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Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead

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>ROAD TO CHARLESTON
>1100HRS...///

Ava tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove her rental car down the modestly busy highway, taking the three of them to Charleston to meet with the CID.

The drive from the Safehouse had been relatively quiet. The radio was set on a local country music station with the occasional bout of static as they drove through areas with spotty reception, offering white background noise to fill the silence between bouts of small talk between Dave and Agent Bhaat.

Ava didn't speak much as she focused on driving, using it to distract from her nerves. She was anxious, impersonating an FBI agent was hardly in her wheelhouse. She could make convincing FBI Agent fake identities, but pretending to be one...At least she had Agent Bhatt to coach her and Dave was in the same boat as her, which also helped.

“Um,” She finally spoke up as she glanced over her shoulder to merge into the next lane to head for the upcoming off ramp. They were getting pretty close, it seemed like a good time to offer up an idea she had been mulling over. “So, I thought I could research hospitals and clinics in the area? Find which ones would look the least secure and the easiest to steal from? Or which ones have a history of keeping spotty inventory? Maybe a lot of malpractice lawsuits?” She suggested, shooting a questioning look over to Agent Bhatt from the corner of her eye.

“Smart place to start,” replied Pari cooly as she set her gaze upon the scene outside of the window. “Anything that you’re able to do, discreetly, helps. Trust your instincts on it.” Her head turned to catch Ava - she didn’t want to encourage the girl to take her eyes off the road, but she offered her a smile of reassurance.

A few quiet moments passed, until Pari broke the silence again - addressing the elephant in the room, so to speak. “You’re both not FBI, and this is all of our first day - we don’t want anything to go wrong. Simply follow my lead and we’ll be alright, if you have any specific questions then now is the time.” She took a glance in the rear view mirror at Dave in the backseat, and offered him a smile too. “Before we get to the appointment, we’re to make a stop at the mall in Charleston. First step to being an FBI agent is to look like one…” her voice trailed off, and her smile grew in the rear view to show her teeth. She hoped that Dave would be amused too, and not offended.

Dave quirked an eyebrow, lips twitching in a good natured smirk. "We about to play makeover?" He asked. "Ya'll are gonna have to help me with the eyeliner, I can never get it right."

He shifted his weight around, grimacing. His carry pistol, the little p320 Compact, was still in his bag up in the mountains. All he'd had on him when he'd been picked up was his 226, complete with tactical light. Unfortunately, that had ridden on a thigh rig, which was not at all suited for interacting with the public. Now he was perched on the edge of his seat, a full-size duty pistol jammed down the back of his pants and two spare magazines loose in his cargo pocket. Things were far from comfortable.

"Hey, y'all think they got a huntin' store, or a gun store at this mall? Cuz I've got a pound-and-change of German steel stuck between a couple of vertebrae."

“There's probably a Wal-Mart.” Ava suggested, glancing back at Dave in the rear view mirror. “If not, well, we are in West Virginia. There's probably no shortage of hunting stores or ammo stores.” She grimaced as she guided them onto the off ramp. “I need a shoulder holster anyway, if I'm getting a blazer I can finally wear one discreetly.”

For what it was worth, the feeling of being a fish out of water was not unusual for Pari. She’d spent much of her life forcing herself into the shoes of an all-American girl, and for a while they had fit - and she’d been happy. But now, she wondered if she wasn’t just happier in Mumbai after all. She glanced to Ava and Dave both, and in that moment she couldn’t have felt like she had less in common with either of them. She kept those thoughts quiet, and didn’t let them leak out onto her expression however. First day jitters, that was all.

“You might make a nice woman, but it’ll take us a lot more than a slick of eyeliner - why don’t we just stick to the suit for now?” She smirked back at him, over her shoulder this time - not through the reflection of the mirror. “Hunting store? I don’t know - let’s not be taking too many diversions all at once. Eyes on the prize, yes?”

Dave grinned at her, his steel-blue eyes bright among the dark bruises around his eyes. He'd never had a problem talking to strangers; he may not always know what was going on, but he was friendly enough to get by in most situations.

"I think I can manage stayin' focused," he said, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head.

Pari chuckled before turning back to the front, “alright then Mr. MacCready.”

"You can just call me Dave," he said. "The 'mister' makes me sound old."

“How long have you been with the FBI Agent Bhaat?” Ava asked the woman curiously as she slowed to navigate the city streets, glancing around for a sign pointing them toward a mall or shopping center.

“That’s a good question… I started as an analyst when I was around 26 or so, did a job. I had a… sabbatical of sorts.” Pari sighed, a finger tapped over her thigh, she saw no reason to hide the truth, but maybe she could brush over it for now. “Not long, really. I’m… more of an academic, truthfully. What is your background Ms. Moore?” She asked, keen to move on.

“Mostly computers and information, some mechanical engineering.” Ava answered with a stiff, embarrassed shrug. “I've been a contractor for Booz-Allen for almost a decade. The past two years I've been working for The Program.” She glanced back over to Agent Bhaat. “What field of academics do you work in?” She looked back at the road and perked up noticing a sign advertising a mall. “Should we try our luck there?” She asked, nodding her head in the direction of the shopping outlet.

"Fine by me," Dave said. "I'm just along for the ride. I think Donnelley mostly sent me as muscle, since I'm not exactly a scholar." He scratched the back of his head and felt a brief spark of irritation at his missing hat. His eyes ran over the outlet, checking for threats out of habit. Locals milled about doing local things, but nobody stood out as a possible danger. He certainly didn't see anybody in dark robes wielding sacrificial knives.

"I think this spot's okay," he said. "If they even got a suit store."

“I’m sure you’re more than muscle, Dave, you might just be able to spot something we can’t,” Pari said as the car rounded a corner. “This mall should be fine too, we don’t need to make too much of a thing of it,” she added with a shrug of her own, crossing one leg over the other and placing her hands into her lap. “As for your question, I study religious iconography in crime, I’ve written a lot of papers - give lectures at my alma mater, in between my work with the Bureau, of course…”

“You think the murder might have been religiously motivated?” Ava asked curiously, steering the car over to the mall parking lot. She found an empty space easy enough and parked, picking up her small tan purse that contained her two phones, her wallet, fake FBI badge as well as her handgun and multipurpose tool.

"Not much other reason to cut people open on an altar," Dave said. "Least that's what they were doin' in my Ozarks."

He opened the car door eagerly, taking a moment to stretch before adjusting the gun jammed through his waistband. His eyes combed the parking lot again.

"Alright, let's try to make this painless," he grinned. "And no ties, that ain't negotiable. I hate the damn things, and I don't wanna get strangled because I had to put a ribbon around my neck."

“I think that Foster thinks so,” Pari said, “enough that he called me in to take a look over it all. From my conversation with Dr. Laine earlier, I’d say yes, but to what extent? I’m not yet sure.” She sounded thoughtful in her words, and once the car came to its stop she picked up her purse, checking for the third time that she had placed the wrapped bills in there. They were present. Pari also took her sunglasses out to wear. The large frames complimented her, and covered her eyes. She wanted to inconspicuous, and this way she could at least pass it off as a stylish choice. “Okay then, one hour or less for this - then we should be on our way.”

Ava nodded in agreement as she locked the car and tucked the keys away. “Wouldn’t want to keep this Detective waiting.” She said, the lenses of her glasses having darkened into sunglasses once the light of the sun hit them. She looked at Agent Bhaat, poised and professionally dressed as though she was about to step into a courtroom, and then to Dave, in rumbled flannel and worn jeans with a giant bruise taking up half his face. They weren’t the most subtle trio but hopefully people were too consumed with their own business to pay them much mind.

This promised to be an interesting shopping trip if nothing else.

"In and out," Dave nodded. "Course, might be fun pissin' off a cop and gettin' away with it for once."

He laughed at the thought. His dislike of police officers went back a long way, and he'd developed a bit of a history back in Arkansas. Nothing too serious, but he'd spent a night or two in the drunk tank, and had taken a few lumps. The county deputies in his homeland were a baton-happy sort.

"So what am I lookin' for, anyway? Black? Grey? I feel like black is gonna make it look like I'm dressed for a funeral. Blue might go well with my bruises, though."

