette before taking a deep drag, letting out a stream of smoke as Ava pointed out his shirt. Her own shirt was of the same baseball three quarter sleeve variety only with pink sleeves and a cartoon turtle who seemed quite pleased with himself.

Queen glanced down, in the open denim vest was the vintage tour shirt from one of the local rock heroes. "That's Molly Hatchet!" He exclaimed, tugging open the vest, proudly displaying the bizarre barbarian like figure emblazoned across his lean hard chest. "Have you heard them before?"

“Uh, no, I haven’t.” Ava said with a guilty frown and a helpless shrug, her flustered reaction from the compliment fading as the topic changed. “I’m sorry. I like the art though, very He-Man.” She added with a small smile. “What kind of music do they play?” She asked, now genuinely curious.

Queen laughed then snuffed out the cigarette in the ashtray next to the chair before pulling out his phone. "Just done good ole Southern rock and roll He Man music. Hold on, for your first experience I need to do this right."

He scrolled through his Spotify before finding the song then asked, "Come over to the car, it actually has nice speakers."

Queen started walking then paused mid stride, turning to look at her, his expression holding somewhere between amusement and challenge, "If you're down with it, Ava."

Ava blinked and tilted her head to the side. “I don’t mind, I’m curious about what kind of music goes with that album art.” She said, stepping down off the porch. She looked up and down the street as she put distance between herself and the safety of the house behind them. It was the middle of the day though, no one would go shooting up their temporary home and base of operations...Right?

She continued to fiddle with her necklace.

Queen waited for her, noting the little nervous gestures and smiled to himself. She reminded him of highschool and college, shy girls that still craved attention but could not be themselves to initiate. He opened the passenger side, hold it as she slipped into the old borrowed Camaro. After a glance at her ass as she got in, he closed the door and quickly got into the driver's seat, putting the key so he could lower the windows.

"Alright, ignore the mess we were drivin' all night," he said, taking a beer can from the console and chucked it in the back. Queen glanced over at her, amused at how far back she was, Ghost used all the leg room he could get.

"Hatchet is one of Florida's native sons, along with yours truly. Check it out," Queen hooked up the Bluetooth, then played the classic hit "Flirting with Disaster." youtu.be/_K_-D5B7DIg

He leaned back, his arm going up onto the back of the bucket seat Ava sat in, watching her as the song came on in all in its to the twangy, gravelly voice and guitar glory. Queen was genuinely curious at her reaction, she certainly wasn't southern nor seemed the classic rock type. His gaze traced her features, lingering on the cute pink lips and that lead him down other paths of thought.

Ava glanced around at the inside of the car, ignoring the mess and the faint smell of beer, cigarettes and hours old fast food. Well, not completely ignored it, but she was more interested in the dashboard and interior. The radio was new, but other than that the dashboard looked like the original and she grinned at how purely 80s it looked.

The music came on and Ava was bracing herself to dislike it, but was pleasantly surprised by the liveliness of the music. She smiled as the vocalist started to sing and she picked up the opening lyrics. “I like it!” She laughed, clapping her hands together as she looked at him, a little spark of mirth in her deep blue eyes. “It's perfectly fitting for this car. This is a 1985 Iroc Z right? These cars were made for going fast.”

Queen grinned crookedly, leaning in as his arm draped casually over the headrest of her seat and met her gaze. “Hell yeah, I like a girl that knows her cars and quality music when you hear it. And yes, it does fit the car. It fits me, don’t you think?”

His pale eyes showed more blue in the sunlight, a similar shade to the faded denim vest he wore as he searched her eyes. Queen laid a hand on the steering wheel, the wiry muscles moving under the heavily tattooed skin as he gripped the leather covering. “We should take a spin, see how fast you wanna go.”

Ava blinked rapidly at him, nerves curling in her chest as he leaned in close, her mind flashing back to the words of warning Donnelley spoke to her. The space of the car suddenly felt too small, especially with his arm stretched out by her head. Her heart started to beat faster and her face pulled into a distressed expression, with wide eyes and paling skin, as anxiety from having such unfamiliar and intense focus on her kicked in.

“Uh, no, no thank you.” She said, her voice shaking slightly as she reached for the car door handle behind her. It took her a moment to find it and push the door open as quickly as she could. “I-I have things to do. For the case.”

Queen flinched back when she suddenly changed from enjoying herself to anxious. He furrowed his brow but made no move to reach for her or call her back. “Alright, I’m gonna burn another and bring my bag in. We can talk later about what Donnelley wants us to find.”

He leaned back in the driver’s seat, reaching for the pack of Kools and watched her, giving her a placid smile.

“I-It’s alright, I’ve got it handled!” Ava said as she slid out of the car and quickly walked back toward the house, her arms wrapped tightly around herself and head ducked down; her long curly red hair twitching in the summer breeze. “Thank you!”

"Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered, lighting his cigarette clamped between his teeth before turning the car off and getting out.

He was reminded suddenly of the girls from St Anne's Catholic school in Jacksonville that he and his high school buddies from Finegan High would try and pick up. Those girls were always skittish, the temptation of sin outweighed by the threat of damnation for young Billy Patrick putting his hand under a plaid skirt. But that was half the fun, wasn't it?

He watched her go through the door and sighed, blowing smoke through his nostrils. Queen pulled the duffel bag from the back of the car and slung it over his back, his thoughts moving in the direction of Jay and his neo Nazis shithead friends.

Queen reentered the Safehouse, spotting Donnelley in the kitchen and he called out, "So where ya boys gonna bunk?"

“There’s a door marked ‘Boys’ over there.” Donnelley’s voice from the kitchen. “Mine’s the one that says ‘Men.’”

"Thank you, Daddy," Queen called out playfully, then went to claim a bed.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Donnelley stepped out of the kitchen and smiled at Queen, his voice calling him Daddy bringing something out in him, “We’re goin’ out on the town tonight.”

Queen caught his eye, a mischievous smile touched his lips. "Time for our kinda party? Who's the special guest, does it start and end with a Jay."

Donnelley gave a wink, “Best believe.”




>1415

A large pot of water on the stove and a variety of vegetables laid out on the cutting board marked the start of the process of making a late lunch/early dinner for the team. A duty Laine had taken on herself since the first safehouse. It was nice to cook for others, more than what needed to go on her lone plate. She caught sight of Donnelley coming back into the kitchen and asked, "Are you busy, I could use your knife skills."

Donnelley smiled at the opportunity to cook with Laine. Cooking and being in the kitchen had become a recurring theme in his life, it seemed. He wasn’t about to complain, lord knew if there was a time to play pretend and be domestic for a couple hours, it was now. They’d be running and gunning in short while. He pushed those thoughts away as he took the knife in a practiced chef’s grip.

“Sliced, diced, julienned,” Donnelley smirked at her as he stepped up to the cutting board, “What you need?”

"Onions and red pepper diced, carrots julienned, and the rest sliced," she said, setting out a couple of zucchinis and yellow squash, a head of broccoli. "We're getting all the vitamins."

Laine rolled a lemon over the counter, her palm pressing it. "The chicken should have been marinated but I got drunk. So I'll cook it with sauce."

She smiled a bit as he chopped, reminded of the time they spent together not a few days ago. "So, these two... friends of yours, they seem interesting. How long have you known them?"

“First mission together was 2016. Went to some third world toilet bowl and wagged our trigger fingers at some bad guys.” Donnelley chuckled, “We did not like each other one bit at first. Team Lead was an asshole, and uh… well, you know me.” He gave a smirking glance at Laine.

"You were the new asshole," she responded, the little smile now crooked. "But you ended up getting along with them, with your team leader? Or was UMBRA your way out?"

“I found some common ground.” Donnelley shrugged, remembering the nights with Queen and earning Ghost’s respect, bonding with Maui over family, “When Foster was lookin’ to start up a new team at his higher-up’s request, there was only one person he could find who wanted to step up.”

He looked at Laine and winked, “Moi.”

“Queen’s nice. Been a real good friend to me for a long time. I keep those close in this line of work.” He smiled, without really trying to, “Ghost, he’s good at what he does. Other’n that? I never knew much about him outside of it. Somethin’ ‘bout him makes you not wanna ask.”

He shook his head, “But, even then, he’s one of the few people I’d trust at my back when the chips’re down. Just gotta make him want to be at your back.” He nodded, “Back then, it was THUNDER against the world. Nothin’ else mattered outside of that.”

She whisked the lemon and melted butter, listening to him and watching his expressions. The description of Ghost caught her attention and she stored the information. "And now you've gone from carefree cowboy bachelor to family man."

Laine gestured in a vague circle to indicate UMBRA, then spoke softly, "Daddy..."

She chuckled, recalling Queen teasing earlier about the rooms.

Donnelley’s smirk turned to a devious little grin at Laine. He looked over at her and let his eyes roam freely for a few seconds, lip bitten, “Has its perks.”

Laine gave him a smoldering look before taking the bowl of sauce and chicken to cook together in a skillet. She washed her hands and went over to him, the urge to steal a kiss unhidden in her green eyes. "I bet it does, boss," she said.

He looked into her emerald eyes and what he found there was in his blue eyes too. He cast a glance around to see if anyone was watching and quickly wrapped his lips in hers, “It’s ‘Sir.’” He corrected cheekily as he pulled away.

Laine bit her lip slightly, savoring the illicit kiss and said, "Yes, sir ..."

She trailed off so she could check the blue flame under the pot of water, adjusting it. Laine felt herself warming after that exchange and rolled her eyes, there would be no time or place in the crowded Safehouse for anything more than the stolen kiss.

"Where are you taking Jay and whoever else you pick up?" Laine asked, forcing herself to get away from the stray thoughts his single bedroom.

Donnelley glued his eyes to her ass as she turned away from him, thoughts of sneaking off somehow flooding his mind, memories of her naked body. “We, uh,” Donnelley shook his head and went back to slicing and dicing, “We gotta find some place to interrogate them. Give that asshole a reason to switch for us.”

"Some seedy motel room?" She suggested, turning back to help him finish the vegetables. Her eyes met his briefly and she added quickly, "For an interrogation. Those places that might be used to ignoring noises."

“Five guys go into a hotel room and then the gruntin’ and yellin’ starts.” Donnelley chuckled and shook his head, knowing what Queen would say, “Perfect deniability. You’re gettin’ good at this.”

Laine laughed, then she shrugged, "I'm trying to get into that sort of headspace, scratching out any sort of SOP I'm used to."




>1415

After the brief conversation with Donnelley, Queen entered the men's bedroom, a cramped affair that had four grown men pushed into a room made for one adult or at most a pair of children. He picked the unoccupied bed under the window, easier for him to smoke out of and left the bed facing the door for Ghost. The other two on opposite sides were clearly slept in, except one was made in the neat manner of a military man and the other by civilian.

Queen left his bag on the bed, but not before taking his drug stash and tucking it into a vest pocket, buttoning it closed. He didn't trust that the other men might not be Nosy Nellie's and poke around his bags. His green pack of Kools and disposable lighter went into the other.

Stepping out of the room, he closed the door and looked into the open room and spotted Ava working on her laptop. He stayed in the hall, debating for a moment on leaving it alone but he didn't like how she had been made anxious by him and it might affect their work.

"Hey, there," he said, his sunglasses now dangling from the pocket with the cigarettes. He put his forearm against the door jam but went no further. "Watcha working on?"

Ava gave a small start at the voice from the doorway.She was seated on her bed, pillows stacked behind her back as she leaned back against the wall with her laptop balanced on the cat plushie Laine had gotten her in her lap. “Um, hey.” She said, her voice small and tinged with warriness. “I’m just getting ready to look into the Rivers Valley Retreat. Donnelley wanted me to look into that along with, uh, the other thing I told you about.”

Queen nodded, clearing his throat, "Look, uh...I wanna apologize if I made you feel upset or anxious. It wasn't intentional, Ava. I just got carried away, you're fun to talk to."

“Oh,” She straightened up slightly, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. “Thank you Queen, I appreciate that. I’m just not used to things like...that and it felt very sudden.” She reached up to rub the back of her neck, tilting her head to the side with a wine. “Though, looking back, there were some pretty obvious signs leading up to it I didn’t notice. So I guess I accidentally lead you on?”

Queen furrowed his brow, a puzzled expression that faded slightly into a smile. "Signs that I think you're cute and smart? Nah, you didn't lead me on, I made a move too fast, it wasn't cool. No hard feelings on my end. Hopefully, you can forgive me."

Her lips turned up slightly in a half smile. “I can.” She motioned to her laptop. “Especially if we’re going to find this guy. All I have right now is a name to work off of, Renko. With Jay I had his entire arrest record as a starting point.” She said, looking to her laptop with a frown as she rubbed her hand over her chin, her index finger rubbing her lips for a moment. “This is more of a challenge.”

"Renko? Hmm, sounds a little Ruskie to me," Queen said, leaning against the door frame. "Might start with prison nicknames if you haven't done that yet. Or known Russian mob aliases. DEA or FBI has database would have those records. I could help, if you want?"

“Ooh, that’s a good idea.” Ava said with a grin. “Sure, I’d love help on this.” She cleared her throat. “Especially since you’re DEA and that way I don’t have to go...borrowing the information from them without permission.” She said with a sheepish smile and a small shrug.

He chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement and interest. "Is that how you found our boy, Jay? Poking around in Fed files?"

“Whaaat? Noooo.” She said slowly, looking down at her cat pillow and wiggling one of the stumpy paws. “I’m just an IT nerd that likes cute turtle shirts and cat plushies.”

Queen grinned, his teeth grazing his lower lip slightly. "Yeah, right, you're completely harmless and soft. "

He winked playfully, "Just a little angel on our shoulders, leading us to the bad guys."

She laughed, rubbing her hands together. “I do what I can.” She smiled. “So, uh, when do you want to work on this?”

"I have time now, a little bit," Queen said, checking his phone. "I could put in a request, I brought my work laptop. It's back in the room...uh, shit Donnelley is gonna want to brief me soon."

He scratched his beard thoughtfully, "I can at least get that done before prepping for the raid. If it gets a hit, then I'll reach out to some contacts I have that specialize in Russian mob."

Out of sudden curiosity, he swiped his phone open and typed in "Renko". "Huh," he said, furrowing his brow. "Try Googling Renko, it's a word for a Japanese financial chart."

“If this whole Renko thing turns out to be code for their finances, I’m going to be annoyed.” Ava said with a snort. “I doubt it, due to the context of the emails I read, but I guess anything is possible.” She adjusted the glasses on her face as they started to slip down her nose. “But, that’d be great. You do that and I’ll have the fun job of sifting through the area’s local social media.” She said, glancing suspiciously at her laptop. “I’m bracing myself for a lot of backwoods memes.”

"What was the context?" he asked, tucking his phone away.

“Oh, right, sorry.” She said with a frown and a shake of her head. “Renko is someone that Jay and the Russians hate about as much as us. He’s some kind of nuisance to them but why was never specified in the emails.” She scratched her head. “He must have some weight behind him that they’re afraid of or something since they haven't killed him yet. Or maybe he’s in hiding. Appalachia is a big place.”

Queen thought it over, the playfulness finally stilled in his eyes. "Some kind of problem they can't just kill off. Probably local, prominent or connected to someone who they can't afford to piss off. You tell the FBIs about him?"

“Laine and Pari? Yeah they know.” She nodded, frowning in thought and leaning back against the pillows. “We were actually theorizing the same thing about the killer that brought us here. Since he’s bringing all this attention to Blackriver that they don’t want but for some reason they aren’t doing anything about it.”

She looked over at him with furrowed brows. “You don’t suppose that Renko might be the name of the killer?”

"There's a chance, sure. Hell, it's not my specialty and I'm not completely up to date on all the details but it's definitely making my Spidey senses tingle. If it is him, we'll be killing two birds with one stone. But we gotta find him first," Queen said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Picking up Jay hopefully will lead us to him."

“Definitely.” Ava agreed. “Especially if you bring me any of his electronics. The federal database is a good place to start, but it’s hard to beat information straight from the source.”

Queen grinned again, "I'll be sure to grab all phones and hard drives I can find. That's my usual job anyway, after we clear out the bad guys. You get first dibs."

She returned his grin with a smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” She said, glancing at her laptop for a moment. “Can I ask something? It’s unrelated to work but I’ve been curious since you introduced yourself.” She said, looking back over to him.

He stood up straighter, then nodded the grin fading to a small smile under his beard, "Sure, anything."

“Why do they call you Queen?” She asked curiously.

Queen snickered and rubbed a hand over his hair, "It's because I rule."

She grinned and nodded her head slightly at him. “Fair enough. Do you also slay?”

Hooking his thumb on his belt loop, Queen raised his eyebrow playfully, "Everyday, baby."

Ava chuckled, brushing a stray red curl behind her ear. “Good.” She said, stretching her arms out in front of her for a moment before picking up her laptop and the plushie to set to the side. “Here, I’ve printed up all the info I found about Jay and the residence.” She said, standing up and opening the drawer in the night stand by her bed; inside an orange pill bottle rattled around. She pulled out a manilla folder and shut the drawer, holding the folder out to him. “Since you’re the Intel guy for THUNDER, you might be able to make the best use of this.”

He watched her unobtrusively, noting the cute tight ass when she bent over her night stand. Queen could not miss the sound of pills but from his vantage point at the doorway he could not see what kind. He straightened up when Ava approached, the folder held out.

"Appreciate it," Queen said, forcing himself not to look her over as she got closer. He took the file and flipped it open, his cheerful expression turning studious. "Hmm, buncha good old boys turned extreme racists, running drugs and guns. Just my favorite type of idiot, I'm going to enjoy us ruining their night."

“Me too, that bastard shot at us.” Ava said with a frown. “Shot Dave twice and got me in the stomach so this is my payback.”

"Well, we'll definitely enjoy it a little more," he said, a bemused smile trying to emerge but he glanced down, tucking the folder under his arm.

“Um, sorry.” She smiled nervously. “I guess I should have asked how up to speed you are on everything.”

"It's no problem, that's what briefings are for. But it's nice to get a headstart," Queen replied, then looked at her, sensing her nervousness, "So... we're ok, right?"

Ava smiled a bit more easily and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” She bit her lip for a moment before saying, slowly, “Um, just for the sake of honesty, I’m not really... looking for anything, right now.”

Queen nodded, sighing softly before flashing her a smile, "No problem, I appreciate it. I'd be lying if I didn't admit disappointment but thank you for your honesty."

“Of course.” She smiled again, feeling relieved he understood and took it well. “I think we’ll work well together though, for however long you and Ghost are around.”

Dave rounded the corner into the hallway, a spring in his step as he headed for the men’s bunk. Word that he was supposed to go out with Donnelley and his buddies had finally reached him, and his nerves were singing with anticipation. With hours to go and nothing to do, he’d decided that the best way to spend his downtime (and keep himself sane) was to check on his gear.

He pulled up short when he spotted Queen leaning against the doorway to the women’s room, coming to a slow stop. The flamboyant man had struck him as a bit friendlier than the hulking Ghost, and Dave gave him a tentative smile.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” he said, nodding. He walked over and peeked around the corner, visibly brightening when he spotted Ava. “Oh, hey sugar! They already got you busy?”

“Hi Dave.” Ava beamed as his handsome scruffy face appeared in the doorway. “Yeah, you know how it goes. Good work begets more work.”

Queen glanced over as Dave approached, giving him a brief once over then smiled, noting the reaction and nickname. "She gave me some homework to brush up on about this asshole, Jay. Said y'all both got shot. I'm sure you're looking forward to getting your hands on him. And thanks to our guiding angel here, we'll get the chance."

He winked at Ava and tapped Dave in the chest with the file before stepping back out of the doorway.

Daves smile became slightly strained when Queen tapped him with the file, then returned to normal. “Yeah, my vest stopped the one, other hit me in the arm. Ain’t a big deal.” He looked over at Ava and his voice grew serious. “Gonna get that motherfucker for shootin’ you, though. Don’t worry ‘bout that.”

“I appreciate it Dave, but please be careful.” She said with a frown of genuine concern, looking at him and then to Queen. “All of you. Jay might be some backwoods gun runner, but who knows what else he might have from dealing with these Russians.”

Queen nodded and looked down at the tattooed marks on his knuckles before glancing at Dave then back to Ava, "It won't be my first time going up against the vor v zakone. The Bratva we're facing don't fuck around, but with luck we'll surprise Jay and his boys before they can call their friends. This is what our team does. This why Donnelley wanted us here."

“Well, I’ll do my best to keep up,” Dave said. “I ain’t what you’d call a professional, but… I did okay in the last big throwdown they brung our way.” He paused. “Hope there ain’t any civilians there. I don’t want anybody hurt who don’t deserve it. Wouldn’t sit well with me.”

Queen raised his brows, "Jay ain't exactly dressed like the Waffen SS. We'll do our best to apprehend the ones on the list, if anyone tried to stop us...well, they stop being neutral, don't they?"

Dave shrugged. His earlier discomfort was gone, replaced by steely resolve. “If they ain’t armed, I ain’t doin’ more than buttstrokin’ ‘em. Ain’t like an unarmed man is that hard to take down, ‘specially for somebody like Ghost.” He grinned. “You scared of a scrap?”

Queen faced Dave, his pale eyes scanning over his posture, his expression then he grinned slyly, "I'm not opposed to some buttstroking from you."

Ava’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open slightly as she stared at Queen, stunned. She then shifted her gaze to Dave to see his reaction.

Dave blinked, his mind slowing down as he processed the statement. Then his eyes widened.

“Oh. Oh!” He shook his head. “I uh... Nah, man. I’m good.”

Queen chuckled at both of them, almost an impish giggle as he crossed back into the men's bedroom. He sat on his bed, thumbing through the folder Ava had given them.

Ava peaked out the doorway to look at the men’s room as Queen disappeared inside. She looked up at Dave. “If it makes you feel better, he was pretty forward with me too.” She said with a small shrug.

Dave’s eyebrows furrowed and he glanced over his shoulder.

“Huh.” He grunted. “Well...I guess…” He sighed. “I dunno what I guess. I still ain’t got a read on these guys. Seems, uh… Pretty talkative though, huh? On the friendly side?”

“He’s definitely friendly.” She agreed, scratching her head as she stepped back over to her bed. “But, he’s funny and he knows his stuff about intel gathering. He’s going to help me with tracking down Renko and already gave me some ideas and will be able to access to the DEA database.” She sat down on the bed and pulled her plushie back on her lap then put her laptop on top of it.

"Well that's good," Dave said. "I guess I'll leave you to it. I gotta get my gear ready so we can go get that bastard. Keep doin' what you're doin'!"

He gave her a wave and a final smile and headed for the men's bunk.

Queen clocked Dave's entrance but continued reading, starting up a little whistling tune as he did. He sat back on his bed, against the wall under the window, his gear beside him.

Dave crossed to his rack and sat, picking up his gear from its place by the head of the bed. He turned the SLR over in his hands, checking the sights, pulling the magazine and checking the chamber before reseating it. He handled the AK variant with easy familiarity, clearly comfortable with the model.

"So uh," he began, glancing briefly at Queen. "Sorry if I came across a little… You know. If you're into dudes or whatever that's cool, just wasn't expectin' it."

Queen snorted and laughed, glancing over at the other man. "I'm into all sorts of things," he said, tapping the papers together, a grin growing under his beard.

He set the folder aside and clasped his hands in his lap. "But I should be apologizing to you, it was only a joke because you set me up so well. I couldn't resist. The look on your face though..."

Queen chuckled, then shrugged, looking over at Dave with an enigmatic expression.

Dave nodded along, continuing to fiddle with his rifle until Queen fell silent. As the pause lengthened he looked up at the other man, frowning a little. "What?" He asked.

Queen glanced up, "I understand why you were trying to make us...well me, look bad. She's very sweet. But I couldn't let that go...'buttstroke'."

He snickered to himself, studying the pictures of the suspects.

Dave's frown deepened and he lowered the rifle. "Look hoss, I ain't tryin' to make anybody look bad. That was just a joke. Sorry if you felt that way. The way you was talkin' in there with everybody I thought maybe you're just a kidder."

Queen furrowed his brow, looking at him. "I'm quite the kidder, the word is funny but you weren't joking about the civilians and what might happen if they're caught up. How long have you been in the Program?"

"Well no, that bit I wasn't jokin' about, just the bein' scared of a scrap part. But I've said the same thing to Donnelley," Dave said. "This is my second round with UMBRA. He already knows I ain't hurtin' innocent people. I'll pack my shit and go home first."

He nodded, then replied in a passable imitation of Dave's accent, "Well, I ain't as big as y'all but I've been scrappin' all my life. I ain't afeared."

Switching back to his Florida drawl he naturally spoke with, "Second run? Well...we were all innocent once."

He went back to attempting to memorize features of the suspects.

"Yeah, run your mouth," Dave grumbled, looking over his plate carrier. Satisfied that it was in order, he left it and the rifle sitting on his bed as he stood to leave. He paused in the doorway. "I've already shown I can hang. Donnelley wouldn't be bringin' me along if I couldn't. But...Man, if you ain't in this to help people, why the fuck even bother with it?"

He shook his head and then left heading down the hallway for the back door.

"I trust Donnelley," Queen said, but to the rest he did not have an answer. Maybe once he did, a conviction against the darkness, the fight for another sunrise. Hell, he used to fight the war on drugs unironically. He watched him leave and waited a few moments before getting up to shut the door and then dug out his stash.

Queen saved the cocaine for later but popped a couple of Oxys, reminding himself to raid the kitchen for some coffee filters to wash his opioids.
>CLARKSBURG, WEST VIRGINIA
>INDUSTRIAL PARK SAFEHOUSE
>JUL.18.2019
>0615...///

The sound of a car horn blaring jerked Ava out of her sleep. She tamped down the immediate sense of panic as she cracked open an eye to look at the low early morning sunlight finding its way in through the window. There was a set of shades covering the window, but even through the slits of white plastic, she could make out the black bars on the window. It was like a prison window, a fitting comparison considering the spartan state of the room the ladies would be sharing.

Ava pushed herself up on the twin bed, blinking her blurry eyes around the room while sleepily still clutching her large plushie to her chest. Her eyes swept over the empty bed in the right corner and then glanced to the other bed where she could see Laine still there. Or she assumed it was Laine, it just looked like a white lump to her poor eyesight.

Her eyes traveled around the grey walls to the lone nightstand with a slim lamp on it next to her bed, where she had left her glasses and phone. That was all that was offered for decoration, it was technically more than what the cabin had but she hadn’t noticed since it had also been a cabin. It was it’s own decoration, here everything just felt empty and depressing. They needed some flowers or something to brighten up this room.

She yawned and moved her cat pillow behind her head before letting herself fall back on the mattress again. She scrubbed her hands over her face for a moment, then reached over and picked up her glasses. Fixing them on her face she sluggishly got out of bed and headed for the door, her mind singularly on the quest for coffee.

The sound of whistling and the Keurig spitting out coffee into a mug greeted Ava. Donnelley had been up since before the sun rose, unable to sleep even with his medication. A cigarette dangled from his lip and wiggled as he spoke, turning to see Ava with his tired eyes, “Mornin’, you.” He went for the door, shamelessly shirtless again in a pair of grey sweatpants. “This place is quaint, ain’t it.”

He left the front door open as he stepped outside, lighting the end of his cigarette and relishing the nutritious breakfast of military men the world over- caffeine and nicotine. “I was ‘bout to make us some eggs, how’s that sound?”

"That sounds great," Laine answered, strolling barefoot out of the bedroom towards the kitchen. Her hair was only finger combed and the remnants of her mascara left smudges around her eyes.

"Good morning," she said to Ava as she headed towards the coffee. Yawning, she leaned up to stretch, the old Depeche Mode shirt and jogging shorts she slept in as sleep tousled as her hair.

Her attention was drawn towards Donnelley at the door, flicking a quick but intent gaze over his naked torso and the sweatpants he wore. "And good morning to you, too."

He noticed her staring and he made a show of stretching his arms out to the side, clenching his abs tight, and winking, “It is now,” he clucked his tongue and returned her gaze, his eyes tracing down her legs and back up to her face as he smiled, “That you two are up. Y’all sleep good?”

Ava mumbled something unintelligible that sounded vaguely like a ‘good morning’ as she walked by, hardly paying the two of them attention with her groggy eyes fixed on the Keurig. Her hair was somehow flatter on one side than the other, which was puffed a few solid inches. She looked about as awake and put together as the cranky owl on her shirt.

She picked up a waiting mug of coffee and after dumping some French vanilla creamer into the black coffee, she started chugging it down.

“What idiot is blaring his car horn this early?” She grumbled in answer to Donnelley's question. There was a sleepy glare on her face as she exited the kitchen and sat herself down on the second hand Lazy-Boy in the living room, her mug in hand.

Laine admired the display Donnelley put on surreptitiously as she prepared a cup of coffee, sliding one mug over towards Ava who seemed to need it more than she did. "I slept alright, in those beds they gave us. I think they might have got them at a convent garage sale, though. This one was tossing and turning all night."

She tipped her chin towards Ava sitting in the oversized chair. Coffee in hand, Laine went over, leaning her hip against the recliner, "Did that stuffed cat help?"

Ava frowned down at the mug, the wheels of thought visibly starting to crank into motion playing across her freckled face. “I think it did,” She answered, pausing to take a sip of her coffee. “I remember waking up a couple of times and then going back to sleep pretty quickly because it's basically like hugging a marshmallow.”

Donnelley didn’t mention how comfortable his bed was. Not that he’d spent much time in it anyway, simply sitting on the edge of it and going through circles of Russians, Blackriver, and Iraq. He ended up taking a few more pills from his bottle of whiskey than he needed to by the end of it. The train of thought was a bumpy one, and it did not lend itself to good thoughts for lulling him to bed. “What’s the first order of business today, my friends?” Donnelley leaned on his shoulder in the doorway, “I know there’s some eggs and toast need cookin’. Gotta check in with Foster about things and brief you up, but that can wait.”

He shrugged, “Unless you want it straight right now?”

Laine went to the refrigerator, taking out eggs and a small tub of margarine, making a face. "First order of business is telling Avery to get real butter next time."

No bacon was found but a bag of sandwich ham was there and fried up would make a good side to the eggs. Laine turned to Donnelley, "It's all yours, Chef."

“After I finish.” Donnelley punctuated that with a loud drag of his cigarette, half-gone.

“I'm fine with waiting until after breakfast to have a briefing.” Ava said, folding her legs up on the chair and slumping back into it. “Maybe my brain will be booted up by then.”




Donnelley set down his fork and smiled at Laine and Ava. There it was, he thought, that same feeling he’d had at Ava’s. It wasn’t the pent up sexual energy of spending time alone with Laine, it was something different. Fulfillment. Contentment. Like he didn’t have to look over his shoulder. “This ain’t a test of my culinary abilities, but how was it?” He asked, “Can’t beat the classics.”

"It was good, just what I needed," Laine replied before sipping her coffee, looking at Donnelley above the rim of the mug. "Maybe we'll test your abilities next time, before everything, you know. Before we get back into the grind."

The reminder of the looming black cloud that was the case passed over her and she picked up a piece of toast. There was an urgency that drove her, that kept her pushing through her break and now even in the peace of the morning, "So what's on the agenda for today?"

Ava smiled at Donnelley, looking more awake and less grumpy now that she had some coffee and food. “It was good, thank you. I bet it was easier to cook without Thor underfoot.”

She shifted her gaze over to Laine, frowning as they got back to business. “I can take care of the dishes while you guys figure that out.” She offered, standing up from her seat to collect the empty plates.

“Thank you.” Donnelley smiled, taking another cigarette from the pack in his sweats. “I figure we get each other caught up. There’s been some pretty good intel I want to try to verify when we can.”

"Thanks," Laine said as she handed her plate over. "There's a lot to go over, I have the identities of the other victims and I want to see if there are any other connections to Carlisle and those Russians. And, if we get extremely lucky, whoever might have taken them, if it was a John and not a kidnapping off the street."

She shifted her gaze to Donnelley, "Since we can't talk to him, did you get anything off his computer?"

Ava stopped in her tracks for a moment, furrowing her brow at Laine at the mention of not being able to talk to Carlisle. She glanced over to Donnelley for a beat before continuing on her way to the kitchen with the dishes.

“We had to vacate quick. There wasn’t any time.” Donnelley sighed, not looking at Laine. He shook his head, getting up from the table, “I’m gonna smoke and then we can get the day started.”

Laine set mug down, "That's unfortunate, then the Bureau must have picked it up. I think it might be worth trying to get it, what about you?"

She glanced at Donnelley as he headed towards the door then at Ava at the sink.

Ava glanced over her shoulder at Laine and nodded. “Definitely, if not the hard drive itself then at least a copy of the contents.” She turned more to face Laine better, giving her a curious look. “Do you think you'll be able to get it? Even though you aren't part of the case?”

Laine stood up and smiled slightly at Ava, "I have my ways."

She left the kitchen to shower and get focused for the phone call she would need to make. Garcia already had his suspicion but right now he was probably more concerned with his own ass on the line for letting Carlisle get snatched under his nose.

Once Laine was out of the kitchen and he heard the door shut, Donnelley leaned his head into the house, watching Ava scrub at the dishes. To think someone like her would be thrust into the field would’ve been unthinkable to Donnelley. Already she’d gotten shot and she still came back when the call sounded. A small smile turned his lips up, he could respect that. There was no way not to. “Hey, I’m sorry if I’ve asked you this but,” he shrugged, “I hope you’re alright. You know, your new scar.”

Ava glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Donnelley's voice from the doorway. “Oh, I'm alright.” She said, offering a little smile. “It hardly hurts anymore, except for the occasional twinge. Thank you for asking” She set the last plate to dry on the rack by the sink and dried off her hands on a dish towel.

She crossed over the small living room to join him at the door. She gave a quick look around outside before looking back up at him, her head tilting to the side as she took in the darker than normal circles around his eyes. “How about you?” She asked, a concerned frown on her lips. “Are you feeling alright?”

Donnelley smiled, giving a little chuckle that puffed smoke from his mouth and nostrils. After a moment, he nodded, “Yeah.” He nodded again, “That’s good though, I’m glad you’re feelin’ alright. I respect that, good for the job after such a hell of a first week.” He laughed.

“Yeah.” She chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck and brushing some of the copper colored curls from her face. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger right?” She said with a shrug of her small shoulders.

Donnelley laughed, dragging off his cigarette and nodding, “I must be damn invincible by now.”

Ava dropped her eyes down to the scars dotting his muscular torso. “I’m inclined to believe you.” She said, meeting his gaze again with a smile. “And, the shooting aside, I am glad to be part of this team now.” She said, folding her arms over her chest and leaning back against the door jamb. “Finding Jay’s email and all of that information that can help us stop these people...It just felt like something clicked. Like I found my own way to fight the darkness,” She flushed as she realized how clumsy that sounded and smiled white a bit more uncertainty. “You know?” She finished with another shrug, her hand reaching up to fiddle with the pendant of her necklace.

Donnelley’s face turned a bit more serious as he nodded slow, “I do.” He said, “I know. You hold onto that no matter what.”

He tapped his chest, “In here,” and then his head, “and in here. It’s all that matters. This right here, us. And those who ain’t with us.”

He knew what he meant, and Ava too, just maybe. Jason, Dave, Pari, Foster. And Laurie and Gwen, Peake, Guzman. Not here yet, and those not here anymore. “That’s good you found a purpose in it.” He smiled, looking away from Ava as he took another drag, “Another sunrise.”




Laine sat on her bunk, her hair still damp and half dressed as she scrolled through her phone. Garcia's contact information came to a rest under her thumb, she hoped it was going to be worth stirring the pot about Carlisle again.

"This is Garcia," a tired voice sounded on the other end.

"Agent Garcia, this is Dr Laine, BAU," she said, pausing then continued, "Just checking up on you, Miguel."

"I didn't realize the Behavioral Science crew made welfare checks, Doc," he replied. "I could use some Prozac."

"Sorry, I'm just a psychologist we don't get script pads, just a cool degree to hang on the wall," Laine said and she could hear a sigh of a chuckle on the other end.

Laine continued, "I thought I'd check in to see how you're doing with Carlisle's abduction."

"Stuck between Jack and shit," Garcia said, then yawned, "About as well as you expect an abduction by professionals to go. Forensics is taking forever to get back with results."

"I'm sure it'll come soon, you know how these things are," Laine said, "Listen, maybe I could lend a hand."

"No offense, Dr Laine but this isn't some psycho strangling whores and dumping them it the river. These were professionals, they probably work for Sinaloa or some other group interested in the wares he's peddling."

Laine bit her tongue, his flippant reference to the sex workers and kidnapped girls needled her but she needed Garcia's favor. "I understand, but what else do you have? I'm still working on my missing persons cases, I could kill two birds with one stone. I just need information."

Silence filled the line. Finally, Garcia asked, "What kind of information?"

"Carlisle's hard drive, anything from his cell phones, whatever," Laine replied, shifting her on the bed, tucking one leg under herself.

"Shit, I don't know. The hard drive is at the lab in Quantico, same with his phones. Maybe they'll let you in," Garcia said.

"I'm in Clarksburg, I need them brought here," Laine replied. "I can see about pushing your forensics, I know some people."

"Dr Laine, they still haven't got the phones open, Apple is being a real piece of shit about it. I'll see about the hard drive, but I want good information back," Garcia replied, "I'm not hanging myself to just help you."

"I'll do my best to get you something, I owe you one," Laine said, leaning forward with intent as the line went quiet.

Garcia cleared his throat, "What do you have going on, Doc?"

Laine stiffened, feeling a coldness seize her. What she had going on was that she was fucking the very man her colleagues were looking for, the one who killed two cops and took Carlisle. For the greater good, she reminded herself, for another damn sunrise. But she was FBI still and yet she wasn't, it was a strange and disconcerting realization. One that had not really sunk in yet, until now. It was clear where her loyalties would lie.

"Agent Laine?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked what you had going on," Garcia said again, hesitating before clarifying, "I mean, like you said you owe me one. Maybe we could get some drinks, I'm divorced now, I swear."

She breathed sharply, then smiled with genuine relief that he was going to push the mysterious and flimsy reasons she gave to hide her true intent, "You know, maybe next time I'm in New York."

"Maybe you know a good place in Clarksburg," he replied, a lighter sound in his voice. "Look, I'll call you when I got the hard drive's traveling papers."

"Thanks, I appreciate it, Agent Garcia," Laine said, "Talk to you later."

Once the call ended, she tossed the phone aside on the bed and silently congratulated herself before she finished getting dressed.

Laine wore snug black jeans and a London After Midnight t-shirt. She planned on a trip to a few stores so she laced up the sneakers she had worn the previous day before. Laine tucked the black pack of Djarums in her pocket and the lighter in the other before stepping out of the room.

She flashed a smile at Ava and Donnelley, her green eyes bright with victory. Laine would have the computer and Ava could mine it for all it was worth.

Clapping her hands together, she said, "I got a package coming soon."

“You doin’ Amazon?” Donnelley smiled over his shoulder from his seat at the steps, now a bit more modest with a Misfits tank.

Ava turned as well from where she sat next to Donnelley on the front steps, changed out of her pajamas while Laine had been showering. She traded in her sleep wear for a plain shirt that was light blue at the shoulders and faded to a pale pink at the chest, a pair of jean shorts and her sneakers.

“Wait, we can have packages delivered here?” She asked, perking up with interest at the possibility.

Laine stepped out, standing on the porch behind them, "Not Amazon, but FBI special delivery. I managed to get Garcia to fetch us Carlisle's hard drive."

“Aww, what a nice man. Tell Garcia the US Government thanks him.” Donnelley chuckled, flicking his latest cigarette towards the street and getting up. His knees popped as he stood and strolled into the living room, finding a much more comfortable seat on one of the couches. “What favor do we owe?”

Laine held the door for him and Ava, closing it behind them. "Don't worry, I got it covered," Laine said casually, "Just a few drinks and a blow job, you know how it goes."

She winked at Ava, trying to hide the teasing smile as Donnelley settled into one of the couches, shooting a humorless glance at her. If he hadn’t gotten that and more already, he’d probably be in a mood, “You should take up comedy.”

Ava started and blinked at Laine rapidly. “Well...that escalated quickly.” She said, her pale freckled cheeks flushing as she sat herself down on the recliner again. “When do you think we’ll get our hands on the hard drive?” She asked Laine.

Laine grinned at him, then shrugged, "He said he'd call me back with an ETA. It's at Quantico and he's in New York so I doubt he'll be driving it down, drinks or no. Probably a courier. I said I'd work on some type of lead, using the BAU but that's not our usual gig. He must be really at his rope end to take that offer."

Her gaze fell on Donnelley then flicked away, looking out at the curtained window as the sound of a vehicle pulled up. The chainlink gate jingled open after few seconds and Avery’s voice came from the doorway, “Uh, Shadow!”

“Get in here.” Donnelley rolled his eyes as Avery waddled in, carrying several large bags of groceries.

“Good morning, guys!” He beamed at the three of them in the room, “I got stuff for you. There’s a chair for the porch in the back of my Jeep, I’ll go get it.”

He set down the bags on the kitchen floor, “What, uh, what kinda coffee do you guys like? There’s a Starbucks near here.” He looked at Laine, “Let me guess, black?”

He chuckled, but it guttered out when Laine didn’t return the humor in full. “Yeah, black, for me.” Donnelley smiled at Avery and his blunder. He liked the kid. “And one of those brownies.”

“Good morning Avery.” Ava greeted with a smile at Avery as he walked in, getting up from her seat to join him in the kitchen. “Here, let me help.” She said, picking up one of the bags and set it on the counter to start helping put groceries away. “I like the S’more Frappuccinos and the brownies are pretty good.”

Laine looked coolly at him and said dryly, "Yes, black. And a chocolate croissant for me, dark chocolate."

She moved to the table and began picking through the groceries. "Thanks for getting these groceries, but next time can you get some real butter, if you don't mind."

Laine smiled, then looked at the cellophane wrapped steaks critically. It was a good cut, just enough marbling for flavor and she commented as much.

“Yeah, I didn’t really know what to get you guys. I picked some up too, though.” Avery smiled, “I’m going to get that chair and get us some Starbucks!”

With that, he was off out the door, almost too excited to be running errands like an intern. Donnelley smiled after Avery, a part of him reminded of Queen and his swaggering antics. “Good kid.”




Escitalopram. Adderall. Hydroxyzine.
Jason eyed the prescription bottles lining the dash of his rental. A fleeting thought of hesitation for the SSRI crossed his mind, but only because he knew he couldn’t take any more amphetamines while on it. That meant no Molly, Sally, or Dexedrine. What a junky thought. He opened each bottle and collected the pills in a small pile in the palm of his meaty hand. They promised a semblance of normalcy, but what the hell was normal anymore? Admittedly, the pills did help. He wasn’t spiralling after Jordan and Syria, wasn’t balls deep in some pretty, coked up regret he’d inevitably want to call back later to ease the pain. Maybe that was it, that he didn’t know what that pain was. It was amorphous, cloudlike. Whatever sunshine it was blocking he didn’t care for anyway. The sooner he got to the safehouse the sooner he didn’t have to be alone in his head. Jason swallowed the pills and chased it with his cream heavy, sugary coffee. Just like abuela used to make it.

He wasn’t far from the safehouse, just a few blocks from where he picked up the coffee. The tires crunched up gravel as he rolled to a stop, and he announced himself with a series of car doors opening and closing. A moment later his wide frame filling the frame of the front door.

“Hey next time we can just get a double wide,” he said as he walked in. Stubble darkened his face, but he was all warm smile and bright eyes. Black duffel bags hung from his shoulders and the contour of his thick arms protruded from his tight, sleeveless Alice in Chains shirt. Back at it again.

Avery’s suspicious face fell away and his hands stopped with the task of reaching for his handgun when Donnelley slapped a hand on his shoulder, his face beaming, “Ho-lee shit,” Donnelley chuckled, “I’d offer you a beer, but we don’t have any. Yet.”

The feeling of camaraderie at the sight of the man who helped fight off an AB hit squad and patched up his leg, a fellow intelligence officer, came flooding back as Donnelley stepped in front of Avery, offering his hand out for a shake with the muscles in his own arms flexing in his muscle tank. The neighbors could probably smell the testosterone from outside, “How are you, partner?”

Jason took his hand in a loud slap, dropped one bag to the ground, and wrapped him up in a brotherly half-hug. He squeezed tight, genuinely happy to see the grizzled team lead. “Dying every day.”

He let Donnelley go, looking him up and down. “How you doin’, killer?”

“Rootin’. Tootin’.” Donnelley stepped back from Jason and headed for the kitchen, grabbing the steaks from the fridge and putting them on the island table for Jason, “But not enough shootin’. Just waitin’ for Dave and the others ‘fore we get back to the good fight. Some steaks here if you’re hungry, man.”

“Hell yeah,” Jason said. “I’ll never say no to some more protein.”

“Oh, yeah, that spry dog over there is Avery.” Donnelley nodded over at the other man, who waved and offered his hand out. Jason took Avery’s hand and gave it a testing squeeze.

“What’s up, man,” he said.

The sound of a car doors and voices brought Laine from the bedroom, following them to wherever in the small house they were at. A head of dark hair and the broad shoulders she recognized immediately.

"Jason!" Laine called out, a genuine smile flickering over her face. She looked back over her shoulder, "Ava, Jason's here."

She left the doorway, sauntering over to Jason and put her hands on her hips, "Welcome to our humble abode, how've you been?"

From her claimed bed, Ava looked up from her laptop at Laine announcing the arrival of another member of their team. She smiled slightly at the mention of the first member of UMBRA she had met and set her laptop to the side, hoping off the bed. She followed Laine to the door and hung back near the hallway that lead to the trio of bedrooms, letting the others say their hello’s before butting in to greet the giant medic.

Jason couldn’t help but have his gaze linger over Laine, not realizing his eyes were drinking her up before they met her gaze. His innocent smile faded into something resembling a boyish embarrassment.