“If you piss off a cop then it might well be your funeral…” Pari said only half-admonishingly, raising an eyebrow at Dave. He was joking, of course, and Pari was too - but still, she wanted to shoot down any notion of rebelliousness. “As for the colour, I’m feeling a navy blue too. Matches your eyes,” she smiled and turned on her heel to begin on her way in. “Is there anything that you need besides the blazer, Ava?” she asked, glancing to the colleague at her right.

“I don’t think so.” Ava answered, looking down at herself with a frown. “I need a shoulder holster but I guess that can wait since I have my purse.” She said while adjusting the straps on her shoulder. “Dr. Laine said a blazer would be enough to help me look more official.” Though she had always thought she dressed very professionally, it turned out there was a difference between IT professional and Alphabet Agent professional. This is why I have trouble with fashion.She thought with a slight frustrated crease between her eyebrows.

She looked around to make sure no one would overhear them then look up at Agent Bhaat from beneath her tinted glasses. “Have you...worked on cases like this before?” She asked.

Dave edged a little closer. "I been wonderin' that, too. I ain't got a clue how to go about interrogatin' somebody. I mean I figure we won't be using car batteries, so you're gonna have to feed me some lines, unless you want me to stand there and look pretty."

“You’re putting me on edge with all this talk, Dave,” Pari said sharply. Glancing to Ava for some assistance in reining him in perhaps. She followed it with a chuckle. “Stand and look as pretty as you can, and maybe take in the details of the room. How does that sound?” There was a confidence in her tone that she could sense the other two had been looking for, and suddenly she felt less out of place all of a sudden - she was the voice of authority here, to them, at least. She had the answers, she liked the feeling - it put her at ease and she felt decidedly less useless.

“Yes, I’ve worked cases like this - not… Not exactly like this, but I know the standard procedures and how to follow them, and so soon, will you both.” the Agent added with as reassuring of a smile as she could manage.

Ava glanced down when Agent Bhaat took a sharp tone with Dave, awkwardness and worry of an argument bubbling in her chest. She tapped her finger on her necklace and only looked back up at the mention of the case.

“Okay.” She agreed with a slight nod before glancing over at Dave to see his reaction to the instructions.

Dave laughed at the sharp reprimand, the sound carrying with it good natured humor rather than mockery.

“Alright, sorry,” he said, raising a hand. “I’m a nervous talker. Kinda outta my element. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Don’t apologise,” Pari replied, mirroring him by raising a hand of her own, “we’re all nervous - and you have more reason to be than Ava and myself to begin with, so… just be nervous with us,” she clarified, offering him a smile. “Shall we?” She said at last, turning on her heel to make her way inside.




It was a wonder they had been able to find a tailor at all, it had taken some trial and error on their part - stepping into regular clothing stores hoping for formalwear, but it was in the inbuilt department store that they’d seemed to find a winner. The place was clean and bright with a heavily polished floor, there were women in the aisles offering samples of perfumes, and even more women coaxing customers into seats to try age-defying serums and other magical products for just about every worry a woman could ever have.

Pari stood with Ava by the fitting room, the customer attendant over by the till also waiting anxiously it seemed. It was probably the first time she could say she’d been visited at her store by a bruised up gentleman, his Indian colleague, and quite possibly the shortest woman in Charleston. There had been raised eyebrows, and an attitude that would have made Vivian Ward’s toes curl. It wasn’t until she was shown cold hard cash that she understood the trio were serious.

Some twenty minutes later, after some further trial and error, and quite a collected pile of unsuitable shirts, Pari called out to the navy blue velvet curtain. “Are you ready Dave?” She then glanced down at Ava at her side with a smile.

Dave studied himself in the mirror, fussing with his collar. The stiff dress shirt was already chafing at him figuratively; he figured the literal chafing would start after a couple of hours. He bit back a bit of grumbling profanity.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” he called. After cracking his knuckles and giving the mirror a final glare he opened the curtain, pasting on a bright smile. “Well?”

The suit itself was a simple charcoal number, conservative and boring enough, in Dave’s eyes, to fit the image of a Federal agent. He’d left the jacket just a bit large to accommodate his pistol, but otherwise it fit well, accentuating his broad, fit build. His feet were jammed into a pair of leather dress shoes that made him sorely miss his hiking boots.

“Not bad, huh?” He spread his arms and turned in a circle.

Ava returned Pari’s smile then looked at the curtain as Dave walked out, cocking her eyebrows up. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised Dave cut such a nice figure in a suit, he was a fit man after all. Even the glaring bruise on his noggin didn’t detract much from his appearance, though it did make her think of an action star that had just gotten into a fight.

She smiled at him. “You look very handsome.” She said and she meant it. “Can you give us a little Blue Steel?” She asked in a gentle teasing tone.

Pari immediately pinched at the arm of her sunglasses, pushing them down her nose so she could peer over the top of the frames. She leaned forward slightly to look at him, in just about as much surprise as Ava was, “holy cabooses,” she muttered, her mouth opened slightly, and she blinked several times as if doing so would break the mirage. “I’m sorry, I thought asked for Dave - not Clark Gable…” she joked with a sigh of amused disbelief. Where was the harm in making him feel good about himself, after all?

He grinned and made a show of brushing off his shoulders, clearly pleased with the positive reactions.

“Alright then,” he said. “Step one accomplished. Glad y’all were here, or I’d still be starin’ at the racks. Or just wearing the same shit I was.” He picked up his old clothes, bundling them into a careless ball. He had already transferred the contents of his pockets to his suit trousers; the spare magazines he’d had to palm off to Ava to stash in her bag until he could get a holder for them.

“Really though, thanks for the input,” he said as he joined them.

“You’re welcome.” Ava said, adjusting her purse from one shoulder to the other, fusing with it to make sure that her new blazer didn’t wrinkle. It was a light cloud grey, a perfect complement of her skirt, shirt and her pale skin tone. “So, I guess all that’s left to do is go see the Detective?” She asked, looking between Agent Bhaat and Dave. She eyed his bruise again and wondered if they shouldn’t make a quick stop at the make-up counter.

“That’s quite alright,” Pari said, handing over the payment to the assistant, she waited for the woman to count the cash and provide the receipt, as requested by Laine. Once that had been done, she folded it and placed it in a safe pocket inside her purse. A structured navy blue tote, faux leather with two compartments, and a pocket in the front which housed her phone. She turned from the counter and gave another smile at her colleagues, looping the accessory over her left shoulder. The woman turned her wrist too, and looked at the hands on her watch - an eyebrow shot up and she bit down on her lip, exhaling from her nose. “Yes, we should leave about now. I don’t want to keep people waiting… I know you wanted to go to another store, Dave, maybe we can do that afterwards -- the three of us could even have lunch? For the purpose of work, of course” she suggested, eyes darting behind the dark lenses from Ava to Dave and back again.

Ava bit her lip, thinking about the virus she needed to work on as well as the new identity for the witness. On the other hand, it would give them a chance to go over whatever they learned with the Detective. Maybe give her a better idea of where to start digging around for their drug dealer. “I wouldn’t mind that.” She said after taking a brief moment to think it over.

Pari could sense a feeling of apprehension from Ava, and so to help level her confidence she raised a finger to the air as she had done earlier in the safehouse; “the agenda then, our meeting. We can then touch base with the cabin,” she added, leaving names out of the equation for now - they were in public afterall, “we’ll finish up in town for shopping-” her gaze moved to Dave, and the casual manner in which she spoke suggested that she was simply referring to a grocery run. “If there is time after that, we’ll find somewhere to eat together to decompress. Then head back to the cabin shortly after.”

Dave fiddled with his shirt cuffs as the women planned. Ava seemed sharp as a whip, and Pari clearly knew what she was doing. He was content to let them handle the schedule. This was mostly their gig, anyway; Foster had put him on the tactical team, which made the best use of his skills. As far as he was concerned, he was a bodyguard for the day.

“That sounds good,” he said. He gave Ava a friendly nudge, and then caught Pari’s eye. “My shoppin’ list can wait, none of it’s that important. I think makin’ time for a bite to eat sounds better.”

Ava looked up at Dave with a small smile at the nudge and then back to Agent Bhaat. “Okay, I like the sound of that.” She fiddled with the collar of her blazer. “We don’t...need to tell anyone we had to get this from the Junior Miss section, right?” She asked, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.

“I won’t say anything about it,” Pari said with a shrug as they moved through the store towards the exit. “At least not to the team, I can’t promise I won’t say something to you though,” she added with a measure of innocuous humour to her tone, laughing softly at herself.

“Aw, don’t listen to her,” Dave said. He patted her on the shoulder. “I think the jacket looks great. Now what time did we have to have you home by?”

It was they way that Dave executed his joke that cracked through the professional veneer that Pari tried her best to maintain, and she brought a hand to her mouth and laughed into it, stopping in her tracks to try to brush it off. She reached her free hand around Ava's back and gave him a light slap across the arm.

Ava blushed brighter but still had a slight smile on her lips from the gentle teasing. “Before the street lights come on.” She told him, trying to inject a grave note into her tone and not entirely succeeding.

“Well, we better get a move on then. Daylight’s burnin’,” he said. He glanced over at Pari, quirking an eyebrow. “Unless you want to make it dinner instead of lunch?”

“Oh, I’m sure the others would worry if we were out for that long, Dave.” Pari answered, once again able to find her level of composure. She began forwards, moving past the joke now - there was only so much she was willing to press Ava.

“I also have work waiting for me at the cabin when we finish with the Detective.” Ava reminded Dave gently as she followed along behind Agent Bhaat. “I don’t want to put it off for too long.”




>CHARLESTON, WV
>STATE POLICE STATION, SOUTH CHARLESTON
>1220HRS...///

When the door opened, the State Trooper manning the desk lifted her eyes at the three oddballs. Glimpses of them offered between the passing officers and detectives bustling around. Ever since the Blackriver Case activity in the place had ticked up to an unlikable degree for some, and a satisfying fast pace for others. Another suit had come in before these three to see Detective Roy and the arrival of even more was not a good sign. Either for the arrival of them like the four horsemen of the apocalypse signaled something big in West Virginia, or just the very mundane and normalized eye-rolling of having Feds swing their dicks around in your neck of the woods.

They approached the desk and State Trooper Morales rose, not even bothering with a greeting, “Detective Roy, yeah? This way.”

In a few moments time, they were at the detective’s door. As if she could sense their presence, Roy answered, opening the door wide for the three of them. A slight hint of confusion on her face that it was not Laine or Davidson at the door. She waved them in anyway, closing the door after them. She sat at her desk and there was another suited gentleman seated at the other end of the room, adjacent to her. An older man, age apparent in the wrinkles and crow’s feet on his dark skin, tight curls of gray atop his head. He nodded at them, Manila folder on his lap.

Roy piped up, hurried tone but friendly smile, “Sit, there’s a lot to go over.” She gestured to the two seats on the opposite side of her desk before gesturing to the man that had preceded them, “This is Joe Dawant, a former Detective for the Washington State Police working with us on this case.”

“Hello.” Joe smiled and nodded again as the three investigators took their seats, “I’m here on behalf of the CMC, Center for the Missing Child. We are a non-profit organization that helps law enforcement in cases of violence and exploitation of young children and teens. This case has some… far-reaching roots. It crosses state lines, that is. A lot of them.”

He coughed into a fist, gravelly barks from years of smoking, “I don’t believe I’ve caught your names.”

“Good afternoon Detective Roy, Detective Dawant, I’m Agent Parinaaz Bhatt, these are my colleagues, Agents Taylor and Miller.” Pari said with a levelled confidence as she stood forwards, glad that they had gotten Dave in a suit, and Ava into a blazer. She hadn’t been expecting another presence in the meeting, and it just reaffirmed to her that anything less than perfect simply would not do. “I’ve liaised with the Washington State Police more than once. They run a tight ship.” she added, in as diplomatic a fashion as she could, her eyes bright and inquisitive in the room.

What he had followed with interested her - she knew of the existence of the CMC, to hear that he had a case in Charleston set something ringing in her mind. She glanced to Ava, as if to check the woman was alright and gave her a confident smile. “I’ve also heard of the CMC, Detective Dawant, I’m curious as to how the case has brought you all the way from Seattle…”

Ava responded to Agent Bhaat’s smile with a polite nod, opening her purse to pull out a hardcover black notebook. She had picked it up when they were shopping for her blazer. A small cache of school supplies had been set out in anticipation for the end of summer and it gave her the idea to take notes during the meeting. It gave her something to do, made them appear more professional and she could note down anything said that might be of interest to the case that wasn't in the files.

She looked up at Detective Roy and former Detective Dawant with a raised eyebrow. “I hope it's okay if I jot down notes?” She asked, trying not to stare specifically at Joe. To hear that this case may have multiple victims across state lines, especially children, made her stomach curl.

“Of course,” Joe nodded, “So, as Detective Roy would be able to tell you, the dental records came back on your Jane Doe. It matched with a cold case in Seattle, Pacific Highway area.”

He frowned a bit deeper, shaking his head, “I’m sure most of you know that with the airport nearby it makes Pacific Highway a place ripe for abductions and sex trafficking. Rapes and drugs are prevalent in the area. Meth, coke, black tar, you name it.” He placed his folder on the table and opened it to reveal pictures of a twelve year old girl, Hispanic, smiling at a birthday party with her parents and a few friends. Her first day getting ready for school in the US, playing in the park, hugging her mother. “This is your Jane Doe. Maria Vasquez has been missing for years. Five. And in those five years, CMC has been trying to track her down with everything we had at our disposal. Contacts in the FBI, US Marshals, ICE, because State Police is overworked as it is and Seatac Police?”

He snorted, “I don’t fucking trust any of them. If they’re not harassing people and ripping off drug dealers, they’re fucking hookers.” His eyes darkened as his head downturned, “I know this. But this,” his finger tapped one of the photos of Maria, “This is the first real break in this case we’ve had. And she’s not the only girl missing.”

“International Parental Abductions is what we’re looking at. Children with foreign born parents are taken from their mothers and fathers and shipped off someplace else. Cartels do it all the time in the southern states and as their meth and heroin travel north, they bring girls south.” He crossed his arms and nodded at the picture in the folder, “Maria Vasquez. Taken when she was twelve. I’ve been trying to bring her parents peace for five years, because everyone else but me and the CMC gave up.”

“We’ve been able to prosecute two perps working for the Sinaloa cartel around the Port of Tacoma and the Seattle area, five more in Los Angeles and San Francisco in relation to cases connected to Maria Vazquez’s abduction from Seatac and a fucking slew of other minors. We have reason to believe that Sinaloa and/or Tamaulipas cartel are operating in and around West Virginia.” He stepped back to his chair, “It could explain… the, uh, state… of Maria Vasquez. Cartels are ruthless and brutal to rivals and those they associate with. She could have been used as an example to what happens to drug mules or sex workers that belong to the other side. As the capitol city in West Virginia, Charleston has the population to support a drug and sex trade operation.”

Pari took hold of the picture of the girl, of Maria Vasquez, and she made sure to examine every detail of her in that picture. Her smile and the way that the photograph had captured happiness in a single frame. The look in her eyes of a future - that she had probably been too young to consider, because twelve years old is still about school and playing children's games. Her hairstyle - probably with her mother's assistance. She never reached the age of fighting back against her mother, rebelling just a little bit. Learning about herself. She stopped being twelve when she was taken, and that stung Pari but it was exactly that reason that made it so important to place Maria Vasquez in her memory, so she would be more than the girl stripped bare. More than Jane Doe, more than flesh. These photos were her soul, and Pari would honour that.

She drew her eyes back from Maria, and then to Dawant and Roy in turns, the very same veneer that Dave had cracked earlier was mended, there were no signs of even a hairline on it now, just an inscrutable severity. She looked at Maria, and in a way she saw herself. Born of immigrant parents, it was status and circumstance that stopped them from being one and the same. She thought of Rohan too, but it had to be compartmentalised for now. So she placed the photograph down, glancing to Ava - she was doing well with her notes. Good. She'd pick up the exact language and phrasing, Pari was digging beyond that, and they needed both pieces to create a whole picture. Three pieces in fact, and her gaze shifted to meet Dave's eyes.