“Oh you know, getting shot at and seeing shit I can’t explain.” He chuckled. “So not much different from the last time I saw you.”

"All in a day's work," she replied, her own gaze lingering from his arms up to his face.

Jason leaned over to spot Ava. “There’s our little nerd, come here!” He threw down his other bag, flashed Laine a playful wink, and walked around her to scoop up Ava in a bear hug. He expected her to be light, but the ease in which she left the ground almost threw the burly man off balance. “How’s the wound?”

“Hi Jaso-whoa!” Ava squeaked as his iron like arms wrapped around her and lifted her off her feet. She grabbed onto him out of instinct to keep from falling, a surprised laugh bubbling out of her. “Better now, thank you for asking.” She answered, smiling at him. She looked around them with Jason still holding her and giggled. “So, this is what it’s like to be tall.”

He turned around to face Laine with Ava still in his arms, mouthing a silent ‘what the hell’ at Laine while he flicked his glance down Ava’s back. Why the hell did everyone in this team need to be so damn attractive? He finally set Ava down and gave her a once over, nodding affirmingly. “Good,” he said. “Let’s not make it a next time.”

“Hey boss,” Jason called out to Donnelley. “Who we missin’? When’s go time?”

Laine stepped aside when he went to Ava and stood back, shrugging in response to his silent question. As the conversation shifted back over to Donnelley, Laine went over to Avery.

"Before the coffee, pick up a twel...no an eighteen pack of Dos Equis and a bag of limes," she said, "Bottles not cans. Thanks."

“Best make that twenty four,” Jason chimed in. “Who are we kidding. I’ll throw some cash at it."

Laine dug in her back pocket for the flat metal cigarette case she used as a wallet and popped it open, taking out two twenty dollar bills. "Get a bag of ice, too. We should have a proper hood cookout, what do you say, Donnelley?"

She looked over at him, a playful smile crossing her elegant features. “Fuckin’ hell yeah.” Donnelley whistled, producing his wallet and some cash, sapping it on the counter and sending it towards Avery. He turned his attention back to the others, “We’re missin’ Dave, Pari, Justin, and Tom. They’ll be here come tomorrow, probably, if they ain’t ‘round tonight.”

Donnelley’s eyes went back to Jason’s arms, before they ripped back up to his eyes and he folded his own thick arms, a grin and a shake of his head at the little voice in the back of it and the happiness to see another friend, “You get bigger every time I see you, you sumbitch.” He clucked his tongue, “What kinda routine the DIA got you on, hoss?”

Jason tensed an arm, his bicep swelling in a flex. “Half of Jordan’s lambs and too much protein powder,” he said, and chuckled at himself.

Ava went to the lady’s bedroom and then came back a moment later with some cash in her own hands. She smiled at Avery as she handed him the money. “If you could get some cherry 7-Up too, that’d be great.”

Ava looked over to Donnelley at the mention of Dave and beamed. “Dave texted me that he is on his way, but he has a long drive so it might be awhile.”

"Cherry 7-up? Damn, I wish I had some vodka," Laine said wistfully. "Hey, Avery do we have a grill?"

“Um,” Avery shrugged and scratched at his stubble, “We could get one, I guess.”

"Good!" Laine clapped her hands together, "We'll make it more like home. Keeping up normalcy, it's July, everyone grills."

“You know what we really need?” Ava asked Laine with a small grin. “Potato salad.”

"Let's make this poor boy a list," Laine suggested, pulling open drawers to look for something to write on. Inside one drawer she found a notepad with a homespun cartoon inchworm going up a flower stalk, "Inch by Inch, life's a cinch!" printed down the side. There was a pen, the Ohio Valley Bank printed on the plastic. It made her wonder suddenly exactly how and from whom the Safehouse had been procured.

Jotting down the list of grocery demands, she checked for what they did have. "Corn on the cob?" Laine suggested, then wrote down real butter .




This time, Pari drove to the safehouse. Some cheap rental car. A Prius. It had been a task and a half to squeeze her bags into it - and she took a glance in the rear view to see the failed tetris attempt in real time, wincing at it. “They’re gonna laugh me out of the safehouse in this Grandma car…” she mused, thinking of her teammates and their fondness for the bigger vehicles - the 4x4 and the SUV. Then here she was about to roll up in a tiny Toyota Prius, still it had a pretty sexy lick of teal paint on it, and that was something she admired. They just weren’t going off-roading in this any time soon. She told herself that the Prius was to save from the Safehouse driveway looking too suspicious. Nobody would suspect the enviro-friendly Prius...

As she pulled up, the address having been sent to her previously, she sat for a moment or two in the driver's seat, her music still played while she toyed with her hair. A trendy suggestion from her streaming account, a sunny and wholly Californian selection of hip hop. It always felt strange to see her hair straightened, as opposed to seeing her curls fighting their way out of bobby-pins and hair ties. Stranger still that there was a hot pink streak through it, a nice souvenir from a vacation. A gift from a new friend. She smiled at it, her lipstick matched. No red today, just colour.

The door popped and a pair of dusty rose jutti met the gravel. “Ahh, that feels the same…” she muttered to herself with a wry smirk as she headed to the trunk. If it had been hard to get everything in, it was about to be harder to get it all out. She’d packed completely out of her style - and by that, she had nottravelled light. She tugged on the handle, it was wedged and heavy. A deadly combination. ”Chhaiyla…” she hissed out, before promptly giving up on it. One of the boys would help. Instead, she reached for a smaller tote bag - sat much more neatly on the backseat and giggled at the contents. There was a warmth in the air, and she was grateful for her choice of clothing. A simple cotton sundress in a similar hue to that of her shoes. It was cinched at her waist, and buttoned across the chest, with frilled shoulder straps. The woman mad her way in the direction of the door, which unlike the last time, was open already - at least she wasn’t the first to arrive then…

“Namaste!” she called out, a friendly, albeit nervous chirp in her voice.

“Pari!” Donnelley raised his bottle to the newly arrived woman, “You’re back!”

“Paris?” Avery said, looking up from his task of putting the groceries away in the fridge and cabinet, looking around at them all in the room with a quizzical expression before settling on the newcomer, “Are we just not using the passwords anymore?”

Donnelley stepped in front of Pari with his arms out to his sides, the look in his eye might’ve clued Pari in that it wasn’t just beer in his veins, “I missed you in all your mystic, spiritual glory.”

“Oh,” Pari uttered, slightly surprised by Donnelley’s choice of words but she appreciated them all the same, “Well that’s a nice welcome back, I missed you too,” she settled on with a smile, before stepping towards him for the unexpected hug. She caught the scent of alcohol on him in the close proximity. ”ah”

Pari narrowed her eyes in the direction of Avery curiously. “Newcomer?” she mouthed back to their team lead, slightly amused at his misunderstanding. “Newcomer,” she mouthed again with a nod. “Just another agent, Parinaaz, but Pari is fine,” she said in the direction of the man with a nonchalant wave of her hand, as if it was not a big deal. “It’s nice to meet you….?”

“I’m Avery!” He said, jumping up to attention almost out of habit. At least he didn’t salute. “Avery Morales, I’m the Safehouse Handler.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you Avery!” Pari replied. “That’s a great name by the way - Elf King,” she added with a wink.

Ava leant her head out of the kitchen and smiled when she saw Pari. “Hi Pari!” She greeted, lowering the heat of the stove before stepping away from the chocolate she was melting. She walked up to the woman and gave her a friendly hug, a bit of chocolate staining one corner of her mouth as she looked up at her with a smile. “How are you?” She asked, stepping back, her bright blue eyes noticing the streak of color in her hair. “I like the pink Rogue streak.”

That made her chuckle, and Pari held Ava a little longer than she had Donnelley. She had a soft spot for her younger teammate - especially since they’d had such a terrifying experience. Thoughts of Ava’s blood pooling around her crept into her mind, but seeing her again sent it back. It was good to see her so happy and carefree today. “I’m well, actually. How are you?” she asked with a smile. “And thanks, it was errr…” she curled a finger around the aforementioned streak, “my friend did this. Takes me back to being sixteen if I’m honest. Did you have a good break?”

“I did,” She said, putting her hands in the pocket of her jean shorts and a small smile. “Did a little gardening with my friend.”

Pari glanced at Ava with slight mischief in her eyes, “pumpkins?” she asked with a smirk.

Ava chuckled and nodded. “Pumpkins and poppies.”

Laine heard Ava greet Pari but she was wrist deep in marinating steaks so she glanced over her shoulder and tipped her chin, "Hey, Pari, welcome back."

She wiped the pepper garlic off her fingers on a paper towel as she turned around. Laine's cool green gaze moved over the woman and she gave her a crooked smile. "Cute dress, but we already have a Stepford Wife. Have you met Avery?"

“Laine! Hi,” Pari responded, bright eyed in the direction of her fellow FBI Agent, she gave a quick chuckle at her quip, “I know, it’s not my usual style,” her fingers plucked at the hem of the skirt before she gave Avery a sidelong glance, “Stepford Wife?” she said, in a faux coy tone as her gaze flicked back to Ava, “Are you building robots now? Your skills impress me more and more...”

Ava smiled sheepishly. “Well, I did bring a couple of drones I built.” She said with a small shrug then pointed over her shoulder. “I should get back to making dessert.” She said before stepping away to return to the kitchen.

Laine merely raised her eyebrows slightly, then turned to cover the Tupperware the steaks rested in. "We're having an impromptu grill, steaks and corn on the cob, grilled zucchini, potato salad. The works. Beer."

She picked up her half empty bottle, a lime wedge floating in the remaining beer. "You want one?"

Pari eyed the bottle and shook her head, stepping across to the kitchen behind Ava, “No thank you, sober Sally here,” she said, “but I’ll take a glass of water.” The woman placed her bag down on the empty table beside the kitchen counters, and watched Laine and Ava at work, “I can help with anything… Although I don’t think you’d want my cooking, so maybe I’ll just clean up. What can I do?”

"Suit yourself, there are bottles of water in the fridge and some Cherry 7-Up," Laine said, taking a bowl down from cupboard. "What's wrong with your cooking? Look, I might be some California white girl but I can handle spicy.”

She poured some olive oil in the bowl, reaching for a small plastic jar of chili powder to make her point, dumping a healthy teaspoon into the oil.

Pari had made her way to the sink, already filling the basin with water. “Well, Laine, let’s just say there have been occasions when I have burnt pasta…” She felt marginally embarrassed to admit it but gave a light-hearted shrug. “Cooking is not really a skill in my repertoire,” she laughed.

"It's a skill like any other, you can learn if you want. My mom wasn't that great a cook," Laine said, drawing the chef's knife from the block. "I taught myself in college, made friends with some culinary students in my dorm. YouTube is a gold mine."

She bundled the cilantro tightly and began methodically chopping it fine. "But having a clean up crew is most appreciated.

Pari was running a sponge over the dishes in the sink, listening to Laine. “Now there you go, that’s my skill - Michelin star cleaning efforts,” she chuckled. “I can put a shine on anything.” She placed the now glistening plate on the drying rack, moving on to the next thing in the sink. “But you’re right -- I could stand to learn how to cook, it would make my mother happy if I learned some of her recipes,” she sighed ruefully.

"Unless you can afford DoorDash every night, it's a good idea," Laine agreed, then took a long drink of the Mexican beer, the tang of lime and the scent of cilantro lingering on her fingers. She chunked it in the trash before grabbing another and popping the top off against the counter. "That I learned in college too, pretty cool."

Laine squeezed some lime juice into the cold beer them the rest into the dressing. "It might be nice to have some authentic Indian food, anyway. By the way, how do you like your steak. I think Donnelley will be manning the grill. You know how guys are, give them raw meat and open fire and suddenly they're hunter-gathers again."

She blinked then chuckled, "Sorry, I get chatty when I drink."

“No apologies needed. Chatty is good,” Pari remarked before nodding, still washing and putting away dishes and cutlery.

“I’ll watch some YouTube and give it a go,” she replied confidently with a smile, making that promise to herself as well. “And, well… As well as being a sober Sally, I’m one of those annoying vegetarians,” she said, almost apologetically, at least self-aware enough to know that it was often a nuisance. “But,” she continued, “I haven’t gone gluten, dairy, and GM free yet. So, that just means more steak for our hunter-gatherers to fight over, and there’s no chance of a veggie being wasted when I’m around.”

"Gross," Laine said flatly then grinned a little, taking another swig of beer. "It's not a big deal, you should have said something. We could have got some veggie burgers or portabella. There's plenty of meatless sides anyway."

She set aside the bowl, covering it in Saran wrap.

“Oh, don’t worry I had a big breakfast at the airport, the sides and Ava’s dessert will be more than enough.” Pari placed the last of the washing up on the rack, pulling the plug from the sink to let the water drain with a loud gurgle. “You had a good break I hope?”

Laine looked at the label on her beer, picking at the corner, "I worked most of the time, got the forensics back on the skeletal remains found at the Vasquez scene and their identities. A few other things too, but we'll go over everything in the briefing. And I saw a pretty good punk show."

She smiled, her gaze still locked on the peeling label before finally looking up. "You?"

Pari observed the flicker of a smile on Laine’s lips and raised a brow curiously but said nothing of it, instead taking a towel to dry off her hands. “I took a trip with my mother, we went to London, she had a conference…” Pari shrugged with a smile. “Speaking of the case,” she interrupted herself, keen to shift away from talking about the trip. Her eyes widened as she paced the floor to her handbag, “I had some luck with my own research too after our conversation -- oh, and I brought some books with me too that we might find useful. I’m interested in those forensic reports though.”

“You had luck?” Donnelley perked up, his eyes still hazy, but his face serious as ever, “What kind of luck?”

Ava looked up from the chocolate she was pouring over a bed of crushed graham crackers. “That’s good! What did you find?” She asked curiously, eyes brightening with interest at the prospect of more information to help them with this case.

Pari turned to grab her suitcase, realising it was still in the back of the Prius so she brought her hands together as her lips quirked into a slight smile, "I prepared a binder - but it's still in the car." The smile faltered to a grimace as she readied herself to have to ask for help, and the ribbing that would follow. "If I could be cheeky and ask for some help to lift my case, I'll tell you all about it…"

[Hr]

Dave cruised with his window down, elbow out, Hank Jr. wailing about love and loss and outlaw shit as he piloted his truck through the rundown neighborhood. He scanned the street through a pair of gas station sunglasses, a Texas Tech hat pulled low over his eyes. He was a Razorbacks fan, but the stolen plates on his ride were from Texas and he wanted to sell the illusion, but couldn't bring himself to wear a Longhorns cap. That was too close to blasphemy.

As he drove he checked the GPS he'd dropped in the cup holder of the Ford; it was a hunting model, sturdy and simple to use. Dave rarely brought it into the mountains himself, but he had bought it so Mal could find his way to civilization in the event of an emergency. His son wasn't quite up to snuff on his land-nav yet.

Dave pulled to a stop in front of the battered house, eyeing it suspiciously. Since his last adventure with UMBRA he expected gunfire at every turn. Finally he took a breath and pulled a subcompact Sig from the console, a twin to the one he'd left on the mountain the last time he was in West Virginia.

With another breath to steel himself he climbed out of the truck, holding the pistol low and behind his thigh. He'd dressed in a green flannel shirt and a pair of Wranglers; not the most tactical of outfits, but one that wouldn't draw attention given the country nature of his surroundings.

Dave took a few steps to put himself behind the engine block of his truck, a piece of wisdom from his monster of a father. A car door won't stop a bullet, boy. A motor will.

"Hey! Y'all in there?" He called, clicking the safety off his pistol and readying himself to duck and fire.

There was a beat of silence before the door opened and the familiar head of fiery red hair poked out. Ava smiled brightly as her eyes landed on Dave’s face, recognizable even under the sunglasses and hat. “Dave! Hi!” She said, raising a hand to wave to him before looking back into the house. “Guys! Dave is here!”

That bit of information passed on, she stepped out of the house and hopped down the steps to greet Dave.

Dave beamed and stepped around the truck, tucking his Sig into his appendix holster before pulling her into a tight hug.

"Hey there, sugar! How's it goin'?"

Laine followed Ava outside, a beer in each hand, shouldering the door left ajar open. She called back over her shoulder, "Dave's here."

Walking out, she smiled as Ava hugged Dave and once again was surprised by how pretty the mountain man was. She stopped just behind the cloud of red curls and held a beer up for him once the hug was over.

"Welcome back, dude," Laine said, her voice lighter than normal.

Ava grinned as she pulled away from the hug, catching the scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering smell of the outdoors just before she stepped away. “It’s going well, glad you made it in time for the cookout.”

"Thanks, dude," Dave grinned as he took the beer. "Y'all are havin' a cookout? Shit, guess I brought the right present along." He took a long pull of his beer and reached into the truck, hooking an arm under the strap of the duffel bag that contained his flak, helmet, pistol, and his rifle, as well as a number of other tactical accoutrements. Once it was settled on his shoulder he picked up a plastic bag and a milk jug full of clear liquid.

"Got us some of that authentic Boone County fire water," he said proudly. "None of that West Virginia 'make ya go blind' swill."

He offered the plastic bag to Ava. "Got a couple'a cokes in there for you and Pari. I remember y'all not drinkin'." He winked at her. "So where's the rest of everybody at?"

"Real moonshine? Well, I'm sold," Laine said, "We have steaks for the grill, I think the guys are out back getting it set up."

Ava took the bag and opened it to peer inside, grinning at the sight of a few cherry Cokes among the regular ones. “Thanks Dave,” She looked up at him, a little mirthful glint in her eye. “I got you something too.”

"Oh yeah?" He cocked his head. "Well you didn't hafta do that. Thank you."

"That's very thoughtful," Laine commented, looking over Ava's head at him, a hint of a smile on her lips.

Ava shrugged as she continued to smile, though it turned a little more shy. “I saw it when I was buying hiking boots and thought you might get a kick out of it.” She said, pointing over her shoulder to the house. “I’m going to put these in the fridge and go get it.” She added, giving one last smile before turning to trott back into the house with the Cokes in hand.

Dave watched her walk away before turning his attention to Laine.

"So, I miss anything? You have a good break?" He asked, grinning at Laine.

Laine watched him watching Ava and bit her lip to keep from smiling at the obvious direction his gaze was following. She shrugged, then took a sip of her beer, "Just food prep. Jason and Donnelley are here, and if you couldn't guess by the teal Prius, Pari is here as well. We're still waiting on Justin and Tom."

She glanced at Dave, looking him over briefly and smiled slightly, "Yeah, it was a good break. Mostly work but worth it. By the way, you look much better without the mask of bruises."

"Heh, yeah. I got some weird looks around home until they cleared up," he said. He hiked his bag a little higher on his shoulder. "Welp, might as well get settled, I guess. See how the rest of the team is."

He nodded at Laine and pushed the door of his truck closed with his hip, then headed for the house, smiling as he went. He was looking forward to seeing the rest of the group; even though they'd only known each other briefly, he had found himself curiously lonesome up on his mountain.

“Did I hear what I thought I heard?” Donnelley stood in the doorway of the house, staring down from his place a few steps higher than Dave. A cigarette dangled from his lips and his lighter made shadows enough for Dave to make out a devilish grin on Donnelley’s bearded face, “I see your sense of fashion has climbed a few rungs since we last met, partner. Texas?”

Dave grinned at the sight of Donnelley. They'd bonded in the gunfight and during the long drive to Arkansas, and he was happy to reunite with a fellow country boy, even if the other man had musical tastes that didn't quite jive with his own.

"Matches the plates," he said, jerking his head towards his pickup and its stolen accessories. He hefted the milk jug in his right hand. "Got a present for ya. Told you I'd hook you up for the ride."

Donnelley whistled at the size of that ordinance and his brows rose with it, “One good thing my pa taught me is a man’s only good as his word,” Donnelley smiled a wicked grin, “You are good, friendo. You need help with your bags, I’ll carry summin’ in?”

"Nah, I just brought this." He hefted his duffel bag, haphazardly packed with weapons and clothing. "My day pack is in the truck, but it ain't got nothin' important in it. You wanna get us some shot glasses though, we can get this barbecue goin'."

“Now that I can help with.” Donnelley nodded, pushing past the door and leaving it open for the man behind him. As he turned for the kitchen, he pointed at Avery on the couch, nursing a beer bottle, “That’s Avery, he’s our Safehouse Handler. Security and Errand-Boy, wrapped in one.”

Avery held a good-natured middle finger and a smirk over his shoulder at Donnelley before turning from the TV to Dave and waving. Donnelley grabbed a few shot glasses for everyone in the house and set them on the island table, “I think Jason is still grillin’ in the back.”

Dave gave Avery a friendly nod. "Glad to have another gun in the fight, in case somethin' pops off."

He dropped his bag and began pouring the shots, the potent scent of the liquor filling the air. "Speakin' of guns, where's Justin an' that other guy? Tom? They comin' in?"

Laine watched Dave walk inside for no doubt a warm welcome. Alone outside, she fished out the pack of Djarums from her pocket and took one out, flicking the lighter open, flame dancing in the breeze. She took a seat on the porch, rocking in the aluminum chair as she smoked and nursed her beer.

The sound of Donnelley's voice drew her attention, the excitement over the moonshine and guns. Punk ass cowboy, she thought warmly then snubbed out the half smoked clove.

As Laine entered the house in time to see shots being poured. "You're not leaving me out of this," she said, approaching the group of men, "I've never tried real moonshine."

Jason emerged from the backyard wafting the aroma of lighter fluid and charcoal inside as the door plunked shut behind him. He saw Donelley pouring shots and his teeth flashed in a grin. He approached the countertop, saw Dave and extended a fist in greeting.“What’s up, man,” he said enthusiastically. Jason still knew little about the man, had barely interacted with him at all, but the way Donnelley was around him gave Jason enough of an impression for the veneer of friendship to settle. “What the hell are we drinking here?”

"Hey, bud!" Dave grinned, giving the big man a friendly nod. He capped the milk jug and set it aside, bumping Jason's fist with his own before passing the shots around. "Here, Avery. Got one for you too. Now this here is real, no-shit Boone County moonshine. West Virginia just thinks they're whiskey makers."

“My man!” Jason exclaimed, then eyed Laine. “Partaking too, huh?”

She reached for a shot then raised a brow at Jason, "You're damn right. I'll be doctor tomorrow."

Ava exited out of the hallway with a hand behind her back, eyes alighting on the group around the kitchen island about to do shots. She smiled at the warm, relaxed energy buzzing in the air as she approached, walking around the large group to Dave and tapping him on the shoulder. “Here, I hope you like it.” She said, moving her hand forward to show him a brown baseball hat with a dark blue bill with the image of a copy of the hat embroidered on it.

Dave studied the hat for a moment, then gave a bark of laughter. He took off his Texas Tech hat and replaced it with his new gift.

"Thanks, sugar, I love it," he grinned. He tossed his old hat at Donnelley. "Here. You're a Texas boy, you can wear this abomination."

“I wear it better anyway,” Donnelley took it and placed it on his head, wearing it backwards, “Thanks for the gifts, partner.”

"Happy to." Dave raised his glass to Donnelley and the others. "Bottoms up."

He tossed back the shot, bit down a grimace at the harsh burn, and slammed the glass down on the counter with a thump. "So? Tom and Justin?"

Donnelley threw back the shot and, even to his seasoned palate, had to suppress a choke. He clacked the shot glass back on the counter and took a deep, burning breath, “Oh, that’s delicious, thank you.” He wheezed and wiped his mouth, “No word yet. Figure they maybe get here tomorrow.”

Ava beamed, happy to see that Dave enjoyed his gift. She watched the others slam their shots and out of curiosity, picked up the empty one Dave had used and gave it a sniff. The smell burned the inside of her nostrils like she had just sniffed rubbing alcohol and she snorted, setting the shot glass down with a firm shake of her head. “I wasn’t aware you could drink gasoline.”

Laine knocked back the moonshine and hissed, shivering violently as the harsh liquor fired through her body. Goosebumps pricked her arms and she whistled softly, "I said goddamn."

She breathed a soft laugh at Ava, "Usually it's huffed, but this isn't gasoline. It's jet fuel."

Dave grinned. "Toldja it's the good stuff. Arkansas does it right."

Having put her case in the women's bedroom and having reorganised her bed - Pari walked back through to the lounge, the sounds of chatter definitely louder now, it reminded her immediately of one of her own family get togethers. She watched, impressed, as the ringing of the shot glasses signalled a real kick off to their welcome back and smiled in Dave's direction.

"Welcome back Dave," Pari beamed at him, before her gaze flitted to Jason. "And hello Jason." She could smell the moonshine, even from several feet away and it was enough to have her coyly raise a brow, "Holy cabooses -" she sighed with a laugh. "Are we going to have hangovers tomorrow?"

Jason turned his head to a side and blew the fumes of potent shot from his mouth. “Good to see you,” he said to Pari, his throat still airing the liquor in a hoarse tone. “It’d take that whole bottle to give me a hangover.”

"Hey, Pari," Dave gave her a wave. "Good to see ya. I think we'll be fine, ain't got anything goin' on tomorrow, far as I know."

Laine looked at her glass and at Pari, "Sorry Sally, I think we'll be alright. We're well practiced."

“Fuckin’ master.” Donnelley said, raising his beer bottle to his lips and taking a few long pulls from it.

"Well I volunteer to do a drive thru run in the morning, anyway," Pari replied coolly with a nod. "Nice to see you too Dave."

"Doing Avery's job for him, too? Poor guy," Laine chuckled, looking over at the young man among the rest of UMBRA, "But he already knows how I like my coffee."

“Black!” Avery perked up, “Just like the big guy over there.”

Donnelley and Avery both pointed a finger-gun at each other. Avery’s demeanor had quickly endeared him to the man, who was reminded of a loyal puppy whenever he saw him. Like a younger, more chipper Donnelley of times past. “It ain’t a party if I don’t wake up half-dead.” Donnelley grinned, “I’ll do one more shot and keep Jason company while he grills.”

He pursed his lips and quirked a brow at his team, “What say y’all?”

“Amen to that,” Jason said.

“I’ll do one.” Avery chimed in.

“That’s my boy.” Donnelley winked, giving a grin.

Dave began to pour, the harsh antiseptic smell of the raw liquor once more filling the air.

"Gotta love a taste of home," he said, passing them around. He raised his glass briefly in salute, then pounded the shot back. He hissed and shuddered. "So what we grillin'?"

“Steaks, feta melt on top,” Jason answered. “What else we got?”

"I'll have another," Laine said, shaking her head and smiling crookedly at the two. She looked over at Dave, "Make it a double, Mountain Man. And I have some corn on the cob and zucchini for the grill."

Ava gave another shake of her head when Dave uncorked the moonshine and the smell filled the kitchen. “Ya’ll are going to burn a hole in your stomach.” She chuckled.

She blinked and then rolled her eyes with a good natured smile. “I just said ‘ya’ll’, I’ve been hanging out too much with Donnelley and Dave.”

Holding the glass out Laine shrugged slightly, "I'm going to line my stomach with steak, I'll be good. Besides, I already have everything arranged for the briefing tomorrow. The doctor will be in. Tonight, it'll be Heather getting drunk off this hillbilly shine."

"Nothin' wrong with expandin' your vocabulary, sugar," Dave grinned as he poured another round. He capped the milk jug and gave Laine a faux-admonishing look. "An' please, doc. We're mountain folk. Hillbillies are out east, makin' their shine in cast iron and not copper like good, god fearin' Americans do."

Grabbing her soda from the fridge, Pari gave Dave a nod of appreciation and cracked it open, "Actually, actually…" she began, waving a hand. "I brought you all some gifts too from my trip, I'll be back!" She said with a quiet giggle, leaving the can on the counter as she went to fetch her bag from the bedroom.

Ava furrowed her eyebrows curiously as she watched Pari disappear down the hallway. Looked like she would need to add another gift to her Amazon cart. “Wonder what she got us.” She mused aloud, folding her arms on the counter and leaning on them.

"My apologies, Dave," Laine said, "I'm no cultural anthropologist, but I will certainly be sure to call you a mountain man instead. Actually, I really wouldn't mind learning the differences between West Virginia hill folk and Ozark mountain folk. The devils in the details."

Her eyes twinkled with alcohol and mischief as he poured her the moonshine. She pulled her gaze from Dave when Pari announced her gifts. A smile twitched her lips quirking into a tight smirk of curiosity.

"Well for one, our liquor's better," Dave said emphatically. "Football too. And the weather… Shit, West Virginia ain't got much goin' for it 'cept the company, once I think about it."

"I don't know shit about football but the music is pretty interesting," Laine said, wincing as she drank the shot down, "Jesus, that's strong but not any rougher than tequila. I got some authentic mountain music and bluegrass from the library. Those fiddles are hella Celtic. Do the Ozarks have a music tradition?"

“Oh sure,” Dave said, taking his appendix holster out and setting it on the counter. He walked to his bag and began taking out his gear. “It’s pretty similar. I mean, my name’s MacCready. We’re all Scots and Irish, or both.” As he spoke he pulled his AK from his bag, clicked a magazine into place, and then switched on the red-dot before setting it aside. “Banjos, fiddles, some steel guitar...Some of them ol’ fellas way up in the mountains can play a mean mandolin. Pickin’ it with all five fingers.”

"The mandolin, that's the one. Higher pitched, I like it," Laine said, nodding and watching him take out his guns. "Maybe you can give me a few bands to look up sometime. We don't have music like this in LA. Does your...uh, folks have stories passed down, a strong oral tradition?"

A drunk giggle rose in her throat and she choked it down, drowning it with the rest of the moonshine from her glass.

Ava looked over at Laine in confusion as the psychologist giggled before realization clicked in her eyes. She snorted and rolled her eyes with a small smile. “Go home Laine, you’re drunk.” She teased the other woman.

Laine laughed aloud and put a hand on her hip, "Almost there."

“Ava, you silly woman. This here’s not a Safehouse, it’s a Safehome.” Donnelley looked into his shot glass and smiled around, “Oh, shit,” he chuckled and swayed in place, looking over to Laine with something in his eye that was a little more than friendly, “I think I beat you there, sugar.”

“To Dave,” Donnelley rose his glass and hazily smiled at the mountain man, “For showin’ me this fine nectar of the Ozarks and becomin’ my new best friend.”

Laine smiled and said, "Right behind you, sir."

She raised her empty glass, the temptation to ask for another tempered by the certainty that the shine would burn as much coming up as going down.

"To Dave, keeping us safe even if we're a buncha Feds," she said, giving the man a warm smile then held out her glass. "I'll nurse this shot, I swear."

“You’d better,” Donnelley let a mischievous grin out, though he kept his eyes on his glass save for a glance at the woman, “Make the Team Lead put his foot down.”

He figured he might as well go for a save, “Goes for all y’all. I don’t need anyone shootin’ at the moon in the backyard.” He chuckled.

“There go my plans.” Ava grinned over at Donnelley. She looked over at Dave, even now getting himself ready for a fight and protect them should Hell come knocking on their door. Her smile warmed a little and she rose up an imaginary glass. “To Dave, a good man.”

Dave grinned at the toasts, beaming as he dug his full size Sig and drop-holster out of his bag and began buckling them on, along with a three-mag spare pouch. They were relaxing now, but violence was always moments away. He'd learned that lesson. Now, hearing that his friends considered him a protector, he felt both a swelling of pride and a new sense of responsibility.

“Okay,” came the smooth voice of Pari as she rounded the corner again, bags in tow. “So these are just little things really – had nothing left to do on my last day, and of course I thought of you all.” She reached a hand into the bag, first taking out a packaged USB drive in the shape of Big Ben, which she handed to Ava. “My friend tells me this is kitsch…” she laughed, leaving it in front of the redhead. “For Laine…” she added as she reached in and pulled out a book – Jack the Ripper: The Tour. “I was a touch unwell, and didn’t get to do the tour myself and this is a bit… Well, it’s not the most detailed thing, “ she remarked nervously. “But it has some old timey maps, replicas of his letters… I don’t know, I thought you might get a kick from it.
“For Dave,” she said next, meeting his eyes with a devious sparkle in her own – taking out a faux bearskin hat. “A nice little number, since you’re the guard of us three lovely Queens. I thought you’d look rather dashing in this…” she laughed, adding an English accent to her words. “Donnelley… I was a bit stuck on you… But I also went for a hat—” she brought out a flat cap with a girlish giggle and a smirk. “This is the one those rascal Peaky Blinders wear…”

“Oh, you know a ruffian like me so well.” Donnelley beamed, taking the flat cap and trading the Texas Tech hat for it, stuffing the latter in his back pocket, “What they call it? Ragamuffin?”

“Regular rapscallions,” Pari chirped back, admiring the man in his new hat. “The Peaky Blinders actually took to stitching disposable razor blades in the peaks of those caps -- take of that information as you will…” she added quietly.

“Men after my own Irish heart.” He made a show of straightening the hat on his head.

The impish drunken grin on Laine's face died away as Pari came back, laden with gifts. Laine took the book, looking at it as she explained and a slow, enigmatic smile appeared as she shook her head in wonderment, "Thanks, another unsolved murder case, I'll treasure it," Laine said, looking intently at the cover, as she started off back to the kitchen. She needed another beer.

Jason watched the gifts getting passed around with a fading smirk. Without a word, he turned and walked into the kitchen for a beer. All of them, she had said. He thought of how some things never change, and wondered if he should even care, knowing he would all the same. Two bottle necks were laced in his fingers, and he departed to the backyard, the door smacking on his way out.

Ava's smile dimmed slightly as she was handed the flash drive. “Ah, thanks. It's cute and practical.” She said looking back up and trying to plaster the excitement back on her face. She waved it slightly. “I'll go put it with my laptop, thank you Pari.” She said before leaving the room and disappearing down the hallway.

Dave accepted his hat with a baffled smile . "Thanks, Pari," he said, looking it over appreciatively and smiling at her explanation. "I'm glad y'all feel that way. I'm gonna do my best for all y'all." He watched Ava walk out of the room, then returned to the counter and poured himself another shot. This one he sipped at, wincing a little but enjoying the familiar burn.

"And that was my gift shop tour," Pari said, taking the bag back and rolling the top over. She took a seat, feeling slightly awkward about it, wondering if she was now too similar to her Aunt Amita, who at birthdays and events always seemed to bring the lamest of all gifts - and not in an endearing way. Shaking the thought loose, she grabbed her coke and sipped at it quietly.

***

Laine took her open beer and the Ripper book and made a quick turn from the kitchen to the hallway, pausing only long enough to give a bewildered look at the British guard hat Dave held in his hand. She bit her tongue, turning to continue on to the bedroom she shared.

Ava was still there and Laine nodded at her, setting the Dos Equis beer on the dresser. She looked at the tour book and waved it, "Nice of Pari to like think of us while on vacation. Maybe I oughta give her something in exchange."

A dark look flickered in her green glassy eyes as she opened her bag and pulled the library book out, showing it to Ava. Backwoods Witchcraft of Appalachia "I mean if I give it as a gift, you think she'd actually read it this time?"

Laine cackled at her own acidic joke and put both books away. She brushed her hair back out of her face and peered at Ava. "Well, at least yours can be fit into your pocket. Dave's hat looks like you have to feed it and take it out for walks."

Ava was sitting on her bed, pillow supporting her back as she leaned against the wall and the plushie Laine had gotten her in her lap. Her phone was on top of it as she scrolled her finger on the screen but her eyes looked a little distant.

“Mmhm, very nice of Pari to think of us.” She said distractedly, the blue screen of her phone faintly reflected in her glasses.

Laine looked over at her, then moved to sit on the end of Ava's bed. "Tired of hanging out with us drunks?" She asked, testing the waters. "I think Dave will wear your hat, I doubt that guard hat will fit in the pick up truck."

Ava blinked and looked up at her. “Oh, no, I'm sorry. I was just checking something.” She said and picked up her phone to wave it a little. “And, just thinking if I should get something for Pari to pay her back for her...gift.” She said, glancing over at the flash drive sitting on the nightstand by her bed. “But I don't know her that well so I don't know what to get her.” She pressed her lips together and shrugged. “Maybe a Starbucks gift card that says ‘thank you’?”

Laine huffed a breath and laid back, "This is why I don't like Christmas."

She turned her head, reaching over to tug the ear of the stuffed cat. "You don't owe anyone anything. If you want to get someone a gift, then that's it. I'm going against thousands of years of gift etiquette here, but....uh, yeah. Starbucks card is always good."

Ava gave Laine a curious look, smiling a bit as the woman played with one of the cat’s ears. “Well I hope you don't mind but I did get you something because I love my plushie so much.” She waved her phone over Laine's face. “And it already shipped.”

"You sneak," Laine chuckled, then pushed herself up on her elbow. "You didn't have to, but thanks. As long as you like the plushy and it helps you for comfort."

“It does, thank you.” Ava smiled, moving the phone away so Laine didn't bump her head on it. “And I thought you might like this, so I was happy to order it.” She said and tapped at her phone for a moment before turning to show Laine a picture of a black and white death’s head moth enamel pin. “What do you think?”

Laine peered at the phone then grinned, "That's cool, I like it. I got an old denim jacket that'll go perfect on."

Ava smiled happily. “Good! I'm glad you like it, it'll be waiting at my house when we finish up here.” She said, putting her phone down. “And if you forget tonight, now I know you like it and it'll still be a surprise.” She added with a light laugh, her blue eyes dancing merrily behind her glasses.

Laine rolled off Ava's bed, laughing at herself, "I might forget, that moonshine is no joke. I think I like it too much."

She picked herself up and grabbed the beer off the dresser. "So you're alright?" Laine asked, her eyes focusing on Ava as her expression sobered slightly.

“Oh, yes, I feel better now.” Ava said with a small smile. “Thank you, Laine.”

"You want to know something?" Laine asked, leaning in conspiratorially. "My first name is Heather. I hate it but you can call me that. Just not in front of people."

Ava grinned at her. “I like Laine better too. Plus, if you do end up forgetting this conversation I don't want to risk your wrath calling you something you don't like.” She said with a chuckle. “You might put a spell on me with that black magic book, turn all my clothes black and goth.”

Laine rolled her eyes, sighing, "I would never. I don't believe in magic and that bullshit. Well... I'm still skeptical but uh, there is things lately. Crazy weird shit... you know. Anyway, you looked a little bummed so I thought I'd check up on you."

“Thanks.” Ava sighed and dropped her head back against the wall, frowning up at the ceiling. “It was stupid, I was being an ungrateful brat.” She said, pushing her glasses up on her forehead to rub her hands over her face. “I’m fine now though.”

"What do you mean?" Laine asked, sipping her beer and she plopped down onto her own bed.

“Just,” Ava frowned and sighed again, sitting up straight with a grimace on her face. “Something about Pari’s gift to me and then what she gave everyone else...It reminded me of the ‘gifts’,” She rolled her eyes distastefully. “My grandparents on my dad’s side got me when I was a kid. Cheap little things like keychains and postcards because it’d be rude not to get me anything, but they also don’t like me so they didn’t put effort into them; like I was just an afterthought. Then all my cousins have these big extravagant or thoughtful gifts…”

She trailed off and scowled at herself with a shake of her head. “But of course, Pari is nothing like them. It’s stupid, she was kind enough to think of me and get me something she thought I would like while she was on vacation and I’m sulking about it.”

Laine leaned forward, elbows resting on her thighs as Ava spoke. Her eyes had the sheen of intoxication but remained focused as Ava revealed the old wound. "I'm pretty sure that it was well intentioned on Pari's end, but I can see how your experience with your grandparents would cause those old feelings to emerge. Sometimes it's hard to separate those old hurts from the innocent actions of another when they seem similar. Though... that fucking hat. That's a little too much."

Laine sipped her beer, looking at it for a moment, "I think she might have been trying to impress him, Dave is pretty cute. So, y'know. I don't know how giving the descendent of Scotsmen and an anti government one at that a symbol of English monarchist military oppression is supposed to work but...I could be overthinking it."

“I just...I don’t know, I always felt like an afterthought growing up...unwanted or unworthy outside of being smart.” She shrugged again, this time more stiffly as she looked down at her plushie. “So when Pari said that her friend liked the flash drive and gave it to me...Just that old feeling came bubbling up again.”

She shook her head again. “Like I said, I was being a brat.” Ava frowned, looking down at the cat plushie in her lap and giving an ear a wiggle. “I should go apologize to her and thank her for the gift again.” She said, looking over at the Big Ben flash drive. “At least it’s not a key chain and it’s related to something I like.”

"I don't think you're being a brat, I think it was just a reaction to something that triggered a painful memory. You know, that happens. It's not her fault or yours, but do what helps you feel better," Laine said, taking another drink.

Ava pressed her lips together. “I don’t want her thinking I’m ungrateful though...Maybe that Starbucks card can double as my apology? Let her know I do appreciate her thinking of me and she doesn’t need to know about...this.” Her eyes suddenly brightened suddenly. “Oh! You know, Starbucks is always selling those pretty mugs, maybe I could get her one of those too! I might get one for myself as well, the mugs here are so dull. What do you think?” She asked Laine, watching her take another swig of her drink. “You guys will probably need all the coffee you can get tomorrow morning.” She added with a chuckle.

Laine sat up and held her hands out, keeping the green beer bottle gripped between her thumb and palm. "There you go," she said, "You figured it out. I'm pretty sure that'll be a welcome gift. I like to tease Avery about being the houseboy because I think Donnelley is going to spoil him but I doubt he'll be any condition to make an early coffee run. So yes, we'll appreciate it."

She took a sip and made a face, "I need some fucking food, my belly is sloshing around."

Ava grinned at her and moved her plushie to the side to get off her bed. “Maybe the steaks are done?” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh crap! I have to toast the marshmallows for the top of the dessert!” She said before quickly leaving the room to head for the kitchen.

Laine let her run off before pushing up from the bed, glancing down at the bag that held the books. It would keep until tomorrow, the briefing that would push them all back into the world of dead girls and Russians and trigger happy rednecks. The corn needed to be put on the grill, steak to be eaten and to tighten those bonds that would help them see through the darkness until the dawn.

She shut the light off and swayed slightly as she went out the door to go back to the kitchen.

Meanwhile, in the lounge area, Pari was in the corner, trying to set up a bluetooth speaker. She thumbed through her iPod, looking for something worth playing that wouldn’t offend everyone’s tastes. Her dance mix probably wasn’t going to jive with the UMBRA crew, and so she settled on some chilled RnB. A beat in the background that wasn’t going to take over the atmosphere. As she squatted down on her haunches, she felt the dress squeezing her uncomfortably. “Fodricchya this is why I wear pants,” she complained to nobody in particular - halfway between a hiss and a mumble. It would be the last time she’d try something out of her usual style.

“Feel free to pick songs from my iPod everyone,” Pari said to the room, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t… Don’t judge my playlists,” she chuckled.

Laine wandered out of the bedroom and recoiled at the music, shaking her head before going to the refrigerator and started taking out the green husk covered corn and piled them onto a plastic tray. Walking past the living room, she called out, "Too late, I'm judging the hell out of them. We should put some mountain music, bluegrass country. Or folk gospel. For West Virginia, you know. Anything but fuckin R&B."

Her voice faded as she shouldered her way outside, pushing the door open and stepped into the soft slanted dimming light of the evening. "Make way for corn," she announced.

“Perfect,” Jason said, funnelling the rest of his first beer down his throat and grabbing the tin foil to prep the corn.

“We already got corn!” Dave waved his milk jug vigorously enough that had the contents not already been appreciably diminished, it would have sloshed out the top. A full-size glass sat in front of him, with several shots worth of the harsh liquor poured into it. He grinned and set the jug aside, then picked up a coke and filled his glass the rest of the way. “Hey, y’all think there’s any Hank on that iPod? Senior, Junior, or the Third is fine.”

“Third?” Jason asked. “Yikes.”

Laine got closer to Dave and his moonshine and laughed, "Hit me!"

She opened her mouth playfully, tilting her head back as her hands were still full with the tray.

Dave obliged, uncapping the jug and pouring a small measure into Laine's mouth.

"Don't inhale, shit burns if it hits the wrong tube," he laughed.

“Yeah, no shit,” Jason added.

Holding her breath, Laine swallowed the harsh liquor, trying not to sputter and cough it out. The lessons of the University of California at Irvine still paid off.

"Whew, that's some strong stuff," Laine wobbled a little when she looked down, her head spinning.

"Strong as you can make it," Dave confirmed proudly. "My pops makes it. Old man lives even deeper in the sticks than I do, an' he's been makin' shine since he could walk, seems like."

"That's why it's so fiery," she gave him a little crooked smile. "Got that authenticity."

Laine set the tray beside the grill on an overturned 5 gallon bucket that made a handy stool. She looked up at Jason, his handsome brooding features seemed darker. "How's the steak coming?" she asked, her gaze remaining on his face.

Jason immediately began husking the corn, much of his attention on the food and anything to keep his inner thoughts from boiling with false conclusions. He slathered the ears with butter and threw an array of spices on them before wrapping each in a casing of tin foil. They immediately went on the grill. A bowl of broccoli stalks peppered with minced garlic rested on a table next to the grill waiting to be singed by the heat.

“Marinating. I don’t want to dry them out,” he said, opening his beer and extending a cheers to both Dave and Laine. “How you two been? You know, outside of all of this?”

Laine watched with a moment of shock as he tore the husks off the corn. Her father had always left them in their green leaves to steam naturally so she had always done so but she said nothing, eyeing the spices he was putting on the ears of corn.

"Working," Laine said simply, "No rest for the wicked. I have some zucchini slices, but they cook fast, I'll bring them out later. You really got this grilling down, I put my own marinade on those steaks I hope you like it."

She looked him over, the awkward scene inside the house had still followed them outside like a bad smell but Laine left it alone. "There is a lot of new information to get into for this case. Tomorrow. Tonight we're going to investigate the Ozark cultural contribution of their backwoods distilleries."