"You said there are other missing children," Pari said finally, cutting through the tension at last, "I'm guessing you have the information on them with you? Are there any links between these missing children? Communities, shared schools?" She didn't think that cartels were behind her murder - at least not leaving her body in such a state - but her theories were for Team UMBRA only, they were for Dr. Laine to filter through with her psychology expertise and find the truth of it, but cartels were a damned obvious place to start anyway. She squinted slightly, vexed that she hadn't thought of that herself. "And the information on the cartels, the perpetrators you've already put through - I might find those profiles useful within our investigation, too."

“Yes, of course,” Joe nodded, “I'll have to go through the channels, you know, but I can get them to you in reasonable time.”

He shrugged then, frowning slightly, “But I’m afraid profiles on the perps, their connections, everything like that, I don’t have on me currently. Detective Roy called CMC and CMC called me. Rapid Response, I can get you that information in time, but I’m also here to advise as well. First and foremost, really.”

"Please," Pari said softly, this had really hurt the man. Spending that long in a case. "Take your time, it just helps us to see the bigger picture, and we will, together."

“I’m mainly here to tell you about Maria, a background on potential leads. Now that that’s done, well.” He left the rest unsaid, conveying it in his looks at Roy and the rest, “Feel free to keep the folder. It’s all copies from our database anyway. If you need me, just ring. Or Roy will.”

He handed over a business card, “Anything else?” He asked, “Parents’ number? They’ll want to speak to the people who found their girl. Thank all of you. I’m going to arrange for Maria to be brought back to Washington for a proper burial.” He had a smile that was heavy at the corners, “If any of you have the time, I’m sure I or CMC could tell you where the grave is.”

She held the business card in her hand, and placed it into her purse. Pari could feel the strain, that this was painful and personal for him, and she gave him a nod of her head. "I would appreciate that, Detective Dawant. If there is anything at all, we have your details." There was nothing much else that could be said on that matter, and as she had done already, she took a look at both Ava and Dave - it was heavy subject matter, and she wondered if they would want to talk about it once they left - to be emotional, in whichever way that manifested for them.

Ava kept her head down as she jotted down notes, she may not be an investigator but she knew how to take detailed notes. It also helped keep her mind off the tragedy that befell Maria and her family. Five years. What had her life been like those horrible five years? And why kill her now?

She glanced up feeling eyes on her and she met Agent Bhaat’s sympathetic brown eyes. She gave a ghost of a smile to show she was okay and then it was gone as she looked at the Detectives.

Part of her wanted to spare Detective Joe anymore of the gruesome details. He didn't need to know what kind of torture that little girl went through before she died. She could already see how much the case had weighed on him and for it to end like this…

She went back to taking notes.

Dave, true to his word, had sat quietly throughout the interview. Pari seemed to have things well in hand, and while the questions were more common-sense than he’d expected, he didn’t feel a need to interject. Everything was running smoothly, which made him feel much more confident in his role as Agent Miller, FBI.

While Pari asked the questions and Ava took notes, he occupied himself by simply sitting back and listening. As the story progressed he had to make a conscious effort to keep his mouth shut and his face impassive. A twelve-year-old girl, kidnapped...It made his blood boil. He clenched his jaw tightly when he saw the picture, quickly finding something else to look at. Dave didn’t consider himself a violent man. He had always preferred talking to fighting, and despite his childhood (or perhaps because of it) his few bar fights had always developed after deescalation had failed. But this...It made him killing mad. It reaffirmed, in his eyes, that the people behind this had righteous judgement coming, and he was willing, perhaps even eager, to be God’s vengeful hand in this matter. Killing these men wouldn’t burden his conscience in the least.

As the talk wound down a thought occurred to him, and he raised a hand to draw the attention of those present.

“The drugs,” he said. “We found some...Uncommon drugs in the victim’s system. Stuff you wouldn’t find over the counter. You think y’all could give us a list of...You know… Local dealers, ones with a history of dealin’ hard-to-find stuff? Maybe some doctors who’ve been known to make some side money with their prescription pads?”

Roy frowned, “Uh, define ‘hard-to-find.’”

“Well, the drugs we found were sedatives,” Dave said. “The kind that paralyze you, but don’t really knock you out. They wouldn’t be somethin’ you’d get from a cook out in the boonies. So...Anybody with a history of dealin’ stuff you’d need access to a doctor for. Pills, things you can’t synthesize on your own, that you’d need to have a contact to get?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Roy nodded, “There’s a few people we’ve put away I can put you in contact with. It’ll take some time to schedule visits, but you can talk to them.”

“I can get you a list and send it to Special Agent Forrest or Davidson.” Roy said, “That good?”

Ava noted that down and looked back up, pushing her large round glasses up her nose after they slid down. “That would be perfect, thank you Detective.” She said with a small nod of her head. If she could get their names, there was little she wouldn't be able to dig up on them.

Pari gave a thankful nod to both Ava and Dave, before turning back to Dawant; “I’d like us to stay in touch on this, I’m a Seattle native myself - when I’m back there we should touch base. I understand this has been tough and drawn out for you,” the woman said, a softness in her tone now, and a warmth in her posture as she relaxed into the chair. “We’re going to do all that we can for Miss Vasquez and her family,” she added, confidently with a nod of her head. “We’ll dig deeper into those drugs and their source, the information on the cartel will be of great importance - and those missing children’s files will help our psychologist in profiling. Thank you, Detective Dawant.”

“Oh, uh,” Dawant pulled his phone free from inside his coat, smiling at the three of them, “We could exchange contact information. I’d probably have a better chance at getting things to you more timely if it didn’t have to come down from Forrest or Davidson.”

“Plus,” The older man winked at Pari, giving her a grin, “Us Seattleites gotta stick together out here, huh?”

"Of course, I have your details on your card," Pari said with a smile, tapping the front of her purse, "but here - take one of mine too," she added - reaching in to take one of her own from inside. A plain white cardstock with fine font, standard for FBI agents - generic in detail. Pari took a breath in through her nose as she held it out, currently unsure on Dawant, but a contact was a contact. She made a mental note to tell Foster about the encounter, that the Detective seemed friendly, and they'd found a commonality. Something as simple as being from the same place was enough to make a useful bond in someone. It might yield more information for the investigation, she shook his hand.

The woman turned back to Roy, offering a polite nod and her hand. "We look forward to hearing from you soon," she finished, glancing to Ava and Dave, they might have had their own parting words.

Dave stood and adjusted his jacket. Pari’s willingness not only to use her real name but to hand over her contact information had surprised him, but he figured it wasn’t his business. She knew what she was doing.

“‘Preciate the help,” he said. “We’ll keep y’all in the loop.”

Ava nodded as she shut her notebook and tucked it back into her purse. “Yes, thank you.” She said with a smile as she stood. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you both.” Hopefully they would get those drug dealer’s names soon and then they could really get to work tracking this mad man down.




The ride back was waves of asphalt and blurred trees. Ava volunteered to drive again, it was her vehicle, and Dave was sat in the back as he had been earlier too - which left Pari in the passenger seat. After a moment, the woman broke from her silence, turning in the seat so that she could see them both; “you both did well in there.” Pari’s tone was, as usual, somewhat clipped but there was a warmth to it now. The pressure of the task was off, and she even found herself slouching slightly in the chair.

“I understand this was thrust on you both, it’s not something in the parameters of your regular roles. That said,” her head tilted, eyes catching the scene beyond the windows, a soft focus through movement of green, grey, and what little blue peeped from between heavy clouds. “You both did well, we got what we needed and more than that too. Thank you both,” Pari added sincerely, placing a closed fist on her chest.

Dave grinned at the description. Not in the parameters… That was a hell of an understatement.

“Hey, thanks,” he said, straightening in his chair with just a hint of pride. “But you did most of the work. You kinda carried the team on this one. I think you deserve the thanks.” He thumped the back of Ava’s chair. “You too. You did good in there, I’m sure you were even more nervous than me.”

“Oh,” Ava jumped at the thump on her chair, her mind snapping out of the train of thought she had been locked in. She looked into the rearview mirror back at Dave with a small smile. “Thank you, I hope my notes will be useful for the others. And thank you for bringing up the drugs, they almost slipped my mind because of, well...” She trailed off and looked back to the road, thinking back to the little girl in the picture they saw and then the skinned corpse that was left of her.

Ava looked over at Pari, trying to push the thoughts from her mind as she gave her a grateful expression with a ghost of a smile. “Thank you for taking the lead, I learned a lot just listening to you talk with the Detectives.”

“Thank you, but, no carrying by anyone - we’re a team. But thank you,” Pari smiled, chuckling softly too before turning back to face the front again. She found that she couldn’t sit still, however. There was something still clawing at her - and while it was most likely the elephant in the car, it still had to be addressed. “I know that it can be quite difficult to deal with some of the subject matter - if either of you wish to talk about it, then please…” she said, as tactfully as she could without directly having to say it all again. Maria Vasquez’s life. “It’s good to talk about these things, so please don’t feel like you can’t, and that you need to keep it all inside.”

Dave’s mind was cast back to the photographs; the young girl, then the skinned, abused corpse she’d become. He felt the rage return and he clenched a fist, taking a breath to master himself.

“I just think...That we need to find these guys,” he said finally. His voice was calm, collected. Dangerously so. “We need to find ‘em, and then...We can make sure they stop doin’ this. We’ll take care of ‘em.”

Ava nodded in agreement. “If we can get those names of the drug dealers and even just get their electronics, I’ll be able to find whoever they sold those drugs too. I’ll work on the hospital list too, just to cover our bases.” Ava said with a frown, trying not to dwell on the five year gap between when Maria disappeared and when she was found again.

And yet… “Why wait five years?” She found herself asking out loud with a furrow to her freckle speckled brow. “Is there some kind of...occult significance to the number 17?” She asked, looking over to Pari curiously.

“I mean there are many if you turn over enough stones,” Pari began curiously, her eyes narrowing as her mind got to work in formulating words and theories. “I’m less concerned about the age and more about her background…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes closed. “Women have been used in occult rituals since they began - we all know the cliches - throw a virgin into a volcano, right? Witch hunting and burning,” She sighed, bringing her forefinger to her lips. “Her manner of death is curious, she was flayed. There are so many threads to this that we could clutch at. Ava, there is an occult significance to just about everything that has happened to her.”

Pari sighed again, gnawing over a particular thread that she’d pressed already with Laine. “Have you heard the story of Andromeda?” she asked them both.

“Oh! I love that story!” Ava said, her eyes suddenly brightening. “With the Greek Hero Perseus right?” Her mother had read her many classical myths and stories for bedtime, it was one of her favorite childhood memories. Her mind drifted back to that time, vividly recalling being bundled up in bed in her Batman pajamas, watching in wrapt awe as her mother excitedly told her stories of ancient heroes and demigods. Looking back on it, her mother really cleaned up a lot of the more...mature themes, but the heroics and excitement still got across.

The excited light in her eyes quickly dimmed and grew wide as she realized where Agent Bhaat was going with this. “Oh.” She said, her voice dropping down to a quieter note.

Dave looked from one woman to the other, his confusion plain. Greek mythology had never factored heavily into his childhood, and his “schooling” hadn’t instilled much of a love of the written word. He read slowly, when he read at all, and that usually wasn’t unless it was directly related to something he was working on.

“So uh...Let’s say, for a minute, that somebody didn’t know who Andromeda was,” he said. “You know, hypothetically. What would y’all tell him?”

“Well,” Pari began, turning in her chair to face Dave. She paused again before speaking, thinking of how best to explain it, as simply as she could; “The King and Queen of… Ancient Greece, and they had a beautiful daughter, Andromeda.” She explained, her eyes were bright as she both thought and told of the myth, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “The Queen bragged so heavily of the beauty of Andromeda, claiming that she was more beautiful than the… Sea Nymphs! This of course angered Poseidon, and so he took Andromeda and chained her to a rock, so that a sea monster, could ravage her and satisfy his hunger.”

Pari paused and glanced at Ava, she had watched the girl shrink following the realisation of the comparison. “Of course, in this tale Andromeda is saved by the great hero Perseus - there are several iterations and ways to tell the muth, but it is simply one of many stories of sacrifice, punishment, and ritual.”

“So...These guys are, what...Givin’ the girls to the monster, you think?” Dave’s frown deepened as tried to wrap his head around the parallels between the myth and their case. “Is that what you’re sayin’?”

Pari shrugged in response, pursing her lips slightly. She wasn’t sure how much to say, how many theories to pull from her mind and make real by vocalising them. “I’m saying that I don’t believe it was simply cartel violence.”

“The Program wouldn’t be involved if it was just the Cartels anyway.” Ava voiced, as she spotted the familiar bright orange and white signage of a Home Depot approaching them. She thought it over as she tried to make her way over to the home improvement store. Her mind flashed back to the pictures of the crime scene, her photographic memory unfortunately recalling every vivid detail from the quick glimpse of the body.

She sniffed and blinked her eyes, her chest feeling tighter as she steered the car over in the direction of the large box store.

“If it was just a Cartel thing I wouldn’t have spent two days in the mountains tryin’ not to get eaten by a giant-ass monster,” Dave added. He fought a shudder of his own, remembering the heavy footsteps, the unearthly roars, and Bear being ripped through a window like he was a rag doll. “Whatever the hell that thing was, it’s connected to all of this shit. Gotta be.”

That gave Pari pause for thought, she’d been avoiding the other elephant in the room. As the car pulled towards the store, she glanced down, bringing a finger to her lips again. “Dave, if it’s not too strange a request - I’d like to speak to you privately about that… About what happened. If you’d like to, if you’re comfortable with that.” She blinked, suddenly hoping that Ava would not find offense in the request. She recalled Donnelley’s comment about sharing everything. It was not that she wanted to leave anyone out, more that - she wanted to make something of the conversation that travelled outside of words. “Could we do that later? I would of course find it beneficial to my research to speak to the others too,” she added as a formality, sweeping her bangs back again.

“Yeah, we can talk,” he said. “Might be good to talk about it a little. I’m gonna need a beer or two, though. That was some…” He shook his head, trying to find the words. “It was some messed up shit.”

Ava grimaced and looked back at Dave in the rearview mirror with sympathetic eyes. She didn’t fully understand what had happened to him in those mountains, but she wished she had some way to help him. It sounded like Agent Bhaat did though, that was good.

“Hey, found a Home Depot.” She spoke up quietly with a slightly unsure smile, hoping that might pick his spirits back up as she pulled the car into the parking lot.

“I’ll give you a knock later then,” Pari said in his direction, before looking forward again to the building, she could sense that Ava felt a little off - but that she was trying. Quickly, a smirk grew on Pari’s lips, turning her mouth up at the corners, almost deviously. “We should hurry Dave,” she looked back over her shoulder again, her countenance inviting, tone not serious in the least, “we don’t want to keep young Ava here out too late now, do we?”

Dave’s own grin was back in a moment, his blue eyes sparkling. “Yeah, she won’t be allowed to come play with us anymore,” he drawled. He drummed on the back of Ava’s seat, then opened his door. “C’mon, I got a list of stuff I need. I figure we get inside, split up, get the different stuff on the list. Makes it a little less suspicious than us all wearin’ suits, walkin’ out of a hardware store with fertilizer, metal pipes, and electrical kits.” He paused. “You think Foster’s got any of them pre-paid phones layin’ around? Cuz I can use those too. Ah well, we’ll figure that out.”

He heaved himself up out of the car, taking a moment to adjust his gun. “C’mon, Cinderella, daylight’s burnin’.”

Ava sighed, but smiled, happy with the lightening of the mood; especially for Dave. She grabbed her purse and opened her door to step out. “I hope my car doesn’t turn into a pumpkin. I don’t remember reading that in the rental agreement.” She said with a small grin as she shut the door.

A slight crawling sensation tickled the back of her neck and up to her hairline, making her reach up and rub it. She looked around the parking lot with a curious if slightly nervous frown. Nothing stood out to her as being out of the ordinary.

It must have just been residual nerves and anxiety brought on by the meeting. She tried to push it to the back of her mind as she wait for Agent Bhaat to join them and she could lock the car.