“A few more shots and I’ll talk about ‘work,’” Jason replied, looking over the food before deciding to leave it be. No more busy work to be had. He gave Laine a half hearted smirk, something tired and sad. “You always call out country folk, or are you poking the bear over there?” he asked, nodding at Dave.

"Nah, ain't no callin' out," Dave said lightly. There was a looseness to his stance, a relaxed air about him, but otherwise he held himself like a professional moonshine drinker.

He walked a little closer and extended a hand to Jason.

"On a serious note, I never thanked ya for that overwatch. Shit got hairy, an' I'm pretty sure me an' Donnelley woulda been dead in them woods without you. So thanks for that."

Jason took Dave’s hand and curled the handshake towards their chests, his other hand slapping Dave’s back a brotherly half hug. “Any time, brother,” he said. “That’s what we’re here for. Feels good to do something other than pushing pencils these days.”

The bulky man gave a nod towards the moonshine at their feet, and said, “But if you want to repay me with some fine Ozark Mountain Dew that will uh, do.” He laughed, the previous negativity washed away, and he looked over at Laine, “Feeling dangerous? What another round?”

Laine was already feeling the numbness in her face, she bit her lip and felt the ticklish tingling from the alcohol. It was strong drink, harsher than tequila or whiskey, she knew she should slow down, be more moderate. But the crawling anxiety of being officially back in West Virginia even as far from Blackriver as they were had been shadowing her since they stepped into the safe house. The weight of the unknown and her self doubt about the killer's possible involvement in the weird that she had a hard time accepting let alone being close to understanding it.

But at Jason's challenge the thought of pushing it off into a drunken haze a little bit longer was tempting and she met his dark eyes and smiled slightly, "You're on, let's get a little dangerous."

"Dangerous it is." Dave grinned. "Y'all give me a minute, I'll run in for the shot glasses. Gonna do it right."

Donnelley stepped aside to let Dave through the sliding glass doorway. If anything, Donnelley looked to be a little sobered up, despite the tired eyes and loose-lipped smile he had when he stepped through the back door, “What y’all up to now?”

Laine turned away from the big man at the sound of Donnelley's voice. A coy smile tugged her lips up at the corners and she said, "We're living dangerous."

Her green eyes were unfocused and she looked past their team leader to the darkening dusk sky. "That's what we do, live dangerously," she slurred the words softly as if voicing a thought rather than speaking directly.




>JUL.19.2019
>1000...///

Live dangerous, Donnelley scoffed in his own head. The only living he’d be doing is with his face and hands surgically attached to a toilet bowl at this point. He hiccuped, screwing his eyes shut and pressing a fist to his mouth to fight down a surge of nausea. “Sir-“

“Shut,” Donnelley groaned and placed the fist right against his lips again before holding a hand out to Avery, “Shut up. Just everyone shut up and I can be done with this shit, okay?”

He regained himself, placing his hands back on his hips, “So, Gregory Carlisle was the main source of information we got our hands on. It turns out that he was turned by the Russians somewhat recently.”

“We’ve got the names of two main suspects,” he said, tapping a photo of Nikolai Gorochev thumb-tacked to a corkboard, “First one, this here is Nikolai Gorochev. He is a high-ranking member of Tadjbegskye Bratva, a Russian crime syndicate focused around human traffickin’ .”

“An elusive bunch of fuckers, but Nikolai seems particularly so. His daughter is said to be travelin’ here to West Virginia with her husband, Viktor.” Donnelley crossed his arms and stood silent for a bit, risking a small burp, “Viktor and Natalya Ivanov are in Blackriver, in a place called the River Valleys Retreat. Apparently, this place is a big get-together of rich assholes.”

Donnelley rubbed at his face, muttering a curse and shaking his head slowly, “Fuck…” he cleared his throat, the throbbing headache still there even after the couple Advil. “Here’s a familiar face.”

He pointed to Jay’s picture, a mugshot, “Remember this asshole? Jay Mitterick, big guy with the Aryan Brotherhood. While the Bratva kidnaps and trafficks girls, these Aryan sons run guns. Formerly, they were doin’ it for the Sinaloa, for a man they call El Muñecero, the Doll-Maker.”

“I want to identify these HVTs and take them into custody. Jay and Nikolai know where weapons caches are. Nikolai knows where he stages the girls before they move them.” Donnelley frowned, “By the time we’re done in Blackriver, we’re gonna wipe this fuckin’ place clean of all this shit.”

Dave listened intently, his usual relaxed smile in place. He had grown up drinking his pops's moonshine, and knew his limits. In stark contrast to the other partiers, he felt pretty grand; he'd slept well, woken early, and his third cup of coffee steamed in the new mug Ava had gotten him. His other hand held a half eaten bagel; his rife and flak sat at his feet.

As he watched Donnelley bite back another wave of nausea he couldn't help but grin. His pops would be pleased to know that his brew had leveled another batch of moonshine amateurs.

Laine slumped into the corner of the sofa, one foot tucked under her butt and the other foot on the floor. Large dark sunglasses hid her eyes against the room light, the spike of pain light caused reminding her of the moonshine. She tried to focus on Donnelley but it the drums of the deep still pounded in her skull. Dressed in black leggings and an old Cure t-shirt cut into a tank top she did not look much like a professional agent and felt it even less. Her short hair was still disheveled though Laine reached to smooth it into place as Donnelley spoke.

Her cup of coffee was firmly grasped in both hands, the shiny black mug with the sardonic skeleton dancing across it was still full of dark roast and Laine wondered if Alka Seltzer could be dissolved in coffee. Her stomach churned and she quickly dismissed the thought.

An hour prior Jason had woke, the lingering haze of moonshine blurring the world and brewing something caustic and temperamental in his gut. Before making it to the kitchen he had pulled an IV from his bag of tricks and after a failed needle insertion he had begun to rehydrate his body as best he could. It wouldn’t be the first time, but the effects weren’t quite the same. There was the cool current of saline running up his veins, but the immediacy of the relief wasn’t as potent as before. Dave’s moonshine was something else.

Now he sat with the team and listened, steaming cup of coffee in hand and waterbottle close by. It felt good to know he wasn’t the only one suffering, but they were all in pain; all but Dave. if Jason had less sense, or if he was still too drunk, he would have blamed the man in his nonchalant ease, but that’s how things went. Some people knew their brew and knew how to handle it. The team, as versed as they were, were still comparatively novice when it came to Ozark Mountain Dew. It was just another lesson.

Ava half listened to Donnelley speak as she worked on hooking up the television sitting on the simple wooden entertainment center to her laptop, waiting on a chair she had pulled from the kitchen. Despite the fact that she hadn’t had a single sip of alcohol the night before, her stomach was curling with its own brand of queasiness.

It was a brand of nausea born of anxiety as the mundane day of comradery and relaxation gave way to a return to business. Perhaps as a way to prolong the sense of normalcy and levity, she had found herself redonning her ‘Shell Yeah’ turtle shirt when she left early that morning for a bagel and mug oriented Target run. Though even the fun of picking out personal and unique mugs for everyone had been dampened by the shadow of the case looming over her.

She finished her fiddling with the back of the flat screen and removed herself, being careful not to bump the entertainment system and knocking over her coffee. She picked up her laptop and sat in the chair, taking a few moments to pull up the map on her laptop before she turned on the TV.

The map she had created with all it’s different colored dots and paths appeared on the large screen without an issue. She grinned before looking over to Donnelley and clearing her throat to get his attention.

“This is a map of the area of Blackriver, these dots here represent different points of interest. The rural areas away from White Tree and Mercy are dead drop coordinates the Russians and AB are using.” Donnelley spoke before sipping from the mug Ava had gotten him, “There’s a chance we could find weapons or more girls at any of these locations. I don’t know if they know that they’re compromised, but we have to move on these sites if we’re goin’ to get to them before they do.”

“The red dots are the dead drop sites, the blue are places of interest like the mines and where Maria’s body was found as well as known sightings of the strange shimmers.” Ava added, leaning back into the chair and looking at the television screen. “The two black are roughly where the attacks by that thing in the woods took place and that one white dot is a meeting hot spot between Jay and his Russian contacts. I also put together as detailed a map as I could of the network of paths and roads, both public and private, in the rural areas for us to use.”

She reached over and took up her mug, a white metal number with a peach painted on it containing the words ‘Feelin’ Peachy’. “I have an inventory list of the weapon caches at the dead drops, which I can pass out to the boys when we finish up the briefing.”

She took a sip of her coffee and continued as she set the mug back down, “I found all of this out by hacking into Jay’s ‘business’ email, which he and his contacts have been using to communicate without sending or receiving any emails so they wouldn’t leave an electronic trail.” She explained with a professional timber to her normally soft spoken voice. “I only touched it that one time though, so hopefully they have no idea that they’ve been compromised. Along with the coordinates and weapons list I found a few other interesting bits of information. Particularly there are repeated mentions of a man named Renko that Jay and the Russians seem to hate as much as us. No mention as to why, just that he’s a thorn in their side. There were also repeated mentions of London, perhaps a bigger base of operations?”

Ava paused for a moment, taking in a breath through her nose before delving into this next piece of information. “There was also talk of using something called “The Hound” by the Russians for taking care of troublesome enemies. It’s how they were able to seize complete control of the East Coast from the cartels and establish an operation here in West Virginia. So, um, we’ll need to be careful of that once we start kicking their hive.”

She frowned in thought as she mentally sifted through what else she had learned. “Oh, and I might have found Jay’s home address in Benwood, West Virginia.”

Dave straightened, his smile fading and his gentle eyes taking on an iron cast. He tightened a fist.

"So you found the sumbitch?" He glanced at Donnelley. Jay had tried to kill them. He'd gotten Dave himself shot, and more importantly had hurt one of Dave's friends. That wouldn't stand. "When we gonna get him?"

“Soon as we can. I’m gonna call up some friends and we’ll all have us a time in Benwood.” Donnelley said, taking a few sips of his coffee.

"Benwood," Dave said, nodding. "Alright then. Lookin' forward to Benwood."

Laine leaned forward, scooping up her file from the arm of the sofa. Pushing her sunglasses up, her green eyes were bloodshot but still sharp as she looked over the team. She turned to look at Ava as she stood up, "Good work, that map is going to be invaluable. I've been thinking about sites. Other possible dump sites. We found a total of 8 victims at the first site but the time span covers between 1959 until now. That's an incredible amount of time for this to be occurring and for there only to be eight, well nine because Bethany Miller is another victim that seems to be an outlier but the Blackriver Sheriff department took her body and any evidence."

Laine paused, rubbing her mouth, "I guess I'll get into my briefing of what I've found since we were last together."

She stepped up, turning to face the living room. Laine breathed out then said, "First, let me briefly explain what it is I do with the BAU. I profile 'unsubs', unidentified subjects and this is not a hard science like forensics. It is basically like what a sketch artist might do but with information gleaned from the victimology and the psychology behind those that kill this way."

Tapping the edge of the folder against her palm, Laine then continued, "That being said, I believe the man we are looking for is local, white male. The age is troublesome but I'll explain why in a moment. He's from Blackriver county, he's comfortable there. He has protection and there is a good chance that he is from a socially or politically powerful family, he may even have some wealth or the family does. He is most likely someone who is an underachiever, perhaps never married or has had trouble with relationships with women. He's graduated high school and likely has some college, he's at least average intelligence but does not have many close friends outside family. He would have a history of violence, especially towards animals. I expect he's an avid hunter and known to skin his own kills and perhaps even have an interest in taxidermy. He might have some medical or vet training, but it's not necessary. He has had practice killing, what he did to Maria was not the work of an amateur but someone that is escalating his technique."

Flipping open her folder, she glanced at it. "All of the victims were non or mixed Caucasian. I was able to get the identifications and CJIS examined the skeletal remains. The oldest dates back to 1959 at time of death. You see this is where it gets murky, either our unsub is really old or there are two, a killer apprentice relationship. Now, without getting too technical the osteoprofiles show all victims between the midteens to early twenties, non-white, and not local. The first four were Hispanic and disappeared in Texas before arriving in Blackriver where they were killed. The remains were in fairly good shape but no cause of death could be determined, likely because it was soft tissue damage such as strangulation. The last four, including Maria, show significantly more damage to the bones. Two have fractured arms and broken wrists, but the most noticeable was the trauma to the pelvis. In all four there is significant fracturing to the pelvic bones, more than could be explained by natural decomp. And Maria...the cause of death was ruled massive internal bleeding caused by a foreign object being shoved inside her so hard and deep that it penetrated her uterus and abdominal wall into her vital organs."

Laine paused, looking at her team then at Dave, who had not been there when she did the original autopsy briefing. "It takes a lot of anger and hate to do something like that, it is an unusually brutal way to kill someone, especially a defenseless person unable to move. Our unsub is a sadistic man, likely a paraphiliac with trouble keeping an erection without extreme violence. We found no semen inside Maria but he took care to remove her tongue and eyes and skin...while she was alive. I can tell you, that is unusual, even some of the worst cases I've seen most amputation is done postmortem. It's just easier and they tend to be product killers. Our unsub... he's certainly interested in the product as we found no trace of what he removed. But the process is precise so he's into the killing. He's highly organized, very sadistic and he's being protected. He's smart and he's learned and improved his technique. And he has a ritual."

She paused looking over her notes, taking a deep breath and rubbed her mouth before continuing, "I wish I could give you more, age is not something I can pin down. If he's the only one, he's at least in his late 80s, if he's not, then he's in late 40s to 50s and he learned from the elder. He's local, he's a hunter and from a prominent or wealthy family but likely a black sheep. He's insecure and hates women, he might have a violent criminal record and a history of being abused himself but likely that's all been swept under the rug. He's been flying under the radar and I think he's frustrated, he's not getting attention and now his family's prominence isn't enough, he wants his name known. Something brought Frank Wilkins to see Maria. Someone or something wanted us to see her, she was left out for a reason. All the other bodies had been buried, but not her. Why? It drew attention right down on the Russians and their local connections, not just the murder."

Laine glanced at Ava, "I'm very interested in those other shimmer sites now."

Ava nodded to show she had heard Laine, her gaze somewhat distant as she processed and organized the new information Laine had presented to them. 60 years and at least nine known victims…

Pushing that to the side her blue eyes finally focused back on Laine’s bloodshot green. “How can I help?” She asked, glancing over at her map up on the TV.

Laine stepped over to the wall mounted screen and looked at the various dots. "I don't know for certain but my instinct says there are other dump sites. They might not be in the park but it's possible, and if one site was associated with a shimmer then maybe the others are? But either way I would like to get some eyes in the sky, maybe look for disturbance in vegetation. It'll be tough with all the forest but it's something. I figured you might be using your drone to get a peek at the Russians and Jay, maybe you could cruise over the shimmer sites and around the mines and main trails. I doubt he was hiking very far with a body, so we can restrict it to trails that are accessible to vehicles."

“Oh, that’s a good idea, I can definitely do that.” Ava nodded with a small smile.

"Thanks," Laine said, then looked at Donnelley, "That's pretty much what I have, at least in a nutshell. Whether the unsub is related to what you are looking into, we'll find out but he definitely got the drugs used on Maria from someone with a connection like Jay."

She glanced over at the team, "If anyone wants more details just talk to me."

Laine moved to go sit back down, pushing her sunglasses into place and took a gulp of the tepid coffee.

As the others gave their briefing, Pari listened intently - her own notepad in her hand where she took a running bullet point list of points of interest. She was on the second page now, nodding intermittently and glancing up to make eye contact with whomever was speaking. At her side was her own binder, several coloured tags sticking out at the edge like tongues.

It seemed there was a divide in the group between who was feeling rough, and those who were feeling better than. She was glad to be one of the latter. She sat cool and patient for her turn to speak in her high waisted black sweatpants. On top, simply an old looking Boston Celtics Jersey. Perhaps something of a political choice, she thought to herself before donning it for the morning. For the most part it was covered with an amass of thick and unruly curls. As punishment for having straightened it the day prior, it was as if it was acting out in an absolute rebellion today. She had struggled to even clip half of it back and get it to be presentable.

She was twirling a section of her hair around a finger, to work it back behind her ear as she observed Laine and Ava discussing the shimmers, and her eyes moved between them and the map. "I'm interested too, in the shimmers that is-- visiting one, in person if that would be in anyway possible," she said at last, her last words mumbled as she bit her lip. Simply breathing out her own thoughts. Brow furrowed as she continued over her notes.

Pari cocked her head to the side and raised her hand halfway, the tip of her pen pointing up to the ceiling. "While we're talking about the profiling..." She added, looking down at her notes. "What you said about the apprenticeship, Laine," Pari said - her gaze flitting to meet her eyes. "I got to thinking about Elmer Wayne Henley Jr and his relationship with Dean Corrl. If... If we are looking at a mentor-apprentice profile here, do you think that our apprentice be desperately vying for the attention of his mentor? There's something very..." Pari paused, narrowing her eyes in deep thought again. "Something very hauntingly intimate in that kind of relationship."

Laine sat up, "I had thought about that, Corrl and Henley, Malvo and his young apprentice Muhammad, Lake and Ng, there is usually a dominant and submissive partner, usually younger. If that's the case it explains the long time period and change in violence level, at least from what we can see in just skeletal remains. My assumption is that if it is this relationship then the junior partner is more than likely trying to outdo his mentor. Get his own attention, to have his moment. His mentor would be quite elderly if he's still alive, and he was looking for outside attention. That... whatever it was that beckoned Frank Wilkins wanted to show off but I don't know if it's for his mentor."

Laine shifted on the couch, suddenly uncomfortable where the conversation was going. "If...if there is any connection between something like Dulane's madness and the shimmer that Wilkins said he saw when he heard the voice. Well...I don't know, there is something strange about the mountains. And very dangerous."

She picked up her mug and hid behind it as she gulped the black coffee.

“No, you’re right that does make sense… He’s trying to outdo the mentor?” Pari asked, not particularly directed at anyone, more a question for herself. She added to her notes. “Thank you Dr. Laine,” she added with as much of a smile that could be found, considering the heavy topic.

"Sure thing," Laine replied, eyeing Pari then asked, "That's what we did on our summer vacation. Not as fun as yours I'm sure. Did you get any reading done?"

“I did,” Pari replied quickly, reaching down to pick up the binder. “I did -- I looked into Irish myth…” she muttered before standing, gingerly making her way to the front of the room.

“When last we were here, I couldn’t answer the why of these killings. The evidence that we had, and those that we spoke to, seemed to want to circle it back to cartel violence and the sex slave rings. They’re both true, but... Not necessarily the whole picture.” Pari explained. “There are too many other, elements to these killings that are associated with ritual killings.” The woman flipped the cover open, and was immediately confronted with an image that she’d taken from the book. An old, wisened man with a staff, sat atop a throne of rocks. She turned it towards the group.

“This is a depiction of Crom Cruach.” She said, peering over the folder to look at him too. “He’s one of the Old Gods of Ireland, an ancient fertility God -- a Sun God. His name can be translated into a few meanings, it’s debatable but for the most part he is the “Crooked One.” Pari turned the page of the folder, revealing yet another image - this time of Crom as stone, surrounded by a circle of twelve further stones. “He is regarded in his myths as being a very powerful being. He offered to his followers good harvests through giving of milk and grain in exchange for their first born children…” Pari swallowed, and cleared her throat. Pointing a finger at the stones around his effigy in the drawing.

“This particular depiction shows ritual-behaviour taking place, at Magh Slecht. Later, in the stories of St Patrick -- we can learn that it was the Saint himself who drew an end to Crom Cruach’s prominence by raising a great crozier during a ritual.” As Pari spoke, she raised her own hand in a fist, as if she herself was holding it. “When he did this, the stone fell over and the surrounding stones sunk into the earth, and a demon appeared - whom St Patrick banished to hell with a curse…” Her hand was brought back down to her side, before she held the folder again. “Blood custom stopped when old Crom Cruach's chin. Received the forceful gist of Christian discipline.”

“More worryingly, there are accounts through stories that describe Crom Cruach after the event with Saint Patrick, as either a demonic creature, or simply possessing the ability to take the form of a giant snake, or wyrm.” Pari couldn’t help but think once again of whatever had happened in the woods, the allusions to something non-human that had been whispered and written on the etched foreheads of those who had encountered it. Just mumblings, it was all in the unsaid… She sighed, and cleared her throat again. “In his essence, he is a great figure who set about a period of the sacrifice of children - frightening those who followed him into believing that the blood and bones of their progeny would fertilise the fields. Even without success of harvest, they continued the practice; a self-sustaining death automaton, a parent driven children death machine.

She lifted her ebony eyes from the picture on the page, and glanced around to the group, blinking slowly. “Given the influence of Irish culture, and of the Irish families here and their relevant status… And our mysterious Sleeper, my theory so-far is that we’re looking at human sacrifice to summon, to gain, to sow disruption, and to appease this very, very ancient malevolent figure.”

Laine pushed up her sunglasses to look at the image, listening to the explanation. It was like many pagan gods people put faith in as some attempt to control the uncontrollable. Like the Aztec, like the Norse, and so many over the years required blood and this was the Irish version. "That's not a bad start, Celtic roots are deep in these mountains and old habits, superstitions die hard. And you said it's a fertility god. If the unsub is as I suspect a local belonging to one of these Irish families then he might be fixated on something like this. Believing making these offerings to this 'God' might give him some sort of power. That might explain part of the reason for certain injuries. The horrific trauma to the reproductive organs might be symbolic because of the fertility aspect. Maybe a violent ritual sexual union. I still think he has a deep anger towards women, this unsub, no matter what reason he's doing it. The older remains didn't have those injuries. I've seen cult related murders before, no matter what reason they say it's for. For God, for Satan, for the love of Jodie Foster. There is always a practical, very mundane reason they kill."

From the centre of the room, Pari nodded along with Laine. “You’re exactly right,” she said. “To show such… Vehement violence to a woman’s most intimate area in the worshipping of a supposed giant snake… The serpent is phallic imagery, throughout time. Eve succumbed to it… And in Persian mythology, the serpent is no more than the evil spirit Ahriman himself. Of course, our serpents also represent great wisdom, healing, giving.” Pari glanced down to her side, trying to ascertain the meaning behind worship of this God in their modern time was a question too. “Maybe our unsub sees Crom the serpent as the absolute bastion of true masculinity. Does he want virility and masculine power?”

Ava sat back in her chair, her laptop balanced on her knees as she sipped her coffee and listened to her colleagues speak of the possible religious motivations. She snorted into her mug when the conversation turned to phallic iconography. There was certainly no shortage of that in history and archaeology, or so she had learned from her mother.

“Why is it always about the dicks?” She muttered, shaking her head as she drank the rest of her coffee.

Laine snorted a chuckle and forced herself not to look at Donnelley, instead focusing on her mug in hand. Her expression sobered as she warmed to the subject, "Sex is a powerful force. And the desire to have sexual satisfaction in a mind already warped by mental illness or trauma can be twisted into some very cruel and heinous acts. If the unsub is struggling with impotence, he'll have that extra rage. Taking out the humiliation he feels on his victims in such a manner, using a foreign object is usually an indication of either inability to perform or fear of being mocked. And sometimes it's just to cause the most damage."

She looked up at Pari, tipping her mug in a gesture of sending the subject back to her, "Let's say he is killing to avenge himself of past humiliation or prevent further. He's not just raping them to death, he skinned Maria, he took her eyes, her tongue and larynx. He completely dehumanized her short of dismembering, he took who she was. Her eyes can't see his failure, her voice can't mock him and he destroyed her utterly and stole her identity, her beauty."

Laine closed her eyes for a moment, rubbing her thumb and forefinger on either side of the bridge of her nose and then said, "I don't know if he did as much to the others or if this is another escalation but he certainly made a show of it. Demonstration of his ultimate power over his victim and those who would see her. He couldn't wait for someone to accidentally find her, he or... something showed Wilkins. I need Bethany Miller's files, to see if he was doing the same only to be covered up by the Sheriff. I need to talk to her husband, he was left alive and he might be the best thing to a witness we have."

Pari brought her hand to her chin thoughtfully, running a finger over her lip as she scoured through what she could remember off the top of her head. “I found no reference to skinning and the taking of sensory organs in my readings. I’d like to take a look at your library books, Dr. Laine, and cross reference anything that is local to the wider findings, and as an aside, I’d like a look over the files of our other women who were dumped too. That… That will be the best use of my time for now.” Pari said with one last nod, before taking a sip from her gifted mug too - taking that opportunity to smile appreciatively again, at Ava before she took her seat.

“Maybe he’s throwin’ a fit.” Donnelley looked at the others in the room, brow quirked, “Nobody wants attention on Blackriver and that means no attention on him.”

Laine nodded at Donnelley, "That's what I mean, he's reaching out for attention. Dennis Radar aka BTK, he actually was caught because of his desire for attention. Along with making up his own nickname and demanding the newspapers publish his shitty poetry, Radar was so upset by someone taking credit for one of his murders through false confession he basically sent police evidence to prove it wasn't that person. I won't be surprised if our unsub is risking discovery just to get attention he's desperately craving."

Jason sighed, head rolling back and forth. “Even if we account for narcissism the logistics can’t be handled by the main man. This is networked, and that means mutual benefit. We find out what the outside players are gaining, we get closer to this fuck’s ultimate goal.”

Laine turned to look at Jason, and nodded, "That's another thing, if they are networking and it's a good chance they are, then what is the trade? My instincts are simple, the unsub gets access to girls and drugs like Midazolam and Propofol, which aren't exactly easy to come by. The ABs and Russians...if this was a regular case I'd say the land, the cover-up point to the unsub having connections with the Blackriver powers that be at least. But now we have the weird. Dulane said that death wakes the Sleeper, if this Sleeper is connected to the weird shit the Russians have been associated with...then we have to consider what connection those two have."

She rubbed her chin, and said, "We need more information, that's it "

“True that,” Jason replied, his eyes tracing the patterns of the floor, ”but why here?”

He looked around at the team, inviting speculation. “This area isn’t a logistic hub, it’s too out of the way to be inconspicuous, and the profiles of victims and outside players are so peculiar. Something is more important than discretion here, enough for the risk.” He looked at Laine, eyes gleaming with concern. “But what?” he added.

"The patterns are still too obscure, the victimology is scant and personally, the idea of the supernatural involvement changes things that I have always been confident in," Laine admitted, leaning back into the couch. "That's the rub, isn't it? Why draw attention now? Ego is my first thought, either attention for himself that he feels he is not getting. Recognize his power...or to bring trouble to those that he once worked with."

She sighed deeply, reaching to find her pack of Djarums and clasped it between her hands.

“Uh,” Ava said as the conversation entered into a brief lull, the mention of the Sleeper having reminded her of a new bit of information she learned the night before. “Sorry, not to drag the topic back a bit, but speaking of the Sleeper,” She cleared her throat, pushing aside the lingering memory of the fingers of uneasy recognition curling the back of her mind at the mention of the entity. “I had asked my former supervisor to help get us access to a deep dive into the Program database for information that might help us. He put in a request and it was accepted for us to visit the BLACKBOX site in Alaska.”

She shifted in her chair slightly, trying to find a comfortable position in the wooden chair. “But, we have time to take them up on that little field trip since we’re currently busy.”

“First things first,” Donnelley sighed, pushing himself from the wall he was leaning against, “We’re gonna meet our muscle for the Dulane field trip. As far as Alaska goes, we’ve got a couple weeks still before they have to transfer custody of Dulane over to us.”

Donnelley clucked his tongue, holding a cigarette in front of his lips, “Family vacation.”

Dave had been listening to the discussion intently, doing his best to keep up. Criminal theory, profiling, neither of these were things he understood except at the most Hollywood of levels. Accordingly, he was taking scrupulous notes, squinting at his pad and writing carefully, his tongue between his teeth.

At the mention of Alaska, however, he brightened visibly.

"I ain't been to Alaska," he said, a note of excitement thickening his drawl. "We gonna be roughin' it?"

Ava made a face of dread at the idea of roughing it in the Alaskan wilderness. “I hope not.” She said to herself with a small shake of her head.

Focusing her attention back on Donnelley she frowned curiously at their team lead. “Muscle huh? Who else is joining us?”

“Some old friends.” Donnelley shrugged, heading for the door. He left it open as he lit up on the porch outside. “Hopefully they play nice.”
Okay soooo this looks interesting and neat. Been rereading The Color Out Of Space and Shadow Over Innsmouth and I'm always game for some mind warping horror. Could there be room for someone with a nice education from a technical college whose faith in literally everything has been shaken to the core by seeing too much one night? Presumably former military - perhaps having gone on to be a military contractor servicing sensor equipment wherein they saw the wrong thing?

Then, presumably turning to laudanum some sort of drug to numb the crushing existential dread?


Yo yo, send me a PM with whatcha got.
Episode II: Sound Before the Silence


>CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
>16.JUL.2019
>1630...///

High summer and the sun was still bearing down angrily. Wispy clouds drifted on currents through the sky while the traffic at this hour in Charleston was to par. He watched the different people through their windows in their cars, stopping and going, most not even looking in his direction. The buzzing in his skin from the events a week or so before had mostly vanished, but there was that voice in the back of his head to keep watch.

Russian mob, Aryan Brotherhood, they were too close now. Only a county over, miles away, but still too close. He raised his hand absently and dragged off the cigarette, blowing it out on the lazy breeze. Somewhere, a car honked and someone yelled, a twinkling cacophony of breaking glass and the crunch of a chassis made him flinch for his holster and look in the direction he’d heard.

Just another accident on the road, the two people devolving into a yelling match about whose fault it was. He growled, shaking his head away from the commotion outside the library. He looked around himself, eyes scanning everywhere he’d post someone on surveillance and flicked his cigarette away, still smoldering. He found his way inside, keeping an eye out for Laine and settling for sitting down at one of the tables when he couldn’t catch sight of her. There was still that urge to shake his head at himself.

Always one to tempt fate. The things they’d done to each other, with each other, it was wholly unprofessional. Dangerous, for both of them. He sighed, leaning back in his seat and taking out his phone. His eyes narrowed at the screen, a message from Dawant from five minutes ago. He hadn’t noticed. He scrolled through his contacts and found his way to the bathroom just as he tapped Dawant’s. It dialed a couple times until finally, “Davidson.”

“Dawant.” Donnelley breathed, the lingering suspicion of Dawant coming back like a shove and he pushed down the instinct to yell, “You wanted to meet?”

“It’s what my message said. Soho’s. Nice place. Italian.” Dawant said, “Tonight.”

“Alright-“ the line disconnected and again, Donnelley felt like smashing the phone against the wall. There was no end to Donnelley’s propensity for being an asshole, and an equally bottomless pit of bitterness for people who could match him.

“Fuckin’ piece of shit.” Donnelley growled as he exited the bathroom to retake his seat at one of the tables. His ears perked up at a mention of a name he wanted dead already. After all, he’d put a bullet through the man’s head.

‘The Carlisle residence had been the site of a gruesome massacre by unknown assailants…’ Donnelley felt his heartbeat quickening as he turned his head to the television in a far corner of the lounge, catching snippets, ‘Among the casualties are two officers of the New York State Police, Sergeants Hunnam and Valdez…’

He swallowed, shaking his head and sighing. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, but he had another urge for a cigarette and some fresh air.

Laine stood in a row of books, the older volumes with the musty yellow page scent that was perfume to her. She inhaled and ran her thumb down the spine of the book she had returned not two weeks prior. Backwoods Witchcraft of Appalachia with the frayed cover and rubbed gold lettering. She pulled it out again, drawing back on the few cultural anthropology courses she had taken in university. Appalachia, the hillbilly stereotypes of insular, private people who valued family and tradition were still alive and well according to the research she had done online. There had been the famous Hatfields and McCoy blood feud. Here they had MacOnies and O’Dhoules. Laine took the book again, it would not hurt to try and get Pari to look at it once more, though her frustration with the arrogance of her fellow FBI agent was starting to wear on her. There was something there, she could feel it but her own training did not include cultural anthropology to the extent Agent Bhatt’s would have.

Laine took another book about the native plants and animals of the Blackriver National Forest, and another about the music of Appalachia that came with a CD but the sleeve was empty. She flipped through it, the back of the book spoke of the heavily Celtic influence of the folk and bluegrass music. Scottish, Irish and Welsh immigrants populated the hills, bringing with them their stories and songs. The blending of the early European settlers and the native people created what was the Appalachian culture stated the back cover of the book Washtubs and Fiddles, a History of Folk Music in the Eastern Appalachian Mountains . Another section of the library she took a book on Native American folktales and another on the Celtic mythology cycles. A few more books went into her arms and she walked around to the counter that was in the heritage and history section of the Charleston Library.

Mrs Clark, the librarian that had attended her two weeks ago was not there instead a small man, shorter than Laine, with heavy thick glasses and thin gray hair, who was organizing books on cart.

“I’d like to check these out, please,” she said, setting the books on the counter.

The older man turned, looking up at her with a push of his glasses. His name tag read Librarian Assistant Ailbe Doherty and she took note of the unusual first name. With a nod, he picked them up and began to scan, glancing again at the dark haired woman in a suit.

“Oh, this is a good one,” he commented on the book about music, “You a fan of bluegrass?”

“I really haven’t listened to it,” Laine admitted, with a shrug. “Is it still popular?”

“Among certain types, the old folk and the hipsters,” Ailbe cackled and pushed his heavy glasses up as he stamped the return date on the cards inside each book.. “Not that I mind, at least it’s being remembered. Nothing worse than to be forgotten and memories have become short these days, strange thing eh? Information in the palm of our hand but we can’t even remember our own phone number.”

Laine nodded, “Yeah, you’re right about that. I can still remember my home phone number from when I was a kid but I can’t remember my last cell number.”

“Ah, it’s like that,” the librarian assistant said, “There was a time when we sang out memories, our stories. The old days, Mawma still talks about them. Now there’s a fiddle player. I never got past playing the spoons myself, but I was more interested in reading. She never read, always sang or told us stories.”

“She still plays?” Laine asked, looking at Ailbe who seemed to be past retirement age and his mother must have been ancient. “That’s impressive.”

“Arthritis gets her but she’ll play once and awhile, now let me get you that CD,” he said, shuffling around in the drawers below the counter. “You a teacher or something? Professor?”

“No, I’m a psychologist,” Laine said.

Ailbe popped up, “A head doc?”

“Something like that,” Laine replied, “Do you know much about local history? Like the people that live in the mountains still.”

The old man eyed her with a sudden suspicion that Laine found surprising. He pulled up the CD and put it in the sleeve. “My parents grew up without running water and Mawma can hardly write her name. Ya gonna put that in some sorta shrink study?”

Laine shook her head, leaning forward slightly, “I’m interested in understanding the culture, it’s that I met a man here in Charleston and I don’t want to seem so ignorant when I meet his family.”

Ailbe cracked a sudden smile, exposing the blinding white dentures. “Now that you think you can’t pick it up all from books but it’s a start. What you need to do is talk to the grannies, the old folk that still remember. Nothing like getting it from the first hand source.”

“Thank you, uh..Ail...excuse me, how do you pronounce your name?”

“Like ‘Alby’, it’s an Irish name, my Granny still spoke Gaelic, bless her,” Ailbe said, a wistful smile on his wrinkled face. “You gotta understand, it’s the women in our families that carry the stories, the records of babies born and elders that died. Stories of our history, the land and those things already long forgotten. Granny magic, some call it. Old wives cures and curses, most don’t take it seriously now days but the old women...my own Mawma and my Granny, I remember the superstitions and the tales they told us younguns to keep us in line.”

Laine took the books and then reached for her pen, writing her phone number on a scrap of paper, “Look I’d like to talk more, maybe talk to your mother if she’d not mind. I find this fascinating. I’m not from around here so it’s all new to me.”

“You don’t sound like it, where are you from?”

“California,” Laine said truthfully.

Ailbe snorted and cackled, “No wonder you ain’t got any culture, well I’ll be sure to call you if Mawma wants a dinner guest.”

“Please do, Ailbe,” she said, tucking the books against her chest. “Take care.”

“Same to you, Miss Laine,” he said, handing her library card back.

She did not bother to correct him, instead making her way around towards the exit. Donnelley was not at the table or the couches so she walked towards the doors, her books clutched to her chest. There she spotted him, the scarred face and red hair so distinct and she smiled at the sight. A physical response in her body almost made her blush and she forced it back, focusing on the task at hand.

“I think I got what I needed,” Laine said as he came towards her, “At least for now. Any word?"

Donnelley flinched at her first word. His face went from angry furrowed brows to something softer as he turned to her, but some amount of trouble still hung on his brow, “That’s good.” He murmured, casting a parting glance at the television as he turned back for the door, “Dawant wants to meet tonight.”

Laine looked him over, the expression of a man with a heavy weight on his mind. His glance at the television drew her own and she recognized the name of the town, Yorktown and the end of the report stating the deaths were now being investigated but no suspects had been announced. She cut her gaze back to Donnelley and nodded at his statement about the meeting.

The death of the policemen was something they still had not spoken of since the night at the bar. Laine had thought about asking since but in the end had not wanted to spoil the mood of the last two days. Now it was out there, hanging between them after the CNN news clip.

She brushed her hair back behind her ear as they walked towards the car, this time the Ford rental with the racing stripes. Once they were in the car and the books were put away in the trunk Laine asked, "So, I have to ask. Is it going to be bad, are they really investigating or is it 'investigating' per the Program?"

“Somewhere, I wouldn’t be surprised, is someone from the Program takin’ someone high up from the FBI or whoever on a golf trip and askin’ for a favor.” Donnelley frowned, the engine roaring to life, “I ain’t goin’ down with that ship.”

He turned off onto the road, avoiding the route towards the crashed cars, and put them on their way towards the hotel in Charleston they’d gotten a couple nights at. He tried telling himself that he’d done the right thing that night. That it was all in hope of securing at least one more sunrise. Nowadays, he wondered if there was ever a line to be drawn where another sunrise couldn’t justify anything on the other side of it.

He rolled down his window and lit a cigarette, a bitter look on his face. “Ava’s got a possible residence for Jay.” He said, eager to change the subject.

Laine wanted to push, to find out what became of Carlisle but she could see the strain on Donnelley's face and she softened, letting the matter drop when he changed the subject.

"That's great," Laine replied, then looked sidelong at him, "What's your plan with Jay?

Donnelley’s lips ticked downwards a bit, shaking his head, “Pick him up. Ask him questions.” He said, pausing as he turned the wheel to turn down another road as the green arrow appeared on their traffic light, “Take him off the board. By the time we’re done in Blackriver there’ll be no damn trace of Russians.”

Laine crossed her arms when he answered, watching the traffic and finally she said, "Ask him questions or beat it out of him? What happens if he just tells you what you want to hear?"

“Ask, Laine,” Donnelley shot a look towards her as they drove, his brows furrowing a bit before he looked back to where he was driving, “Contrary to whatever you think of me, I’m not doin’ this shit for fun.

He swallowed, looking down at his hand on the wheel and releasing some tension from his knuckles, “I don’t appreciate the fact that I feel like you’re wantin’ me on a leash. We’ll handle Jay better.”

"I don't think you do it for shits and giggles but I also know you have a lot of good reasons to want to put a beating on Jay. But it's been proven that torture isn't the most effective interrogation method," she replied, glancing at him. "What's more important, that we get correct information or you get a little revenge and a quick confession of what you want to hear."

She reached for her pack of cigarettes, the conversation that brought back memories of a helpless man hooded and tied up still haunted her, no matter what a murderous asshole he was. Laine lit her cigarette and stared straight ahead, then asked, "What happened with Carlisle, anyway? How'd his interrogation go?"

Donnelley slid another glance her way and brought it back to the road, shaking his head, “Do you not think I know that? I read people for a livin’. I’m gonna know everything I can know about Jay before I go after him.” He had a tiger’s grin on him then, “I’m gonna have him turnin’ tricks for me, just you watch.”

“Far as Carlisle goes,” Donnelley shrugged, the lie coming easy because he didn’t want to remember the worst part of it all, “Wasn’t nothin’ to it. He broke easy. Some people well up with that guilt and start spillin’. He told us he wasn’t workin’ for the Sinaloa after a bit, he was workin’ for the Russians. They turned him.”

“Just like how I’m gonna turn Jay. He’s our best bet of getting to the Russians and ID’ing the HVTs for us.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, “When we hit these dudes, we’re gonna hit ‘em like a goddamn train. One fell swoop, no more of this headless chicken, piecemeal snatch and grab, firefight bullshit.”

Laine pushed the button to crack the window to let out the smoke from her cigarette. "You're right, of course. You know this game better than I do. Turning people and making deals or threats. And you're right, sometimes people feel guilty about certain crimes and spill their guts."

She took a drag and blew the fragrant smoke towards the window. "I also know that Carlisle flipping on the Sinaloa cartel must have been a risky move, those types don't exactly like losing such a valuable asset. So the Russians must have made him on hell of an offer or threat. Or both, considering it's the Russians."

Laine looked at Donnelley, "Carlisle has a family, which would be left to the wolves if he flipped on the Russians so what did you offer him? Something like what Wilkins got, a new ID and some pocket money. Carlisle is a fucking millionaire made on the bodies of children do you really think it would be guilt that got to him?"

She turned and flicked ashes that streamed into the wind, "I don't suppose there's a chance I could talk to Carlisle. I'm curious about his connection to the recent victims and missing girls from the New York area."

“Carlisle had to be,” Donnelley sniffed and puffed off his cigarette, “liquidated. He came to be too much of a risk.”

Donnelley sighed, knowing Laine would be looking at him with a face that could kill. He shook his head, brows furrowing again and a troubled look in his eye, “If you’d have been there, you would’ve understood.”

Laine did stare at him and pursed her lips, her jaw flexing, "He's dead, that's just fantastic. I guess those girls that disappeared after modeling for him can just wait a little longer for any sort of rescue or justice. Because he was a risk, probably tied to a chair with a hood over his head."

She turned away, watching the traffic before looking back at Donnelley, "Tell me then because I don't understand why you had to kill him."

“There was an interdimensional monster comin’ after him and we needed the help of a guy who knew magic to banish it or it would’ve killed all of us.” Donnelley recited, deadpan and then looked to Laine, “I shot him in the fuckin’ head so it wouldn’t come again. See?”

“It sounds too fuckin’ stupid for me to make up, why would I lie to you!?” Donnelley slapped the steering wheel to punctuate his words, his knuckles white around the steering wheel, his voice growing louder, “I fuckin’ saw it! I heard it. You think we killed all of his security on our own? That thing came from nowhere and it looked at me! Lickin’ its fuckin’ chops.”

He slammed the brake pedal and the car squealed to a stop so close to another car, Donnelley had to swerve left to keep from hitting it. “Fuck!” He screamed at a dead stop and awkward angle as he ran a hand through his hair, taking a series of deep drags of his cigarette. Seeming almost to age before Laine’s eyes, he muttered, “It was right fuckin’ there. Right fuckin’ there.”

"A monster, what do you mean interdim-"

Laine felt the seat belt lock up as she pitched forward at the sudden stop and swerve, reaching out for the dashboard instinctively.

She had bit her tongue and winced, tasting blood. Surreptitiously she blotted it with her bazer's sleeve. Laine looked over at Donnelley, the expression on his face as serious as she had ever seen on him. The night she drove the team in a frantic race in the darkness, Donnelley bleeding. Something had chased them, the thing she had not thought about in weeks.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Laine asked before, leaning closer, ignoring the honking and traffic around them. Probably for the same reason she had not asked by about Carlisle earlier, to let the world fall away just for a little while and lose themselves in each other's arms.

"How... alright, a monster. Christ, what the hell," Laine said, shaking her head and took a drag of her cigarette. "Does this have to do with the Russians? I remember what Michael said about the smell and light at the shack in the same area as that...that thing that attacked you guys in the hills."

Donnelley nodded as the traffic around them began to move again, righting the car so they could move with it, “It was the Russians. Ava cracked Jay’s email and the Russians talk about this Hound they send after hard targets.” Donnelley sighed, “I’m thinking we saw that Hound.”

Laine stayed silent for a moment, mulling over the information that the rational part of her instantly wanted to reject. Despite Mrs Baughman and the big thing that she knew had chased them for awhile in the hills, it was not something her mind wanted to latch onto. Just the imagination, like the voice under the pier. Laine took a drag of the clove cigarette, it had seemed very real at the time but in the light of day and the police and her parents assurances that it was only her imagination reacting to trauma, she had sealed it away behind that logic. Mrs Baughman had cracked that wall and chips were being knocked away by experiences with UMBRA.

“What did this Hound look like?” she finally asked, glancing at Donnelley. “It was a real thing, not just...like a mirage or something?”

“It was fuckin’ real.” Donnelley looked at Laine, “It wasn’t a fuckin’ mirage or somethin’, I heard it killin’ Carlisle’s security guards and I saw it stalkin’ around us.”

“I don’t see shit like this all the time, but when I do…” Donnelley shuddered, “That’s the shit that’s out there, Laine. The shit we keep away for another sunrise. Mrs. Baughman and whatever brought her back.”

Laine felt her skin prickle, goosebumps rising under her blazer in the summer heat. The sense she got from Donnelley was that it was very real to him and he had seen so much more than she had. The hole in his leg proving just the most recent. She reached over, laying her hand on his shoulder as he drove.

“I believe you,” she said, “It was real and you say it followed you when you took Carlisle. But it was going after him not protecting him.”

Her eyebrows ticked up slightly after she spoke, the strangeness felt for a moment silly and she reminded herself she had accepted it as reality. “Then Carlisle certainly must have known a lot of sensitive information. Do you think they would have sent that Hound on the FBI or was it because it was the Program doing the snatching? If they have this sort of weapon, I’m fairly certain they are aware of those that fight it.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Donnelley shook his head, taking another drag, “I don’t know if they cared. They just wanted him gone, maybe they knew we were comin’, I don’t know.”

Donnelley frowned, letting the car come to a gentle stop at a red light, flipping on his blinker. He looked around the corner and turned right when it was clear, “One of my guys placed Nikolai Gorochev’s daughter here in West Virginia.”