If Ava had felt something, then Pari did too. A lingering sensation that something wasn’t quite right. A disturbing energy that washed in on the breeze and threatened her leveled confidence as she pushed the door closed, feeling it click. Her hand did not move from the handle, and she looked over her shoulder at her two colleagues. Eyes narrowed, and she gripped her purse tighter.

“Well… between the three of us, my list is all candles, bowls, trinkets of sorts. I think we’ll get away with it,” her words were spoken with a tapering cadence, and her smile was an uncomfortable one. “Just home improvements...”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Dave looked at the women with a frown, then played his eyes over the parking lot. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood briefly on end, but he shrugged it off, gave his Sig a comforting pat, and then jerked his head towards the Home Depot. “C’mon. Let’s buy some terrorist shit.”
Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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>ROAD TO CHARLESTON
>6 MILES TO MOTEL 6
>1200HRS...///

“Nobody impedes our progress.” Donnelley’s Texan was running through his speech like a bronco as he push-checked his .40 cal and placed it in his lap, “Jason, you stay put. Just survey the scene and let us know if anybody seems off.”

“Laine, we’ll go in there, grab him. We’re out and away quick as we can make it. We only interview him at the Safehouse.” Donnelley nudged her as she drove, giving a smile at Jason through the rear view, “Gettin’ fun now, ain’t it?”

Laine pulled out of the tavern parking lot, glancing at Donnelley as she turned onto the street. "He said he thought someone might be watching him, and I wouldn't doubt it."

She caught his smile and felt a reluctant grin tug at the corners of her mouth, "You're enjoying this too much."

Donnelley’s eyes tracked a lone billboard as it passed, a weatherworn and rusty-cornered thing, ‘Remember God Loves You.’

“Just a good feelin’ gettin’ out the office. Couple friends, some guns, some danger.” He flashed a wicked grin and shoved a cigarette into it, lighting up to savor the moment, “This life’s good sometimes.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Jason returned Donnelley’s smirk from the backseat. The sound of his handgun’s slide being racked and the business in his eyes told Donnelley the man was ready for anything.

The Explorer rolled out towards the edge of town, passing the weathered birdshit streaked sign that marked the end of Whitetree and entering Blackriver County. They headed south along the highway, passing the occasional peeling billboard set against the rolling green mountains advertising the next Dairy Queen or Chevron gas stations. They passed a lone billboard, Motel 8 exit 63 in five miles. Laine glanced at it, sixty bucks a night on a lumpy suspicious mattress and a free breakfast of cereal cups and stale croissants. She had stayed at enough during her consulting trips to know the one down the road was the same as any. Same mediocre art prints, same TV bolted to the wall, the same Bible in the drawer. The safehouse was a nice change.

In quick order and quiet driving, the three of them came up on the hotel. It was a dingy little thing, a courtyard parking lot with the hotels attached to the front office, their front doors all opening out straight to the parking lot. Two levels, and Donnelley estimated probably forty rooms. He took note of the cars, however few there were, in the parking lot. Most of them were tired SUVs and sedans from the dawn of the 2000s that hadn’t looked to be washed in a good while. Their brakes squeaked into one of the many empty parking spaces, Donnelley’s eyes scanning their surroundings. “Alright, all business from here. Jason, I’ll keep you on my phone. Laine, let’s go.”

Donnelley pushes open his door and shoved his handgun inside his IWB holster, taking another scan of the parking lot. He retrieved his phone, ringing up Jason and nodding at the man through his window before he and Laine made their way from the car towards Frank’s room. “Which room was he in?” He asked Laine, keeping his eyes on the hotel windows and the quiet parking lot.

Laine parked the SUV and got out, adjusting her Glock on the shoulder holster beneath her blazer. She scanned the parking lot, checking to see if any of the vehicles had people waiting and watching.

"204, second floor," she replied, knowing the layout of cheap motels rarely varied. "This way."

Laine walked quickly to the first flight of outdoor stairs, creaking steel steps showing flakes of rust around the bolts.

“Okay,” Donnelley nodded at Laine’s back as he followed her up the stairs. A few steps until they got to the door marked 204 and Laine rapped her knuckles on the door. Seconds passed by in agony as Donnelley turned away from Laine, watching her 6 o’clock.

The door opened after a bit and Frank sheepishly chuckled at the sight of Laine, relief apparent in the soft huffs, “You’re here!” He exclaimed.

Laine gave him an assured smile, "I told you we would be. Now grab your stuff, the car is waiting."

She glanced back at Donnelley, "Everything good?"

“Ye- Wait…” Donnelley’s eyes narrowed to slits as they tracked a Dodge Charger rumble into the parking lot, coming to a stop in the middle of it. “Jason…”

“I’m tracking him.” Jason’s voice came from his phone.

The passenger side door of the Charger opened up and a man in a black t-shirt stepped out, blonde hair under a gray baseball cap, folding his thick arms as he looked up at the two of them at Frank’s door. “Y’all some friends of Frank’s?”

Donnelley glanced back at Laine and noted Frank busy with packing his things. Why he hadn’t done it before they got there had him cursing everything about this. He turned back to the man in the Charger, “Sure am!” He smiled, a baring of fangs in his mouth, “Who’re you?”

“Just some friends of Frank’s too.” The man smiled and nodded, “You look scared, partner.”

Donnelley’s smirk hadn’t left him as he sucked his teeth and took a step towards the handrail of the balcony. He took a moment to scan the road for more cars and then snorted something into his face and hocked it out in the Charger’s direction. “Nah.”

The man in the Charger nodded a few times, slow, his smile fading more with each dip of his head. “Alright. I’ll be seein’ ya ‘round now!”

“Lookin’ forward to it, hoss.” Donnelley waved as the man retreated back into the Charger. The car didn’t move an inch, and neither did Donnelley’s eyes away from it.

He turned his head slightly towards Laine, “Tell Frank to hurry the fuck up.” He brought his phone closer to his mouth, “Jason, they even look at you wrong, I want you to light them the fuck up.”

“Uh huh.” Came Jason’s stern acknowledgment. The beating of his heart apparent in Donnelley’s ears as he made himself look as steady as he could for Laine and Frank.

Laine heard the stranger's voice and cursed internally. No luck in a clandestine operation, there was certainly eyes on them. She stepped inside, "Frank, seriously. We need to move. Anything you don't have in that bag can be replaced, come on."

She stepped back out, glancing at Donnelley then at the Dodge Charger. Without a word she met his eyes and held them, her hand brushing the lapel of her blazer in a gesture that let the Glock peek out. As Frank was exiting the room she asked in a low voice, "Do you think that dude will give us trouble between here and the truck? Maybe I should flash my badge."

Donnelley shook his head, placing his hands on his hips in easy reach of his holstered pistol, “Somethin’ tells me he doesn’t give a shit about badges.” He clucked his tongue, “He’s goin’ to wait until it’s them and us and no one else. It’s what I’d do. He’s just tryin’ to spook us by showin’ up like this.”

“Which means,” Donnelley rose his voice, “that we should probably hurry the fuck up, Frank.”

“Okay, okay!” Frank hopped to attention and stood at the doorway. It took everything Donnelley had to not grab Frank by the collar and haul him to the Suburban.

“Let’s go.” Donnelley said, turning for the stairs.

They made the walk to the Suburban and loaded Frank into the back with Jason, every limping step Donnelley took he expected a bullet, lightning bolts of fear coursing through him and bidding him to run. The firefight never happened. Donnelley counted that as a plus as he climbed into the passenger seat after loading Frank next to Jason, Donnelley wincing and hissing as he gingerly lifted his injured leg into the passenger seat, slamming the door. “Just drive. We’re not going to the Safehouse. We go to Charleston, rent a different car and then go to the Safehouse at night.” Donnelley tore his gaze from the Charger to Laine, “Understood?”

Laine put the truck in gear and backed out of the parking spot, looking over her shoulder. She nodded, "Got it."

Her voice was tense, the mood translated in the tight shoulders and the stark line of tendon along her neck. She had to trust Donnelley now, it was his experience that would get them out of this. As she tore out of the parking lot, Laine gripped the steering wheel, forcing herself not to floor it down the highway. The last thing they needed was some Blackriver deputy pulling them over.

"Is he following?" She asked, glancing up at the rear view mirror. Laine looked back over at Donnelley, the fine worry line forming between her brows, "How's your leg holding up?"

Jason thrust his thumb over his shoulder, from which Donnelley could see that the Charger was still behind them, though following from a good distance. Donnelley nodded to Laine and then answered as he put his attention back on where they were headed down the road, “Jason, be ready to put some rounds down-range if you need to. It’s all country from here to Charleston,” Donnelley rolled his jaw and muttered, “Prime opportunity to get rid of us.”

He rubbed at his leg, chuckling nervously, “Fuckin’ throbbin’ after those stairs.” He glanced at Laine, “Just drive. We’ll make it okay.”

“Frank, how you doin’?” Donnelley asked, eyes still on the road ahead.

“I’m, uh, I’m alright.” Frank said between glances at the Charger.

“Keep your head down. This thing’s armored, no rounds are getting through that glass.” He said, a half-lie. He knew the vehicles Foster had procured for the team were armored, but they wouldn’t stand much of a chance against explosives or large calibers.

“O-okay.” The young Forest Ranger nodded, shimmying lower into his seat.

An hour of steady driving brought them the gift of seeing the sign telling them they’d entered Charleston. In time, they saw the buildings, people, cars. Modern life and people living it, blissfully unaware the two cars that had just entered their sleepy existences were itching to pull over and have a good old fashioned shootout or a high speed chase. To Laine’s credit, she guided them true through the city, following Donnelley’s directions to take them through crowded streets and making turns that often doubled back on where they had just been a few street signs before.



>CHARLESTON
>GOLDSTAR MOTEL
>ZERO HOUR...///

After a tense block of time that Donnelley couldn’t gauge, they’d shaken their tail, bored or looking to watch for another opportunity to intercept them. They checked into the first cheap motel they found, exchanging one cheap safe haven for another. They’d gotten a smoking room, Jason and Frank in the room adjacent, connected by a door between. Donnelley took his fingers from between the blinds and sat back down in the chair he’d made as his roost. His cigarette smoldered in the ash tray and the smell of tobacco mingled with clove. The lights were off, the only source being the residual glow of the streetlights.

The intensity of the morning had wound down and with it, the conversation. He guessed not being faced with death was an easy opportunity for shoulders to grow cold once more. He rolled his eyes, not about to prod at that fire. He glanced at Laine again before deciding his efforts were best spent on finishing his cigarette.

Laine rubbed her tired eyes, the smoke from her cigarette drifting up from the ashtray on the nightstand. She had kicked her shoes off and sat up on the bed, pillows propping her against the headboard. She watched Donnelley as he kept an eye on the parking lot but it seemed like they had lost their tail for now.

Her thoughts drifted to the night before and the morning, to the hostility and jealousy he had displayed. Laine sighed, picking up her black Djarum and took a long drag before tapping it back into the heavy glass ashtray. She shifted against the headboard, feeling the restrictive band of her bra which would have been off by now on any normal night. Laine glanced at Donnelley who was smoking with a concentration then shook her head. The fuck if she would sit here uncomfortable because of his presence.

She reached behind under her shirt and unhooked her bra then pulled her arm through each sleeve and the straps, pulling it out from the bottom of her sweater. Laine sighed deeply with relief, dropping the black satin lingerie beside her on the bed.

Freedom.

Now more comfortable, she leaned back and picked up her cigarette. The air was thick with unspoken tension that had nothing to do with Frank or whoever was after him.

"So," Laine said, the soft raspy quality of her voice seemed more noticeable. "Are we going to talk or stare at the walls avoiding each other?"

A flick of ash and she crossed her feet at her ankles, her long legs stretched out. "I wanted to apologize for last night, you didn't need me butting in."

He blew out his smoke lazily in a sigh, hanging his head for a moment and nodding. He glanced at the bra she left on the bed and the shared hotel room. Normalcy, comfortability. It was as alluring as diamonds to him. He looked at Laine, “Yeah.” He nodded, “You didn’t… need me being an asshole about things.”

He held her gaze, searching them for the same things he saw when she was looking at Jason. He shook himself from that fool’s errand, he had to stay professional, especially now. Keeping everyone at arm’s length was a good way to avoid shit like the diner. There wasn’t any place for those things on a mission. “I’m sorry though. You were concerned, and I’d say the same thing if it was you with a hole in your leg looking for liquor.” He recalled the night watching the tape, gingerly holding her injured foot, the moment of tension wanting to be released.

And how it wasn’t, “How’s your foot?”

“We both said shit we didn’t mean,” she agreed, recalling the bottle remark. It had been apt but rude. She met his gaze and held it, “Stress will do that.

His question caught her off guard and she glanced down at her bare feet. Wiggling her toes she turned up the one that had been cut by the broken glass, looking at the healing scratch. It seemed so long ago, the haunting film and the strangeness that had enveloped all of them, invading their conscious to use their memories against them. Laine put her foot back down and gave him a half smile, shifting herself to sit up.

“It’s healing,” she said, her green eyes flickering with recollection of his care and the unspoken moment that had passed unfulfilled between them.

“You did a good job. Speaking of injuries in the line of duty, if your leg is still hurting, I have some Tylenol. I know it’s not the same as a couple of shots of Jack but you’re welcome to it," Laine added quickly, her teasing tone more gentle this time.

“Oh, thank y’kindly, miss’m.” He snorted, rolling his eyes at Laine’s teasing. His smile remained as he held Laine’s gaze, fading a bit as he made himself look somewhere else. “Be appreciated if you spared me some.”

Laine slid off the bed and went into the bathroom where she had left her purse and dug out the small bottle of painkillers. She shook out four pills, then filled a paper cup with water before returning to the bedroom.

As she moved, the grey sweater clung to her natural shape which bounced slightly with each step. Laine approached him, her gaze on his face watching his expression as much as where his eyes might wander. A mischievous hint of a smile touched her lips as she handed him the cup and Tylenol.

"Here," she said, her hands now settling on her hips. After a few seconds she moved to sit on the end of the bed, facing Donnelley in his chair. Her thoughts hovered between wanting to enjoy the tentative peace as the warmth returned slowly and the need to confront him about the diner.

She clasped her hands then unclasped them, settling her palms against her thighs. "At the diner, what was that about?"

Laine knew or assumed she knew why, just as he had reacted to Bakker. But she wanted to hear it from him, hoping that maybe she was wrong. She did not do well with controlling, possessive behavior, a natural part of her would always rebel against it.

Whatever friendliness was back on his face had evaporated as quickly as it had come with her question. He knew the apology was going to have to be sometime, but he wanted it to be on his terms. Having it here and now, against his will, it made him feel trapped. Cornered. He never did well when pushed, he tended to push back. Rebel against it.

“Just a thing, you know.” His tight smile returned but as Laine looked at him with no amusement in her eye he knew he had to continue without the smile, “Again, I know. I am an asshole. I just…”

What was he even going to say? Maybe everything between them was imagined, or not as strong as he thought. A few looks here and there, a held hand, a hurt foot. It’s not like they’d made anything official, ever. He shook his head, looked away from her with a face like he’d chewed over something bitter, “What do you want me to say, Laine?” He shrugged, “What… You can’t…”

A part of him felt the telltale clenching of his chest, a rising anger boiling to the surface and a pure animal aggression snapping his body to action. But this was Laine, this wasn’t some security guard at his daughter’s school. He rubbed his face, “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t hold his tongue before it flapped something stupid out, “I guess Jason’s safer.”

Laine watched silently as he struggled to hold his temper, to keep himself in control. To his credit, he did, for the most part. She could almost taste the bitterness when he mentioned Jason. She turned her face now, breaking eye contact as she rolled over his accusation.

Maybe Jason was safer. Maybe he was just a handsome troubled man that would be a distraction and nothing more. A fuck buddy. That's what she had retreated to after the spectacular failure of her longest relationship. Maybe he was safer because despite the physical attraction she had not felt that same spark as she had with the man sitting in front of her. And he was a colleague, a coworker, not her team leader.

Her jaw tensed and she swept her hand through her dark hair. "Yeah, maybe."

Laine turned back to face him, her eyes finding his gaze. She stood up, unable to keep still and put her hands on her hips, pacing a few feet before turning back to Donnelley. She held her breath for a moment, a rush of conflicting emotions rising within, knotting her stomach.