Laine rubbed her hand in a gentle circle on his shoulder before withdrawing it as he made the turn. "That's the guy Michael told us about, right? Some big man in a bratva, do we know anything about his daughter? I remember about Russians they don't involve women in their business."

Donnelley pursed his lips and shook his head, “I don’t know. I know she’s got a husband and no doubt a security team.” Donnelley shrugged, “If we get to the daughter, we can possibly get to Gorochev. Flippin’ Jay, we can ID Gorochev’s officers.”

"Maybe she's there for her husband, he's probably someone important to marry the boss' daughter. She might be unofficially involved with the business I just remember how misogynistic the Russian mafia tends to be," Laine replied, then glanced at him, "I'm still convinced Maria's killer is a local, but these Russians, they're operating in the same area."

She took a drag from the black cigarette, a prickle returning when she remembered Frank's story.

Come and see...

Laine wanted to see but she still felt the strands slipping through her fingers.

"This guy Jay, how do you plan to get to him. As dangerous as these Russians are, how do you think you can flip him?" She finally asked, flicking ashes out the window.

“All depends on what he’s into.” Donnelley shrugged, taking a drag and flicking his own ash, “Could be anything. Maybe he’s got a daughter needs some fine schoolin’, maybe his momma’s down on her luck and he wires her a shitload of money one day. Maybe we give him what Wilkins got in return for what I want.”

"I hate rewarding dirtbags like that but that's probably the best way to get him," she said, then fell silent, her mind wandering to her side if the Blackwater mystery. "Do you think that Maria might have gone through Carlisle's hands? She was taken by the Sinaloa, then ended up here."

“Carlisle was their lynchpin on the East Coast. Even if she wasn’t modeled, he’d probably have come in contact with people who moved her and other girls.” Donnelley nodded, “He gave us the name of his old Sinaloa contact, someone called the Doll-Maker.”

Laine looked at him, "Doll Maker? That's a creepy nickname, he doesn't happen to like skinning girls and making life sized dolls does he? It would make my job easier."

She snuffed out the butt of her cigarette and dropped it in a nearly empty coffee cup. "Any idea where he might be?"

“Absolutely no clue. Maybe my guy can get close to him. He’s got connections with the cartels.” Donnelley clucked his tongue, “Either way, it's goin’ to be a real eventful next few weeks.”

"Anything will help, I'm struggling with the profile," Laine admitted, turning to look out the window. "There is the possible age of the killer or was it two, because of the signature change. I need to get the Miller file, she's an outlier compared to the other victims, it might shed some light on something I might be missing. And you're right, there is more information that'll need to be collected and sorted."

She reached around suddenly, reaching back and her fingers touched the book about the history of music. Laine brought it to her lap and took out the CD. "Do you like bluegrass? The guy at the library suggested it if I wanted to know anything about mountain culture of Appalachia."

Without waiting for an answer and wanting to get away from her own doubts that crowded her mind over her part of the case, she popped the CD into the player that was conveniently installed in the rental Ford Focus.

“Must be the Irish in me.” Donnelley rapped his finger along to the beat, one of the first smiles of the day on his face at the cheesy banjo picking away, “Ain’t too bad. Makes me wanna get me a fiddle.”

"Music for the Celtic soul," Laine replied, a small smile forming on her lips as she watched him. "Among all the meth and grinding poverty there is still pride and love of culture in these people."

She told him briefly about the conversation with Ailbe, his old Celtic name and fiddle playing Mawma. "Granny magic, he called it. I suppose it's superstition mixed with local homeopathy. But he said they still have a strong oral history, like their ancestors that had no written languages."

“Like that Santeria stuff down in Florida and whatnot. The old ways. I like it.” Donnelley chuckled, before something played across his brow. He looked at Laine, flicking his finished cigarette out the window, “What If this guy’s one of those? I told Pari the people ‘round here are all Celtic blood. Go for the Celtic myths. The Cartels chop people up like cube steak for Santa Muerte, what if this dude’s skinnin’ girls for whoever this Sleeper is.”

“I know I’m real fuckin’ behind, probably, but… what if Clyde Baughman came down here for the same reason we are now, just different people?” Donnelley shook his head, “That tape Baughman had, the sacrifice, the cloaks, everythin’, the Shard. He’s Delta Green, we don’t interfere in homicides unless they’re our kind of special.”

“What if it’s all just happenin’ again, because Clyde didn’t finish the job? The Sleeper told him he could have his wife back?” Donnelley asked.

Laine sat very still as he spoke, the thought that tugged at the fringes of her mind about the story of the Lord of the Woods and the grieving chief and the strange artifacts found in the foot locker burst to the forefront. Her fingers trembled as she reached for her Djarums, almost dropping them. She opened herself up to remember that night.

The black cigarette was pushed between her plush lips and she remained silent until finally lighting up.

"I've thought about it," Laine admitted, "Why else he had all that stuff, those research papers and Native artifacts. And how the hell a dead woman was ...was undead."

She swallowed hard, unconsciously touching her neck. "You think Clyde was made the offer, the one thing he desired most to ignore what was happening. He must have gotten close, if that's what happened. I can’t imagine how long he kept her there, a sad joke of a wish granted. And look what it cost.”

Laine let her cigarette smolder between her fingers, the crackling sparks of the burning cloves holding her gaze. “I wonder what it offered Dulane. We never got a chance to ask. And it’s pretty clear, death awakens the Sleeper. He offered those men he blew up. The dead girls are an offering, that’s clear. And the Russians, they can summon fucking monsters and appear in a shack in a flash of light. What the hell is going on?”

She shook her head slightly, then sighed, “We need to go back and look at Clyde, look at everything. I’ve been focused in on just a killer of girls but it’s more than that, it’s just a piece of this puzzle and everything is woven together.”

The black cigarette waved in the air as she motioned with her hand and then she took a drag, blowing smoke through her lips as she huffed a dry laugh. Laine looked over at Donnelley, “I’m going to need a cork board and a bunch of red yarn.”

Donnelley shook his head and chuckled, “Some damn tinfoil hats next.”




>CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
>SOHO’S RESTAURANT
>1900...///

For a Tuesday, Soho’s was bustling with activity. Servers weaved through each other, the loud din of conversations melding together into the makings of a headache, the smell of a hundred dinners. Donnelley fixed the cuffs of his dress shirt and frowned at the feeling of being overdressed. Then again, slacks and a polo was asking a lot of the man, let alone the dress shirt, chinos, and blazer ensemble he wore now.

“Welcome to Soho’s, how many?” The hostess asked, a skinny middle-aged woman with makeup that was not overstated, and looks that made Donnelley’s eyes linger before he remembered who he was with. He hoped Laine didn’t notice.

“We’re actually meeting a friend,” Donnelley smiled, “Dawant?”

“Oh! Yes, he’s at one of the booths, let me take you!” The hostess waved them along to follow her.

Through the restaurant they went, Donnelley glancing at all the different dishes as if he hadn’t eaten a sandwich, a parfait, and drank some coffee beverage he didn’t even know how to pronounce because a hipster couple in front of had ordered two. But his stomach grumbled. Once they’d caught sight of Dawant, Donnelley had to act like nothing was wrong. In his mind though, he was racking his brain for reasons why Dawant would try to foil THUNDER’s hit in New York.

“Davidson,” Dawant offered his hand to shake and Donnelley took it, all friendly smiles, “Doctor Laine, how are you?”

Laine stood beside him, dressed conservatively in a charcoal knee length skirt and black cardigan, her high heels bringing her height to almost match Donnelley. Her attention flicked from the hostess greeting them to his response, a habit engrained in observing others. A small inquisitive expression quirked the corner of her lips at his reaction to the nice looking hostess and she looked quickly away, focusing on the crowded restaurant.

She said nothing but followed along, only changing her bemused smile to a professional one when Dawant came into view.

Laine shook his hand, "I'm well, thank you, been busy. And thank you for your time, we appreciate it."

She slid into the booth across from the retired detective, looking him over surreptitiously. Laine took a menu, flipping it open. She reminded herself not to order anything with red sauce as she wore a crisp white blouse under the cardigan.

Laine looked up at Dawant, "And how have you been?"

“I am well, even better knowing that our last deal is done.” Dawant short a glance to Donnelley, who perked up a bit at that. “I spoke to your other teammate, Pari. We had a very enlightening and educational discussion last time.”

“Did you?” Donnelley said, deadpan.

“We did, would you like to hear how I’ve been useful this time?” Dawant smiled.

Laine forced herself not to look over at Donnelley at the cryptic words of Dawant. Instead, she focused on the man across from her and said, "Absolutely. I'm curious."

“If you didn’t know, Nikolai’s daughter is in West Virginia right now.” Dawant said, absently perusing the menu.

“I know.” Donnelley frowned, doing some of his own perusing.

“But do you know where?” Dawant smirked.

Donnelley looked up from his menu at Laine and then to Dawant, his eyes narrowing. He pursed his lips, putting down his menu and folding his hands, “No.”

“River Valleys Retreat.” Dawant put down his own menu and smiled at Laine and Donnelley, “Ever heard of it? No? I don’t blame you. It’s well hidden among the mountains, Blackriver county, no websites, no commercials. All advertising is by knowing people.”

“So, you know people?” Donnelley asked.

“I know one. He’s another specialist in the CMC I know. Rest assured, none of what we’re doing is sponsored by anyone.” Dawant leaned forward, “I know y’all ain’t no goddamn FBI. But that’s good, I told Pari as much.”

“I want the fuckin’ gloves off. I can’t tell you how many fuckers I tried putting away that walked a day later.” He shook his head slow, “Ain’t no more. I helped you get Carlisle, I want to get at the real pieces of shit pimping out these girls for big money.”

“River Valleys Retreat is where a lot of ‘em will be.” Dawant leaned back in his chair.

Laine looked at Dawant, the hard lines in his dark skin each earned by years of stress. No doubt he had a roll of Tums in his pocket and Advil PM at his bedside, if not something stronger.

"I agree," she said abruptly, "I can't tell you how many cases I've been involved in that get stymied by pissing matches over jurisdiction and distrust. Believe me or not, I am actually FBI, I'm with the BAU. I am a profiler, I've worked with all sorts including those in the Seattle PD and King County sheriff's department. I can understand where you're bitterness is coming from because it can get pretty thick over there."

Laine shifted forward, "We want to catch these men and find Maria's killer. I've been working and found identities to other victims buried in that location. I know you made the arrest of Wayne Williams, I'd like to discuss that case because it bears some resemblance to the signature of our killer. If you don't mind, Mr Dawant."

She looked quickly at Donnelley, "After you, of course."

“Let’s roll this back a bit,” Donnelley said, eyes never leaving Dawant’s. He rolled his jaw and pursed his lips, “I told you not to dig too deep, remember? It might be in your best interest to stop inquiring as to who we really are. As far as you’re concerned, we’re the people you call when shit’s fucked. That’s all you need to know.”

Donnelley frowned, “Secondly, thank you for that information. Let’s talk about Wayne Williams, we can discuss how much you’re pissin’ me off later.”

Dawant laughed, lightly slapped the table, nodding, “Alright, alright. I like you, you’re an asshole.” Donnelley had the slightest smirk at that, “I’m on your side, man. What do you want to know about Williams?”

Laine nodded, glancing at Donnelley again. It was a strange place to be in, both FBI and not FBI. She only raised an eyebrow slightly at the remark by Dawant and said, "You start to get used to it."

She looked at the menu and then glanced around the neighboring diners. This subject might spoil dinner for some but Laine was used to it and no doubt Dawant and Donnelley would not lose their appetite.

"I want to know about his victims, I know he was charged for two deaths but the information pointed to him being suspected in many more. What was it, like twenty reported missing girls at the time and did you have any luck with finding them?"

Dawant sighed, the good humor in him fading somewhat, “No.” He shook his head, “There were twenty, but we got him on two. The charges stuck and they washed their hands of him after that. I have my theories though. PD doesn’t like it.”

Laine checked to see if the waitress was approaching before asking, "I want to know your theories, especially if the SPD doesn't like them."

“Look, I’m not a fucking crackpot.” He cringed and looked away, wiping at his face, “Most of those girls didn’t fit the killer’s MO. They were tacked on as evidence. I know of two people with ties to the Aryan Brotherhood and some other volkist bullshit nonsense on the Force.”

“They fuckin’ did it. They had a shitload of uninvestigated unwarranted violence incidents on them. These guys were pricks. After the case closed, I wanted it reopened. It fizzled out. Police wanted me to take my scheduled evaluation and they said I had degenerative ocular… something.”

He looked at them both, pointing to his eyes, “I’m old as fuck but these things are sharp. I was a fucking sniper, man.” He shrugged, “Got myself tested on my own time and they said the same damn thing I just said to you.”

"Tacked onto the Williams case to hide their own crimes," Laine said, "I take it internal affairs never bothered, there is no money in dead girls. Tell me about the girls you think they killed versus William's victims. And if they are still working for Seattle PD or not."

She softened, furrowing her brow slightly, "I'm sorry, Detective. How incredibly frustrating it must have been, I admire your determination. I want to help you as much as I want to help our case."

Dawant nodded, “They’ll get theirs.”

He sighed, cleared his throat in his fist, “You look at Williams’ kills, he’s quick. It’s all about the ritual of it, not the girl. Only thing that mattered to him was if they were light-skinned if they were black, Aryan features if they were white. They were kidnapped too. His last victim was white before we got to him.”

“The ones I know are not him? They’re fucking dirty. Talking long deaths. Older than the killer’s preferred range. Prostitutes, homeless, they beat them. Rape. Whatever. Always darker, never white.” He growled, “Those were not him. They made sure he said they were in court, but I knew.”

“Those guys are retired now. Could give a fuck about what they’re doing with themselves nowadays.” Dawant frowned.

“The ritual?” Donnelley asked.

“Huh?”

“The ritual.” Donnelley repeated himself with a little more emphasis, “Said there was a ritual.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dawant nodded, shifting in his seat and marshaling his thoughts, “Always found nude, positioned like they were praying at an altar or something.”

Donnelley perked a brow at Laine before he looked back at Dawant, “Symbols?”

“Um,” Dawant chuckled, “Shit, man, making me think… Some type of Jesus type thing, crown of thorns, had a snake kinda motif sometimes. Lucifer as a serpent, maybe.”

“To him, it was almost art. Using them to give a message or something. Most killers want attention, but a lot of his shit was tucked away.” Dawant looked at Laine and Donnelley, “Anything else?”

"A product killer," Laine said, "He wanted the body not the torture, killing was just a means to that end. The others are process, sexual sadistic killers. That's obvious, yet they turned a blind eye."

Laine sighed, shaking her head slightly. "I think Maria's killer was both, until I find out what he did with her...the parts removed."

She glanced at the approaching waitress then quickly as said, "There were no ceremonial items left with her body. Except..."

Laine glanced at Donnelley, the silk cloth had been left but it was taken by the Blackwater sheriff's department. Another cover up for someone's crimes.

A young apple cheeked waitress approached, smiling bright though, "Sorry about the wait, were you ready to order?"

Laine nodded and said, "I'll have the lemon piccata with chicken and a glass of chardonnay. House is fine."

“Chicken Parmesan,” Donnelley smiled, “And a Corona. Please.”

Dawant ordered and the waitress busied herself away as he looked back at them, “Sometimes dead snakes. Sometimes live ones. It turned to newts after a while.” He said, “Williams liked his lizards.”

Donnelley pursed his lips, thoughts to the tape and the man with a snake mask filtering back to him, “Where’s he from?”

“Eastern Washington. Little place, Othello. Moved over to the Seattle area sometime and started killing folks.” Dawant said.

Donnelley shrugged, nodded. It was worth a try, “Where’s Williams now?”

“Dead. He died in prison.” Dawant shrugged.

Laine took in the information, rolling it around. It was not as similar as she had hoped. "There was mutilation done, was it post mortem? What exactly was done to the girls?"

“Eyes, ears,” he counted out his fingers, “tongue. All postmortem.”

She shook her head, "That's interesting but it's certainly different from what happened to Maria. The only thing I see as a connection is the fact they were young women and killed for some sort of ritual purpose. What about the other women, the ones you suspect were killed by the two officers with AB connections. You said their deaths were drawn out, torture was used. Anything stand out to you in particular?"

“Just senseless violence.” He frowned, “Same shit you see with NYPD beating gays up in the park. They just wanted to do it.”

Laine pursed her lips, pressing them into a thin line, then muttered, "Assholes."

"Thank you, though," she continued, "I wish there had been some justice for those women but maybe we can start with the ones in Blackriver."

The waitress brought their drinks and left, Laine waited until she had moved away before asking Dawant, "How much do you know about the Sinaloa trafficking, Carlisle's old connection."

“About as much as you do, maybe. Those guys they picked up in the Seattle and Tacoma area, Carlisle’s main contact. Doll-Maker. Muñecero.” Dawant said, sipping at his old fashioned, “We had him on our radar after FINCEN put him on the map for the Feds. The deeper I went in the East Coast and West Virginia, the more Nikolai started popping up. I figured they’d replaced the Sinaloa.”

“You don’t hear much about the Tadjbegskye Bratva but they do a lot of the same shit the Sinaloa do. They’re edging in on the market here.” Dawant pursed his lips, “They’re mainly a European thing, but, you know. Here now.”

“You know where Nikolai himself is?” Donnelley asked, “They’re in league with AB around here.”

“Yeah, AB probably switched sides. Whatever’s better for money. Probably helps their image now they’re dealing with white people instead of Mexicans.” Dawant snorted, “Fucking idiots.”

“Far as Nikolai himself? No. I’m sure you know more about him than me. All I know is he’s Tadjbegskye Bratva and pretty high up. I have friends in the DEA on overseas assignments who’ve heard of him.” Dawant shook his head, “I can’t help you with everything, but I can try to be useful.”

“Well, you’re doing a good job of that.” Donnelley nodded, “Figure we get the princess, the king comes after her, he’ll be emotional, sloppy.”

“See,” Dawant chuckled, “You talk like that and you wonder why I scratch my head at you. I’d ask you who you are, but you get real sensitive.”

“It’s sensitive information. Play nice, you may or may not get an answer one day.” Donnelley smiled at Dawant, “Play wrong and you’ll get a fucking visit.”

“Goddamn, I like you more and more. Real secret shit, G-Man. Makes me excited about our great budding friendship.” Dawant sipped at his old fashioned, “I’ll leave it be. For now.”

Dawant slapped a hundred dollar bill on the table and stood, straightening his coat, “How about this for you, G-Man,” Dawant winked, “When you and your team of Men in Black come back, we be more careful. They’re not just in Blackriver, but when you inevitably go infiltrate the Retreat like James Bond, you’ll see why we can’t move freely even in Charleston.”

“Spy shit. Mister Spy.” Dawant walked toward the front door of the restaurant and disappeared down the street.

Donnelley shook his head, tipping his head back and taking long pulls from his Corona. He sighed, “I don’t know if I like that guy, or I want to kick his teeth in.”

Laine watched him leave and frowned for a moment. "He has information that's for certain."

She looked at Donnelley, unable to ask the questions on her mind in the crowded restaurant. "I don't know anything about the spy shit," she said, "I just investigate regular old sociopaths and sexual sadists. What are we doing to do with the Russians?"

“You already got the femme fatale look goin’.” Donnelley smirked. “Far as the Russians go, we pick up Jay, get him to spy for us, maybe. The daughter, can leave that to me, Jason, and Dave.”

“I have to wonder what he meant by that. We’ll see why we have to be careful even here.” Donnelley clucked his tongue and swigged at his beer, “This shit tastes like sour water.”

Laine grinned at his comment, brushing her short black hair back behind her ear, "So, are you going to throw hot men this woman until she gets seduced?"

She sipped her wine, a slight smile still on her lips at the mental image of the trio in tuxes like a bachelor line up.

"I thought you liked Corona," Laine said dryly, " As for Charleston, no doubt there are eyes there. I mean, as much as we've tried to keep a low profile Jay knows your face and maybe the rest of us. What do you think of changing cities maybe another place like Clarksburg or Huntington?"

“Have I not been trying to seduce you with my wily charms since we met?” Donnelley smirked, “But I like Charleston. The proximity to Blackriver makes it easier to get there. Clarksburg has too many Feds, too many people might ask questions.”

"And hasn't it been working?" Laine replied with an arch of her eyebrow before sipping her wine, glancing to the side at him.

"Charleston is nice, it's a large city with amenities, close to Blackriver and now probably compromised," she countered, "And that's fair about Clarksburg but there are other cities if we are worried about being attacked again or spied on maybe a longer commute is worth it."

“Maybe you’re right. Going to be living the high life at another Goldstar.” He snorted.

"You're the boss," Laine replied, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "I'm sure you and Foster will put us somewhere safe."

[Hr]
>17.JUL.2019
>1800...///

It would not take long to pack, Laine had a bag now prepared with both suits and casual clothes, nightwear and toiletries, her soft bulletproof vest and FBI issue helmet and sturdy Doc Marten boots. It was another layer to her regular travel kit, added after the gunfight at the safehouse. Her gear was stacked on a chair and atop it sat an enormous fat stuffed cat with a cartoonish face.

They were in her bedroom, her bed neatly made after they had made such efforts of tangling the sheets the night before.

"Do you need to stop and get anything before we get to Ava's?" Laine asked Donnelley as she pulled on a black tank top over her bra. She was dressed in form fitting black skirt over black tights.

"Heels or sneakers?" she asked, holding up high heeled half boots and a black and white pair of Airwalk sneakers.

Donnelley slipped the Exodus shirt over his head and looked Laine up and down, a tiny smirk forming on his lips at the sight of her, “Sneakers.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped his black Vans on his feet, falling back and stretching the entirety of himself, grunting, “Fuckin’…”

He let go a series of pops from his back and sat back up, running a hand over his face and slipping on the black hoodie and Thrasher cap on his head, “Foster gave me the address to the Safehouse we’re usin’ in Clarksburg.” He cleared his throat, placing a cigarette between his lips, a sarcastic tinge to his voice, “Hopefully it’s got good location, I refuse to settle.”

Laine put the boots aside to slip on the skater sneakers, leaning down to tug them into place. She grinned as his back popped, tempted to go straddle him by surprise but she pushed it away. Business now, she reminded herself, even if they were dressed like they were still punk ass teens going down to the park.

"Don't smoke in my house," she said, playfully plucking it from his lips and put it between her own. "So he went for Clarksburg, I'm surprised. We keep a low profile it's at least safer, I would think. At least until we know what is going on in Charleston."

She picked up a lightweight hoodie that had a Siouxsie and the Banshees logo on the back. Laine picked up the large stuffed cat, holding it up, "I got it for Ava, in case we share a bed again. She's a real cuddler. This might deter her."

Tossing it towards Donnelley to carry, she added, "Not that its bad I just am not a fan of sleeping with a human backpack latched on."

With a chuckle, she shouldered her bag and grabbed her laptop case. "Ready?"

“I’m not that rude,” He grumbled, glancing away from Laine before catching the huge stuffed animal, “Don’t even smoke in my own house…”

He followed her to the door, waiting for her to get everything in her house in order, “Yeah, lot of Feds might deter people from pryin’. At least if it’s a nosy FBI guy we can wave him off with ‘out-of-your-clearance.’”

“Let’s be off.” Donnelley grinned.

"Most of the FBI that live and work there are analysts anyway, not as nosy as investigators," she said, locking the door behind them as they stood on the stoop of the townhome.

She lit his cigarette and politely gave it back to him but not before stealing a kiss, then put the cigarette between his lips. "I'll drive this time," Laine said, "Back to being professional."




> VIENNA, VIRGINIA
> AVALINE MOORE, RESIDENCE
>17.JUL.2019
> 1900...///

Ava bounced her leg up and down as she waited for Laine and Donnelley to arrive. She was killing time and trying to relax by watching a few episodes of Batman The Animated Series. All of her clothes were already packed and waiting by the door, as was the two cases containing her drones. Thor was already with Mrs Grier, though she got the sense the cat understood she was leaving again and was mad at her because he disappeared shortly after being let off his leash.

She cracked a smile watching Harley Quinn proclaim she was armed and then hit Bruce Wayne in the face with a mannequin arm. She giggled and shook her head, glancing over at the clock on the wall as her smile faded.

Any minute now, they would be pulling up and it would be back to work. Back to Blackriver.

Her leg bounced a little more as she rubbed a hand gently against her side. She still felt the occasional twinge of pain when she moved a certain way or picked up something heavy, but other than that she thought she was mostly healed. Physically anyway.

She was worried about going back. They were armed with more information, but that didn’t mean they would be out of danger. If anything, the risk has only increased as they drew closer to the heart of what was happening in Blackriver.

She patted her hands on the arms of her chair for a moment before she got up and stood in the middle of her living room. Needing something to do since the show wasn’t cutting it as a distraction, she started walking around. She moved around one of the geometric terrariums she had for decoration filled with sand, pebbles and pretty silk flowers on the end tables. She rearranged the small stylized ceramic fox figurines on her mantle below the television, playing around with the order of the rainbow of colors they came in.

Eventually she found herself in her kitchen and staring at her pantry. She was debating making a cup of tea when she saw movement from the corner of her eye, outside her bay window. She looked and saw the familiar racing stripe clad Ford Focus pulling up to the curb outside her house.

Her heart leapt up into her throat at the same time she felt relief seeing they had made it there alright. This was it. Time to go back.

“Okay,” She said, taking in a deep breath, holding it for a moment and letting it out slowly. “You can do this. You can do this.” She said on the exhale. She took in another deep breath and this time on the exhale reminded herself, “You aren’t alone. You aren’t alone.”

The knock came at her door and she pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket. She pulled up the feed for the security camera on the doorbell, just to be sure and relaxed some of the tension from her shoulders when she saw Laine standing there beneath the porch light.

She tucked the phone away, put a smile on her face as she crossed to the door and opened it. “Hi Dr. Laine.” She greeted, her eyes taking in the dark, punk rock outfit that hugged her hourglass figure. She peered around her to where Donnelley was standing, dressed in similar dark attire.

She glanced down at her own shirt, a baseball tee with pink sleeves that went to her elbows, depicting an adorable cartoon turtle with a happy little smile on its face proclaiming ‘Shell Yeah’ in pink bubble letters.

Ava looked back up at her with a sheepish smile. “Don’t judge me?”

Laine grinned when Ava opened the door, her small frame even more childlike with the pastel cartoon t-shirt, "Why would I? And hello to you, too. Ready?"

Ava nodded, taking a step back and opening the door wider. “Yeah, I have all my stuff right here.” She said, picking up her waiting duffle bag and slinging it over her shoulder. With the toe of her sneaker she tapped one of two hard black cases, the smaller on top labeled EVE and the larger on the bottom named WALL-E. “I’ll need some help with these.”

The mad cackling of Mark Hamil’s Joker suddenly sounded from her living room and Ava jumped. “Jesus.” She said, pressing a hand against her chest and glaring over at her still playing television.

“Go turn that off,” Donnelley smiled as he stepped up beside Laine, bending down and hefting up one, then both black cases, “I got these.”

Laine stepped aside, letting him pass to pick up the cases but her eyes were on Ava. "Are you alright?" she asked the young computer analyst.

Ava had good reason to be nervous as they were heading back into the belly of the beast. The place and situation that earned her a bullet. "By the way, there is something in the back seat for you."

“Think you’ll like it.” Donnelley winked before turning for the car and taking the cases.

Ava gave them both a curious look before turning off the television. “What is it?” She asked, grabbing up her laptop bag from the chair it was waiting on. She shut off the lights and pulled out her keys to lock the front door.

As she locked it she glanced at Laine, the dim porch light catching the concerned crease of her brow. “And I'm okay, just a little nervous to be going back.”

Laine nodded at her, meeting her eyes, "It's understandable, thank you for sticking with us. We're going to be in a safer place this time."

She motioned her forward, following behind Ava as they went to the rental Ford Focus. The doors closed behind them in the idling Ford, Donnelley in the driver’s seat as he revved the engine a couple times, “How fast y’all think I can get us to Clarksburg?” He chuckled, a mischievous grin on his face, “Haven’t even broken 80 in this thing yet.”

Laine slipped into the passenger seat, "Don't you dare, we don't have a carseat for Ava."

“I'm big enough for a booster seat, thank you very much.” Ava said with a small grin as she settled into the back seat. Her duffle bag in the back with the rest luggage she settled her laptop bag next to her on the seat.

Her eyes landed on the lump on the floor behind the driver’s seat and remembering what Laine said she reached over and picked it up.

She blinked and then grinned widely in surprise when she saw the cartoonish face of a happy calico cat on the large, soft pillow. “Awe! It's so cute!” She said, giving it a squeeze. “This is for me?” She asked, taking the triangular ears in her hands and giving them a wiggle, the bright girlish grin still on her face.

Laine smiled, glancing in the rear view mirror, "I figured you needed something to cuddle other than me. Just in case we get another two bed room for three."

“Oh,” Ava flushed as she settled the plushie on her lap, the pillow as big as her torso. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She looked down at the gift and grinned again. “Thank you so much, I love it.” She said, looking up at Laine, eyes bright and her nerves about returning to Blackriver momentarily forgotten.

“I picked it out.” Donnelley poorly hid a grin seeing Ava beam at her new gigantic plushie, “But, fine. If we gotta obey the traffic laws, I guess I’ll obey the traffic laws.”

He shifted into first gear and they were off down the road, Donnelley mumbling in feigned dejection, “Dave would let me go fast…”

Laine looked sidelong at him, then sniffed, "I'm still a better navigator."

Donnelley’s sulking frown turned into a small smirk, a glance sidelong at Laine, “The best.”

The mention of navigation made Ava look up from her new plushie. “Speaking of navigating,” She said, folding her arms on top of the cat pillow. “Donnelley, I was able to make a more detailed map of those dead drop sites and the shed. I used some satellite images and, uh, borrowed a little information from the National Park Service to map out as many roads and trails as I could.”

"So you spent your break working, too," Laine said, turning to look at Ava. "I'll be interested in seeing those maps, maybe we can get some printed up. I brought my printer, maybe print it off in sections and assemble it on a wall if we're not allowed to go to Kinko's."

“Kinko’s seems a little…” Donnelley frowned, “Unsecure. I don’t want some dude askin’ why we’re printin’ a big ass map of some forests.”

“I want as small of a footprint we can have in Clarksburg. Bad enough we’ll have to relocate Dave’s terrorist lab there, right under the FBI’s noses.” Donnelley sighed, a little sardonic. “Can’t imagine the media shitstorm that’ll raise if we ain’t careful. Ain’t no amount of time on mine and Foster’s knees in front of some FBI Director’s gonna cover that up.”

“What is the Safe House this time?” Ava asked. “Is it an actual house or another motel?” She frowned in thought as she flicked one of her plushie’s ears back and forth. “I've also been wondering where you're going to put all of the black market weapons from the dead drops? That might also get the FBI’s attention…”

“We’ll just need our own stash spots. Whatever we can’t hide, we’ll give it some tannerite.” Donnelley shrugged, “Hopefully we get some good real estate.”

Ava knitted her eyebrows together and settled back into her seat, watching her neighborhood pass them by from the corner of her eye. “I could try to find places to stash them? But that seems like something you and Dave might have better luck with.” She said to Donnelley.

Laine leaned her head back, "I forgot about Dave's stash. Shit. Well, there is storage units in town. I hope he hadn't got a lab already set up in Charleston."



>CLARKSBURG, WEST VIRGINIA
>INDUSTRIAL PARK SAFEHOUSE
>JUL.17.2019
>2220...///

The industrial area of Clarksburg was like any other Donnelley had been through. Warehouses, hardware stores, gas stations, and homeless camps on the outskirts. Junkies and tweakers mingling with the graveyard shift on the streets, life ticking by slowly at this late hour. The small house nestled away from prying eyes looked about as dilapidated as the Blackriver Cabin. A chain link fence hemmed in the property of cracked concrete and gravel. One of the Windows was boarded up, graffiti sprayed along the outside.

After taking the key to the box and flipping it open to reveal the keypad, Donnelley looked at his phone while the Ford idled behind him. He keyed in the code Foster sent him and the lock on the rolling gate disengaged, he turned and perked his brow at the sound of distant pops of fireworks, or worse. What followed was either a police siren or an ambulance. He shrugged, pushed open the chain link gate and parked the Ford next to the small house. His eyes lingered on the peeling paint and mossy roof, “Home, sweet home.” He turned with a smile to Laine and then Ava, “How much y’all wanna bet this used to be a drug house?”

Ava stared at the “Safe” House with wide eyes and a nervous twist to her lips. She could smell the mustiness of dirt, water damaged wood and mold from inside the car. “I miss the Goldstar already.” She muttered, reluctantly undoing her seatbelt.

Laine eyed the rundown house and shook her head, "Well, we certainly won't be under the noses of the Feds in this neighborhood."

She got out and lit a cigarette, looking down the street. There were other houses in similar condition, yards a few weeks past due for a mowing. One down the street had sun faded children's toys strewn across the grass and another had a white pitbull chained to a tree. Sidewalks buckled and weeds pushed through, a place long neglected by the city and the people here stayed inside. Laine turned back, looking over at their new home. What an odd bunch they would make in a neighborhood with elderly shut ins and generations of young parents still living with their own parents.

Laine moved around the car, her sneakers scuffing the broken asphalt. "Pari's gonna shit herself."

Ava got out of the car with her laptop bag over her shoulder and her new plushie under her other arm. Her eyes flickered around nervously as she quickly joined Laine and Donnelley, paranoid that someone would come leaping out of the heavy shadows.

“Is there electricity and running water at least?” She asked, sticking particularly close to Donnelley.

“I wouldn’t drink from the faucet if that’s what you’re askin’.” Donnelley said as he hefted his go-bag out of the trunk space, slinging it over his broad shoulders.

He walked past Ava and Laine, putting a cigarette he’d kept behind his ear to his waiting lips. The door seemed to have an electronic lock with a keypad. That wasn’t conspicuous in a neighborhood like this. He keyed in the second code Foster had sent him and the deadbolt cane grinding open. “Flash!” Came a voice from behind the door.

Donnelley stepped back from the door and ripped his handgun from its holster in less than a second, practiced, and muscles taut with it. He glanced at Laine and Ava, “Flash, dude!” Came the voice again.

Laine looked up at the strange demand, her hand reaching for her own sidearm that rested in the shoulder holster. "Flash?" she whispered, furrowing her brow. "I'm not showing my tits for entrance to This Old Crackhouse."

Ava’s eyes widened both at the sound of the voice beyond the door and the reaction from her teammates. She quickly backed away to Laine’s side, dropping her cat plushie on the ground as she fumbled with her laptop bag where her own handgun was tucked away.

“It’s alright,” Donnelley held a hand out to Laine, “No one’s showin’ their tits today.”

Donnelley’s phone buzzed again and he risked looking away from the door to his screen. Foster. ‘The Counter to Flash is Thunder. Second Challenge is Shadow, UMBRA.’ Donnelley rolled his eyes. For a man who’d dropped into Afghanistan, Foster wasn’t big on providing him with everything he needed. Then again, the tastes of an Afghan warlord were probably simple. Lots of AKs and a few million dollars in US cash.

Come to think of it, Donnelley wouldn’t mind that either, “Thunder!”

“Shadow!”

“Umbra!” Donnelley rose his voice again.

“I’m opening the door, I’m holstering my weapon.” The door creaked open to reveal a man a few inches shorter than Donnelley. A slight dusting of stubble along his jaw and tired eyes, a Caucasian man with sandy blonde, unkempt hair, clad in loose clothing, “What’s up, man, you guys are kinda late.”

“Had a few detours.” Donnelley grunted. “Who are you?”

“I’m the Safehouse Handler. I won’t be living with you guys, but I left my phone number on the kitchen counter. Three bedrooms, two baths. Come in, man, I made some lemon glaze salmon.” He cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly, “I made a lot. I didn’t know how many to expect, but, uh… yeah.”

Ava stopped trying to retrieve her gun as the tension seemingly dissipated with the reveal of the man on the other side, for the most part. She crouched down and picked the plushie back up, keeping a wary eye on the strange man in the doorway as she dusted it off.

She perked up at the mention of food, sniffing the air to try and catch a whiff of the dinner. “That was nice of you.” She said softly, with a little polite smile. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.” The man beamed, “My name’s Avery. Program said to expect you guys any time from Sixteen-Hundred to Nineteen-Hundred. Salmon might be a little cold.”

Laine dropped her hand from her gun and looked between the stranger and Donnelley, “We get house sitters now?”

“Sometimes.” Donnelley grumbled, eyes not leaving Avery. He pressed the call button on his phone and within a few rings, Foster answered.

“Hello.”

“Foster. We got to the Safehouse. There’s a guy here.” Donnelley mumbled into the receiver.

“Yeah. Avery, right?” Foster asked.

“Yup.”

“That’s your guy. He’s Office of Security, new guy. He’ll clean the place when you leave, but he’s not your maid. You guys are grown-ups.” Donnelley rolled his eyes at the smile in Foster’s voice, “Have fun.”

“Fuck you.” Donnelley cut the call and placed the phone back in his pocket, jamming his gun back in its holster. He turned to Laine and Ava, “Let’s get inside. Take a load off for the night and wait for the others to get into town.”

He followed his own orders and walked up the small set of concrete steps up to the front door as Avery stepped aside. He turned on the tiny porch, bathed in the dim light of a dying bulb, “This place reminds me of my slice of Dalhart.”

“Quaint?” Avery asked.

“Shitty.” Donnelley grunted as he lit his cigarette and set his go-bag down.

“Yeah.” Avery agreed, his voice dropping a little dejectedly as he stepped out and took his place at the fence, playing lookout.

Laine gathered her gear from the car and walked back to the front door, looking at the peeling paint on the rotting siding. Along the porch was grit from the worn roofing tiles that had been washed down with the last rain.

“It reminds me of a party house I used to go to with my friends,” she said wistfully. “It was in a shitty house, spray paint all over the walls and a makeshift skate ramp in the backyard. It was in East Los, I think. It’s been awhile.”

Ava set her laptop bag and plushie just inside the door, taking a cursory look inside before trotting back to the car to get her duffle bag. She saw Avery keeping watch at the fence and after shouldering her bag, walked over to him with a small smile. “I think the house looks nice, you did good work, thank you.”

“Thanks. Just got out.” He chuckled, more than a little bashful at the compliment and at Ava herself talking to him. He ran his hand through his lengthy hair, “If there’s one thing they teach you in the Army it’s how to clean.”

Laine glanced at the two and smiled slightly, a knowing grin flashed at Ava as the agent walked by. The interior of the house was a pleasant surprise, rather than dust and decay there was polished wood floor and comfortable furniture. She set her things down on the sofa and made a beeline for the kitchen, following the salmon stink.

It was small but the stove was gas which made Laine happy. She picked around in the cupboards, stocked with staples already. The kid had done well preparing the house for an extended stay.

"Avery," Laine poked her head out of the kitchen, "Did they give us a Keurig?"

Avery looked over Ava’s head at Laine and nodded, “Yeah, it’s in the kitchen pantry at the bottom.”

“Maybe Avery’ll ask to take her out.” Donnelley snorted and looked over at Laine, his voice hushed, “Could inspect the master bedroom with itme while they’re gone. Make sure he made the bed good enough.”

Laine pressed her lips together to hide her smile, murmuring, "That would be adorable, I wonder if there's a malt shop in Clarksburg."

She elbowed Donnelley, laughing softly, "Hush, we have to be professional."

Laine opened the pantry and bent over to pull the coffee maker out, cradling it in her arms and took it to the counter to set it up.

Donnelley stifled a cackle at Laine’s reaction to his proposal, jumping back at her elbow in his ribs. He finished off his cigarette and joined her inside, watching her set up the keurig. He cast a glance in Ava and Avery’s direction and smiled before stepping inside the house. He took his tour, looking inside the bedrooms and bathrooms. Finally he came back to the kitchen and watched Laine waiting for her coffee to brew. “Make me one?”

Laine popped an Italian roast cup into the machine, setting a pair of plain blue mugs she found in the cabinet to the side. Coffee and salmon made her cringe but she needed caffeine.

In the box of assorted coffee she found a French roast and put it into the machine for Donnelley. It would probably always remind her of the cabin in Blackriver, when that was all they had. What a desperate struggle, she thought wryly.

Laine leaned against the counter beside him and handed Donnelley the steaming mug and said, "Careful not to scald your tongue."

The front door opened as Ava stepped inside with her duffle bag in hand and then holding the door open wide for Avery as the Army vet carried in the two black drone cases. “Thank you so much Avery, you can just set them by the door. We can find a place for them later.” Ava said with a bright, grateful smile as she picked up her laptop bag and the large plushie from beside the door.

Avery seemed to be soaking in purpose, absolutely beaming to be of use. He returned Ava’s smile and did as directed, smoothing down his black hoodie as he turned back to them, “Is there anything else you guys need right now?” He asked, “If not, I’ll get out of here.”

Laine blew on her coffee, then shook her head before giving the young man an appreciative smile, "I'm good, thank you Avery for setting up the house and making dinner. It is certainly a pleasant surprise."

“It really is.” Ava nodded, setting her things temporarily on the couch that was comfortable looking enough but judging from the shape the upholstery was in, it was likely it had come from a thrift market. She let herself drop into the cushions with a relieved sigh, smiling over at Avery again. “Thanks again, drive safe.” She said with a small wave.

Donnelley raised his cup to Avery as the younger man waved to them before stepping outside and closing the door behind himself. There was a couple seconds of silence before Donnelley opened his mouth, “Best damn room service I’ve gotten at a safehouse.” He looked at the oven, teasing it open for a peek at the salmon. It looked like a chef had made it, and the smell alone was enough to make Donnelley moan, “Goddamn. Anybody wanna get some plates?”

He opened the oven all the way and tested the pan with a finger before taking hold of the baking sheet and lifting it out, placing it on the table, “Man, they are missin’ out.”
Queen felt a deep sense of relief when Carlisle slumped forward, he breathed out a shaky sigh and nodded as much to himself as to Tex. He rubbed his ear and stared at the blood pooling on the floor under the modeling agent. It was a mercy really, he reasoned, for all of them. He glanced up, catching the Gray Man's expression as Ghost laughed. The laugh made Queen's skin crawl, it was one of a man highly amused by a funny prank and made doubly so by the shock on the faces of their superiors.

"We should throw him out, the body," he muttered, the idea that even in death Carlisle was a danger began to creep in. Queen coughed hard and spat, more blood mixed in, he could taste it and smell it. The smell would bring it back, Carlisle's blood, the rotting hungry beast with eyes that tugged at his sanity.

Queen turned suddenly and the crazy thought to get away and off the ship raged through him. They were in the cold waters of the Atlantic but the urge pulled him. The paranoia curled tendrils into his mind and he wiped his mouth, his hand still trembling. He was losing it, slipping down into the nightmare of that thing coming back even of Carlisle was dead.

With a shake of his head, he tried to rid himself of the thought, like a dog with a flea. He needed sleep, that was it. He was tired and his body, his mind, they were worn out. Sleep without nightmares. His hand went to his pocket and clutched his stash.

He left, ignoring Foster or anyone else, his mind getting the fuck away from Carlisle as he could. Despite it being July there was still a chill in the air, they were probably farther north than New York harbor now. Queen walked the length of the ship, oddly quiet and still as the crew was still locked away. A ghost ship.

Queen shivered and fished out the bag and found another Xanax, looking it over. It would be his third in as many hours, he probably would knock out but the anxiety clawed at him so hard the prospect of jumping out of his skin felt legitimate. He popped it, choking the pill down and lit a cigarette, leaning against the side of the ship to inhale the salt air and menthol tobacco.

“You got a lighter?” Donnelley’s voice came from his left, he stood with his thumb hooked in his belt and a cigarette dangling from his lip as he gave Queen a soft smile.

Queen turned at the sound of Tex's voice and reached for the disposable Bic and handed it to him. "Always," he said, his voice rough and a hint of a tremble made him stop. Queen cleared his throat and tried again, forcing a cocky grin. "You know I got you."

Donnelley chuckled, coming closer as he lit the cigarette. It fell quiet between them for a time as they both stared out at the horizon, where the earth pinched the sky and the waves together. “How you holdin’ up?”

Queen flicked the ashes and shrugged, "You know, I'll be better once this last Xannie kicks in. Because that shit in there....fuck."

He ran his hand through his sandy blond hair and ruffling it and he sighed raggedly, "I'm not doing too good, Tex. I saw it, it looked at me...I swear. I can't get it out of my head, man."

“It looked at me too.” Donnelley looked over at Queen, clucking his tongue, “Hell, man, it was lookin’ at everyone. You heard what Dude said, that it wouldn’t stop until it got what it wanted.”

“Well,” Donnelley shrugged, “We took care of that. It ain’t gonna come for you, you ain’t what it was here for in the first place.”

He tried at a soft smile, “You’re safe, man.” He said, “I wasn’t goin’ to let it come back.”

Queen nodded, "Yeah, you did. And I know that, but I'm not gonna feel better til Carlisle's body is fish food. Just a lotta shit, you know?"

He smiled slightly, meeting Donnelley's gaze, "I missed you, man. THUNDER ain't the same without you. We had good times."

Queen looked away, unable to keep the mask of normalcy up. He flicked his cigarette watching it fall end over end until it vanished into the waves.

Donnelley looked at Queen now. He was a far cry from the Queen he knew when they were younger men, running and gunning with the best of them in any place the Program sent them. The most high risk operations for the most hot-headed, hairtrigger, short-fused operators the Program had. A bunch of cowboys and outlaws. Now, Queen looked deflated. Defeated.

“We did, man.” Was all Donnelley said, sucking in more smoke and letting it out in a chuckle, “I still need somebody to do those pills with.”

Donnelley stepped a bit closer to Queen, “And I ain’t gonna let you be alone, man. You remember what I always said- ain’t no lone wolves.” Donnelley smiled, “Us against hell, remember? S’what I said to you back in Egypt.”

Queen tore his gaze away from the rolling waves and looked back at Donnelley. Big Tex always had been there, the balance between the hard men of the kill team. The heart of their team if truth be told and he had been gone too long. The reminder of Egypt made him smirk then grin sharply, a wild and dangerous beauty.

"Yeah I remember," his pale eyes reflected the gray sea and sky, the blue drained out of them. "That was Hell but we came out the other side, you held us together. Held me together."

He huffed a chuckle which turned into a cough and he put a fist against his mouth. At least the blood was no longer leaking out, he observed.

Queen put his hand in his pocket and felt the stash, he could probably do a couple more Vicodin. "This time, it ain't Egypt though. This shit is in our yard. I dunno, it just feels different. Or maybe it's me."

He shrugged his narrow shoulders and then grinned again, though his eyes did not reflect it. He took out the baggie, "C'mon, let's forget about it for awhile. Celebrate your return proper."

“I get it, I know what you mean.” Donnelley shook his head. He’d had that same feeling when he first got the activation notice to go to West Virginia. At Queen’s insistence to forget it all for a bit, he knew he would jump at the chance. He missed Queen. “Hell yeah, man.” He grinned.

“Go somewhere private. I like Ghost, but,” Donnelley shrugged, a small shake of his head, “I don’t need him with us.”

"Yeah he's not someone I can ever completely relax around," Queen said, pushing away from the side of the ship. His eyes met Donnelley's and he grinned again, "And that's what I need to do, I'm wound fucking tight after this Carlisle business."

He lead the way, down into the bowels of the cargo ship. There was the bunkroom and the mess but Queen passed them up until he found a storage room. It was dark and when he flicked the light on it was still dim. There were crates and drums and what he was hoping he would find.

Queen grabbed a tightly rolled extra sleeping pad, unfurling it in front of some crates and sat down, the bag of goodies pulled from his pocket. He looked up at Donnelley, "Pretty private down here, what'll be your poison?"

“I’m feelin’ downers, right about now. Think I been more up than I wanted to be for longer than I wanted to.” He smiled, shaking his head though his limbs felt heavy and his head swam in fatigue, “What do you got for me, Billy?”

Queen smiled again, this time more genuine at the use of his real name. He gave Donnelley a little wave, "Come on down to the pill is right."

He did a little imitation of the music from the famous daytime game show. Queen opened the bag and shook out out a smaller bag among the coke and meth. Putting aside the Adderall, he selected a tiny Ziploc stuffed with green oblong shaped pills and white sticks of Xanax. Another held opiates, white pills of Vicodin and pink Lortab.

"Real pharma stuff here, none of that counterfeit fentanyl tainted shit," he said, taking out a pill crusher and setting aside. "My body is a temple, I know what goes into it."

Queen chuckled, almost a giggle of glee as he arranged the colorful pharmacopoeia. Donnelley hadn’t realized he’d grown a smile as he watched Queen start to enjoy himself. This was the Queen he’d enjoyed spending so much time with. “Give me some of that Vicodin, man.”

He passed Donnelley the bag with the white pills and said, "Should prolly wash em but fuck it, abuse our livers a little more. Live fast, leave a yellow tinted corpse."

Queen leaned back and felt the last Xanax kicking in, he'd popped a time release green hulk, it caused the euphoria longer and without as much drowsiness. He was tired enough as it was. "Speaking of, got somethin' in that flask, buddy?"

Donnelley tugged his flask from his pocket, sitting with Queen and watching him arrange his rainbow of drugs. His eyes went from the pills to Queen, silently humming as he worked at the arrangement, his small smile still on his face at the sight. “You know it,” He said, “Buddy.”

Queen took the flask for a quick nip, it tasted like Jim Beam and he leaned back against a container. Crossing his arm over his lean chest he grinned, looking at Donnelley, "So tell me about your other team. Where y'all working? Any of them as fun as me?"

Donnelley laughed, leaning back in turn, “Fun as you? Nah.” He shook his head, putting a cigarette between his lips and lighting it, “But they’re a’right folk. They mean well, professional. Usual Feds.”

“What about THUNDER? How is it nowadays?” Donnelley asked, holding Queen’s gaze as he passed him a couple Vicodin. He popped them in his mouth and chewed them up.

Queen's animated expression, eyebrows raised up and a big crooked grin as he was assured he was still the most fun. His pale eyes were a shade of blue again and he shrugged, "Ain't the same without Big Tex. Ya know, we do our jobs but...it's like we're missing a big piece right in the middle. A sassy ass backwoods punk with a killer trigger is very hard to find."

His eyes gleamed as he giggled, the comforting fog of the drugs cloaking him. "Ghost is Ghost, spooky as ever. Maui and Poker, professional and shit, no one I can take with me to lose ourselves in some rave on Ibiza. Remember that?"

Queen's grin turned slightly lascivious, "So much fucking E."”

Donnelley chuckled a low growl, puffing smoke from his nostrils, “So much fuckin’...”

“Them’s were some times, man.” He nodded flicking ash from his cigarette and waiting for the Vicodin to kick in. “Fuck it,” Donnelley popped another one in his mouth, “I’ll admit it. I missed you a lot. Can’t nobody do what you do like you do, Billy. You’re a good people finder, good friend. Good at a lot of things.”

The grin turned to a smirk, Queen shifting against the crate, his eyes on Donnelley, "A lotta fuckin'."

"Now you gonna get my head bigger than it is," he cackled, rubbing his hand over his hair. "But shit, I miss times like this. I can't ever relax around anyone like I can with you. You get me."

He shrugged, meeting Donnelley's gaze again and then picked through the pills absently, "You know?"

“You always got me like nobody else.” Donnelley smirked. “I always liked that ‘bout you. We were always pretty close.”

Donnelley sighed, remembering all the times they were away from the others and they could be themselves. Donnelley two-fold. He was always different. And with Queen, he found a best friend who understood him as he really was. He looked at Queen picking through his pills, his tattoos, his hair, the way his jaw worked in that way he never noticed when he was thinking or concentrating.

The lean muscle, that carefree attitude that made the horrifying, terrible things they were sent out to do so far away. He looked down at his hand and took another drag, “Us against hell. Waitin’ for the next sunrise.”

Queen plucked a stick of Xanax, flicking it over his fingers and nodded, "We gave em hell, too. Sorry I freaked out about Carlisle. I dunno, this one got to me. Prolly cuz I didn't have my favorite Texan around for so long. Then I got nervous tryna impress you."

An impish smile touched his full lips and he popped the stick of Xanax between his front teeth in the groove marking a tab. His eyes gleamed and he leaned forward slightly. Donnelley’s smile grew into something mischievous and hungry. He leaned in close towards Queen, delicately placing his hand behind his head and locked his lips in a kiss. He’d gotten the tab, but he stayed there, relishing the tingle of pleasure from Queen’s lips on his.

A low groan in his throat, Queen kissed him back, releasing the tab and pushing it into Donnelley's mouth with his tongue. The pill was bitter but he ignored that, relishing the feel of his mouth. He grazed his teeth against Donnelley's lip and murmured, "Goddamn, I missed you."

Donnelley bit his lip, looking Queen up and down, “Been too long, Billy.”

Too long, Donnelley thought. He took one last drag and blew it out in the confines of the small storage room they were holed up in. He placed the cigarette on the ground and climbed over the pills and onto Queen, straddling him and looking into those eyes of his. Those eyes that made women melt, made him so mysterious and dark, but to Donnelley made him feel safe with their little secret. They saw through each other, two bold, dark men that knew each other’s truths. Where people saw danger staring back at them, Donnelley saw himself.

“Too, too long.” He whispered, the rigors and feeling of impending doom from the night before, the yelling match between him and Foster seemed a million years away now. Only this room was their world, all that mattered. He pressed his lips into Queen’s, the both of them devolving into throaty groans and growls, desperately nipping at each other’s lips and wrestling with their deft tongues.

Queen leaned back, taking Donnelley's weight and the press of his hard body against his own. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of the dark tactical pants Donnelley wore and gave them a playful tug, slipping his hand down to cup his rear as they kissed. His pouting lips were hungry and he kissed him with desperation.




"Fuckin goddamn," Queen breathed out, his lower back and balls still tingling.

Donnelley rolled over and wiped his mouth off with a forearm, putting his other one over his eyes as he chuckled, the post-coitus giggles making him laugh at nothing in particular. He reached over and grabbed Queen’s thigh, “Good fuckin’ Christ, man, I missed you.”

Queen lay flat and laughed breathlessly, "I am pretty fuckin amazing you know. Hell, I missed you too, [I]pardner[/]. Whenever you decide to quit playing nursemaid, there is always a spot for you on THUNDER. Where the real men are."

He laughed again and rolled over, picking up pills that had got stuck to his skin. Queen giggled and looked over at Donnelley, "I can imagine Ghost isn't in a hurry to find us, but ...shit."

He sighed and slapped a hand on Donnelley's leg, "How much shit you think Foster's gonna give you?"

“As much as he always does.” Donnelley muttered, his mood souring a tad as he shrugged. He flicked a pill into his waiting mouth and chewed it up, not even knowing what it was. Advil, for all he knew, “He’ll come around. Maybe. I dunno.” Donnelley growled, before he stared off, looking at Queen and then regaining his smile, “That shit don’t matter right now.”

Queen moved around and lay beside Donnelley, the afterglow of sex and the cocktail of downers in his system making him drowsy. "Meh, fuck it. You're right. Hey, you know I was just remembering that time in Amsterdam."

He giggled and sighed, a big grin growing on his face, "That was right after Egypt. Shit was wild."

His pale blue eyes flicked over to Donnelley, "Our first time, that hotel room by the canal."

Donnelley snorted sheepishly, remembering that old hotel. The paper thin walls, the cramped room he had to work with. “Yeah, yeah, I remember.” He nodded, “I don’t even remember how or why I told you about myself or you telling me.”

Queen smiled, propping himself on his elbow, "Because I'm me and I saw it in your eyes. Even as stoned as we were, you know and that craziness we'd just come from, almost getting killed in Egypt and the release in the clubs. You're my friend, Joseph, I'd do anything for you and I took a chance."

He leaned forward and kissed him then smirked slightly, "I figured you'd either kiss me back or knock the shit outta me. But you were worth the chance."

Donnelley turned away as he felt the heat grow from his cheeks, chuckling sheepishly. He toyed with his hands, letting his head fall back and rest against the bulkhead, sighing. He looked sidelong at Queen, at Billy. “Thank you.” Donnelley said, “Really. I spent a lot of my life hidin’, but with you…”

He snorted, looking Queen over in the storage room’s light, “Well, fuck, you know… you’re you.” He let his gaze hang on Queen’s for a good moment before he turned, a cheesy little grin on his face, “And I like you, Billy. Never let anything tell you who to be.”

"No one ever could," Queen replied, then put a hand on Donnelley's thigh. "Believe me, some did try. But ya know, guys like us. Born to raise hell on our terms. Don't ever hide from me, you're my boy."

“Hide myself from you?” Donnelley reached over to his pants and retrieved his pack of cigarettes, handing one to Queen and lighting one for himself before putting his hand over Queen’s. He looked at Billy, “Never.”

Taking the cigarette, Queen took a drag and smiled at Donnelley, "Good. Because I like you exposed."

He grinned crookedly, blowing smoke to the side then drawled in a fairly accurate Texas Panhandle accent, "I cain't quit you."

Donnelley snorted hard, clamping a hand over his mouth at the unexpected reference. He choked back laughter and held a middle finger in Queen’s face, “First you get everyone to call me Big Tex, now you’re quotin’ fuckin’ Brokeback at me.” He shook his head, “I’d be Gyllenhaal anyway. Better lookin’.”

Donnelley smirked, “We should get outta here after we finish these. Don’t need anybody talkin’.”

Queen cackled with delight, "Well you are Big Tex, just need that hubcap belt buckle, cowboy."

"Pfft, Ledger is better looking, he's got those cheekbones. Clearly, it's me," Queen replied, running his hand through the shaggy dark blonde hair. He made a pouty kissy face at Donnelley before laying back down.

"Why don't you go ahead," he said, "I need a nap, this shit's really kicking in. Besides, you know, don't want them wondering what we were getting up to."
Donnelley waited below deck for the rest of them to get there. He sat in his folding chair, watching Carlisle and wondering what he was thinking. He’d been blubbering when they first got to the ship, screaming about his wife and his kids. Made him want to shoot Carlisle in the face to shut him up. They all knew they’d left Carlisle’s family to die, they didn’t need any reminders of that.

Now, as Carlisle sat quietly in the small room set aside for the Program’s illegal interrogations behind the steel door, he seemed to be numb. Motionless, save for some small ticks of the head, looking around as if he could see anything through the sack, or the blacked out goggles, hear anything through the ear muffs. Almost complete sensory deprivation, isolation, nothing to go on but touch. Nothing to hear but your thoughts and your breathing. Nothing to see but darkness. He’d know soon that even when those articles came off, he’d still be all alone.

Queen stood in a corner, slouching against the wall as his head buzzed in a euphoric cloud. He had popped another Vicodin when the original didn't work fast enough even with the Xanax propelling the opiates through his system. He was now floating in a comfortably numb state. His eyelids fluttered, threatening to close and he thought he might of dozed off standing up a few times as they waited. Maybe he had slipped consciousness, he wasn't sure.

Even when Carlisle cried about his family the guilt did not penetrate the chemical shell Queen put up to keep out the pain. He reminded himself what a piece of shit Carlisle was, how he tricked girls with modeling dreams into prostitution and then they were sold to thugs that would beat and rape them into submission, who would hook them on drugs to control them. He snorted, jerking his body from the wall as he felt himself drifting. Queen felt nothing for the hooded man as he waited for Ghost to arrive.

Ghost entered with a rustle of of bags, pushing the door open with his hip and bustling in before closing it behind him with his foot. He walked to a worktable against the far wall and deposited his burden.

"Food and coffee," he said, setting down a pair of McDonald's bags and a 4-cup carrier from Starbucks, all clutched by their tops in a big left hand. The coffee carrier held three black coffees and Ghost's personal vice: a Venti mocha frappuccino, double espresso, extra mocha, with a few dashes of cinnamon sprinkled atop the whipped cream.

In Ghost's right hand was an altogether different object; with a loud clatter he set down a Black-and-Decker case, fresh and shiny with the price sticker still on it.

"Where's Foster?" Ghost asked, digging around in the McDonalds bag until he found his two Big Macs and large fries. He set them down and immediately began to eat.

"Dunno," Queen said, slurring slightly. "Jus' got up here to watch the show."

He was still dressed in the black suit minus the blazer and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Queen picked through a bag then abandoned it in favor of the coffee.

Donnelley rose and found his way over to the worktable to survey the choices in food and drink. ”Foster said he’s going to be a bit. You know how he is.” Donnelley’s brow furrowed of a sudden and he folded his arms. Something was wrong. Something was off. “There’s no McFlurry.”

Ghost shrugged. "It's McDonald's," he said around a mouthful of burger. "Icecream machine's broke."

He took another large bite and walked over to Carlisle, eyeing him thoughtfully as he chewed.

"Got a reciprocating saw. Figured it could make stuff interesting. See how many fingers we can take before he breaks?" He glanced at Queen, then Tex. "I think three. Takers?"

Queen dumped sugar in his black coffee, swirling it around and looked with consideration at the hooded man. "You're givin' him too much credit. This dickwart is a pussy ass modeling agent, ain't a fighter. Shit, it ain't gonna take more'n one or two. Take a thumb he'll be squealing."

He sipped the coffee and narrowing his eyes at Carlisle, trying not to think of the man's family left to die. He was sure that the man understood what had happened, at the fact he likely had no more wife and kids. He might endure the pain as a release from the emotional pain and helplessness but that was giving a lot of credit to a man that participated in the kidnapping and pimping of other people's kids. The thoughts wavered in his drug clouded mind, forgotten almost as soon as he formulated them. Blessed forgetfulness.

"Mebbe go for his fingernails first. They're fucking manicured," Queen slurred before slurping down more coffee, hoping the caffeine would help counter the powerful drowsiness brought on by benzos and opiates coursing through his blood.

Icecream machine’s broke, I’m Ghost, Patron Saint Of War.” Donnelley muttered as he unwrapped a dollar menu bacon McDouble. He sighed as he chewed, cocking his head, “Y’all know how I do things. Figure I start off slow. Ask him questions. He doesn’t give me what I need, it’s only an escalatin’ ladder of violence.”

He frowned in consideration for Carlisle’s fortitude and found himself wanting. Or Carlisle would, “I say he breaks when I push sewin’ needles under his nails.” He shrugged, “Tried and true. Worked with that Brujo we snatched in Juarez. Remember that?”

Ghost smiled fondly, nodding. "He had Cartel connections too. Sicarios. Hell of a firefight. That one was a real game."

He reached out with his foot and prodded Carlisle's leg, smirking as the man jerked and whimpered. "This one ain't no Brujo."

Queen forced his eyes open, looking up from his position against the wall, "I remember. La muerte no salvó a pinché puto."

The steel door clunked and squealed open on its hinges, silhouettes in the doorway that revealed themselves to be Foster and… somebody else. “Sorry to keep you all waiting.” Foster smiled, taking off his suit jacket and laying it next to the food on the worktable. The other man hung about the doorway, Donnelley squinting at him, but he did not seem to care. All that time, his eyes never left Carlisle. A tall man in a gray suit, middle-aged, and a look about him that dripped of the smug confidence in his own competence that many at the Agency had of themselves.

“What else do we need to prepare? Or shall we start?” asked the tall man.

“Ain’t gonna introduce yourself, hoss?” Donnelley muttered, his eyes firmly on the newcomer. Who was this guy? Another Spook? His eyes went to Foster before going back to the stranger.

“No I ain’t, just now, if it’s all the same to you,” said the newcomer, head tilting slightly, his eyes still on Carlisle. His tone was conversational, even slightly bored, “Foster asked me to, ah, consult on this. Now were you all planning to begin or are we still eating dinner?”

Queen sniffed and took a sip of his coffee, sliding his eyes from the new suit that arrived with Foster to Donnelley and back again said, "I'm just here to provide moral support. Want some fries?"

The tall man’s eyes slid from Carlisle to Queen, his eyebrows slightly raised, his expression something close to faintly amused.

Ghost eyed the newcomer for a moment, his cold gaze taking him in, sizing him up. After a moment he seemed to come to a decision, snorting dismissively before walking back to the table and picking up his coffee. He took a long sip, set it down, and picked up his burger.

“I can do both,” he grunted. “Let’s start the show.”

As if a flip had been switched, Donnelley stood abruptly and yanked the hood off of Carlisle, smacked the earmuffs off, and roughly grabbed his blonde hair in a fist, jostling his screaming and wincing head as he clawed the goggles away, tossing them back at Carlisle’s chest. He stood back and watched Carlisle’s bloodshot eyes pour tears as he whimpered at all of them in turn. “Why are you doing thi-Augh!”

His head snapped to the side, Donnelley delivering a backhand to his cheek and leaned close to Carlisle, hands on his bent knees. His cold voice made Carlisle give a shivering breath, “Because, I can do anything I want to in here, Gregory.” Donnelley’s eyes narrowed as he stood to his full height, crossing his arms.

Foster looked at the newcomer, face betraying no strong feelings as he sided up with Donnelley, “We’re going to ask you some questions, Mr. Carlisle. If you do not answer them, I will have my associates run all over you. They are creative.” Foster spoke like a bored accountant, a matching gaze to go with it, as if Carlisle was just another statistic, a thing to keep track of, “You can earn your freedoms back if you behave. If you are continuously difficult we will be continuously violent. Am I understood?”

Carlisle nodded emphatically. “Okay-urgh!”

Donnelley clamped a strong hand around his mouth and held a finger in his face, “I’m only going to say this once. Yes or no. Not okay, or sure.

He pushed his hand off his face, Carlisle’s lip quivering as he took great pains to not meet Donnelley’s eye. What day before him disgusted Donnelley, a man whose evils outweighed his fortitude. He looked to Foster and nodded. Foster went forward with the interrogation, “The reason you are here is because the investigation into a missing child from Seattle brought to light an organization you have dealings with. The Sinaloa Cartel.” Foster laid the facts out, “You sell girls to the Sinaloa. You know names. Faces. I need you to point us to everyone you’ve had dealings with.”

“I-I can’t.” Carlisle’s lip was quivering again, “They know where I live, they’ll hurt my…”

He stopped, as if Donnelley had slapped him again, wide-eyed. He looked at the men in the room, breath held, “Where are they? If I talk, can you protect them?”

Queen shifted his gaze away when Carlisle started asking about his family. Didn't he know? Didn't he understand the smell that came before...

“Far as we know your family’s still at your place, dealin’ with whoever usually shows up after a gunfight,” Ghost said. The lie came easily, though slightly muffled by a large bite of his second Big Mac. “We grabbed you, shot a couple guards, and fuckin’ left. ‘Course, I could change that.”

“If you talk, we can do a lot for you, Carlisle.” Foster said, even going the extra step of putting a sympathetic smile on his lips.

The man who’d come in with Foster leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, eyes no longer on Carlisle but on Donnelley.

Carlisle swallowed dryly for his wet eyes, looking around the room at all the hard faces on him. “There was a guy, he had his own little gang with him, I think. I can’t remember his name.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” Donnelley asked, his eyes growing hard as he unfolded his arms, his fingers twitching for violence.

“I… I can’t.” Carlisle whimpered. He looked to Foster and then the newcomer, “Please, you have to believe me.”

Foster lost his sympathetic look and locked eyes with Donnelley. There was an understanding between the two. “Why,” Foster said, looking back to Carlisle, “are you lying to me? You remember what I said? The more difficult you are, the more violent we will be.”

Foster looked at Donnelley and nodded. Donnelley turned and rummaged around in his bag of tools and came back to the conversation at hand with a few sewing needles. “You brought this on yourself, boy. Traffickin’ girls is somethin’ I don’t much like. And I don’t like you.” Donnelley looked to Ghost, “Untie his hand, hold ‘em still.”

Ghost set his burger on the table and stretched. He made a show of carefully wiping his hands on a napkin, then strode to Carlisle.

"Bear with me for a moment," he said, locking an iron grip on the man's left hand. He undid the bindings and then took him in a simple wristlock, immobilizing the hand and splaying his fingers for Tex's attentions. "Just hold still. This won't take long."

All the while, Carlisle was wriggling, whimpering like a dog and trying to avert his gaze though his sick curiosity kept pulling his eyes back. As Donnelley held his forefinger still he finally jerked his head away and closed his eyes at what he knew was coming. Donnelley wedged the tip of the needle under Carlisle’s manicured fingernail and pushed ever so slowly so Carlisle could appreciate his pain in full.

The man heaved in a great breath and screamed for the heavens. If he didn’t know before that no amount of praying or begging could save him, he’d get a hint now, “Talk, Carlisle,” Donnelley said in a tone that was more annoyance than malice, as if he was addressing a troublesome nail in some carpentry, “That’s all you gotta do, just talk.”

“Please!” Carlisle sobbed, “Please!”

“Please, what? Please stop?” Donnelley was still pushing the needle in, ever so slowly, milking the pain of just one fingernail, “Then talk, Carlisle.”

“They called him the doll-maker! They call him the Doll-Maker! And something in Spanish, please!” Carlisle was a blubbering mess at the last word and Donnelley let him go, leaving the needle and patting his cheek with a smile.

“There you go, friendo. Was that hard?” Donnelley chuckled, as if this was all some rough-housing between friends and Carlisle was fussing over a scraped knee. Carlisle whimpered.

Queen perked up as Carlisle began to talk and felt a prickling along his skin and he set his empty cup aside. He pushed off the wall and went over to stand near Foster.

"El Muñecero?" He suggested, digging out his pack of Kools.

“Sure!” Carlisle perked up with a bit of unexpected anger before Donnelley smacked it off of him.

Queen lit the menthol cigarette and stared at the man for a moment. This wasn't his bag but he had to know, it bothered him how Carlisle begged for his family and...he spoke up, "You remember that smell at your house? Acrid like a 'lectrical fire... something was coming. What fucking security system you got installed there?"

The man who’d come in with Foster unfolded himself from where he was leaning against the wall, suddenly attentive. He and Foster exchanged a glance before Foster’s attention turned back to Carlisle. The other man’s eyes remained on Donnelley.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you fucking killed my security system, you assholes,” Carlisle swallowed, “Did you burn down my fucking house!?”

“We wanted you, Carlisle. Just you, what was that, do you know the smell? You heard the fuckin’ roars, Carlisle.” Donnelley stepped closer and pointed to the needle under his fingernail, “I’ll do that to another one you don’t tell me what you know.”

“I don’t fucking know!” Carlisle shook with his scream, spittle flying from his lips as he sobbed. Donnelley drew another sewing needle from his pack, but Foster held up a hand.

“What kind of enemies do you have then?” Foster asked. “Other cartels operating in the area? Armenian Mob? Who?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” Carlisle whimpered, trying to sniff a rope of snot back up his nose.

Foster looked to the gray-suited newcomer and back to Carlisle, “Russians?” Carlisle stopped his whimpering and swallowed, like they had caught him lying, “From London? Yes, no?”

“Tell me about the Russians,” said the man in the grey suit, stepping forward. He sank to his haunches and put a thin hand on Carlisle’s forearm, “We both know they sent something after you, something- believe you me- that won’t stop until it finds you. Something worse than these guys. You think the needles are bad, just wait.”

The man gently lifted Carlisle’s chin so he met his own dark gaze. “Sooner or later, it’ll find you here,” he said, then nodded at the steel door behind him, “It’ll rip through that door like it’s paper, tear these goons to shreds if they get in its way, like it tore through your guards. You’ll start to feel it as it gets closer, if you don’t already.”

The man stood up, hands in his pockets, “Family’s probably safe though, for now. Probably it ignored them. It was looking for you. They sent it to silence you. Only way to stop it is to know what it is, exactly. Means you have to tell me who sent it. Who’re these Russians?”

Queen backed up, now uneasy at the mystery man's assurance the monster would hunt his prey even out in the ocean on the cargo ship. Maybe it was a lie to scare Carlisle but it scared him too. The cocktail of chemicals coursing in Queen's bloodstream didn't help his sudden paranoia. His eyes darted to Donnelley then to door and back again. A door wouldn't matter if the man spoke true.

Donnelley scrunched his face in incredulity at the man calling them goons to be torn apart, looking at Ghost and gesturing to The Gray Man. He mouthed, ‘The fuck?’

Carlisle shuddered, looking at the Gray Man. “They said the Russians pray to the devil. They tattoo winged hellhounds on themselves. Some of the cartel have been leaving the East Coast. It’s too dangerous.” He frowned, looked away, “Whole Sicario houses turn up dead. Torn apart.”

“What are they called?” Donnelley asked.

“T-...Tadjbegskye Bratva.” Carlisle muttered it like words of power.

Donnelley narrowed his eyes, glancing at Foster and back to Carlisle, “Are you sure it’s them?”

Carlisle nodded.

“So they sent it?” Foster asked.

“Why… why would they kill a business partner?” Carlisle cringed, “Fuck…”

"Liability now," Queen muttered around his cigarette.

“They knew we were comin’.” Donnelley growled.

Ghost’s eyes had narrowed at the stranger’s insinuation that he was on the same level as the low-rent security team that Carlisle had hired, but he let the matter lie. Tex had touched on something altogether more interesting.

“So who told them?” He said. “How’d they know we were gonna be there? You think we got a mole somewhere?” The prospect of rooting out a turncoat almost seemed to excite the big man, and his gaze strayed towards the reciprocating saw on the table. “Or you think they got some sort of Russki fortune teller on their side, like that Cartel Brujo we axed way back when?”

“I know someone I could put the nails to. But, maybe they do. They could get some fuckin’ monster after us, they could probably run surveillance on us somehow.” Donnelley twisted his face in bitterness, “I’ll let you know if my guy is a fuckin’ snake. Meanwhile, we sniff out these Bratva pricks. Let ‘em know who they fucked with.”

Ghost nodded with almost indecent relish, giving Tex a shark’s grin. “Killing Russians is just about the most American thing we can do,” he said. “Only thing I hate more than a militant Hajji is a fuckin’ communist.”

“Nikolai Gorochev. That’s the name my guy gave me.” Donnelley turned to Queen. “Look him up.”

“A snitch isn’t your only problem,” said the gray man in Foster’s ear, “Clock’s ticking on our friend Carlisle. It’ll start soon.”

“Well, hoss,” Donnelley turned to Carlisle and patted him on the cheek, which he flinched away from, “You best start talkin’ quick.”



>SS EXCELSIOR
>MESS HALL
>INTERNATIONAL WATERS
>0700...///

“Well,” Donnelley said, Foster, the Gray Man, as well as his two teammates from THUNDER, “This is all kinds of fucked. What’s y’all’s professional opinion?”

“And I still don’t know who the hell you are.” Donnelley spoke to the Gray Man.

“Could say I specialize in the, ah, well, the sorta thing you all had a brush with at Carlisle’s,” said the gray man, “I wasn’t blowing smoke in there, by the way: these Russians know what they’re doing. The entity will catch up with us, even here. Doesn’t travel like we do.”

Queen slumped in his chair, his eyes half lidded and he said, "I say we dump Carlisle in the Atlantic and turn this tub south and light out to Brazil."

“Dumping your prisoner in the drink would probably solve the immediate problem,” said the gray man, “but….you still likely have a snitch feeding intel to somebody who can send nasty things at people they don’t like. Somebody who likely knows your names.”

The gray man paused, contemplating his unsipped coffee. “There is another option. Not without its own risks...”

“I’m runnin’ low on patience and options, friendo.” Donnelley mooned into his black coffee before sipping at it. “Do tell.”

“We-uh-catch it,” said the gray man, “Bind it, is more technically accurate. Then, if things go right, we can force it to reveal the identity of its summoner. We might even be able to do more than that. These things are unpredictable.”

He leaned back in his chair, dark eyes sweeping over the group, “But I won’t lie to you, the process is a nightmare. Bad as anything you’ve seen.”

Bad is what THUNDER does,” Ghost said, his voice low. He stood against the wall, his coffee long finished, big arms crossed over his broad chest. “What you’re talking about, that sounds like magic. Brujo shit. Now, none of us are in the magic trade, so I’m gonna assume that’s where you come in.”

He eyed the gray man, that predatory gaze locked on the stranger. The man was proving knowledgeable; given that he was also an unknown quantity, that bothered Ghost. He’d worked with Foster for years, and trusted the man’s judgement as much as he ever trusted anyone, but it bothered him to have an outsider so close to THUNDER’s inner workings.

“I dunno what Foster’s told you about THUNDER, but we’re killers. That’s what we do,” Ghost said. “So how about we do some division of labor? You figure out what MacGuffins you’re gonna need to play Brujo with this demon, or whatever it is, and we find a buncha Russians to go all Red October on? That way everybody gets to do something fun.”

“Cute,” said the gray man, “but you have two problems. One, the ah, demon is on its merry way here right now, and your options are to bind it or to kill Carlisle before it gets here. That choice is Foster’s. Time’s ticking, though. Second, your Russians, ah, ‘play brujo’ better than most, kiddo. If they can send what you’re willing to call a demon after a man just to keep his mouth shut, what do you think they’ll do to a bunch of meth-addled Rambo wannabees coming for them? Third problem, a bonus, is this: I need help if we’re gonna bind this thing. And you sure as shit need me to take out the Russians. They are not a problem guns and guts can solve alone.”

Queen eyed the Gray Man as he spoke with a mixture of interest and suspicion. How the hell did he know about the pregame fuel, that was something done in private with just them. And Tex. He shook his head, as the thought floated around. Tex had been gone for awhile, with other teams and now...he didn't want that doubt. It was paranoia creeping on and he pushed it back.

Queen snapped his eyes to Ghost, noting the tension running through the man like a current of electricity. The Gray Man didn't notice but Queen knew what it meant.

"Just a suggestion," he said, gazing at the older man, "Mr Mystery, you might want to say that a little nicer, you know. Manners go a long way. So, our options are to kill Carlisle or try to catch a goddamn demon monster. Welp, I know what I'm gonna vote for. Fuck 'um."

“Agreed.” Ghost ground the word out through gritted teeth, glaring murder at the stranger in their midst. He must be useful; Foster trusted him. Ghost didn’t trust him, but he trusted Foster, and Foster wouldn’t fuck them by bringing somebody dangerous around their crew. Right?

The big man’s jaw worked as he mentally chewed over the issue, finally resolving to let Foster steer the proverbial ship for awhile longer, regardless of the newcomer’s smart fucking mouth. He drew his pistol and started for the door.

“I’ll take care of Carlisle.”

You’ll stay here.” Foster suddenly rose from his train of thought. “Carlisle is too valuable. We need to keep him alive until we don’t. You’ve all carried out some of the most difficult direct action and targeted killings to put those fuckers in JSOC in their place.”

He looked from Ghost to Donnelley, to Queen. “Tex has gone up against them before. In Chechnya-“

“Foster-“

“We tracked them down and-“

“Foster!” Donnelley pounded his fist on the table hard enough to overturn his coffee as he snapped to his feet, “I went to Chechnya with GRANTOR. I’m the only one came back. These Russians ain’t like those Cartel in Juarez. We need every dirty trick we can get our fuckin’ hands on.”

He looked at the Gray Man, “And I need you to not be blowin’ smoke, partner.”

Ghost stopped and looked back over at Foster, slipping his gun into its holster. The man’s praise placated him somewhat, cooling the temper that the stranger’s casual dismissal of his skills had stoked.

“So what’s the plan, then?” He said. “We keep Carlisle alive, then whatever this thing is pops up on our boat and,” he looked at the Gray Man, “allegedly kills all of us. So are we gonna be relying on his voodoo?”

Queen pinched his lower lip, then rubbed his tattooed hand over his scruffy bearded chin. A nervous gesture, his eyes darting from Foster to the stranger then to Donnelley. "Nah, fuck this. We're sitting ducks in this fucking tub. This dude is using Carlisle as bait which includes us by proxy and no thanks. Nah, no fucking thanks."

He stood up, shaking his head and he glared at the Gray Man, his breathing rapid. The Xanax tempered the growing anxiety that clutched a fist in his chest but Queen has seen things, dark hungry things raised by the Cubans. It was how the Program found him and he could never forget that night.

He shifted his gaze to Tex, wanting desperately to trust his old friend. "You know what's coming."

Donnelley nodded once, “Chechnya was bad.” Donnelley looked at Foster, hard eyes gleaming from under his furrowed brow, “You brought this fuckin’ guy. I trust you.”

Foster pursed his lips, nodded and turned his gaze on the Gray Man, “We’ll do it.”

Queen shook his head, raising his hands slightly only to drop them, "Jesus fucking Christ. Fine. So what do we do?"




The long rasps of Donnelley’s knife hung in the still air of the interrogation room belowdeck, a nervous tick. A cigarette hung from his lip as he stared down at the task, focusing in on it in hopes of not thinking about the impending incursion. Carlisle had since stopped his crying and seemingly accepted his fate, evidenced by his silence. The rest of them hung about the room, keeping quiet as they waited.

The crew of the Excelsior had been secreted away to the saferoom inside the cargo ship, hopefully away from the danger. Donnelley didn’t know how to pilot a ship this large, a far larger vessel than a Zodiac. He set down his knife on the table and took a long drag from his cigarette before grinding it down into the metal work table.

“You smell that?” Foster asked, his head snapping up to attention as he pushed off from the wall he was leaning on.

Sure enough, the acrid smell assaulted his nostrils and only grew more choking as the time passed. “It’s time, draw the circle.” The Gray Man spoke calmly as he fished out a handful of papers from his coat pocket. “And take these.”

Donnelley took his paper and glanced at it, some words that looked to be scrawled in blood stood out on the page, though what they meant or whose blood it was remained a gut-churning mystery to him. He glanced at the Gray Man with narrowed eyes as he continued handing out the pages to the others.

Queen dozed fitfully, having swallowed another Xanax, his light snores blending with the rasping of Tex's knife. He leaned back in a folding chair, arms loosely crossed across his chest. He twitched in his sleep, a choked snort coming from him as he jerked his leg. The smell. It wasn't a dream.

It was here, it found them. Queen felt a prickle of cold sweat and he rubbed his hands over his face. He clenched them into fists to hide the tremble as he recalled the Spanish chanting that changed to something else, dark foul language he couldn't understand. Nausea churned and he thought of the bodies he had seen. Not him, he'd eat a bullet before it came to that.

He reached for his gun and checked unnecessarily, a round was always chambered in the 9mm ASP. Queen glanced up at Carlisle and considered him for a moment, his thumb running over small pistol’s grip. He released it though when the Gray Man approached with the paper and Queen reluctantly took it. Words in blood. Queen grimaced then slid his gun back in place.

The ship belonged to the Program, and had a sizable armory. Ghost had already paid it a visit; the man was kitted for close-combat, his thickly-muscled torso wrapped in an Army IBA hung with grenade and magazine pouches. A Saiga-12 dangled from his 1-point sling. It was commie-tech, but the man was willing to make allowances for the sake of having a compact, full-auto shotgun close at hand.

He took the paper without a word, giving the Gray Man a hard glare and briefly imagining what the gun would do to him at such close range; the first shot to the pelvis, the rest rapidly walking their way up his torso as he fell. He allowed himself a small, cold smile. Teach him to run his fucking mouth.

Ghost scanned the paper quickly and shot Tex an inquisitive look. He had never gone in for the whole magic bit. The whole thing seemed silly, despite all the evidence he’d seen to the contrary. As the electric stench grew stronger he glanced over at Queen, snorting at the stark fear he saw in the other man’s eyes. Ghost was nervous. That’s all, he told himself. Just nerves.

He walked over to the smaller man and elbowed him in the ribs.

“Keep your shit together,” he grunted. “We’re almost done.”

Queen shot a look Ghost then his shotgun. He should have gone to the armory instead of taking another benzo and falling asleep, fucking priorities. Not that guns were of much use. He scratched his arm, chasing the tickling itch. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He glanced at Tex, the naked nervous fear in his eyes despite the drugs coursing through his blood. Magic was something that both fascinated him and made him anxious, like the dark Santeria in Miami. He actively pushed away the memories as the Gray Man finished passing out the papers. Like a schoolteacher from Hell.

Salt…” Foster muttered as he took the paper from the Gray Man, bent over as he poured the salt in a circle around Carlisle, a perimeter of safety just big enough for the six of them, “You sure this is going to work?”

“Very.” The Gray Man nodded, stepping into the circle and beckoning them in with him. The smell was now besieging their nostrils, burning the backs of their throats as the whispers of hellish howling grew closer every minute, “Close your eyes if it helps, but don’t stop chanting. Once you read it once, it, ah... it won’t leave your mouth for a bit.”

Queen watched Foster pour the salt, that was their protection against the snarling roar that grew louder as the acrid stench filled his senses. He could taste it, as bitter and harsh as the air in a meth cook's lab. He looked at his paper, reading the word painted in the rusty brown of dried blood.

He closed his eyes, Queen had no desire to see what was coming, not again. The word whispered through his lips as he started to recite the word over and over. He had a strange urge to click his heels and laugh. Fucking Dorothy. There is no place like home. Close your eyes, say the magic words, and just believe, like a little kid. Only if he went home, it wouldn't be Kansas farm, but a shitty trailer park outside Tampa.

“Y’all better sing this shit,” Donnelley grumbled as he stepped into the circle, looking around at his compatriots, “And loud.”

Queen spoke the strange word louder, as if he really believed, like a black Baptist preacher, say the word. Glory Halle-loo-jah. His voice rise in strength and cadence, not caring of Ghost made fun of him, he could laugh all he wanted. Queen had a damn good reason to be afraid.

Ghost joined his comrades, holding the paper in one hand and keeping the other on the pistol grip of his Saiga. He began to recite the incantation, fighting down a shudder as the words squirmed over his tongue. The ozone stink was palpable now, so thick he could taste it, and as his voice rose and fell with the others' he resisted the urge to snap off the safety on his gun. .

Donnelley looked to the Gray Man and around at his teammates as he recited whatever dreaded language was scrawled on the paper. To his disgusting surprise, the Gray Man was right. It felt like a manic urge to keep reciting the passage on the page. The longer it went on, the more he would receive visions of gnashing teeth, like at Carlisle’s house. He could swear he heard other, more strange and gibberish voices adding to their chants, shadows that were not there before, their own shadows bending and warping, growing and shrinking.

It was as if all sound had been sucked away from the room, the air growing too light. And then a sound like a crash of thunder pierced his ears. A glimpse of something huge in the room, on all sinewy, rotted and mummified fours stalking around them made him screw his eyes shut and keep mindlessly reciting like a child and his prayer.

“Keep going!” He heard the Gray Man, Just before the thing roared loud enough to make Donnelley flinch, but he did as he was told. It was a choice between living and dying, and that’s no choice at all.

Queen felt nauseous but kept chanting, almost yelling the words as it went silent before the storm. It was here, in the room with them, he could sense the size and menace as cold fear crawled up his spine. The words tumbled from his lips, his eyes closed tight even as a sick curiosity in the back of mind whispered to look, to witness the monstrous being.

“I’m going to trap it.” Donnelley heard the Gray Man, “Keep chanting. Do not stop.”

The Gray Man began to speak something in some sort of rough approximation of a language. A gibberish falling from his mouth and the longer he went, the more frustrated the monster sounded. The air in the room began to hum, seeming almost to vibrate his skin. As the Gray Man began his chant, goosebumps raged across his skin so intensely it almost pained him. The gibberish chants from some unseen tongues came even higher, more shrill at the Gray Man’s chanting.

Donnelley risked opening his eyes, or one of them, ever so slowly. Another glimpse of the creature. Standing on all fours, ragged flesh hanging off of its bones and tendons like dirty rags. Teeth standing out in a lipless, rotted snarl, and two ghostlights set in dead sockets staring at him. Into him. Donnelley’s breath guttered out and he felt the need to run, an urge unlike any other as beads of sweat rolled across his scalp underneath his hair.

The Gray Man roared something in the same unintelligible language and the beast howled, reared up on its hind legs. Slowly, it began to dissipate like sand in wind, a low ululating thrum accompanying its slow disappearance. “Keep chanting!” The Gray Man ordered.

Donnelley looked to Queen, still stammering out the words on the page while it shook in his quivering hand. Even Ghost seemed a bit nervous, a scowl on his face. Usually when things were to be fought, it was a wicked grin. Donnelley closed his eyes again as the acrid, assaulting stench faded slowly with the beast’s body.

Queen felt himself trembling as the smell grew more rotten, fetid with death and evil. He dared a peek as well as the howl began and the sight made his nether regions clench and he wanted desperately run but he stayed put. His mouth moved without thought, forming the word over and over and he shut his eyes tight once more.

When the noise faded and the stench receded Queen still remained where he was, the word rippling around in his brain and falling from his lips in a hoarse voice. His mouth tasted foul, like an old penny and he coughed and spat, blood mingled in the saliva. Queen frowned and coughed into his fist, another trace of blood and his worry grew.

Ghost’s voice rasped in the sudden silence of the beast’s fading, a half-repetition of the cursed word before he faltered. His jaw was clenched tight, his lips twisted in a snarl from where he’d grated the syllables through bloody teeth. He played wild eyes around the room for a moment, his shoulders hunched.

“Is it over?” He finally growled. There was a savage thudding in his chest that he was trying to ignore, and his hands were locked painfully around his shotgun; there was blood on the left one, where the metal edges of his Saiga’s rails had bitten into his fingers.

Donnelley checked his teammates over, glancing at Foster and the Gray Man. Foster was bent double in a corner, retching up pink bile. The Gray Man himself had braced himself against a wall, rubbing his forehead. Carlisle was shivering in his seat, Ghost still had that scowl and Queen was coughing into his hand and looking at it worriedly. Donnelley quirked a brow and rose a fist to his mouth, letting go what he thought was a small cough instead stretched itself into a gravelly, wheezy thing. Eyes screwed shut in pain, he hacked up what looked like a blood clot. He swallowed, eyes growing wide and heart beating hard, “Oh, fuck…” he breathed, “Holy shit, I need to stop smoking. Anybody seeing this shit, oh fuck…”

Queen held his left side and coughed again, wheezing and spat out another glob of dark blood. "Shit I hope it ain't my fucking lung," he muttered, wiping at his lips.

He sagged against the wall, fighting back another cough. "What the fuck is going on," Queen asked, shooting a suspicious glare at the Gray Man.

“It…” The Gray Man groaned, slightly stumbling over to the rest of them and rubbing at his eyes, “It’s alright. It should only be bursted capillaries in your sinuses and throat.”

“Why the fuck am I bleedin’?” Donnelley asked, voice rising with each word in anger, “What the fuck is this shit?”

“It’s what happens.” The Gray Man said, almost annoyed as if he was explaining the easiest concept to a child, “Just give yourself some time. Talk softly, and seldom.”

Ghost gritted his teeth as the Gray Man approached, a low growl building in his chest. His eyes were bloodshot, crimson orbs of hate set deep in his pale face. He had seen the creature. Seen it, watched it storm around their circle with eyes pinned stubbornly open in his refusal to be cowed by any being. He could see it still, stalking them, hunting for a way to get at them.

“What was it?” He rasped. The big killer released the bloodied rails of his shotgun and grabbed their guest by the collar, twisting his fist tightly in the fabric. His bloody gaze bored into the Gray Man’s, blood running from between his teeth to stain his copper beard. “What was it, witch?”

If the Gray Man had anything to fear from Ghost’s fist wrapped in his collar, he only showed it in an annoyed gaze at the ironing he’d have to do later. “It was a being. Something that lurks beyond our view. Not like something beyond our horizon, or even like the atoms in the blood running down your chin.” he curled his lip in contempt, “Something beyond our very concept of reality as we know it. And it won’t stop until it gets,” he slid his eyes from Ghost to Carlisle, “What it’s been sent for.”

Donnelley risked a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, hard eyes staring back at the big man, though his fingers buzzed with the barely restrained aggression. It made him return his own in his gaze, Tex baring bloody teeth, “Stand down, man.” He growled, shaking his head slow, left to right, “We ain’t each other's enemies. It’s what it wants.”

He lifted his hand from Ghost’s shoulder and held his palms up as he took a tentative step back, glancing at Queen and back to Ghost like a tamer and his lion, “Ain’t no lone wolves.” Tex growled and looked around the room, holding each of their gazes.

Ghost held the man’s collar for another few seconds, just long enough to make it clear that he’d let go because he wanted to, not because he’d be told to. His hand was shaking, and he quickly returned it to the shotgun; he’d been scared. Badly scared. Fear was anathema to him, and everything in his body screamed for violence, for him to lash out not only at the being that had frightened him but at everyone who had seen his fear. His bloodshot eyes spoke murder, but he stepped back, mastering himself with a visible effort of will.

“No lone wolves,” he snarled. He eyed the Gray Man a moment longer, making it clear that he didn’t consider him part of their little pack. “So what do we do now?”

Queen was looking at the blood in his hand when Ghost shouted at the stranger. He wiped it absently on his dress slacks before stepping over to them. He visibly shuddered when the Gray Man spoke, the brief glimpse of the stalking rotting creature was all he got and it was more than enough. The last part caught his attention and he rolled it over in his buzzing mind. It won't stop.

"Wait, what the fuck do you mean by that?" Queen finally asked once Ghost stood down. "The fuck you mean it won't stop until it gets what it wants? We just got rid of it, right? All the chanting, the salt?"

His pale eyes darted from the Gray Man to Donnelley, looking for assurance. "It's gone, right? It's fucking gone. Bound or whatever."

Paranoia reared its ugly head and Queen turned quickly, glaring at Carlisle. "And if it is coming back, then give it what it fucking wants. Give it this piece of shit and I'll fucking find these Russians myself."

He jabbed a finger into his chest, his gaze wild and full of fear. "Tex, man. Let's fucking get rid of the bait."

Tex looked between his team and the Gray Man, folding his arms tight. If his face did not betray his thoughts, the soft growling in his throat as he sighed would. “‘Less you got some real good fuckin’ reasons, looks like you’re outvoted, partner.”

Foster sided up with the Gray Man, hard eyes staring back at Tex and the others. Tex’s lip curled, looked like Foster had picked his side in this and he didn’t know what hurt more, the fact he chose the wrong one or the fact that Tex expected it. The Gray Man sighed, shaking his head, “We know how to stop, or I do-“

“We’re not doin’ this shit again!” Tex screamed, a vein standing out in his neck, “He’s a goddamn liability! He’s a goddamn beacon for that fuckin’ thing.”

“Donnelley…” Foster held his hand up, “Look, we both know the risks involved with harboring a source, alright? We stopped it this time, there’s a way.” He too had a smear of blood across his chin, a trickle of it wiped at minutes ago, “If there’s a way to stop it, there has to be a way to keep it off of our trail-“

Carlisle’s head blew bits of brain out the opposite side Tex had his gun aimed. The man holstered his weapon, a cold, furious hiss coming from him, “Just found it.”

Tex turned away from Foster and the Gray Man’s gawking, stunned faces and left the door open behind him. The insinuation that he should risk the lives of his teammates for a child snatching piece of shit wasn’t right.

There was a long silence after the gunshot, broken only by the ringing tinnitus hum brought on by gunfire in enclosed spaces. A few moments later it was broken by a rough cough of laughter, then another. Ghost looked from the ruin of Carlisle’s head to the stunned indignation on the Gray Man’s face and laughed, long and loud, pausing only to spit a glob of blood at the corpse’s shoes as he passed it on his way out of the room.

END CHAPTER I: SILENCE BEFORE THE SOUND...
>BUDGET MOTOR INN ON HWY 6, NEW YORK
>10.JUL.2019
>2330...///

The styrofoam boxes sat on the small table, once full of greasy fries and burgers from the Olympic Diner across the highway but now demolished by the men waiting in room 24. Only one waited, untouched, for the last member or former member rather of THUNDER to arrive. Billy Patrick sat back in the stained chair, leaning far enough to test the creaking frame as he enjoyed a strawberry shake.

He was a lean fit man but not noticeably thin or muscular, he was average height and his longish hair was an unremarkable dirty blonde or light brown, it changed with the light. So did his eyes, the blue shifting to gray or green depending on his attire which changed as often as the weather. Billy was attractive but not overly pretty or masculine, the scruffy beard hiding his sharp cheekbones and pouting lips. The only thing that really stood out was the amount of ink on his skin and that had changed over the years. The only thing consistent was Billy's dedication to his craft and his almost flamboyant embrace of costuming to his roles. The nickname Queen had been bestowed after his teammates witnessed his Miami persona, full of designer clothes and cologne.

He sucked on the straw, the last of the shake slurping obnoxiously at the bottom of the cup. Queen was watching the parking lot through the gap of the blinds, checking each passing sweep of headlights or shadow. Dressed in jeans and a half open button down silk shirt with colorful print and a gold chain, he looked like a scumbag guido from New Jersey. His hair now darker with the pomade slicking it back and he still had a pair of aviator shades hanging from his pocket. The look would change when they would leave for Yorktown and if anyone came poking around they would only know a Vincent Ricci had signed in and continued onto Poughkeepsie to visit his Nana.

The other member of the team was a dark contrast to Queen, both in appearance and energy. He was tall, a couple of inches over six feet, and had the heavy build of a professional athlete, packing 220 pounds of muscle. He was in his early 40s, with a creased forehead and frown lines visible where his face wasn’t covered by a short copper beard.

Unlike his comrade the man they called Ghost was a study in ‘Gray Man’ attire. He wore a charcoal hoodie, just form-fitting enough to allow for easy movement, and dark navy blue cargo pants over practical hiking boots. A black ball-cap was pulled low over his cold eyes; the entire ensemble was meant to deflect attention, not attract it.

Ghost gave Queen a hard look as the man slurped at his milkshake. The sound grated at his ears; it wasn’t the noise itself that irritated him, it was the intent behind it. He’d long ago started to suspect that most of the things Queen did were meant to annoy him personally.

“You done?” He grunted.

Queen gave a last slurp then opened the cup, inspecting it then nodded, "Yep. Good shit."

He tossed the empty cup into the wastebasket and glanced over at the big man, dressed like he was going to rob a gas station. All he needed was a ski mask. "Too bad we didn't bring the PS4."

“Won’t be here that long,” Ghost said. He did wish he’d brought the Playstation; sitting on his ass listening to Queen talk about partying in Florida wasn’t his idea of entertainment. “Quick job. A smash-and-grab. I didn’t want to drag all that shit around.”

He looked at the ancient TV that sat against the wall with disdain. “Besides, I doubt that fucking TV could even run it. Looks like it was built 20 years before HDMI ports were a thing.”

Queen sniffed then rubbed his hand over his chin, "Yeah it's ancient, at least we can use it to check the weather."

He stood up, then headed to the bathroom, "I'm gonna take a leak."

Once inside he dug into his pocket and pulled out a twisted baggie with smaller portions inside it. A party pack he brought especially to celebrate the return of Big Tex. Queen grinned and dipped his pinky nail in one of the bags, snorting a sample of the coke he brought with him from Miami. It was good shit, he felt the numbing sensation immediately then the rush. It would make the wait with that spooky asshole Ghost more tolerable.

"Fawkin A," he muttered at his reflection, trying out his Jersey accent. "Get the cawfee and come tawk to me."

His blue eyes danced in amusement and the rush of cocaine through his system. "Fawk it, I'm gonna go back to Newawk."

With a laugh, he shoved the door back open, strolling through the small room. Queen sat on the bed but immediately bounced up to his feet. "Yo, yah think they gawt bedbugs?"

One knock. Pause. One knock. Pause. Two knocks. That was the right order, right? Hopefully Ghost wouldn’t put a few rounds through the door. Donnelley was stood outside it, almost swaying on his feet from the long drive he’d endured. Fueled by caffeine and nicotine, he knew he’d need something more to keep himself going. Queen would have something, that was just a fact of life. He rolled his eyes as he took another lungful of cigarette smoke at the muffled, obnoxious voice of Queen’s twisted up and stretched out in a Jersey accent. “Jesus fuck…” he muttered to himself as he waited.

Ghost rose silently to his feet, producing a suppressed Glock 19 from his hoodie pocket. He focused the red dot of his RMR on the door, finger on the trigger, and gave Queen a silent nod.

Slow, he mouthed, his gaze locked on the door.

Queen instantly shut up and his own hand went to the handgun tucked behind his back. With a nod at Ghost, he moved to the door and stood off to the side, then slid the useless chain off the lock, his hand on the deadbolt. He knew the knock but still asked, "What's the fawkin' password?"

“Fuck yourself.” Donnelley’s voice from the other side.

Queen grinned, his accent slipping back to his natural northern Floridian cracker drawl. "Good 'nuff," he said, swinging the door open with a big grin on his face. "Come on in, mu'fucker. It's good to see your beautiful face again."

He stepped back, holding the door open for Donnelley to enter the motel room. Donnelley stepped inside, puffing his cheeks out from the night air. His tired eyes fell on Ghost. The air between them seemed to fall still, and Donnelley slipped that little bit back into Tex, the bloodthirsty bump in the night. All that was shared was a nod. “Ghost.”

“Tex.” Ghost lowered the pistol, slipping it back into his hoodie pocket. He studied the man for a silent moment. “You look like shit. You good to fight?”

Queen shut the door and slapped his hand on Donnelley's shoulder, but addressed Ghost, "This here is Big muthafucking Tex, you better know he's good for the fight."

Turning back to Donnelley, he added, "Come on now, got yer somethin' to eat. There’s beers in the minifridge. Good to see you again, it's been too long."

Dropping his hand from the man's shoulder, he pulled the unopened box of diner dinner across the table and shrugged, "It's prolly cold but fuck it, it's food."

“Yes, it is.” Donnelley’s stomach grumbled at the sight of the greasy food, as if the burger had reminded it that it was running on empty. Donnelley wasted no time in sitting down and tearing into the food with the same zeal he had in fighting and fucking. He wiped his mouth off on a napkin, looking at Queen, “I’m, uh, goin’ to assume you brought the usual performance enhancers. Uppers, no downers.”

He turned back to his food, but his words were for either of the two others, “So, I got a basic rundown of what we’re doin’. I need to know the how.

Queen sat in the chair then hopped back up with a wide grin, "You know I got you. The pharmacy is always open. Good shit, one of the benefits from being DEA."

At the question about the mission, he said, "I'll be driving, this Carlisle shitbird has a nice house in Yorktown Heights. Now this place ain't Beverly Hills but it's upper class, so I got us an Audi RS 5 Sportback in silver. Clean little car that'll blend in and it can haul ass. 2.9 liter with a turbo. I'm gonna dress like a driver, after some recon I found these rich cunts still have chauffeurs. I'll take y'all as close as I can, there is likely FBI eyes around there. I found an unmarked van, prolly surveillance last time but we can avoid him. Now, I got three routes and it's about a 15-20 minute drive to Carlisle's place. And he definitely got him some security. Monitors and shit I can try and take car of from my computer but last time I counted there was at least 5-8 armed guards at any time. Maybe more inside the house."

He spoke quickly, gesturing to a map print out and Google image views that he had downloaded of the property. "Top down view, it ain't changed much. He's got a fancy iron fence and remote controlled gate. Figured y'all could hop a fence, hopefully without gettin' yer sacks impaled on the spikes."

Queen glanced at Ghost, "Ya know, Dave Matthews lives a few blocks down. I'm just sayin', we could do the music world a favor."

Ghost had perused the Google Image print-outs on the drive and had memorized the layout of the house as much as was possible for a man who’d never been there. He felt his heartbeat kick up a notch as he looked them over again and forced himself to relax.

“We can handle a fence,” he said, more to himself than to Queen. “Five to eight men, more inside...Private security, probably reasonably well trained, but at the end of the day they’re there for a paycheck. No honor in a merc, right?” He snorted. Ghost didn’t believe in honor. He did believe in morale, however, and men who fought for the money rarely stuck around when it looked like things were going south.

“Fuck Dave Mathews, kill him yourself,” he said, glancing at Queen. “We got real work to do.”

“So, how do we get Carlisle out? What’s the coverup?” Donnelley asked from around a mouthful of burger. “We makin’ it bloody, or in and out?”

“We got options,” Ghost shrugged. “Figure if it comes to it, we murk the guards, snatch up Carlisle, and then when we’re done with him we do a Cartel-style execution video. He’s got ties. Wouldn’t anybody think twice if they saw him on MundoNarco getting his head sawn off.”

Donnelley eyed Ghost, smirking, “You really like sawin’ off heads, partner.” Donnelley set down his burger to rest his stomach, sighing and closing the styrofoam container, “Queen, you know Spanish, right?”

“Ain’t that I like it, it just gets shit done,” Ghost muttered, a little defensively. “Spics, Hajjis, everybody cuts heads off these days…”

"Si, hablo español de Cubano y Mexicano, compadre," Queen replied, not surprised Ghost lacked humor in getting ready for a mission or at any other time. "His buddies are Sinaloa, norteños. Same as the Gulf Cartel I worked with. I know enough about those fucks. Similar accents and colloquialisms."

“Plus they’ll just take the credit to save face,” Ghost said. “Like ISIS or any of those other fucksticks. They won’t mind having their names on one more corpse.”

“The interrogation, where’s it happenin’? Because I’m damn sure not doin’ it in his house.” Donnelley frowned. “We got a space set up for us anywhere?”

Queen clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly, "Don't worry, we got us a ship. The Excelsior , it'll be waiting at a dock on the Hudson. We can take our time with this asshole."

Donnelley smirked, “That’s what I like to hear. I can get the truth out better if I ain’t rushed.” Donnelley nodded, “Brought my tools, brought my gear. Only thing I don’t have is cigarettes. You still smokin’ those dog shit Kools?”

"Man, Kools are the shit," Queen said, digging the green pack out of the breast pocket of the silk shirt. He shook one out and put it between his lips and handed the pack to Donnelley. "Just 'cause ya'll smoke them cowboy ass Marlboroughs."

“Kools taste like shit, maybe.” Donnelley snorted, tucking one between his lips anyway. Nicotine was nicotine. “I need me a line or three, man. Tired as all hell, I need a pick me up if I’m gonna go in with Ghost.”

Queen grinned around the cigarette, raising his brows in an impish expression. "Oh, I gotcha. Brought in some special shit for ya, straight from a Columbian bust."

He dug out the plastic bag and inside the smaller baggies, "Want some good good or Adderall, like a fucking college kid "

Queen held up two baggies, dangling them like toys before a cat. "I got some ice but I know how you feel about that shit."

Ghost perked up at the mention of drugs, fixing a stare on Queen.

"Good ice? Or that stepped-on shit?"

Queen glanced over at him, "I'm with the DE fawkin A, ova' hear! Course it's good shit, cooked up in a Tallahassee trailer by a drop out chemistry student. Busted him when we hit some bikers."

He left it at that and tossed a couple tiny zip lock bags to Ghost, "Try it out."

“You know what,” Donnelley said, eyeing the baggy of meth on the table that seemed too close to him now. He looked at Queen, that mischievous grin twisting his lips up, “Think I’m gonna need both, partner. Pretty tired.”

"My fuckin man," Queen said, offering his hand in a grip handshake, Donnelley slapping his palm on Queen’s in a growling show of masculinity, "Fuckin Big Tex back in the outlaw saddle, boys."

He dropped the bag, it opened to reveal a small cluster of coke, Adderall, and pills, a variety of opiates. "Help yerself, pardner."

Ghost snatched the meth and held up the bag, inspecting it carefully. He gave a nod of approval. "This'll do."

He shook out a rock and tossed the baggie onto the table, then went to his bag, returning a moment later with a pipe, the bowl fashioned into a skull.

"This shit kills me I'm taking you with me," he said as he loaded it, his voice light.

Donnelley was already steady at work crushing up the adderall into a fine powder, multitasking with divvying out lines for himself. As he worked, he looked at Ghost and then Queen, “I gotta say,” he began, working at chopping up a chunk of coke, “I missed y’all. Hate to get sentimental with Ghost around, but nowadays? Bein’ a Team Lead, for a bunch of civvie-ass rookies? I like ‘em, but I can’t even take a nip of my flask without someone givin’ me a dirty look.” He smirked, “How’s that big ass Hawaiian fucker Maui and Poker doin’?

"People needed killin' down South," Ghost grunted. He sparked his pipe, inhaled sharply, and held the breath for a long moment. When he exhaled he shivered, a smile tugging at his lips for the first time in hours. "Bolivia I think. Dunno. You know Maui don't talk. I like that about him." He shot Queen a look as he set the pipe and lighter down for one of them to use if they wished.

Queen merely grinned, shrugging slightly and sat down to cut proper lines. "Maui better bring me a souvenir, some of that Bolivian white. Good shit, ain't it? Your boy Billy never lets you down, hoss."

He leaned over with a small copper coke straw he pulled from his pocket. Queen snorted a line and sniffed hard, rubbing his nose and blinked. "Shit. That'll keep you up, Tex. How's it babysitting civvies? Got any chicks on your team?"

“None I need you sniffin’ ‘round.” He answered more quick and with more venom than he probably wanted, he played it off with a smile, “Yeah, I don’t know if any of ‘em are, uh, you know. Lookin’ for quick dick. Professionals, y’know.”

Donnelley bent forward and emptied his lungs, putting the coke straw in place before he railed the two lines of coke, leaning back and holding his nose, “Oh, fuck!” he could feel it in his veins, like raw power coursing through his being, the buzzing in his nose, “Jesus Goddamn, Queen, I love you, brother.” He sniffled a couple times, looking at the ceiling and blinking away tears as he wiped at his nostril with his thumb, letting go a chuckle, “Goddamn.

"I dunno, plenty of professional types that'll drop their panties if you talk to em right," Queen grinned, watching Donnelley partake and he laughed, "Fuck yeah, brutha. Ain't no babysittin' tonight. Just some muthafuckin' killers on the loose. We gonna snatch that cunt like it's prom night."

"They all will, you pull a big enough knife." Ghost rolled his head, loosening up his neck and shoulders. He picked up his rifle and popped the mag, clearing it with quick, practiced movements. He liked the rush that speed gave him, but it made him jittery.

"When do we leave?" He broke open the rifle and began examining it intently, going over it piece by piece despite having done so less than an hour before.

“Could leave now,” Donnelley said, business-like of a sudden, “Strike while the iron’s hot. In and out, guards’ll be lazy and tired, Carlisle’ll be in bed with his missus. We can waltz in and walk him out.”

“Plus,” he bent down and snorted up the last two lines, adderall, “Fuck yes. I wanna get this done while I’m at the top of this rush.”

"Shit," Queen eyed Ghost for a moment then left it alone. "Yeah let's do it. I'm gonna change, don't want a scumbag guido drivin' y'all to the WASP nest."

He stripped off the silk shirt and gold chain, tossing them on the bed, his lean tattooed body on display as he quickly changed into the black suit with a covert vest over an undershirt and under the white button down shirt and black tie. He straightened it and pulled on fine leather driving gloves. Queen held his arms out, "Fuckin respectable now to drive Miss Tex."

He snatched up his straw and his bag of goodies, shoving them into his jacket pocket. In the shoulder holster was his favorite piece, the ASP, a real spy gun. It was small enough it hardly made a bump under the fitted blazer so not to draw suspicion with the same power as a full sized 9mm.

Queen picked up his mini Uzi, the shoulder stock folded which he would tuck under the driver's seat just in case things got hairy. Extra 9mm magazines for both weapons went into pockets and an empty Gatorade bottle so he could piss without getting out of the car.

Ghost hefted his flak, slinging it on and buckling on the duty belt he wore for his pistol. The pistol went from his hoodie pocket to the drop holster.

"Let's do this," he said, snatching up his rifle and racking a round. He unscrewed his rifle suppressor and collapsed the stock so he could use the short-barreled weapon in the car if he had to.

"Pashto in the house?" He asked, dropping into the language and throwing a glance at Tex. "Undercover style? I assume you don't want to have to shoot the wife."

Donnelley sucked his teeth, squinting off to the left and nodding, responding in kind, “Lets do Pashto.” He hefted his plate carrier on, band patches aplenty adorning it, “That way, anyone who hears us will be confused as all fuck. Masks on too. Real scary.

Queen looked at them speaking a language he was not fluent in, only catching a familiar word or two. "Party time, let's do this," he headed to the door, peeking out to the darkened parking lot. "All clear."

Ghost nodded and crossed the threshold, moving smooth and fast, rifle held low to keep it out of sight as best he could. It was a tense moment; if somebody saw them it could derail the whole plan. One phone call about suspicious men with guns could throw a major wrench into the works, especially in this day of mass shootings and terrorist attacks. He also couldn't solve the problem by just shooting the witness; that had been made clear after the first time.

Ghost reached the car without incident and climbed inside, leaning his seat back to keep the bulk of his plate carrier out of view and setting his rifle down between his feet. His kevlar and NOD's were in the back seat where he'd left them, and he reached back and grabbed them, putting them down with his rifle.

“Alright.” Donnelley sighed as he shut his door, an almost childish grin plastered across his face as he felt the rush of the mixture of coke and what basically amounted to some good meth in his veins, his leg bounced up and down as he sat in his seat. “Let’s fuckin’ go.”




>YORKTOWN, NEW YORK
>JUL.11.2019
>ZERO HOUR

The dark streets were not lit, the garishness of street lights must have taken away from the aesthetic of the neighborhood of big beautiful houses set back from the road with wide manicured lawns. Many had their own security lighting, tasteful illumination to showcase their home as well as deter prowlers but only one also had a four foot brick wall topped with another four feet of iron spikes shaped into fleur-de-lis. Lights lit up the yard and the shadows of patrolling guards flickered in and out.

Queen parked a few blocks down, around the corner from Carlisle's house. The Audi idled quietly, tucked in the shadows near an oak tree planted close to the curb in a neighbor's yard. No lights were on and Queen resisted having a cigarette until his comrades were gone.

"Here we are, it's the house the big brick one around the corner on Hardwood Court behind the medieval fence," he said, "At least he don't have a moat."

“Then we’d have to get Maui.” Donnelley snorted as he gave his Badger a quick brass check, “Fuckin’ SEALs.”

He looked up at Queen and Ghost making their own preparations. His eyes went to the house, large and opulent. Something he’d never own, he thought. “Couple rules, we don’t fire unless fired upon. I want to get in and out, quick. I don’t want to get caught up in a firefight.” Donnelley frowned, glancing at Ghost unnoticed, “Once we have the package in our hands, all bets are off. He’s going to be strugglin’ or deadweight, we cap any guard that we can’t get past quiet. Leave a couple bodies and they’ll be more likely to believe it’s cartel.”

“Good copy?” He asked.

"Copy that, I'll leave the engine running, keep my eyes open out here," Queen acknowledged.

"In quiet, out loud." Ghost was screwing his suppressor into place, turning on his Trijicon, and making the other myriad minor tweaks he always made before going into The Shit. His eyes were calm, focused; inside his heart pounded. It was excitement, anticipation, not fear. This was what he lived for. Another roll of the dice.

He finished with his rifle and took his skull pipe from the cupholder, the large rock still riding the bowl. He sparked up, inhaled, felt his rapidly-beating heart take on a decisive, thudding rhythm. As he exhaled he turned in his seat and offered pipe and lighter to Tex. His cold gaze had taken on a razored edge, focus tinged with carefully controlled mania. Frenzy on a leash.

"Time to play the Game," he said, locking eyes with Tex over the meth pipe.

Donnelley stares into that bowl for a few solid moments of hard-eyed trepidation. It was as if every inhibition he had disappeared in the presence of old friends. He raised his cold eyes to Ghost’s own and took it without question, the cocktail of drugs he was already on dulling the throbbing in his leg. He sparked up, sucking in the acrid, chemical smoke and growled it out through bared teeth. Not only was his pain near gone, but he felt that same, familiar old tickle in him when there was coming violence in the air. The static in his skin the same as the lightning bolt tearing up to crack the sky. A little bit of Tex peeking through him as he locked dark eyes on Ghost, “What we do for a living,” Tex was all smiling fangs, a coiled spring ready to let go. Always ready. “Kill, kill, kill.”

What makes the grass grow? He pushed open his door and dismounted, his natural night vision brightening the shadows little by little, the world a dark place of blacks and greys, blood, blood, blood. He reached up and flipped down his NODs, reached down and tapped his patch, an old tradition from another time. Night Time is the Right Time.

Ghost watched him take the hit, some sense of mingled relief and satisfaction coming into his eyes. Tex had been away. People changed when they went away. You couldn't trust them. But Tex was still Tex; Ghost was sure of it now.

He buckled on his kevlar, pulled up a skull-patterned face mask, and flipped his NOD's down into place. Without a word to Queen he opened his door and moved on the house, rifle up, safety off, eyes combing for a target.

“Movin’ up.” Tex muttered into his mic, just loud enough for it to transmit to Ghost. With footsteps quiet as the night breeze he advanced on the fence and crouched low. A few meters ahead on the other side of the fence and under the porch light at the front doors, two guards were smoking and talking. They let loose some muffled laughter. “Windows it is, then.”

"Unprofessional," Ghost muttered. He tracked his sight from one to the other, then lowered the rifle. Sitting in the light like that would kill night vision. They probably couldn't even see the fenceline. His hopes for a good fight sank a little. "You got a glass cutter? Probably no windows unlocked."

It was the work of just a few moments to clear the fence, one covering the other as they breached the perimeter and advanced on the house. The fence was more decorative than functional; it would take more than that to keep out THUNDER.

As they reached a ground-floor window Ghost settled in to provide security, eyes scanning for movement.

Tex stopped at the window, pulling in a breath through his nostrils and letting it out slow through his masked mouth, digging in his small assault pack for his glass cutter, next to the key blanks and clam shell. He went to work cutting the neat hole into the window and broke a perfect circle out of the pane. Reaching inside, he pressed his tongue to his cheek and squinted as his hand slid and slapped for the window lock. His lips curved upward in a grin as he found it and the window slid open for them.

He reached over and patted Ghost’s shoulder as he slipped inside, quiet as a graveyard. He raised his Badger as his boots touched the expensive wood flooring, scanning for targets, listening for dead men. None. Ghost slid in after and the two quietly slunk through the house to the stairs, the bedrooms being located there, and their prize lay in wait for them. “The wife wakes up, up to you how you deal with her,” Tex whispered, “I’ve got that piece of shit husband of hers.”

"Pashto,," Ghost admonished him quietly. " I'll handle her. I'm point."

Ghost moved ahead, rifle at the low-ready and sweeping as he mounted the stairs. One creaked and he froze, tight as a coiled spring, and after nearly a full minute he finished his climb. Silent steps brought him to the master bedroom. A gentle wiggle showed the door unlocked and he nodded to Tex, then let the door drift open, now viewing the world through his Trijicon, his buttstock tight against his shoulder.

Tex moved right of Ghost through the door as they entered, scanning the room. He didn’t expect guards watching Carlisle sleep, but old habits. For a few moments, he listened to them snore, a little voice in the back of his head hoping the wife didn’t give them any trouble. Tex told himself it was because he didn’t need any complications. He knew the real reason, though, his eyes sliding to Ghost and back. He moved, quick footsteps and with hands quick as a snake he wrapped them around Carlisle’s sleeping form. Felt him jolt awake and he carefully slid him out of bed in a grip like iron.

Even so, with Tex’s legs wrapped around Carlisle’s as they struggled, a stray grip caught hard and squeezed on Tex’s bum leg. Up until now, the pain was just a memory, but Carlisle’s digging fingers made even Tex grunt and his hand slipped- just enough for Carlisle to scream out for help. Tex squeezed tighter around Carlisle’s neck, cutting the cry out in a manic gurgle, but his wife sat straight up to add her own scream. Tex breathed a curse, but under the physical struggle and the scream, he smelt something that soon rose to the top of his attention.

Electrical burn and ozone.

Carlisle went limp. Tex’s eyes, suddenly full of worry, looked to Ghost, “We need to go.” in hurried Pashto.

Ghost had followed Tex to the bed, moving to the other side to hold security on the door without impeding his partner. When Carlisle screamed he let out a string of muffled Pashto curses. The screams of the wife drew his attention and without pause he drew back his rifle, pivoted at the hips, and dealt her a massive blow with the butt of the weapon. There was a wet crunch, maybe her face, maybe her neck. Whichever the case her scream was cut off and she fell back onto the bed, now silent.

As the stink of ozone reached his nostrils Ghost pulled his weapon to his shoulder, crossing to the door. He could hear the startled shouts of guards on the move.

"On me, I'll clear front,," he snapped, abandoning stealth and leveling his sight on the top of the step, already putting gentle pressure on the trigger.

Tex rose with a grunt, testing his leg on holding weight. Luckily, it didn’t buckle and he reached down to Carlisle’s limp form and hauled him up over his shoulders. Drawing his sidearm, he waited for Ghost to clear the way, getting restless as the foul, bitter smell started to burn in his nostrils the more intense it got. Images of gnashing teeth and sounds of demented howling seemed to come from all directions the longer he smelled it.

The first hint of resistance came not from the top of the stairs as Ghost had anticipated, but from a room further down the hall, past the stairs. Guards had apparently bypassed the main stairwell, using an alternate route to gain access to the floor. A furious barrage of automatic fire impacted the walls and floor and Ghost pulled back, crouching low and grumbling under his breath.

"Contact," he said dryly, ever one for protocol. He drew one of his three fragmentation grenades from a pouch, pulled the pin, and flung it blindly around the corner. He was rewarded by cries of alarm and, a few seconds later, the hard crump of detonation. The moment the grenade exploded he was moving, rounding the corner and rushing to the nearest doorway, spraying unaimed bursts of suppressing fire in the general direction of the enemy.

The door was a flimsy interior model and Ghost simply rammed it with his shoulder, his bulk shattering the catch and sending it flopping open. A quick sweep showed the room unoccupied and he leaned back onto the hallway, sending a few bursts down the hallway to cover Tex's movements.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Cries in Pashto as Tex careened through the doorway with Carlisle bobbing like a rag doll on his shoulder. The thumping in his leg seemed to be harmonizing with the thumping in his head, and the smell was only getting stronger. Soon, the ozone gave way to the smell of rotting meat.

Ghost moved aside to allow Tex to enter. When he was in Ghost leaned back into the hallway. His sights fell on a suit-clad man with a compact rifle beginning to push down the hall, and he put the last burst in his magazine into the man's chest. He went down hard and Ghost pulled back, reloading smoothly, dropping his spent mag into a dump pouch attached to his vest.

The sudden change in atmosphere was accompanied by a splitting roar. Screams joined it almost immediately, and the staccato cracks of desperate gunfire spoke of a new and interesting development further down the hall.

"That's not great," Ghost said. He was grinning fiercely beneath his mask, his blood singing with the thrill of battle. He jerked his head towards the bedroom window. "That's our best bet. Toss chuckles and follow him out, I'll take six."

Tex only nodded, a glance over Ghost’s shoulder at the sounds of men being ripped apart under their own screams. This was quickly becoming a shit-show, and not one he wanted to be a part of when the police arrived. He set Carlisle down and threw the window open, fueled by adrenaline and amphetamines, he simply lifted Carlisle up onto his chest and heaved him outside into the bushes. Unlike Carlisle, it took Tex a few seconds to deliberate throwing himself out, but when whatever horrible beast roared in delight at the blood spilled, he knew it was a choice between jumping and dying. And that wasn’t a choice at all.

He worked himself out of the window, letting himself hang from the sill by his fingers and closing his eyes as he tucked himself and soon met the bushes. And the ground. A tremendous pain shot through him as he gasped helplessly for air and slowly gained back the ability to breathe just as Ghost himself came down on top of him. “Fuck you.” He wheezed from under his teammate.

"You're fine," Ghost grunted. He heaved himself upright and grabbed Carlisle, who moaned weakly. With another soft grunt he hoisted the limp man into a fireman's carry, taking the weight across his broad shoulders. He supported the burden with his left arm and tucked his rifle against his ribs with his right, using his hand and the tension of his sling to support the weapon where it could still be fired, albeit inaccurately. "Get up, we need to go."

Tex grunted to his feet, taking up his rifle again and scanning left and right. “No, I was thinking I’d stay.” Tex muttered, following after Ghost. “Let’s get to the fucking car quick.




Queen sat in the idling car, his fingers drumming a muffled beat against the window frame as he waited. The house was still silent, a good sign. If they were successful, no one would ever know about it except Carlisle. Poor bastard, hope he fucked his wife one last time, Queen thought, idly imagining the MILF of a former model the target was married to.

The pleasant image was shattered when he caught a faint whiff of something that made the hairs on his body stand on end. Even from the hint of electrical burning stench he knew that smell and it wasn't Ghost's meth pipe. Queen shivered, the memory of chanting voices, not in Spanish this time it was something else, something older and darker and...

Something was coming.

Queen jerked his head first reaching into his pocket for his baggie but shook off the urge and went lower to pull the mini Uzi from under the seat. It felt small and useless in his hands but it was better than nothing. He heard the gunfire and muffled boom of what might have been a grenade. Shit.

Whispering harshly he spoke into his comm device, "Tex? Ghost? Y'all still there? You need me?"

He hoped they didn't, he could smell the ozone stronger now, the very air around him seemed to hum like cicadas in the summer heat. Queen's heart pounded wildly, cocaine and terror pumping through him.

“Put that [i]fucking[i] thing in drive.” Tex’s voice came over the radio, breath haggard and hard. From his rearview, he could probably see Ghost and Tex moving as quick as they could with Carlisle.

And flashing light bars behind them.

Ghost and Tex went on unheeding of the impending lawmen, throwing Carlisle on the ground and the wet smack of his head and cry of pain. Tex held his face in the concrete while Ghost ziptied the modeling agent’s hands together before they threw open the trunk and dumped him in. But it was too late.




“Let’s fuckin’-“

“Stop right the fuck there! Hands, hands, hands!” Tex froze in place, looking sidelong at Ghost as he slowly turned, hands up… and mentally preparing himself. It was a choice between killing and dying.

And that was no choice at all.

As quick as he could force his muscles to fire, his hands shot down to his .40 and point-fired a few rounds as a cacophony of gunfire crescendoed in the still night air, turning the window of the door the squad car driver was behind to twinkling beads of glass. They hit center mass, but Tex winced and grunted as he felt himself get punched twice in return, staggered back and almost fell into the trunk with Carlisle. He saw the officer gasping for air on his back and he sighted up, front sight leveled with his skull and popped it open.

The appearance of the cops surprised Queen as he put the car in drive and he pulled the Uzi up along the open window. He hesitated, considering flashing his badge but gunfire erupted before he could move. Tex and Ghost opened up in an exchange so he pulled the trigger, the submachine gun jumping in his hand.

Bullets stitched harmlessly across the door of one of the squad cars but the automatic fire was enough to make one cop look up after firing towards the car a split second before his body crumpled, his head snapping back from a well placed round by Tex. A red mist sprayed into the air, the smell of blood mingling with the ozone and burning.

Ghost was reaching for his pistol as he turned to face the officers, using his body to mask the movement. He made a quick dart left as the first rounds went off, set his sights, and fired. The suppressor on his Glock did its work, turning the sharp crack of the 9mm into a harsh, muffled bark, and as Tex fired on the driver he put three rounds into his partner, two to the chest and one to the middle of his face in rapid succession. The third round punched through the “T-Box”, the hollow-point annihilating the officer’s brain stem and dropping him limply to the ground.

He used the brief silence to take in his surroundings, searching for more targets, then glanced at Tex.

“You dead?” He asked. He’d dropped the Pashto; it had served its purpose.

Tex was still leaning back on the car as he checked himself over. Two new holes in his plate carrier, but no new holes in him. He began a quiet little giggle, but he felt he was trying too hard at it as he did so, eyes going to the dead cops. He forced the smirk back on his face, “Nothin’ fuckin’ kills me.” Another roar from inside the house and glass breaking ripped the smile from his face, “I'll get the dash cam, you get the body cams.”

Ghost eyed him for a moment and then complied, moving with rapid efficiency. He ripped the body cam from both officers, pausing only to pick up one of their pistols. A few simple tweaks would make it a handy throw-away, and a man could always find a use for a dump-gun.

Queen pulled his arm back in and set the Uzi back down. Flinching at the sound of the unearthly roar, he stomped on the gas at Tex's command, the Audi gunning forward obediently. Worry raced through his mind. Had the cops run his plates, had they called in back up. What the fuck had they left inside that house in the sleeping suburb.

The car ran smoothly, the turbo kicking in as Queen raced down the nearly empty road that lead to the highway. "We gonna dump this car, got a beater waiting for us in a field behind a strip mall. They close at midnight and don't have cameras in the back, we're good."

Tex could feel the telltale fatigue and lethargy taking hold of his aching body. His mind was still sharp to the task, but his muscles were singing. He watched the streetlights race by, the occasional car or streetwalker, hitchhikers, and pedestrians made streaks as they passed. None the wiser to the deeds done tonight. The lives taken. No idea that the news would report that Gregory Carlisle was taken for ransom by the Sinaloa cartel’s enemies. And no idea of the real truth.

Donnelley looked down at his hands, and breathed a ragged sigh through his mask. He held his hand up to the passing lights and watched them shake. The violence in him buzzed beneath his skin, deep as his bones. The dead guards, the cops. The cops… “Fuck.” He hissed, caught eyes with Queen in the rearview and played his moralizing off, shoving them out of mind with some bitterness, “Fuckin’ chest. Shot me. Aches.”

Those cops. Another reason banging on the gates of his mind like a mob, angry and calling for justice. And knowing it would never come. But wasn’t that the fucking world, he thought, dead cops. He frowned, just some more bodies. Just some more bodies.

“Where’d that fuckin’ coke go, Queen?”



>SS EXCELSIOR
>INTERNATIONAL WATERS
>JUL.11.2019
>0600...///

Donnelley leaned on the cold, metal gunwale of the small cargo skiff. Deep in the belly of it, Carlisle waited, tied to a chair, cuffed, aching. Donnelley could empathize with the last part. He sucked in another hit of tobacco and sipped at his beer, looking out at the rolling waters of the Atlantic. The smell of salt, the chill of forlorn breezes on the early morning sky. Europe was on the other side of that, he thought, France. Fields and wine, little chateaus, the streets of Paris. His mind thought of Laine and again, guilt ripped at him, worrying if she would ever find out if she tapped her contacts again.

Another sunrise, but he wondered if he really deserved it this time. He growled, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Fuckin’...” he sighed, letting his head hang and closing his eyes.

Queen lit one of the menthol cigarettes, cupping his hand over it to block the wind whipping off the grey water. The fog of the depressed exhaustion coming down off the high of both good cocaine and a bad shootout wrapped around him. His lank hair fluttered in his eyes but he ignored it, sucking the nicotine into his lungs. It was nice but not enough, but he had pills for that. He would need them, something to make him unconscious in a parody of actual sleep because he knew he would hear that sound in his dreams and see the faces of the wife and kids left behind to whatever monster came through.

He spotted Tex alone and took the opportunity to talk to him without the specter of Ghost haunting him. Queen saddled up beside Donnelley, leaning an elbow on the cold steel.

"What a fuckin shit show," he muttered, taking a drag from the Kool. "How you holdin' up? Need anything for the pain?"

“I’ll be a’right.” Donnelley opened his eyes and looked at Queen, his eyes scanning around for Ghost and not finding him. Not that he didn’t like Ghost, he was one of the best partners he could ask for, but Queen always seemed more human. Even Maui looked at the things he did beyond the eyes of his family the same way those standing trial at Nuremberg did. Just following orders, and a sorry shrug. “We did it.” He said lamely, “How’re you? I know Ghost was never your favorite. Rather it’d been Maui, or even Poker, that gnarly fuck.”

Queen shrugged, hissing smoke through clenched teeth, "Ghost gets the job done. And it's done."

He snorted and looked back out at the sea then spoke in a low voice. "I ain't much of a shooter like y'all but I'm good at what I do. I reconned this house a couple days, I knew who was there. I knew their routine. And I ...fuck man, I can't stop thinking about that sound, that smell of what was coming and the fact we left those kids and his wife to it."

Queen blinked hard and put his hand in his pocket, smoking with his free hand. "Those fucking kids, you know?"

Donnelley sighed, sighed as much of the guilt out as he could. And still, there was a mountain of it. You carry that much weight on your back, the tiniest amount added could break it. Or you would shrug at it. Donnelley shook his head, “None of us knew that would happen.” He breathed, voice growling in his throat, “We had a plan, first shot goes off, plans are the first casualty.”

He shook his head, his words seemed lame, “None of us knew.” He said, “I wanna know who done it. Carlisle’s got some real enemies, I reckon.”

Queen felt the tiny bags of powder, his fingers seeking the hard pills. Not the Adderall but the Vicodin, the Oxycodone something to numb him. He nodded, "Yeah, well ain't that how it goes. You need me for anything right now?"

“Someone to do those pills with.” Donnelley smirked. He didn’t really know if Queen had the pills, but knowing Queen, he had the pills, “Or do ‘em later. I want to be clear headed when I have to go talk to Carlisle. I’ll probably bring Ghost with me, he’s a good bad guy. Or, uh, worse guy.”

“Figure Foster plays the good guy. We’ll have Carlisle trained like a dog, say speak, he’ll talk his lungs dry.” Donnelley gave a vicious grin at that. Say one thing about that fiasco in Yorktown, say they got that girl-snatching sonofabitch.

"Yeah, no problem, man," Queen replied, talking around his cigarette. "You know I got you."

He blew out smoke and nodded again, "Ghost'll spook him, guess I'll come along then. Might as well see it through. Fuck this dude."

Queen tossed his cigarette butt into the swelling waves, then turned to Donnelley, "You need a clear head, I don't."

He fished out a Xanax and a Vicodin, dry swallowing them with a grimace. Anything to drown out the idea of the two young children and Carlisle's wife Mandy left to the dark horror. The dead cops bothered him but they were doing their job. It was the kids. The fucking kids left behind. Queen closed his eyes tightly then opened them wide. "Yeah, better. Ready when you are, brother."
>GOLDSTAR MOTEL
>SOUTH CHARLESTON, WV
>2019.JUL.7
>0800...///

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m fine.

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

It’s just a flesh wound.

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

Everyone is okay.

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

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

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

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

I’m fine.

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

It’s just a flesh wound.

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

Everyone is okay.

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



>1330...///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dave sighed and shrugged a shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She lifted her wide eyes back up to Foster.

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

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

Surviving Agent: J. Donnelley.



>1630

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.” Foster nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

Death wakes the sleeper…

Death wakes the sleeper…

Death wakes the sleeper…

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. Three days.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



>2019.8.JULY
>6300...///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dave grinned, looking down at his beer.

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

He glanced at Donnelley. "You got kids?"

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

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

“Hell nah, partner.” Donnelley regained his smirk as he shook his head, “We got some hours ahead of us, you wanna nod off, I won’t blame you.”
>CHARLESTON, WV
>GOLDSTAR MOTEL
>2019.JUL.6
>0600

The Yukon and the sedan Foster drove parked in the nearly empty lot of the Goldstar motel. It was a long narrow one story motel, wrapped around a small swimming pool with a rickety metal fence around it, the gate swinging in the breeze and clanging in the quiet morning. The facade of the motel was painted recently, a piss poor job by the look of it, Laine observed the edge of the trim where multiple past colors of paint peeked in the hard to reach seam. The current cream covered decades of orange, pink, and mustard yellow, a sunrise palette from the last five decades.

When she entered the lobby, she noticed the carpet might have been changed less than the paint, a foot worn path between the front desk and the door on the mottled blue coloring, making it gray with wear. Wood panel walls lined the lobby, hung with watercolor prints of mountain views.

A young woman sat there, applying heavy makeup but the three big zits on her chin were still visible under the layer of foundation. Just like the motel, the ugly couldn't be covered up with a coating. She finally looked up from her compact, one eye done up in heavy pink eye shadow. "Can I help y'all?"

Pari approached the counter as unassumingly as she could. As unassumingly as anyone could with the passengers that had gotten out of the vehicles. Call it instinct, but something told her this woman was not paying all that much attention to them anyway. She placed both palms flat on the counter, tilted her head, and smiled. “I’d like some rooms please. Preferably all next to each other if you have any available.” She was about to leave it there, but that was barely an efficient request, and so Pari followed up without giving the woman a chance to respond. “What do you have available?” When she was done, she tapped her fingertips across the counter, waiting for the woman opposite to respond.

The girl, who under the makeup could not have been more than twenty years old, stared at Pari for a moment then set down her compact. Her name tag was pinned crookedly over a heavy bosom, proclaiming "Hi I'm Paisley!" and she glanced past the well groomed woman to the late model Yukon sporting a few bullet holes in the parking lot. A few strapping men stood around it and back in the lobby a woman in black, and the older man next to her looked grim. She looked puzzled for a moment then put her attention back on Pari, "Y'all on business or somethin'? Alright lemme see. Just a sec."

Her fingers typed surprising fast, the bright pink polish not quite hiding the bitten down condition of her nails. "Huh, well. We got three rooms next to each other with two of them havin' four double beds and one with two queens. Then we got a couple more that's scattered."

She sat up, shifting her thick frame on the small stool. "Cain't have more'n four folks in one of those rooms. Single and doubles is more popular...then again we don't get many groups. Mostly just...you know, men steppin' out on their wives or such."

Paisley the counter girl scratched delicately at her chin, the chewed nail hardly up to the task. She sniffed, "So which uns you want, Miss?"

While Pari sorted out the rooms, Laine stood aside with Foster, "I hope that credit card is warmed up. By the way I have some receipts do I turn those over to you?"

She crossed her arms, her gaze scanning the lobby, pausing at the taxidermied ten point buck's head on the wall, a brass plaque under it proclaiming Harold Clyne, November 1964, Big Buck Trophy Champion. Another framed photo showed the Clyne family in a group before a yellow painted brand new Goldstar Motel, a large big boned hill clan that had migrated to the city to escape the black lungs of the mines.

Laine glanced at the extraordinarily ordinary looking middle-aged man. "How long do you think we'll be here?"

“However long it takes.” Foster shrugged, “Isn’t my first time staying in shitty roadside motels, won’t be the last.”

He had a tired smirk on him as he turned to Laine, “For the receipts, yes. The Program needs to know how much we spend so we can source it. Pennies skimmed from hundreds of different black budgets for different agencies and organizations.” He winked, before he took on a more business suited face, “How did the interrogation go?”

Laine dug into her purse to pull out the grocery and Dave's suit receipts when he asked about the interrogation. She paused and took in a deep breath.

"He talked," she said flatly, "In the end it lead us back to the mines. He said the man he was working for was selling meth and whatever else to some 'Russians' that they met in some little shit shacks up in the hills near the mines."

Laine turned to look intently at Foster, dropping her voice a bit lower, but there was no one else in the lobby other than Pari and the desk clerk who was preoccupied with the room discussion.

"Ozone and electrical burning, does that mean anything to you?"

Foster sighed, nodding as he took his chin by thumb and forefinger, “It does.” He said, “And it worries me. We’ll talk when things are more private, get Donnelley here too.”




>0720...///

The motel was just how he left it. Even just from a cursory glance Donnelley could see a bullet hole in a door. The same cracked concrete and faded parking lines in the lot from the hospital, the shitty sign, the woman at the front desk he could hear chew her gum even from inside the SUV. “Home sweet home, people.” He smirked. “Let’s go find out our rooms.”

He opened the door and stepped out, taking care to put weight on his leg slowly as he took his first few steps. He looked down at his dress shirt and brushed nugget crumbs from his chest. The early morning shadows may have lent this place an atmosphere but daylight laid its ugliness bare. He used his hand as a visor and then pointed down the street at a gray brick, windowless, multi-story cube of a building. He called out to Dave, “Hey, self storage over there. Block down. Think you could set something up for yourself in there?”

Dave got out of the back seat and adjusted the pistol on his thigh. His concealed piece, as well as all of his clothing and gear, were still up in the cabin getting corpse-stink on them, but there was no way in hell he was going to go unarmed. Not after the night they'd had. He took in the motel with a wry smirk.

"Nice place," he said, half to himself. At Donnelley's question he shrugged. "I can set in anywhere, theoretically. Long as it's got power. Plenty of meth been cooked in storage units, no reason I can't mix up somethin' meant to explode on purpose."

Ava slid out of the driver-seat and looked around at the motel with a grimace. She could smell the mildew and feel the bedbugs just standing in the parking lot. She already missed the cabin. She reached in to grab her latte from the cupholder and shut the door, figuring they could get the food they bought the others after they found out where they were.

She looked over to where Dave and Donnelley were talking about a storage space and perked up. “Can I keep my equipment there too?” She asked. “I...don’t really think we can trust the locks on these doors.” She said, looking over at the rows of motel room doors with their faded, cracked and peeling paint. She saw the Yukon in the parking lot, looking as out of place as their shot up SUV. Though maybe they blended in better in a parking lot like this.

“May as well.” Donnelley nodded, “We already got a shitload of equipment up in Blackriver we still gotta recover, don’t really want to have to put an APB out on million dollar equipment in Charleston.”

He snorted, turning back from the urban view to look at the hotel and Ava, “Not that they’d know what the fuck any of it is if they stole it.” He called back to Dave as he opened the backdoor of the Suburban to get at his gear, “We’ll check that facility out after we get settled in, you and me. Rent a storage space for your mad science and Ava’s drones. Sound good, partner?”

"Yeah, works for me." Dave grabbed his own gear left-handed, wincing at the pull in his wounded shoulder. His right was undamaged, but that was his gun hand. He wasn't about to risk being caught flat-footed. "So we bunkin' all of us boys in one room, I figure. If there's bunk beds I call top."

“I doubt the beds are set up like that. Hopefully they’ve got two beds unless you’re prepared to get close.” He chuckled, lifting his duffel bag of tools and ammo and his other of clothes and armor.

Ava noticed Dave wince and she frowned, setting her drink on the hood before joining his side. “Need me to carry anything?” She offered with a small smile. “I made it out of the shooting better than you did, I can take a couple of things.” She said, injecting a light teasing note to her tone.

"I got it," Dave smiled at Ava. "Bag probably weighs more'n you. You can grab the food."

Ava’s smile slipped slightly, but she nodded. “Alright.” She agreed and turned to go back into the SUV to get the bags of lukewarm McDonalds.




>GOLDSTAR MOTEL
>SOUTH CHARLESTON, WV
>2019.JUL.7
>0600...///

“Rise and shine, darlin’s.” Donnelley grumbled, slurping on a Starbucks as he tiredly watched his sleepy entourage filter through the door of his and Foster’s room. He and Foster had decided to treat the team to something that wasn’t instant coffee from a Keurig. They’d also swung by an IHOP and gotten a hell of a lot of pancakes as well. Their own continental breakfast, because the Goldstar sure as hell wasn’t putting one on.

Donnelley had also filled Foster in to what he, Dave, and Laine had found out from Michael the night before. He and Foster agreed that it was a very high probability that there was something more to this case than a lone lunatic skinning girls, and even stretched beyond cartels and Russian mobsters. “I’ll let everyone get settled in, help yourself to coffee and breakfast,” Donnelley pointed towards the boxes of food and coffee cups, “There’s some things we need to get all of us up to speed with, recap a couple things we forgot about, ya-“ Donnelley covered his yawning mouth, “Yadda, yadda.”

Laine had a pair of sunglasses on, the sun was rising and piercing the east side of the motel at eye level, not giving a shit that she was still tired. She had a pair of black jeans on with her Converse sneakers and a white tank top with a graphic print of a hissing black cat. Under her arm was a thick file folder and her notebook, a pen tucked into the short dark hair that was pulled into a clip haphazardly. Helping herself to a styrofoam platter that held a few pancakes and sausages, she dumped blueberry syrup on it and found a seat on the corner of one of the beds. Balancing the plate on her knee, she dug in, leaning over it so as not to drip onto her shirt.

“The one day I don’t wear a black shirt,” she muttered and licked her lips, glancing up at Donnelley before looking away. Speaking up, Laine said, “I brought a map, I picked it up at a gas station, we need to track the bodies and the possible trails. It’s a hiking map for central West Virginia.”

With one hand, she reached for the folder beside her, flipping it open and took out a folded paper map. “I’m a visual person, it’ll help.”

Going back to the pancakes, she tried not to yawn, her sleep had been interrupted by nightmares of shattering glass and a hooded man begging her for help. Despite how exhausted she had been, her brain was still eager to keep her up with those images.

Laine glanced over at Pari and Ava, remembering before all the chaos that they had visited Detective Roy. “Hey, after the briefing I’d love to hear about what Roy had to say. Anything interesting?”

Ava came shuffling in with the others, her hair it’s normal puff ball of craziness she hadn’t even attempted to try to tame and her expression one of someone still half asleep. She had dressed herself in a pair of burgundy yoga pants, her brown UGGs and a grey t-shirt with a graphic of bright flowers with the word ‘wildflower’ printed in white cursive over the image.

Her skin had returned to its healthy shade of ginger paleness, rather than the sheet white it had been the night before. Though she had the hardest time sleeping both due to the pain in her side and paranoia that any minute their motel room would be filled with a firestorm of bullets. She wagered she got enough sleep to function though, once she had some coffee in her.

She made a beeline for the cups of coffee, picked up the largest one available and dumped a good amount of creamer into the black liquid. She nodded at Foster, gave Donnelley a tired smile and then retreated to one of the worn down arm chairs in the corner. She sat down, tucked her legs up to her chest on the chair with her and sipped her coffee; her glasses fogging over with the steam.

Through the steam she saw Laine look at her and heard her speak to her. Ava flashed her a smile, Laine had seemed like she had a worse night sleeping than she did. There were only two beds in the women’s room so she had shared a bed with Laine. She remembered waking up every once in awhile due to the rocking of the bed from the psychologist’s tossing and turning; though Ava would be shocked if anyone got a restful night’s sleep.

“Yeah, we learned the identity of the Jane Doe and Detective Roy is going to compile a list of drug dealers for us. Pari has the case file, I think and I took notes.” She took another drink of her coffee to hide her frown. Learning the identity of the victim and her story wouldn’t help the group’s morale.

Laine paused, her fork dropping back down, "An identification, that's great. That's going to help a lot, plus we just name of an earlier victim."

Her wheels were already turning and she went to dump the last bits of pancake in the trash and went to grab a coffee. She glanced at Donnelley again, meeting his eyes as her sunglasses now were pushed up on her head. "We have an ID for our Jane Doe," Laine said, the first hint of a smile since before the shootout. Then she suddenly stopped, the memories of the last night of the cabin surged up and the guilt she felt looking at him made her uneasy.

"Anyway, yeah," she said, then turned away to grab her seat on the corner of the bed.

Donnelley smiled in turn with Laine, and just as her smile faltered, so did his. He looked at her with concern as she trailed off, memories behind her eyes. “That’s,” he began lamely, coffee cup halfway to his lips, “That’s good.”

He looked away from her, the last to arrive was Dave, and Donnelley was patient enough to wait for the man. He’d arguably had the worst of the past few days, so being the last in could be forgiven, in Donnelley’s eyes.

Dave entered looking surprisingly chipper. He'd slept like the dead, and while he still felt a certain unease at the demise of their informant he hadn't been plagued with nightmares, and his outdoorsman lifestyle had him rising early out of habit. Good night's sleep aside, he still looked a mess.

His hair was mussed, and the bruise on his face had moved further down as bruises tended to do. While his forehead was clearer his blackened eyes seemed more pronounced, the ice-blue standing out amidst the purple, the bruise beginning to yellow at the edges.

He wore the dress shirt they'd bought for his suit untucked, the top unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled to the elbows to show forearms torn by twigs and brambles in the desperate gunfight the night before. For mobility he still wore his cargo pants, his pistol riding on one hip. The unusual outfit was brought together by the enormous dip crammed into his lip.

Dave walked in and looked around at his compatriots. He took quick note of their bedraggled state, gave them a broad grin, and waved a hand.

"Mornin' y'all."

Laine eyed Dave as he sauntered through the door, how he managed to look like the world's hottest beat up hobo and still be perky was beyond her. She lazily raised her coffee to him, "Nice outfit."

Donnelley pushed off from the wall he was leaning against, striding in front of the ancient TV to be center of attention. Foster nodded and he looked away from him to the rest of his team, “I know you’re all waiting with bated breath, so I’ll get right to it.” Donnelley frowned, sipped at his coffee, “We got fucked pretty hard last night.”

His expression did not change, serious as ever. “We have drastically underestimated the scope of this operation. What we at first thought was a manhunt for a lone wolf that’s ritualistically killin’ folk up in the hills has become…” He pursed his lips, “Well, it’s a goddamn shit-show. The man who attacked us last night had no problem bringing some high-power weapons to the fight, because he makes his livin’ sellin’ ‘em.”

“We’ve learned his name is Jay, possibly a mid-level shot caller in the Aryan Brotherhood- go figure, Bumfuck, West Virginia- and he’s sellin’ to Russians.” Donnelley dipped at his coffee, “Mob or foreign intelligence, one’s bad and one’s a goddamn nightmare. Well, that’s my good news, what y’all got?”

"Well," Dave drawled, looking around the room. "I've got a couple questions."

He fixed his eyes on Foster. A cold anger burned in his blue eyes.

"Last night, I got shot. Twice. Thank Jesus only one hit meat, or I'd be dead right now. Ava got hit, too. She kept her cool, though. Held her shit together, an' helped Pari treat her. Pari ain't got any formal medical trainin', by the way. She just did what had to be done, under fire." He began pointing at people around the room as he named them. "Tom manned that machine gun after I gave it up, and Laine threw lead out and she didn't even have a vest on. Justin an' Jason put down fire from upstairs. Me an' Donnelley, we went out an' went into a full on gunfight in them woods despite both havin' holes in us."

He ended with his finger pointed directly at Foster, his voice growing in volume. "So I guess what I wanna know is, where the fuck were you?"

He threw his hands up. He was yelling now, his frustrations making themselves known. "I ain't even seen you until now! Did you check on Ava once? You sure as shit didn't come talk to me. What, about when Donnelley an' Laine an' me were interviewin' that shooter? Where the fuck were you then? Way I see it, Donneley is doin' his job and yours! So where were you, Foster?"

Donnelley’s brows ticked up, eyes widening in surprise. Despite himself, he felt a quickening in his heartbeat and of his breath, his own body seemingly feeding off of Dave’s aggression. His expression was one of exasperation as he ducked his head with a poorly-hidden smirk when the volume of Dave’s voice grew, not expecting it to evolve into a shouting match. He busied himself with looking away and sipping his coffee, hoping to God that this didn’t come to blows and wondering who to root for if it did.

Foster took his hands out of his pockets and placed them on his hips, looking around the room before his eyes settled on Donnelley, then Dave. He spoke calmly, evenly, and without offense or malice or incredulity, “I was doing my job. My job is not to throw myself in the path of a bullet, my job is connecting this Working Group with The Program in a network of other Working Groups. Some of them under my supervision.” Foster nodded, “I got it from Donnelley too. I’m not going to argue my case with you either, David. I was absent from your heroic gun battle.”

Foster’s chin turned upwards as he crossed his arms. “I was calling to finalize your transfer to UMBRA, and as soon as the first shots rang out, I was calling someone else.” He shrugged and held his hands to the side, inviting criticism where it would come, “I have a job like all of you, and I do it. We’ll have some help next time Jay comes around.”

He nodded to Dave, walking past him and gently closing the door behind him. “Alright.” Donnelley shrugged. “Anybody else?”

Dave nodded, only somewhat mollified. "Fine. But next time, maybe show some concern for your team. If you're gonna lead people, try bein' visible after shit hits the fan. If you ain't gonna lead with a weapon, at least help put on the bandaids. Christ, even my dad knew how to do that."

Pari was stood with her eyes closed, a conscious decision after an aggressive finger had been pointed at her by MacCready during his diatribe. A deep breath in had been enough to add thoughts on that to the shelf. A shelf that was starting to feel full - holding books that needed nothing more than their spines to be cracked, contents devoured. So instead she had just listened, the sting at the tip of a tongue bitten. Too little sleep, too little time to decompress, a night of enemy fire created the perfect recipe for a gnawing feeling of her calm being shaken.

The Agent in the corner just wished for the briefing to be over. She wanted to piece herself back up in peace. More meditation, prayer, asanas. Impatience was a tick only irritated by verbal tirades - but whatever she was thinking, she did not display on an impenetrable exterior. In any case, she wanted to turn the conversation from sitting in the adversarial to where it needed to be.

“Our Jane Doe was Maria Vasquez, seventeen years old” Pari began cooly. She pushed herself off the corner wall with a foot, opening her eyes to walk the length of the room to find herself a coffee, to occupy her hands perhaps. “Missing for five years, presumed trafficked into the sex industry between cartels.” She let her rich brown eyes travel over the faces in the room, before taking a sip from the coffee cup.

“There are more girls missing. We requested the case files. We spoke to Detective Joe Dawant of the Washington State Police Department. He’s also working with the CMC - a non-profit organisation to assist law enforcement with cases surrounding exploited children. A fellow Seattleite, I was able to bond with him over that,” her gaze hit Donnelley square in his, “I gave him my generic Bureau card at his request. He may contact me directly with any new information.” She let her bullet points sit in the air, ready to answer any more questions, or let the others simply discuss it.

Ava looked down at her coffee as Dave chewed out Foster for his lack of involvement in the shootout and the aftermath. She flinched when he mentioned her, even though he meant well when he did so, it still twisted her gut to hear her name involved in an argument. It was hardly the first time and like those times before, she kept her head down and kept quiet.

Thankfully, Pari spoke up, directing attention away from the team’s inner squabbles and back on the case. Ava lifted her head and glanced around at the rest of the team to see their reactions to the information. Everyone already looked so exhausted and on edge.

Laine raised her brows at Dave, his anger understandable considering his experience. His team wiped out and then his new team facing a gun battle not a day after, his survival instincts running high. He was certainly not from a background of bureaucracy where responsibility could be so compartmentalized. Foster might have been more useless than herself in a gunfight but he was at least doing the job none of them could do.

Her attention immediately went to Pari when she spoke up, her expression turning grim at her news. But it was a lead, and unexpected one at that. It was no local or even a hiker, but a kidnapped girl passed along an invisible trail of the sex slave trade. How had Maria Vasquez had ended up in the backwoods of West Virginia was the first step in finding who killed her.

Cartels. Russians. Both ran sex trafficking rings along with drugs and weapons. She took the pen from her hair and began writing notes briskly. She looked up at Pari, "Did he have any other information, where she disappeared from or the names of gangs operating in the region?"

“Sinaloa,” Pari replied quickly, as if it had already been loaded - tone crisp. “Port of Tacoma, Seattle area. A child of immigrant parents. Detective Dawant mentioned a theory of the Sinaloa and possibly the Tamaulipas operating in West Virginia, that she was murdered as a result of Cartel rivalry.” She lifted the cup to her lips and took another long sip. “They’ve already arrested some cartel members, we requested the profiles of any who has been arrested to come through to us. You might find them useful. Ms Moore took notes of the details during the meeting, so they’ll provide useful also.”

After a slow breath, Pari slipped a hand onto her hip and looked around the room again. “I have the details for Maria’s parents, and Dawant is having her body taken back to Washington when it’s possible where a proper burial will be arranged, for her family.”

"That's good, they'll at least have that closure," Laine said, "Hopefully we can give them the comfort of catching the man that killed her. It's been awhile since I've dealt with gangs and cartels, that was back in LA as a field agent. Between us and Dawant's help we'll find the connections."

She looked towards Donnelley expectantly, then added, "Like how she ended up butchered in the same hills as Russians buying guns and drugs from white trash. How are we going to look into Jay and his operation?"

"Well how 'bout checkin' prison records?" Dave looked around at the others. "Big Joe, he has dealin's with the Brotherhood. Hell, some of his soldiers have dual membership. The AB's a prison gang, they don't recruit on the streets. So check convict lists."

His brow furrowed as he put things together. "If Jay is validated AB, he'd have served a real sentence. Prison, not just county. Look for guys around the right age, validated AB. Probably has drug or weapon priors, 'cuz you don't run a meth and gun operation as an amateur." He nodded to himself and then shrugged. "Hell, criminals ain't creative. He mighta even used Jay as a nickname before."

Laine perked up, looking over at Dave in his cobbled together outfit. She smiled slightly, then clicked her pen, "So we pull all known AB felons who served in the prisons in West Virginia and surrounding states. Then weed those down by estimated age, eye color, and nicknames. Frank can help with a description."

She glanced at Ava, "Maybe you can help with that, a program to sort through the records looking for keywords. It'll save us a lot of time."

“Y’all find out who he is,” Donnelley spoke up, smacking a new pack of cigarettes in his palm a few times before opening it, flipping the lucky one right side up, and shoving another one in his lips, “Me and Dave find that white thrash Nazi piece of shit, truss him up like a hog, ask him a few questions.”

Donnelley looked sidelong at Dave with a mischievous grin like that young punk giving kissy faces at White Power Skins in Texas again, “Sound like fun, partner?” He chuckled a dark little thing, “Meanwhile, I’ll touch base with this Dawant guy and see what he’s got for us. Who’s comin’ with?”

Laine tapped her pen giving a long look at Donnelley then turned a page of her notebook. Her jaw clenched, the muscles tightening as she made an internal decision. "I'd like to talk to Detective Dawant," she said, not looking up from her page. "There are a lot of follow up questions I have about Maria and who might have taken her."

“I’m a friendly face that he already knows,” Pari said, having made her way back to the corner of the room. “I’ll come with you. Besides, fresh air wouldn’t hurt.” She glanced down at her nails, running her thumb across them, remaining quiet for the time being, should anyone else desire to speak.

“I can look through prison records.” Ava confirmed after thinking it over for a moment. “I just need a physical description of him to work off of. I'll try to compile some mugshots for you all to look over.” She took a deep pull from her coffee before adding, “I also finished that Back Door virus and I'm almost done with Frank's new identity.” She frowned and furrowed her brow. “But he'll need a little seed money and a car to drive.”

“Easy peasy.” Donnelley shrugged, “Give him a slice of the budget on a card and send him on his way after we’re done with him. He’s been a good boy.”

“We’ve got an entourage now. We’ll roll en force to Roy and Dawant.” He nodded towards Laine, “You and me still need to get to Dulane in Beckwith so we can take him on a field trip. If Jay’s been there, maybe Dulane knew about him too.”

"I was thinking about that," Laine said, glancing up from her notes, first at Pari then Donnelley. "The mines are full of local superstition. I have a book on the history among the ones I brought, it might be some reading material us on the trip. But either Jay is local enough to have heard of the stories and knew people generally stayed away from that area which would make it ideal for him and his criminal activity. Or he heard about it, maybe in prison. It would probably be a place like Beckwith, something tells me even Blackriver criminals don't stray too far from home."

“How the Sheriff acts, the law ‘round there probably doesn’t do their jobs unless they have to. Can’t really cover up somethin’ like blowin’ up eighteen people to high hell and screamin’ about the devil.” Donnelley snorted.

Laine shook her head, "No that's a little harder to mask and if Dulane is running his mouth about it in prison it's certainly something that people know about outside Blackriver."

She looked at Donnelley thoughtfully, then clicked her pen, "Maybe the law is doing their job, just for who is what I wonder."

Donnelley shrugged, “Jay’s got Feds in his pocket. Frank’s supervisor, what’s-his-face, kept those hikers hush-hush for his sake. And money.”

Laine sighed then twirled the pen in her fingers, "Well, then I guess it's Just Jay ."

She flipped her notebook closed and sipped her coffee before standing, "Let's keep our minds open so we don't miss anything."

Donnelley’s lip ticked down to a fleeting frown, his lips drawn thin as he turned for the door, “Yes, Doctor. Of course.” He called over his shoulder before he closed the door behind him, “Shower, eat, whatever. Just get ready to move out, people.”

Laine tucked the pen back into her hair, she had already showered but she would need to change to be presentable as an Agent. Her gaze tracked Donnelley as he closed the door, and she waited for a few minutes to finish her coffee before exiting the room.

Maybe she had been harsh, she thought as she dug out her lighter from her back pocket. Laine could be scathing in tone sometimes and she was well aware of it, but every time she looked at Donnelley mixed feelings of guilt, sorrow, and anxiety filled her.

She lit up a clove cigarette, though it wasn't one of her signature black Djarums. It was incredible she found any at all but the smoke shop she had stopped at along the way had at least some slim pickings. Laine smoked, leaning against the brick wall of the motel, her sunglasses pulled down against the morning light. Her thoughts ran dark, the unbidden images of the hooded man screaming about Russians and ozone as pliers and a drill, a goddamn electric drill, had been used to terrify him into talking.

But he had talked, he talked about the dealer Jay and the so called Russians and their strange sudden appearance. Laine blew a stream of fragrant smoke out, watching it dissipate into the pale blue summer sky. Jay. The mines. Cartel. Dulane. Prison. Aryan Brotherhood. All clues to drug and sex trafficking but her job, her concern was who was skinning women. It was rare for serial killers to work in pairs and almost unheard of in larger groups but everything about this case was strange and as she had told Donnelley, they had to keep open minds.

Her mind was still going over the facts in the case as she inhaled the burning cloves, when she spotted movement from the corner of her eye. It was Ava, the wild red curls as immediately identifiable as her clothes were not. She was wearing what Laine would have called Starbucks camouflage. She tapped the ash, noticing Ava had still not looked up from her coffee and she called out, a teasing grin on her lips, "Don't worry, pumpkin spice season is only two months away. You'll make it."

Ava looked up from her coffee, her glasses steadily darkening into sunglasses in the light of day and obscuring her bright blue eyes. She blushed but smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “I know, I have it marked down on my calendar. Don't judge me, pumpkin spice is good.” She said with a soft chuckle. The movement pulled at her side and she gently rubbed it to stop the aching.

She looked Laine over beneath her tinted lenses, trying to keep the worried frown off her face. “What class are you skipping?” She asked, her soft voice a gentle tease and a small grin on her face.

Laine chuckled in response, the cigarette between her fingers smoldering. "Math," she replied in an exaggerated SoCal accent, "Numbers are like for nerds."

She gave Ava a playful smile then it faded as she took a drag and her voice shifted back to the slightly raspy serious tone. "I'm just thinking about things before I go change, planning how I'm going to go at this guy Dulane."

Laine huffed a bitter laugh, smoke blowing from her nostrils, "Donnelley can't run this interrogation like he wants, we have to return Dulane in good condition. How's your stomach doing, by the way?"

“It's okay, it mostly just feels like I pulled a muscle.” She answered, though there was a confused frown on her lips at the phrase ‘return in good condition’. Dave had mentioned interviewing a shooter, likely one of the men that attacked them. From those bits of information and the tone in Laine’s voice, she was starting to put together how they got their latest intel…

She pushed that thought to the side, for now, and focused her attention back on Laine. She could tell something was wrong. The tossing and turning, the tense way Laine carried herself and the acid dripping from her words when she spoke to or in reference of Donnelley.

She knew they were all on edge after the shooting and it was understandable, who wouldn't be upset or shaken by something like that? God knew she had been. But, Ava wasn't sure it was entirely the shootout that had Laine rattled.

One of the last things she remembered before the fentanyl covered everything in a blurry haze; was Laine checking on her. Sitting next to her, stroking her hair and making sure she was okay.

The least she could do was payback the kindness.

“So…How are you doing?” She asked Laine, her eyebrows arching above the rim of her glasses. “After everything?”

Laine shrugged, raising the cigarette to her full lips, “I’m trying to deal with it, get my shit together. There’s too much work to do and now we’re compromised in Blackriver. I’ll be better once I’m focused on the case.”

She glanced at Ava, her dark glasses still in place that hid the expression in her eyes. “Sorry if I kept you up. I had a few bad dreams.”

“You didn’t keep me up,” Ava assured her quickly, placing a smile back on her face. “I was doing a pretty good job of that on my own.” She let the smile slip off her face as she hesitated for a moment, thinking over how best to word what she’d say next. “I’m sorry about your bad dreams. If you’d like to talk about them, I’d be happy to listen.”

A soft sigh escaped with the smoke between her lips, Laine turning her head so she would not blow it in Ava’s face. Glancing back at her, she gave the small redhead a half smile, “That’s nice of you. It’ll pass, I’m sure. Things just...well you know, things just like went to hell very quickly. Something I’m sure neither of us are used to, but I just need to get back to the case.”

She pushed off the wall, flicking the cigarette onto the ground to grind it out with her sneaker, “I should get dressed, I need to make a good impression on these dudes at the prison. You got this with pulling the records? Frank can give you a good description. Ask for tattoos or scars, eye color. Hair color can be changed but doesn’t hurt.”

Laine pushed her sunglasses up as she opened the door to the women’s shared room, dark bruise like circles under her eyes from the restless sleep. Her brow knit slightly, the dreams had not faded and the images kept rising up like the relentless tide. The hooded man begging her. The look in Donnelley’s eyes. She shook her head and grabbed her bag to find suitable clothing for the trip to talk to Duwant and to see Dulane.

“Oh, yeah, I can handle it no problem.” Ava answered as she walked past, her face falling slightly as she watched Laine walk into their shared room. She bit her lip for a moment and then edged over to nudge the door open and walked inside to get her laptop bag.

She looked over to Laine as she picked up her bag and pulled the strap over her shoulder. She opened her mouth, shut it and took a few steps towards the door. She glanced at Laine for a moment and took in a deep breath as she stopped herself. “You know, when I have nightmares or wake up from a night terror, I do something that brings me comfort to make me feel better.”

Laine looked over at Ava, the earnest but nervous expression on her pretty face. She sighed then held up the pack of clove cigarettes. The Sampoerna pack she managed to find at a smoke store must have been on their shelf forever. They were old and tasted stale but it was still better than straight tobacco, "I do, too."

She picked out black slacks and a black button down blouse to go under the black blazer. She would wear her heels but the sneakers went into her bag just in case. Laine continued, feeling a little bad for her abrupt and certainly unsatisfactory answer. "Music is good, it brings me comfort, so there's that. What do you use?"

Ava perked up and she smiled. “I usually snuggle with my cat or I listen to music too. Or the sound of rain. Or I watch something that’s sweet or makes me laugh. I own a lot of Pixar and Disney movies.” She chuckled, walking over and sitting down on one of the beds. “What about you?” She asked curiously. “What do you like watching?”

Laine shrugged, then huffed a soft laugh, "Definitely not Disney, no offense. I don't know, just movies I like. Probably dark comedies, or my favorite movie. I've seen it so many times but I guess it's the familiarity that is comforting."

A slightly sheepish grin touched her lips then she moved the top of her tank top aside, showing the Death's Head moth tattooed above her left breast. The design was intricate black ink and it flowed into smoky tendrils that moved up to her shoulder and blended into clouds around a full moon.

Ava’s eyes widened slightly as she saw the tattoo on Laine’s pale skin. “Oh wow! That’s beautiful!” She said, admiration in her eyes as she traced the clean and simple black lines that transitioned smoothly into smoke and clouds. “Is that from your favorite movie?”

"Uh, yeah," Laine said, releasing the shirt. "Silence of the Lambs."

She gave Ava a self effacing grin, "It's probably not surprising. But when I was a teen, I was enthralled with Clarice Starling. I knew what I wanted to do when I grew up."

Laine paused and said, then held up her bundle of black clothing, "It was her or Morticia Addams. I should get changed, I don't want to keep people waiting."

Ava grinned and stood up from the bed. “Hey, Morticia Addams had it made.” She chuckled, adjusting the strap of her laptop bag on her shoulder. “I’ll leave you to get dressed in peace, I should go talk to Frank about what Jay looks like anyway.” She took a few steps from the bed and offered Laine a small smile. “Maybe we can watch Silence of the Lambs later?”

Laine smiled slightly in return, then nodded, "Maybe."

She sat on the bed to untie her sneakers then admitted, "Or look at funny cat videos. Those are definitely a guilty pleasure."

“I have plenty of those on my phone.” Ava snorted. “All of them of my cat, Thor. He’s a giant, fluffy diva.” She said over her shoulder as she headed for the door and then left the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Once Ava left, Laine pulled her casual clothes off and dressed for work, the monochromatic outfit broken up only by the silver skull earrings and the modest three layer black bead necklace that held a cameo pendant on the last strand. Once her hair and makeup were done, neat and conservative as she could stand as she had to talk to West Virginia prison authorities, Laine sat back and stared around the empty motel room.

It reminded her of another room in another motel in Charleston. One where she had come so close to connecting with Donnelley on a level that was dangerous and exciting and she had wanted it.

And now? Laine took a deep breath and closed her eyes tightly. The guilt and anxiety began it's serpentine coiling in her chest and she felt like crying but there was no time for that. Laine took a few more deep breaths and counted slowly to ten. She had to face him sometime and face what she had been complicit with, there was work to do.

Laine put on her shoulder holster and the Glock tucked into it, put away her badge and her notebook into her blazer pockets then slung her purse over her shoulder as she walked out of the room into the morning light.




Pari too, left the room. She shuffled across the wooden decking in delicate khussa slippers, their turquoise beading adding gentle percussion to her steps. Her hair once again sat atop her head in a voluminous bun, pinned in place with several jeweled hair clips. The gentle breeze of morning caught the loose crepe fabric of her culottes and made them billow, before she stopped, folding her arms with a sigh. “Another busy day,” she spoke quietly, her voice soft and less harsh around the edges than that in which she delivered her briefing. “I hope you’re holding up alright, Donnelley,” she said, casting a glance at him.

Donnelley rose a brow at the voice coming around his shoulder, that revealed itself to be Pari’s. He finished the drag of his cigarette, holding in the smoke for a beat as he nodded to her. “It’s definitely a day.” He sighed, “I’m fine.” Though the thoughts that played upon his troubled brow said otherwise. His poker face always slipped when his life wasn’t on the line. Holly always took full damn advantage, way back when, “You ever get somethin’ wrong and get angry at yourself?”

He frowned, “Your tire catches a nail in the road and you just think, I knew I shoulda fuckin’ walked to the store instead?”

“I don’t get things wrong,” she replied quickly - expression deadpan in the moment that she let those words hover, before smirking. “It sounds like you’re talking about intuition, gut feeling.” Pari’s eyes narrowed as she took in his body language, the creases, the tension. As if he was being held in a vice grip and it was draining everything from him, one drop at a time.

Donnelley snorted. So, she was one of those, “Oh, you’re one of those.” He smirked, puffing on his cigarette again and nodding, “Intuition, sure. I get it, I didn’t have enough information when I decided to come into Blackriver the way I decided we should.”

“Insular, isolated place, distrustin’ of outsiders. What’s more outsider than a Fed?” He shook his head, eyes falling away from her as his mind already turned over its cogs to get into the root of the problem, “I can’t relate to you, because you’ve never failed, but I hope you can lower yourself to speak to the unwashed pauper.”

Again, he gave her his smirk. There was a fine line between them, the same fine line he and Foster shared, where two people so confident in their competence meet they immediately have to figure out which one was moreso. He knew he was going to like Pari. “How are you though? Ava’s alright, but you were the only one there when it happened.” He nodded, his eyes going over her clothes and accessories, “You’re not just a consultant in fancy clothes.”

Pari smirked back, shifting her gaze over to the horizon. The shitty, dull horizon of grey, grey, and more grey. Behind her, mustard on the turn. “We can do everything right and by the book, Donnelley, and still come out wrong. I’ve failed…” She stopped for a moment, bringing her fingers to her lips as her smile shrunk and her eyes joined them by narrowing.

“I’m well, thank you. A wake up call to this case, that’s for certain. I try not to let things touch me personally, but this case might at least give me a nudge…” Her smile flickered back and she exhaled a long sigh. She eyed Donnelley up and down again, an eyebrow raised. “You could really do with a moment to relax, couldn’t you?”

“I get that a lot.” Donnelley chuckled, thinking back to his conversation with Laine about Mexico and France. He added quietly, “Maybe I could.”

He flicked his cigarette and nodded, letting his head hang before he looked back at Pari, “Talk about nudges…” he said, remembering what he saw on Clyde Baughman’s tapes, remembering his time in Washington getting rid of every picture with Holly’s face on it until he left the ones with only Tilly. “There’s a girl in Washington near Maria’s age that asks about me sometimes. Every step deeper into this shit, I think about her more and more.”

“I can deal with shitheads screamin’ about Jihads all goddamn day, but this homicide…” He shook his head, “I don’t have to wonder why I stopped bein’ a Sheriff deputy.”

“Something about this place…” she said quietly. “I’ve been here a day and it’s found its way under my skin, has me thinking about people… things I haven’t thought about in years - at least, not in the way that threatens to hurt me, you know?” Her arms wrapped tighter around herself as a cold breeze danced by - pulling a strand or two free from her bun to frame her face. “I’d be more surprised if you weren’t thinking like that, it’s normal.” Pari gave something of a shrug.

“I think we have to keep an eye out for one another here, more so than we might on a regular case. Shitheads screaming about Jihad’s and all…” She tried to smile, but faltered some. Truthfully, the thought of hunting down Aryans wasn’t sitting well with her, but she’d keep that to herself. “It probably sounds lame to a gun-toting hard-ass like yourself, but looking out for each other is probably the best thing we can do to keep it at bay, you know?”

“Lookin’ out for each other is the most important part of bein’ a gun-totin’ hard-ass like myself.” Donnelley said, drawing on his cigarette and flicking it still lit into the parking lot, “Can’t tote guns if someone shoots your face out through the back of your head when y’aint lookin’. Don’t matter how hard your ass is then.”

He chuckled, “Trust me, twenty years of doin’ it’ll teach you somethin’ ‘bout teamwork.”

"I'll have to take your word for it," Pari replied, dropping her arms to her sides. "Good team that we have here, between us all, there isn't much we can't get done. We'll solve this case.. " she continued, staring out against the empty horizon again, wondering if after they'd cleaned up the events and washed away the scum that colour might return.

"We're in the shit now," she sighed, an eyebrow raising as she brought a finger to her chin, "somebody has to shovel it."

“Former Sheriff out in Dallam County used to say that. Sheriff Gracy, finest man I ever met, a real father figure to a pissed off, gung ho, hooah kid straight out the Army.” Donnelley said, some distance in his eyes as he recalled the man, “He used to say that a lot. Shit keeps pilin’ up, son, best get yourself a shovel. Lived my life by them words ever since.”

He frowned, sighed and looked out at the gray horizons beyond. The hills that stretched onwards to Blackriver loomed close, black against the gray. “Guess we’d better get to shovelin’. I’ll see you when we head out.”




Laine found herself ready before the others so she chose the vehicle, grabbing the keys for the Suburban since it was armored and they would be driving in rural areas between Charleston and the prison. Places for ambushes would be more likely where no one was watching.

She hiked herself up into the driver's seat and adjusted it, putting her disposable phone full of music in the cup holder and connecting the Bluetooth to the stereo. If Laine was driving then she was going to have her music and perhaps minimize the chance of anything other than talk about the case. Tapping the screen, she pulled up a playlist and selected a song, having it ready to go once she would start the truck.

Pari was next into the car, instinctively taking the backseat - she figured that Donnelley would sit in the front. A respect for hierarchy. She’d changed only her shirt and shoes - slippers replaced with stilettos and the cropped tank replaced with a yellow chiffon blouse. Her ears had stones of a matching hue, and around her neck something beaded and opalesque. She gave Laine a smile after the click of her seatbelt. “Mr Donnelley is being the diva holding us up, I see…” she commented with a slight smirk on her painted lips.

Laine turned, resting her arm against the open window, then smiled slightly at her comment, "He does enjoy his entrances."

The smile faltered and she moved to start the truck, glancing towards the motel. The music came on and she turned it down, waiting on Donnelley.

"That's a nice ensemble," she commented, glancing at the vivid sunny hue against olive skin, a vibrant contrast to her all black and pale countenance. "Is that Michael Kors? The blouse?"

“Oh, Donna Karan I think,” Pari answered, taking a look down at the shirt - trying to recall when she purchased it. “You look great too,” she smiled in response, “they suit you, those pants. The cut works for you.”

Laine nodded, "Thanks, I appreciate it. My mother would love your taste, she hates that I don't wear colors. I just find it easier to wear black. Plus..."

A half smile appeared on her lips, as she glanced at Pari in the rear view mirror, "It can be intimidating."

"Ahh," Pari scoffed, swinging one leg over the other. "It's a mama's job to hate some of the things we do," she chuckled under her breath, "Parinaaz, you're not this, you're not that…" she left again, meaning no malice in her words. It was something that daughters knew well.

The back door of the Suburban came open to reveal Donnelley dressed in a white long-sleeve button up over gray slacks. If there was one thing Hank Gracy taught him was that a man’s belt always matched his shoes, so the brown leather oxfords went with the brown leather belt. Hank was also the man who taught him how to tie a tie and so Donnelley went the extra step of putting one on.

In his right hand though, was his plate carrier laden with magazines, his Badger in his right. He’d swapped the longer barrel for a 13.7 inch one in case he had to return fire from inside the Suburban. He sincerely hoped he did not. Both were stowed in the back, but his FN .40cal remained on his hip. He opened the passenger side front door, removed his wayfarer-style frames, “Thank you for waiting on lil’ ol’ me, ladies.” He climbed into the front seat next to Laine, feeling an electric current of tension at his mere appearance and ignored it, “Now, let us away.”

"Quite alright Sir," came the smooth voice of Pari from the backseat, currently occupying herself with the inside pages of a folder as if they were a magazine, eyes never abandoning the words to glance up. "Hair and makeup takes longer for some than others…" she added, turning a page nonchalantly.

“And when you’re a perfectionist such as myself…” Donnelley smirked, miming flipping long hair from his shoulder.

Laine nodded again at Pari's comment, her mother did hate anything she did that was not part of her plans. Before she could respond she spotted a well dressed Donnelley limping towards the truck. She frowned slightly, he probably should have a crutch or cane to take pressure off the wounded leg. But she said nothing as he stored his gear and came around to the passenger side.

She looked side long at him as he got into the Suburban, feeling the tension start to knot inside her at the persistent memories. Cruel and angry things to say rose to her mind and she pushed them back with disgust. Laine was not her mother, she would not strike acid at every opportunity. They would soon have to talk about the issue that settled between them like a dark cloud. Thankfully Pari was in the car and it would not have to be now.

Once he was buckled in, Laine put the truck in reverse to back out and once she got to the driveway she asked without looking over at him, "You're navigating, which way are we heading?"

Donnelley frowned as he leaned towards Laine, fishing his phone out of his pocket, “You know, I might be one of them Langley boys,” he unlocked his phone and set the GPS on it to Beckley, “But I don’t really gallivant ‘round these parts. Left. Highway.”

After a time of silent reflection and driving, Donnelley spoke up as the Suburban lurched to a stop at a red light. “Game plan. You and Pari, me and you, what?”

"Duwant and Dulane," Laine said shortly, "I'd like to find out more about the sex trafficking around the Washington area. How much I missed about this getting pulled off the Childress case before I dug in. Pari and I can handle that, she's already established a rapport. And we'll go see Dulane, he's going to be very informative."

She shot a glance at Donnelley then said quickly, "Let me have the lead with him."

Donnelley looked sidelong at her, pursed lips and furrowed brow at the unsaid insinuation that he would turn Dulane into a corpse if he didn’t absolutely need to. He felt like he’d been insulted, spit at. He broke off his stare and glanced at Pari in the rearview, looking off out the window as the light turned green and they were back on their way. “Of course you’ll have the lead.” He muttered, bitterness in his words.

Laine sighed inwardly, flexing her fingers against the steering wheel and she flicked a quick glance at him after he spoke. Her teeth clenched, the interrogation replaying in flashes of memory unbidden. Fists hitting flesh, pliers and that fucking drill. And she had stood there and let it all happen. Laine bit the inside of her lip then said, “Good. We’ll get what we need. Are we still going to try and take him to the mines after...well, after knowing what we know now?”

The idea of going out there was less appealing now that Michael had told them about the sudden appearance of ‘Russians’ in a shack and the smell that accompanied it but there was an urge to go out there. Despite the danger, Laine wanted to see for herself these mines that were becoming a center of the darkness they faced. Dulane might also remember more faced with the place that had driven him to such madness. Or it might break him, she thought and frowned slightly. Laine was willing to risk it to find the killer or killers of the girl, Maria Vasquez. That she was willing to risk a man’s sanity without much thought made her uncomfortable. It was the same response she had when Dave and Donnelley had beat the man they had dragged in. She let it happen, for the greater good, she told herself but it did nothing to shake the guilt that curled in her stomach.

She changed lanes to get around a slower moving old pick up and shot ahead of it. Apprehension about pulling up level with an unknown vehicle clear as she floored it until she was about a hundred yards ahead. Laine reached with one hand to try and find the pack of shitty stale cloves in her blazer’s pocket and when she grabbed it they slipped from her fingers and fell down under the pedals. “Fuck,” she snapped, then blew a sharp breath out.

Pari observed expressions through the rear view, heard the tones in which they spoke to each other - sensing that there were things unsaid, and by the sudden exclamation of Laine, she folded away the papers, back into her bag, "Dawant is a good man, dedicated many years to the non-profit. He'll be reassured to meet someone of your skill, Laine."

Donnelley barely hid his concern for Laine’s demeanor. He’d forgotten, almost, how it was to be around those who weren’t used to tying up loose ends. Or even viewing it in that cold, distanced language. He retrieved his pack of cigarettes and offered the opened pack to her, “You can have one of mine.”

Laine glanced at Pari in the rear view mirror, and spoke in a slightly strained voice, the smokey rasp more noticeable, "I'm looking forward to meeting him."

Donnelley caught her attention when she looked back at the road. She did not look at him, instead focusing on the curve around the sloping mountain down towards another valley. After a moment she accepted his offer, "Yeah, I'll take one."

Reaching for the pack with only a quick side glance she pulled one out and put it between her lips. Laine debated internally with herself to try to dig out her lighter but gave in and asked, "Do you mind giving me a light?"

“Sure, yeah.” Donnelley nodded, producing his lighter and holding it out lit for her. While she worked at getting her cigarette lit he took the chance to look at her. She looked frayed at the edges. He peeked at Pari in the rearview, “So, Dawant. What’s his story?”

“Don’t know much of it,” Pari replied with a light shrug - trying to recall any conversation beyond the briefing they’d had in the office. “We really just spoke about Maria, the missing children.” She brought her fingers up to her face to brush her hair back from her face. “Beyond that was just intuition. He seems weathered, affected by this case. I’ve heard of the CMC before, not that I’ve ever worked with them - but I’ve known officers in the WSP. Maria was a cold case from Seattle, it was the dental records that they matched up.”

Her eyes closed, and she took a sharp intake of breath in through her teeth. “Dawant doesn’t trust a lot of people - other law enforcement branches and arms - he mentioned quite abruptly something rather crass… hookers and drug dealers - his own personal biases…” Pari said, with a wave of her hand. “His emotions are high, he’ll need a gentler hand, in my opinion,” she finished, placing her hands into her lap.

Laine took a deep drag of the cigarette, the taste not as pleasant but it would do the job. She had caught Donnelley's fleeting glance, expression not angry or guarded but something else. Her attention went back to the road as he spoke to Pari and she answered.

As they passed a weathered billboard advertising the First Baptist Church of Charleston Laine ticked her head slightly at one of Pari's comments.

"What did he say about 'hookers and drug dealers'? I'd find it odd for a man working with a nonprofit missing persons group to have a biased against sex workers, they go missing often enough. Of course it's not as concerning to some people especially compared to children."

Laine flicked her ashes.

"Less dead," she said. "That's what they call it you know, when some asshole kills a sex worker or junky. Less dead, because no one's going to miss them right away."

She blew out a stream of smoke towards her open window, considering her next words. "This girl, Maria Vasquez, I would put money on it she was being prostituted. Poor kid. What she must have been going through the last five years."

Laine felt a stab of empathy and put the cigarette to her lips. "Hopefully he can help us with her background, with or without his biases."

“Ah,” Pari interjected, raising her index finger, “my apologies - I’ve sent you down a different path.” The woman cleared her throat, “Dawant, I believe has biases against, well, a lot of other law enforcement branches. That they all like to bother people, rip off dealers - and well,” she swallowed down and glanced to her side away from the rear view mirror momentarily to spit out the last sentence, “fuck hookers.” She wished she had her coffee in hand to gulp back down on.

“Cops are human too.” Donnelley nodded, before lighting his own cigarette, “There’s a lot that goes on. Some Deputies didn’t like ‘colored folk’ around Dalhart. Some Deputies took their own cuts from meth cook’s profits in Dallard County. Part of the reason I left the Department.”

“I even saw it in Seatac sometimes when I lived in Seattle. They rough up prostitutes, ‘specially trans ones, rip off dealers.” Donnelley snorted something in his face and hocked it out the window, “Same shit, different cops. Fuck ‘em.”

“Yes, Seatac Police were the named victims of that particular spray,” Pari added, brow furrowing at the sound of Donnelley’s snort. She held back any other comment about it and simply twitched her fingers over her thighs.

Laine raised her eyebrow at Pari's clarification and gave an irritated twitch of the cigarette, the embers catching the wind. "Wrong path, I was on the wrong planet," she muttered.

Listening to the talk about the corruption she kept her gaze on the winding black asphalt. The drive had been uneventful so far but she kept her attention as the odd vehicle would pass going towards Charleston. They were getting closer to the town of Beckley, another sign showed it was only five miles more. The prison wasn't too far away from the small town.

Laine took a drag and glanced at Donnelley, wanting to share the ACAB joke again but the space between them was still too thick with tension and she felt the anxiety tighten in her chest. Guilt and remorse, and not all of it for the dead man, still clung to her like cheap perfume so she shut her mouth and kept driving.

The conversation was about Duwant but they were headed to see Dulane and the books she had taken with her from the library still sat in the box, unopened. Finally, Laine spoke up, "Agent Bhaat, there is a book about the mines and another on some local native legends I'd really like you to take a look at when you can."

“Sure,” Pari replied from the backseat with a light nod. “I’ll look over them when we get back to the motel. I have some areas of research of my own to comb through too, I’ll add those books to the list.”



>0800...///

Another hour of passing trees, and trees, and more trees had them approaching Beckley Federal Correctional Institution. Sprawled out in a complex of bland buildings and dropped somewhere in the Virginia wilderness, Beckley seemed a place devoid of hope for escapees. If the snipers did not get you, the endless wilderness would. Donnelley’s eyes went over the brick buildings and he felt the misery and aggression hanging over this place like a fog.

Donnelley opened the door and stood, blue eyes gleaming behind his shades. He felt the aura touch his skin like a morning mist, making his head buzz with it. He frowned, a quiet growl escaping him. He’d need a cigarette. There weren’t many cars in the parking lot in front of the visitor center, only the employees’. No visitors today, besides the three of them. They had come calling on David Dulane, and Donnelley would not leave here without answers. “Laine, Pari, you two handle the questions. If there’s anything I want to know in particular, I’ll ask him.” Donnelley frowned, “Otherwise, he’s yours.”

Laine stepped out and flicked the cigarette on the parking lot. It had only taken a few days to change everything, the plans they had made now in the wind like ash. The cabin was no longer their safe place, the men now on constant guard and no time had been taken to formulate new plans. All of it bothered her, Laine preferred going in with a game plan and now they were all winging it.

She shrugged, putting on her glasses and taking her notebook and bag. "Thanks, we'll do our job."

Laine glanced at Pari, "I spent half my career talking to criminals much worse than Dulane. I'll get him started and when he starts talking about his 'devils' maybe you can jump in. What do you think?"

Pari blinked and followed the wisps of smoke with her eyes as they cascaded to the ground, flicked from Laine’s fingers. She tilted her head back up to meet Laine’s eyes, now behind the frames of her glasses. “I’ll take notes,” she answered. “When he does start talking about his devils, I’d appreciate if you did the same, I don’t tend to write at all when I’m engaged in conversation, it’ll be crucial to have the words on paper for later, exactly as they’re said. I tend to poke somewhere… Somewhere outside of the tangible.” She held a straight face for a while, in the midst of a pregnant pause - before she smiled. “After you then.”

"I brought a recorder," Laine said as she began walking towards the prison entrance, her heels clicking against the asphalt. "But certainly we'll take notes and things to follow up on while the other is in conversation."

“Perfect, then I’ll write up a transcript after the fact,” Pari smiled, following at Laine’s side. She tilted her chin upwards to take a look at the prison in all of its bare glory. Bleached and scorched and coarse - dressed in generic paint, the grey roof slanted. It was grim, and that grim ran deep. A tingle at the back of her neck caused her lip to twitch. “And there I was thinking that Disneyland was the happiest place on Earth.”

Laine grimaced slightly, unsure which she would hate more. A prison or fucking Disneyland. It was a tough choice.

“I guess people don’t stab you in the neck for lookin’ at you wrong, or too long, or at all in Disneyland.” Donnelley frowned at the two women, noting Laine’s slight frown at the mention of Disneyland. “Don’t mind me when you’re interviewin’ the guy. I might have myself a smoke and talk to the Warden in a bit.”

As he’d said, he fished out his pack of cigarettes, sniffed in a lungful of mountain prison air, and sighed it out before lighting a cigarette. He smirked, although this place wanted him to do nothing of the sort, “Have fun, ladies.”




Agents Bhatt and Laine, having received their passes, been introduced to the Warden, and fed the protocols were taken from Donnelley’s company by assigned guards. They got up and headed down the corridor as a door was closed behind them. A single dark, lonely shape with smudged painted lines that signaled that it was just a straight line. Above them in the reverse, fluorescent lighting in a strip humming gently. That paint was a threat to not veer from the given path in here.

The walls were painted in a forest green, but such a hue was a lie - no nature sat here. Just concrete met with bars of steel. Nothing was growing here, things only festered. Germs from dirty fingers smeared on the bars and safety glass. There was a cold that went beyond just a touch on the skin from a breeze - any breeze that did enter here was harrowed, and anything fresh was sieved and stirred into an echo of the outside.

The inside of Beckley was a reality all of its own, a granitic monolith.

They followed the spine of cracked paint down the corridor, through door after door until they were ushered by two tired, weary guards into a small room, cordoned off from the prison. Pari was grateful for the more open space, during their walk through the facility, she had been feeling as if the walls were shrinking down - as if she were Alice in a grey Wonderland, growing larger in the belly of a shriveling catacomb.

How a place could feel so full of grime, and yet smell so sterile was confusing to Pari’s senses as she took her seat, directed to it by their guard escorts. The room was barren, save for a table with three chairs. The walls were painted in a seventies shade of maroon that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a swank and plush club of that era, now? Now it was just a reminder that time stopped within these walls, and yet, all that really existed here at all was time.

The chairs too, were a vintage shade of burgundy. The leather cracked and split to reveal the sponge inside. Sponge that looked to have been picked and pinched at by idle hands. It seems the devil did make work for them.

Pari took her seat on the right, her eyes immediately flitted to the window - a single rectangle, filtering in a paltry amount of natural light that just illuminated the concrete floor and its mysterious stains. Above them, a light hummed and flickered sporadically, and she began to hear outside of the room, the sound of several footsteps - and the unmistakable sound of metal chain shaking. She gave a glance to Laine, and a nod. She was ready, and she had confidence that Laine was too.

The door on the other end clinked open and a short, but grating alarm sounded once before the metal slab set in the wall slowly came open. Beyond it was a hall the same color as those they’d come in through, and an ominous clink, clink, clink accompanying hurried bootfalls. Two guards had David Dulane by the arms as if at any moment he could shrug them away and start a rampage the violence of which would be deafening.

He did not. Dressed in orange and chains, David Dulane was tangle-haired and long-bearded. Gray in strands from his scalp and his chin, and a look in his eyes that was full of emptiness. A void whose hunger threatened to swallow anyone who looked into it too long. If David Dulane had not been crazy in the mines, he looked to be now. As cold and gray as the bars that kept him here. He sat, mouth slightly ajar and the only sound in the room was his breath through it. Slow. Even. The two guards left his side and took their places in the two far corners.

Dulane’s eyes hung on Laine’s before they slid across to Pari. Her eyes he held the longest. “Hello.” His eyes and face slunk back over to Laine as if his neck was made of slow, grating stone, “Hello.”

He did not blink once between them. Until slowly, his eyes shut and then opened. Once. “I know why y’all’re here.” He said, voice tired and scratching, as if the words were clawing up out of his throat to freedom, “I killed men.”

Laine watched him, her notebook closed and the recorder between the agents and Dulane. She met his eyes when he looked back towards her, her green gaze behind her black frame glasses direct but not hostile, "Hello Mr Dulane, thank you for seeing us. I am Special Agent Heather Laine and this is Special Agent Parinaaz Bhaat. We are here to talk, we want to know your story, about what really happened in the mines. Nothing said to us will be used against you. With your permission, we would like to record our conversation."

She held her finger over the record button, waiting for his answer.

“What y’all know…” Dulane’s wet eyes slid over from Laine to Pari slow enough almost to hear, “...’bout it?”

“What does anyone really...” Dulane leaned closer, his mouth falling open to reveal stinking, yellow teeth, “Know?

His prolonged stare at her hadn’t gone unnoticed, and still Pari did not react, not with a smile or any other crack upon her countenance. She simply let the man take his seat and get as comfortable as he could, all things considered. She turned the cover over on her own notepad - a small A3 thing with a flip top. In her left hand she held a mechanical pencil, clicking the top to reveal a point.

Laine received no protest about recording so she pushed the button and said their names again, the time and date for posterity. She looked at Dulane, then said, "That's why we're here. Now I've read the police report and heard what people say happened but we would like to hear your version of the events leading up to the explosion."

She looked at him, at his demeanor then glanced at the guards. Laine had almost forgot they were there, as the FBI normally arranged the meetings with subjects ahead of time with instructions. She sat up, addressing the pair, "Do you mind giving us some privacy, please?"

The guard at the left corner looked at the other one, a silent conversation happening only in looks. One shrugged and the other turned back to the two FBI, “Sure, we’ll be just outside.”

They turned and left promptly, if not a bit hesitantly. One of them looked back at them before he stepped over to push an unseen button, the alarm sounding again before the door crept closed.

“The explosion.” Dulane said, straightening in his seat as if the disappearance of the guards made another side of him appear. He seemed more lucid, but that same hunger in his eyes beckoned them like portals to somewhere no one wanted to go, “What do y’all know ‘bout it? ‘Bout Blackriver?

Laine waited for the guards to leave, and once Dulane spoke again she leaned forward, studying the change in his mannerism. "I know you blew a mine shaft with enough dynamite to collapse three tunnels, just luck and geology that it didn't. Reports say the breathing equipment wasn't up to par, you had suffered from the effects of thin air and it made you mentally unstable, enough to get the idea to blow up the mine. They never mentioned a reason, maybe to get back at Vera Corp? Maybe you wanted to save the Earth from another strip mine? Maybe your coworkers were stealing your egg salad sandwiches so you blew them up. Whatever reasons they might give, it's not the truth. I've learned Blackriver has a way of covering that truth, by any means."

At Laine’s side, Pari had pressed the tip of her pencil on the paper, and listened to her words. The words that she was wasting no time on mincing, and Pari herself had to catch up on the details of Dulane’s story. It was one of the few times that Pari herself had been sat with a criminal of his calibre. It wasn’t where she worked, afterall. Pari lived behind a desk, or in a lab with evidence. Cold, hard, evidence. Dulane was a living, breathing man with a story. He’d been convicted of his crimes.

His eyes narrowed and his frown got deeper inside his thick beard. He held Laine’s gaze and clasped both of his shackled hands together on the table, chains clinking with the movement. He broke the heavy silence, ”Sounds like y’already know the truth. Y’all just wantin’ me to say it.” Dulane leaned forward, towards Laine, and his eyes made it seem as if Pari wasn’t even there. Like the room could fade away to nothing but the fiery, yellow-blue of his eyes, “What you waitin’ for me to say, Heather?”

Her gaze held his as long as she could, Laine then pushed her glasses up, "They said you went crazy, that you were screaming about devils. That's why you blew up the mine, some figment of an oxygen starved mind. But it wasn't a figment was it, Mr. Dulane. What is your truth?"

For the first time, Dulane’s exterior shook. His demeanor of the insane murderer cracked as he shivered and his eyes escaped Laine’s to peer off back into his memory, mouth hanging open, “I see it in my sleep. Crawlin’ up out of them shadows and rocks. Them mines,” he looked to Laine again, “They got too close to Hell.”

“I needed to do it. I made a promise.” He said, “I made a promise.”

"Who did you promise?" Laine probed, leaning forward slightly.

The Sleeper.” Dulane smiled, his abyssal pupils narrowing to pin pricks, “He made me promise.”

Pari’s groomed brow immediately raised at the mention of devils, and of hell. ”Now that’s a story,” she thought to herself. Her rich brown eyes narrowed briefly in thought while her brain ticked over what she already may have known that could corroborate such a thing. She came back to her Wendigo theory, but kept her lips sealed for now. Laine was in her element, and she wasn’t about to interrupt the woman. In her hand, the pencil wrote down “The Sleeper” onto paper, and a chill ran up her spine at the very action.

Laine looked into those intense eyes, the constricting pupils seemed to draw the light into them and it was hard for her to look away. Blinking she have her head a sharp shake then brushed back a lock of short dark hair. Laine put her hands against the table, gazing back across at Dulane.

"Who is 'The Sleeper'?" she asked.

Dulane’s smile widened as if he was telling campfire stories to his children, he leaned closer in turn with Laine. His eyes went to Pari and then to Laine, “Y’all don’t know him.” He shook his head, slow as slow and lost his smile, speaking as if there were no truer wisdom, “But he knows y’all. He knew me, he knows your ma’s and your pa’s and your children. Born or not. To them, time is a river, and he swims in it.”

“But here? He sleeps. But y’all keep these words close.” He stood up quick, sending his chair clattering to the ground and the alarm sounded again. The door crept open at its snails pace but the guards squeezed themselves through, grunting and swearing, and closed the distance as quick as they could, their boots slapping the concrete as they ran.

One held Dulane by the arms, swearing, while the other took him by the hair and slammed him into the table hard enough to make Pari’s notebook jump. Dulane was laughing through his bloody lips, screaming in his sing-song, warbly tone, “I made a promise! I made a promise! I made a promise!” The guards wrestled him away from the table and dragged him out towards the door, chains jingling like sleigh bells to his song and flailing dancing.

“Shut the fuck up, Dulane!”

“DEATH WAKES THE SLEEPER!” And the door closed shut, and silence filled the room again.

When all had been said and done, after her heart had slowed its ferocious beating in her chest, Pari turned to Laine, her eyes commanding an intensity, her breath quick from her lips; “holy cabooses….” she uttered in a breath, bringing her hand to her chest. Pari was a woman who had immense pride in the fact that her nerves were made of steel - but that? That deadly atmosphere snuck into her, and she gave a quiet and nervous laugh after the fact.

Laine listened intently to the strange description of what Dulane called the Sleeper. While her nature was to take it with a grain of salt, there was something about his tone and the almost manic gleam in his eyes that made her skin prickle with goosebumps under her blazer. She jumped in her seat, the burgundy vinyl creaking beneath her as she leaned away from Dulane as he sprang out of his chair. The guards were already moving as Laine tried to recover her composure but the last shout made her scalp crawl with recognition.

Death awakens the Sleeper.

Once he was dragged away, Laine sank back in her chair, breathing out slowly. The nervous chuckle made her look over at Pari, they both had been startled. A tactic to end the conversation no doubt or was it more. Laine reached to turn off the recorder when something from their conversation a few days prior came rushing back.

"A sacrifice?" She asked in the silence between the two women, meeting Pari's dark gaze. "An offering to this 'Sleeper'? Eighteen lives is a hell of a gift basket."

Pari too, was taken back to their conversation; “Ockham’s damned razor…” she said, running her tongue over her front teeth, sighing. She brought her arms around herself and her brow furrowed harshly. “I need to research this further, Dr. Laine. I know where to start…” She then plucked up her notebook, and began making a spitfire bullet point list. A. Chapman. Laine’s books. Ritual text. Cosmic strings. Linguistics - Chapman.

She placed the pencil back down. Sighing again. “I want us to look at how frequent these killings have been - the spaces in between them. Are they sacrificing for a gift? Or simply feeding this beast to keep it at bay? There are… Many avenues that we could explore. It’s important we get the right one.” Pari was not making eye contact, instead, her gaze remained transfixed on the points of her list, the pen being rocked in her hand by her fingers. “That promise is important too. Very important.”

Laine picked up the recorder to put back in her bag, listening to Pari. She glanced up, tilting her head slightly, "Dulane had nothing to do with Maria or the hiker, he was in prison already and his killing was blowing up other miners. Nothing like skinning and murdering a girl in a sexually sadistic fashion. But certainly, we'll look for anything possibly connecting them other than general location. There is a serial murderer out there, Sleeper or no Sleeper. The two victims we have identified plus the bones at the Vasquez crime scene. At any rate, I'd still be interested in looking at Dulane's prison and psychology records, they must have had him examined before he stood trial. Places like this don't like to see a mass murderer put away in a mental institution."

Laine stood up and hooked her bag on her shoulder, "We have a lot of work, I'll need to stop at the store for coffee and decent cigarettes after we talk to Duwant."

“Of course, I’m thinking laterally for now…” Pari clarified, shaking her head and bringing her fingers to her lips. “Dulane was not responsible for Miss Vasquez, but the mine explosion and her death are absolutely connected, and the rest of the missing girls…” her voice was distant as she stood from her seat, placing the splayed fingers of her right hand against the surface of the table. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, as if she were momentarily meditating in the room - sealing away the atmosphere to lock it into her memory to recall it later.

She dragged her fingers from the table at last, placing the notebook back into her breast pocket before letting her hands fall to her sides, holding mudra in each. “You’re right, let’s meet back with Donnelley and head to Duwant. I can make contact with him, if Donnelley has not already. In any case, I want to get out of this room. Bad juju… Very bad juju…”




Laine followed the guards down the hall, Pari beside her as their high heels clocked along on yellowing tiles. She glanced at one of the guards, a big man with sun freckled slabs for biceps and a square gut above his Sam Brown belt.

"Does he do that often, flip out?" Laine asked the corrections officer. "Or do you think that was just him having his jollies with the Feds."

It seemed believable and her instincts said as much but if there was one thing she learned about sociopaths and psychopaths was they could lie quite convincingly. The guards that interacted with Dulane daily might not be mental professionals bit they would have a certain insight.

The guard, whose name tag read Doyle, cocked his head at Laine. A simple man’s temptations ran through his eyes at the sight of her but he smiled like any southern gentleman. Or any man who thought highly of himself as one. “No, ma’am. Dulane just sits in his cell. We keep him in solitary, fucker barely even blinks.” He swallowed hard, any charisma vanishing with fear seeping in to replace it, “That was new to me. You watch any video record of his trial, he almost seems a little normal, you know?”

“He tried to kill himself after some of the other guys talked to him about nightmares. Now,” He frowned, shaking his head, “He’s that.

Footsteps from down the empty halls echoed to Laine and Pari. Soon, it was revealed to be from Donnelley’s oxfords, his shades in place as he came back to the two FBI agents. “Warden Thomasson okay’d the field trip, but it’s scheduled goddamn far out from now.” Donnelley’s head turned to the guard named Doyle and he flashed a grin, “Don’t see whatever that was too often?”

“No. Crazy man, that guy.” Doyle nervously chuckled back.

“You get used to it.” Donnelley smirked.

“Are you?” Doyle’s brow cocked.

“Sometimes.” Donnelley turned back to Laine, smirk vanishing, “Four weeks.”

Solitary. No wonder he's going to go even more batshit than he was already. And a suicide attempt after talking. Laine furrowed her brow when Donnelley told her the amount of time, an entire month before they could take Dulane back to the scene of his crime.

"He's unstable," Laine said, glancing at Donnelley. "I'd like to get any psychiatric history, records of his time in prison, anything like that. He said something that we'll need to look into."

Looking back at Doyle, Laine said, "You might want to keep him under watch for awhile in case he reacts badly after the interview."

Pari frowned, tucking one foot behind the other, straight backed with a hand below her chin thoughtfully. “I still want to talk to Mr Dulane about his experience. I can’t lie, I’m disappointed he cut us short with that. He’d be interesting to deep dive into. It’s… essential even, that I do this.” Her lips pursed in regret over the situation, and she sighed again, shaking her head as her foot came back to the ground. “Four weeks… That’s a long time indeed. I’m asking a lot, Donnelley, Laine - I’d find it especially helpful to join you both when we do go back to the crime scene with him. Perhaps it would yield a better result for me to question him there anyway… The ambience would make it easier for him to revisit...” her voice was tapering off slightly as she spitballed her words. Finishing with a nod.

Laine nodded her agreement, "That's the idea we had, bring him to the scene and see what he gives us. Next time we'll have more information to go on, I'll go over any reports on his mental health if you want to give the history of the mines and local legends a go over."

She turned to Donnelley, "Can we get those, Dulane's mental health and behavior reports?"

“Absolutely,” Pari replied. “When I return to Seattle, I’d like to speak to an academic alum of mine. We studied together and she might be able to offer some clarity on mine legends, her forte is linguistics and folklore, she might add a further dimension to my own theories, especially something that’s circling for me now…” she added, blinking up in the direction of Donnelley.

Donnelley’s eyes went between the two women, not seeing anything he could add to their competence besides, “Yeah, why not. I’ll call back later and request those psych evals.”



>0930...///

The drive back to Charleston seemed to go quicker, with the case to discuss that pushed away some of the awkwardness Laine had felt between herself and Donnelley.

She smoked another of his cigarettes, having trashed the stale cloves that were not worth the carcinogenic fumes. "So, the Sleeper that Dulane talked about, that he made a promise to, it definitely has a dark vibe. The way he said it, that even if we didn't know the Sleeper he knew us and our ancestors and our offspring or those to come. Like a creepy omnipotent Santa Claus, he's got tabs on people. Thankfully we have Pari," Laine glanced at the rear view mirror, "Because this is some really weird shit."

She took a drag of the harsh Marlborough Red and blew out a stream of smoke as the truck passed the city limits sign. Ahead the arching bridge over the Kanawha River, the rolling water sparkling in the midday sun. Laine glanced at Donnelley, "Have you ever heard of the Sleeper?"

Donnelley flicked ash from the end of his cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke, shaking his head, “I’ve heard about a lot of weird shit,” He clucked his tongue, “Ain’t heard of the Sleeper.”

He cocked his brow at Pari through the rearview, “You neither?”

Pari was deep in her notebook, pencil scratching at the paper as she brainstormed several ideas. Keywords in boxes, with branches to further points within the pages of the tiny notepad. Her writing small and conformed. She did manage to notice Donnelley after he attention though, and her eyes came up from the paper. She sat straight in the seat, one leg crossed over the other. “The Sleeper, I believe is just a sobriquet. It doesn’t give an indication of the true identity of this being, other than it sleeps, and was woken.”

She closed the notepad, and placed it within her lap. “I was more taken with something else that Dulane said, that time is a river and he swims in it - but with those who are born or not.” She rapped her fingers over the cover, tilting her head. “I am instantly reminded of the five rivers of Hades. Acheron, Phlegethon, Lethe, Cocytus, Styx… They’re symbolic. All of the rivers collect together in the great marsh of the Greek Underworld.” She pressed the pencil to her lower lip and closed her eyes, taking in a breath before continuing on. “The river Styx of course, being the abomination. The water toxic and black as ink. To drink it or touch it is to die. But the Styx is a boundary line that separates the living and the dead. Is that the river?”

Pari stopped again, glancing down at her side. “If what Dulane said is to be believed, then the Sleeper is a being who swims over cosmic strings. Folklore and mythology cross over - I have a place to start, but it’s why I want to look at the language our foes are using…”

“This is Appalachia.” Donnelley shrugged and frowned, taking another drag, “MacOnies, O’Dhoules. Think Irish, Celtic. Has to be Pagan, I don’t know about anybody skinnin’ girls for Jesus.”

“In any case,” Pari Interjected, “I want to find out, mythological origins aside, whether these sacrifices are an exchange of power, a gift, or simply a feeding.

”If it wasn't for that hole in your leg, I would think it was just some sadistic asshole with a penchant for the dramatic. There are a few cases involving skinning a victim I know off the top of my head, I plan on doing some case studies. I still think we should be looking into locals that are into taxidermy or maybe butcher their own meat, something like that," Laine commented, glancing at Donnelley. "But since there is obviously something in those woods, maybe it is linked to real ritual."

Laine bit her lip slightly, thinking over Pari's ideas then said dryly, "This might be a real shock to you, but in highschool I dabbled in Wicca. I remember something about Celtic sacrifice, they often strangled their victims and or stabbed them, tossed them into a bog."

“You never…” Donnelley raised a brow and looked Laine’s way, his lips holding back a smile.

She caught his eye for a moment and for a split second it felt like before the interrogation happened. Laine looked away, back to the road and shrugged slightly with a half smile, "What can I say, I watched the Craft too many times my sophomore year."

The truck rolled smoothly over the bridge, catching a few odd looks because of the bullet pock marks. From the bridge they could see the golden dome of the state capitol building gleaming in the July sun, the city stretching out beyond the river. Pari's words came to mind. The border between life and death, the poisoned water of the Styx. A black river.



>1040...///

“We’re here.” Donnelley spoke into his phone before curtly disconnecting the call and slipping it back into his pocket.

Pari has given him Dawant’s number and they’d organized a meeting at a busy coffee shop in the center of town, opting to have people around in case Jay tried again. Somebody might be eavesdropping in the crowd, but they’d think twice before they opened fire on him and Laine. The same coffee shop they were outside of now, a quaint hipster locale named the Rocket. A neon sign with a 1950s art style of a zooming space ship above the door.

Donnelley opened his door and habitually scanned their surroundings, spotting nothing out of the ordinary. He nodded to Pari, “Sit somewhere nearby, view of the door and near the kitchen. We’ll be close by.” He turned to Laine, “If we need to bug out, we go through the kitchen.”

Without waiting for confirmation from either woman, he turned for the door and entered into the place, the smell of coffee hitting him like a wall. In a corner, nursing a cup of coffee, was a lone black man. Age lines across his face and a squint to his eyes that told Donnelley he had seen the worst of humanity far too many times. Donnelley limped to his booth, “Dawant.”

“John Davidson.” Dawant smirked, sipping his coffee.

“Just Davidson.” He smiled and slid into the booth seat opposite him, masking his Texan in his speech. “I’ve been dying to meet you. Heard you’re the one that gave us a name to our Jane Doe.”

“That’s me,” Dawant nodded, then looked to Laine, “Well, hello, Miss. What would your name be?”

Laine inhaled deeply the aroma of the coffee shop, her gaze flicking at the chalkboard menu and taking mental notes of her favorites among the varieties. She had buttoned her blazer, the slight bump under her left arm the only indication of her holstered weapon. She followed Donnelley towards the corner, inspecting the man sitting alone, and she knew him to be one of their own in his way. Duwant has the look of one who fought the darkness with perseverance and determination, his stubborn belief to at least save one life would be worth the heartache.

With a polite smile, she held out her hand, "Dr Heather Laine, BAU. It's nice to meet you, Mr Duwant."

Laine slid into the booth beside Donnelley, aware of how close he was but she pushed the thought away as she folded her hands neatly on the formica table top. "Thank you for meeting back up with us. I have some follow up questions about Maria Vasquez."

The smile on Dawant faded into seriousness at the mention of Maria. He sighed, nodding as he sipped at his coffee, “Go ahead.”

Flipping her notebook out, Laine began, "Agent Bhaat told us you suspected she was kidnapped by a gang, cartel, then trafficked. She said Sinaloa, Gulf Cartels seemed to be likely. Do you know anything more about their street operation, the sex trade they're involved in? How she was taken, as was she lured in or snatched? Did she maybe know some of these guys? I'm working on a profile but in my usual cases the killer is generally the kidnapper but obviously not this situation so I'm just trying to get a feel for the sequence of events that lead to her death."

Dawant frowned, “They were good people, the Vasquez family. The father was a hard worker in construction and the mother worked at a bank. When they came to America, they took up their trades again.” Dawant said, sipping his coffee, “I was with them for years, I’d know if they were lying. As far as I know past that? It was just Maria at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“The cartels further north lay low. They don’t manufacture, but they receive shipments in from the ports or from mules.” Dawant looked out the window, shaking his head, “Most of their revenue is in sex trafficking through Pacific Highway. There’s schools nearby, the airport is there.”

“It’s no stretch to say she was brought to West Virginia from there. Less chance of her being found again, and being so far from home? No hope of a successful escape.” Dawant growled, eyes closed, “She died hopeless. Years of taking shit, I hope she was numb inside by the end.”

Donnelley flashed back to the motel room in Washington, picking up the prostitute and throwing her to the winds after he was done with her. He wondered if she was far from home and without hope, every John she got was the only ticket to a roof over her head and a bed to sleep in. The only catch was some stranger’s sour breath in her face and the weight of them pressing her down. “Sounds like shit.” Donnelley muttered.

“Doesn’t it?” Dawant looked back to Laine, “That’s all I know. I do have these.”

He reached down next to him and brought up a Manila folder, slapping it on the table and opening it up. “Four perps for the Sinaloa cartel picked up in the PNW. Homeland Security and US Marshals got them after local PD smoked them out.” Dawant said it with some satisfaction, “Interviews after that led them to a man named Miguel “El Rojo” Villalobos, in charge of their money laundering operations. FINCEN traced their money and it pinged on several pieces of shit in Mexico.”

Dawant reached over and flipped through a couple of pages until he found a picture of a well-to-do looking Caucasian male, smiling with his wife and children at what looked like a fashion show red carpet event. “And one fucking prick bastard here in the States. This man’s name is Gregory Carlisle, thinks highly of himself as a modeling agent. Most of his clients are adults, but sometimes he recruits at any age for…” Dawant raised his brows and looked at Donnelley and Laine expectantly.

“The fucking Sinaloa.” Donnelley frowned. “Where is he?”

“I can tell you.” Dawant smirked, taking another sip of his coffee, “But I’ve got a catch.”

Donnelley frowned sceptically, glancing towards Laine. “What is it?”

“You let me in on this. I’m tired of sitting on case files with my thumb up my ass like a glorified librarian.” Dawant leaned closer, “You expect me to believe that you’re just FBI, John Davidson? No one in any field office I could get a hold of knows a fucking Senior Special Agent John Davidson. Why?”

Donnelley’s features fell to something dark, no longer hiding his accent, “I wouldn’t go diggin’ too deep, partner.” Donnelley inclined his head towards Dawant, “Might never get out of that hole.”

“The Childress Case was taken from CMC and the FBI. Now this one? I’m still a good fucking detective, you let me in on this and I-“

“No.” Donnelley shook his head. “You’re helpin’ us plenty. That’s enough for me.”

“I know who the Russians in the hills are. I know who their boss is.” Dawant growled, a thread of desperation weaving itself through his words.

That caught Donnelley off guard. His brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, the frown on him twitching deeper. “Goldstar Motel.” Donnelley said, “We’ll talk later.”

Laine listened silently, jotting a few notes about the family. "So no connection through the parents, they didn't owe any coyotes or anything. Just bad luck, poor girl."

At his description of Maria's bleak life after being taken until her grisly end, Laine pressed her lips together in a line. It was something she was unfortunately too familiar with after her work with the Los Angeles field office. She took a look through the case files, faces of men that preyed on children, modern day slavers.

Laine snapped her gaze up to Duwant then shot a look at Donnelley when the man called him out. The tiny hairs stood up on the back of her neck at Donnelley's expression, the same face she saw a few nights before. She barely heard the exchange has blood drummed in her ears and a tremble ran through her.

She swallowed hard, gripping the manilla folders Andrew was about to protest Duwant getting involved when he mentioned the Russians. Laine breathed out sharply, leaning into the booth. They couldn't let this go, it was too much of a promise. And Duwant had no idea where it might lead him.

Laine looked over at Donnelley when he told the detective to meet up with the Goldstar. Her gaze was intent, trying to read his hard features, the burn scar gleaming against sun weathered skin. Turning away, she focused on Duwant, wanting to ask questions about the Russians but held her tongue. She would have a chance at the motel and the thought made her suddenly feel clammy, a cold sweat prickling the back of her neck.

"Excuse me," Laine said quickly, part of her wanting to warn Duwant somehow, the panic of what could be waiting for the man at the Goldstar starting to sink it's grip into her. "I need to use the ladies room."

Laine slid out of the booth and walked quickly towards the pink door that lead to the restroom. She had to get away because no matter how strong her desire to warn Duwant was, the pragmatic part of Laine wanted that information on the Russians. Nausea welled at the thought as she shut the door to the bathroom and went to the sink, splashing cold water on her face.



>GOLDSTAR MOTEL
>CHARLESTON, WV
>1330...///

Like the trip out from the Goldstar, the trip back was silent and full of tension. Curt words were exchanged and that was all. Donnelley shifted uncomfortably in his seat every so often and kept his eyes firmly on the view passing them by out the window. Dawant would arrive at the Goldstar later that night, but for now, Donnelley was happy to be on his own. Standing outside of his motel room, he had just lit his cigarette when he spotted Laine doing much the same outside of the women’s motel room.

They locked eyes after a quick exchange of glances. Donnelley sighed, taking the few necessary tentative steps towards her. The woman he had grown close to, that he had felt a spark that he hadn’t felt since Holly. The woman who looked at him like a murderer, just waiting for her to make the arrest. He opened his mouth to speak, the word tumbling out of his mouth hesitantly, “Hey.”

Laine took a deep drag of the black cigarette, a silent moment of appreciation to the barista who pointed her to a trendy vape shop that happened to also carry Djarums and other 'exotic' tobacco. Her frayed nerves seemed to soothe with the familiar crickling sound and the slight numbing sensation that spread down her throat. She glanced over, catching Donnelley's lean figure from the corner of her eye.

She missed him, that she could admit but what had happened could not be forgotten. It had simmered inside her, spiking anxiety at what might happen and Laine hated living on eggshells. Their eyes met and she did not look away this time.

"Hey," Laine replied back, her voice sounding rusty in her ears. She cleared her throat slightly, then flicked the building ash with a tap of her manicured nail. The tension between them was oppressive and no small talk would do, nothing about the case now. Laine finally asked, "Can we talk somewhere?"

He looked her over, taking a drag from his cigarette before he blew it out and nodded. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder in no particular direction and turned, hoping she would follow. He hated living between bitterness and hurt, and maybe clearing the air would help. If the air between them wasn’t tainted forever. What else would he come to regret and miss the longer this case went on, he wondered.

He turned back towards her once they had gotten to some distance away from the motel rooms. He held her gaze for a time, remembering fonder moments in the bar in Charleston, or the motel right after extracting Frank. He glanced away before he spoke.

“What is it?” He asked, as if he wasn’t constantly being reminded of how Michael’s death made Laine look at him with the same revulsion, fear, and hate as she would a spider on her wall.

Laine took a moment to collect her thoughts and studied his features, the bright blue eyes that held an air of sadness but she had seen them hard and deadly before. The scars, the visible momento from the thankless job he did. The one he warned her about from the beginning, it was a war not police work.

Taking a deep breath, Laine said, "I want to apologize."

The words slipped out in a rush, the guilt she had twisting in her gut. "I knew...You warned me and I knew in the back of mind what that interrogation would be. What might happen at the end. I just..."

She sighed, looking away from him and put the black Djarum to her lips but did not inhale yet the muttered, "I shouldn't have been there. I didn't help and you have your ways of doing things. And when the time came...fuck, Donnelley. I just wish I never knew what happened with Michael. And it's fucking selfish of me and I'm sorry."

Laine blinked hard and her cheeks hollowed as she took a sharp drag of the clove, the embers cracking and flaring red. She blew the smoke away from him, her arms now tightly crossed.

Donnelley was caught off guard, taken aback almost at the first words Laine let loose. In his mind, it was him that needed to apologize. But here she was, apologizing for not being a killer. Once again, he was reminded that he was not with seasoned veterans and stony-eyed killers. These were Feds, and analysts, and people who weren’t used to pruning the gene pool with a bullet or a garrote.

And he knew that he still needed to apologize. “I’m sorry too. I…” and he was at a loss for words. Guilty for not feeling guilty. She was right. “Look. Michael had it comin’…”

But even that felt wrong. He frowned, shaking his head to chase away the building temper that always flared up when his actions were morally called into question. Holly loved picking at those scabs. And here Laine was, not even meaning to. Falling victim to a habit that she had nothing to with. “Michael had it comin’. He was goin’ to kill you, kill me, kill everyone. That’s what he was goin’ to do.” Donnelley frowned, ran a hand through his black and red hair, “I needed to do everythin’ I did to make sure we didn’t become a goddamn example. Make sure they couldn’t find out who you are and go after everyone that knows you.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you to harden up. I ain’t tellin’ you to forgive me and this is why you should.” Donnelley shook his head, “Just… I needed to make sure nothin’ could make our homes unsafe. I’m sorry you had to see it all. I ain’t sorry for everything Michael spilled to us.”

Laine heard him out, nodding slightly then glanced at Donnelley, "I know he was dangerous, and I did not make it easier by saying our names like a fool. I knew that it wasn't going to end well but I tried to ignore it and pretend it was like any other interrogation. I tried to straddle a moral line and I failed. I could have walked away, I could have given all the responsibility of Michael to you and Dave but I didn't. Until it was clear there was no going back. I could not lie to myself anymore that I didn't know what would happen."

She took a drag and felt her face grow hot, a blush of shame and anger rising to her high cheekbones. "I know we needed that information and fast. You had to...but I can't settle it in my head. You executed a man. And yes he was a shit bag I'm not arguing there. But it's still murder."

Laine met Donnelley's eyes, it wasn't the first she knew it just by his demeanor. "How do I reconcile that, I catch killers. I want to ignore it, because if I can ignore it, we can go back to how it was."

She shrugged, arms still crossed in her breast with her cigarette dangling from her fingers. "But I can't, I won't, but maybe I can accept it what you have to do, because this is war. I just..."

Her green eyes flashed and she looked directly at him, meeting his gaze. "I need to know something."

Donnelley sighed, nodding, “Anythin’.”

"Do you like it?" She asked directly, watching his face.

Donnelley’s eyes narrowed, a frown growing deep in his face as the familiar aggression coiled in him. He snuffed the flame, looking away from Laine and sucking in a drag. He rolled his jaw, “I spent a couple weeks every year helpin’ my uncle out on his farm. Horses, chickens, tractors, farmer shit.” He frowned, looking at his cigarette before he continued, rolling it between thumb and forefinger as his mind played back the memories, “Coyotes get too close, you put a bullet in those, else they get to the chickens and the eggs.”

“Never liked it. Never hated it.” He looked back to Laine, shrugged, “Just somethin’ I gotta do sometimes.”

Laine raised a brow as he spoke then pursed her lips, "We're talking about people, not fucking coyotes. Nevermind about Michael, but I know it's not always some murdering asshole that gets killed to protect the Program."

Her own temper mixed with the anxiety she had felt earlier she thought about Duwant and Donnelley's casual threat. Laine gestured at him, "What about a man like Duwant, a good man trying to do the damn near impossible against the worst types of people. Who just wants to help get the people that destroyed Maria Vasquez. If he doesn't do what you and Foster want, are going to put a bullet in him too?"

His mind flashed back to his days in Working Group THUNDER. A haze of red hanging like a curtain over those times. The dirtiest of deeds, and they were the ones Foster called to do them. Donnelley held her gaze. “We hand them a lot of money and ask them to shut their fuckin’ mouths.” Donnelley said, “It’s up to them if they make us help them.”

His lip curled in contempt, no matter the feelings he had for Laine, the wistful gazes they’d shared, he refused to be judged by someone who could never understand, “There’s your goddamn answer.” Donnelley flicked his cigarette away and retreated back to his room.

Laine watched him go, her jaw clenched tight and once his door closed she tossed the butt of her black cigarette onto the parking lot. She stood for a moment, staring at the door. What she had wanted to do, clear the air and try to settle things had gone poorly. They might have had an attraction, a connection that was as tenuous as a cobweb strand now, if not completely severed by now.

"Fuck," she sighed, then lit a new cigarette, scanning the parking lot as she inhaled deeply. It was a point that had skipped her mind, the payoffs. And beyond that, Laine did not want to leave things like this. Not now.

She tossed the half smoked Djarum and walked toward his door, standing there for a moment before knocking, three sharp raps. The door opened on Laine and Donnelley stood in the doorway, “What?”

Laine took a deep breath as the door swung open and his curt question. Her normally cool expression was flustered, the color still high in her cheeks. “I...I forgot about the money,” she admitted, with a slight shrug then put her hands on her hips. “I’m just, hell...can I come inside rather than talking out here.”

Donnelley frowned, looking her up and down before he sighed and dropped his hand from the door to his side. He shook his head, glad that Laine was still willing to patch things up. The hurt from the insinuation that he was a baseless killer still thumped in his chest, but he shrugged, “Fine.” He stepped aside for her, closing the door behind her, “What do you want me to say, Laine?”

She stepped inside, crossing her arms again in a gesture she knew most took to be defensive when it was more of a self comforting action. Laine put her arms down and looked him over.

“I’m not wrong,” she started, “It’s pretty fucked up what has to happen but I understand and I’m sorry I jumped to the conclusion about Duwant. I’m also going to have to really think about this, if this is something I really want.”

Laine met his eyes and searched them, “I could just take the money and go back to my office in Quantico. Leave it up to you and the others.”

Her voice caught and a sound like between a laugh and a sob muffled beneath her hand. “Part of me wants to but I don’t think I can do that. I’m here for a reason not just bear witness but to find these monsters. And that means, I have to be okay with everything. And it scares me to know that I could probably do that.”

Donnelley’s frown softened and he brushed past her to sit on the edge of his bed, his hands coming together in his lap. Being okay with everything wasn’t what it was about. Intimidating witnesses, tampering with evidence. Making people disappear. He didn’t like it, nor did he hate it. It was just something he had to do sometimes. And she was right, still. “Laine,” he began, looking up at her from where he was sitting, “You’re goin’ at it all wrong if you think everybody’s okay with everythin’ they have to do for the Program. It’s not about that.”

“It’s not as simple as right or wrong. Good and evil. It’s all shades of gray.” Donnelley said, shaking his head. He knew what he wanted to say. That he would miss the hell out of her if she left. He looked at her, taking his moment as he took all of her in. He made her feel this way, like Holly and Tilly, like history repeating itself. “What are you going to do?”

Laine watched him as he spoke, the strain of the last few days showing as he spoke about the subtleties they faced. Her job as an FBI profiler was not shades of gray, she hunted people that killed for sadistic pleasure. It was as much a battle between good and evil as one could ask for. It was easy to be moral then but in this fight, the fight Donnelley had told her once was the only one that mattered, the means didn't matter it was only the ends.

She sighed, her hands resting on the swell of her hips, "I want to find this asshole that killed Maria Vasquez and Bethany Miller. And all those other victims who are just bones now. What, if anything, it might have to do with Dulane's Sleeper. If I have to do this the Program's way, with all that entails then..."

"Look, I'm not driving off tonight, we've been through a lot. And I want to see this through," Laine sat down on the stained motel chair, the old wooden frame creaking. The memory of their last time in a motel room, they had sat in opposite places and a different tension had been humming between them.

Laine fell silent, reaching up to brush a lock of dark hair behind her ear, and asked quietly, "What now?"

Donnelley shrugged, the only evident answer on his lips, “We find the killer.”

Silence again, as the tension between them loosened in the stillness of the room. In the wake of the last few nights, the two of them had felt a spark that burned bright. Something within them brought them together, but the prospect of Donnelley’s work, of the Program coming between them was not something he wanted to think on. Here he was, enjoying something he never expected, and never expecting the things he did not enjoy to threaten it. “What after that?” Donnelley asked quietly, leaning forwards in his seat at the edge of the bed, closer to Laine.

Laine met his eyes, the moments they shared racing through her mind. It was hard to deny, despite the fact that he was her team lead and the experience with the interrogation. She still felt it, the desire to reach out and close the gap between them.

His question held her silent for a long moment as Laine rolled everything over in her mind. She finally nodded, keeping her gaze intent on his. "You told me that this is the only war that matters, and I'm starting to understand. It's not what I'm used to, and there will be things I don't like that have to be done. I'm coming to terms with that."

She took a deep breath, her gaze moving to her hands, studying them as she replied, "I guess after we finish here...I don't know. We go back to our lives, our jobs..."

A slight half smile touched her lips and she shrugged, looking back up at Donnelley, "Or find a nice beach and a cold beer."

Donnelley’s lips curved up in a soft smile as he looked up from the toes of his shoes to Laine’s eyes. He chuckled, a soft breath escaping him as he nodded, “I’d like that.”

Laine smiled in return then pushed herself up from the chair, reluctant to end the nice moment but the others were waiting. "We should probably go before people start wondering where we are.”
Hey @Leidenschaft, you know this guy above me here. He's fucking AWESOME!
Hello @Flagg


I did do my research on him before he joined! Glad to have him on.
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