"You..." She started then took a deep breath. "You are an asshole for doing that. I will not be treated like a thing, something to be possessed. We haven't even started..."

Laine stopped, then ran both hands through her hair, raising her arms up that turned into a back arching stretch as she looked up at the ceiling. She was acknowledging it, the unspoken feelings that had happened. The smoldering of sparks that occurred over the months.

She dropped her arms and looked at him, a sardonic grin trying to appear on her lips but she fought it back and it became more a feline curling of her lips, "You are fucking bold, Donnelley."

Donnelley slowly raised his shoulders and his hands rose barely an inch from the arms of his chair, “Yeah,” he rolled his jaw and nodded at her, eyes still suspended on her own, “Maybe.”

He stood too, puffing on the dying ember of his cigarette to put life back into it, all the while their gazes never left each other, “I didn’t mean it that way, though.” He said quietly, “You’re not a thing. You’re a person who can make their own choices.

Part of him wanted to keep digging his fingers deeper into the wound, some kind of sick need to push Laine away and give a childish ultimatum between him and the man in the other room. Another part of him wanted to turn that aggression into something else more passionate, but that was reserved for the people he could give a shit about waking up next to the following morning. “So, there. Sorry.” He shook his head, “I am sorry.”

His apology sounded like he had a tooth pulled but she nodded her acceptance. Laine bit her lower lip slightly in thought, then said, "Alright."

She looked at him and her gaze lingered on his extensive scar then moved to his eyes. Part of her wanted to ask how many times he had said sorry until his wife got tired of hearing it but it was petty and mean. Though she felt it was a sincere apology, it was still words and there was still his underlying insistence of her making a choice. That irked her still and she turned away, rocking on her heels.

"Well, I guess I'll go next door, I hope Frank's a heavy sleeper," Laine said lightly, looking over to the door that connected the rooms.

His expression didn’t shift away from annoyance as he stared at her, watched her face. He figured she was joking but now of all times to do it, he huffed a cloud of smoke through his nose and turned away from her, grasping up his flask in his coat pocket, “You think you’re so fuckin’ funny, don’t you.”

She looked back at him, the teasing grin forming on her lips turning to one of chagrin. She bit her lip and raised an eyebrow, unable to keep sarcasm out of her voice, "Yeah, sometimes."

Laine sighed when she saw him draw out the flask, her expression softening. He had been insecure about whatever he thought she might feel for Jason, that was certain, and here she was rubbing salt into the wound. She tried to meet his eyes, it had been petty, and Laine felt a rush of remorse for the snark.

"Bad timing," she admitted, rubbing her hand against the back of her neck, "I apologize for that. Look, if I really wanted a different roommate I would have said so."

Laine waited a beat, her gaze flicking over to the flask and the thought of drinking while on the job not being a good idea passed over her mind. It was gone as quickly as it formed, there was no way she was going to point that out and wondered briefly if he was testing her reaction as she had just done with him. Or more likely it was habit to soothe frayed nerves, part of which she was responsible for tonight.

"I could use a shot," Laine said, glancing back up to his eyes. "If you don't mind."

He sighed, looking at her and pursing his lips. She knew how to dig deep into him just as well as he could to her, though it remained to be said that he made it all too easy this time. He always figured her to be a sharp one, but never imagined the possibility that he’d feel her edge. There was still a camaraderie there between them, still a connection. And as he once again took the opportunity to glance her over in the glory of her curves and all, there was still that need put into him by years of marriage to mend bridges by breaking beds. He settled for offering out the flask, dangling it in front of himself by thumb and forefinger, “I thought you’d never ask.” He said, a twitch of a smirk at the corners of his lips as he jerked the flask away from her reaching hand, but nothing more, “Drinkin’ on duty. Been hangin’ around me too long.”

He placed the flask in her hand and sat back down, grinding the smoldering cherry of the cigarette into the ashtray.

She reached for the flask only to have it jerked away, dangling in temptation before her until he relented. Laine took it, eyeing him with the hint of a coy smile on her lips. "You're a bad influence," she said, sipping from the flask.

The path of his gaze had not escaped her and she knew what it meant, the idea spiking in her was as dangerous and tempting as the whiskey. Even more so because it was in the darkest part of the night in a strange motel room and death lurked like a persistent shadow.

He sunk lower into his seat and undid his tie, the ends hanging down either side of his chest and framing the two undone buttons on his shirt. A grin slowly grew across his lips and just like that night in Charleston he felt a fire in him. Lonely motels, alcohol, a woman and risk were a combination that always led Donnelley into trouble. “Always have been.” He spoke as he undid his cuffs and rolled his sleeves to the elbow, muscles writhing in his forearms as his fingers worked and he put his hand out, “Please?”

Laine let her own gaze travel over his lean body, lingering on his forearms now exposed. There was probably something Freudian about her admiration of a man's arms, especially those like his. Hard muscles won from labor, the line that flexed amid the dusting of fine ginger hairs held her gaze until he spoke again. She took another sip, the whiskey firing a path through her torso and stoking the warmth already building deep below.

She snapped her gaze back up to his eyes, feeling the heat of the whiskey and her awareness of their mutual interest flush her pale cheeks. "I bet," she said, handing him the flask. "Making kissy faces at rednecks and Taliban."

Laine grinned, her eyes were tired but now sparked green in their depths. She sank back on the foot of the twin bed she had claimed, looking at him still in the chair.

He took her own roaming eyes as cue to let his do the same. Roaming over the sensual curves and linger on the soft rise and fall of her chest. He met her eyes as he took a quick pull from his flask and capped it. He sighed appreciatively at her and set his flask on the table next to him. “There’s the chance we’ll have to sleep here.” Donnelley clucked his tongue and made a show of looking out the window, “Or we could leave now.”

Without turning his head his eyes settled on Laine, “If we really got to.”

Laine could still feel the tingling from the whiskey, and from his direct blue gaze. She turned her head when he looked away and ran her hand over her face. She was not thinking clearly because there was a strong urge to straddle his lap, wounded thigh or not and that would certainly lead to other things that could not be undone in the light of day.

"Well," she shifted herself on the end of the bed, finally looking back over at him. "It's so late, if I fall asleep I'm not waking up with the sun. It might be better to stay awake for awhile or just leave, but I'll leave that up to you, boss. Tactical decision time."

Donnelley nodded, something playing across his brow. The task at hand seemed to filter back in to the forefront of his mind and he sighed, “We’ll mount up, haul ass back home.” He looked at her fully, turning his body in his chair to face her and wore his urges plain for a few moments, biting his lip and chuckling as he stood, “Goddamn.

He snatched up the keys, tossing them in the air and catching them in his waiting palm again, “I'll wake up Jason and Frank. I’m drivin’.”

Laine nodded, it was the right decision, there was much more at stake than their personal desires. A knowing grin formed at his remark, her brows ticking up slightly as if to agree with the sentiment.

Laine pushed the preoccupying thoughts aside and stood up to fetch her shoes. "I'll make a pit stop while you do that."

She went into the restroom and shut the door, turning on the cold water Laine cupped her hands in it to splash her face. Half the reason was to help wake her up, the other half would probably need a whole cold shower to settle but distraction would have to do the trick. Riding back to the safehouse would hopefully be uneventful, they had lost the Dodge Challenger on their way here.

Laine dried her face and neck, then stepped back out into the room and put on her holster and blazer, then slung her bag over her shoulder. She glanced towards the connector door that stood ajar, calling out, "I'm ready when you are."

Jason emerged from the door first with a hand at Frank’s back. The two of them looked groggy, though Frank was worse for wear. Donnelley followed them out of the connector door and watched them as they went. As the sound of doors opening and shutting on the Explorer sounded, Donnelley looked from the open door to Laine. He spun the keys on his finger and offered her a little smile. It seemed responsibility and risky careers kept getting in the way of their little moments. He looked away for a moment and huffed a chuckle, appreciating her in the dim light of the motel room’s lamp. He settled on her eyes and smirked. The fact he wanted so badly to jump from his chair and hold her down by the wrists on that damn bed, and then did not get to, simmered just below the surface. He shook his head and chuckled as he turned for the door, “Goddamn.

Laine stuffed her bra into her purse as she stepped out of the room. She had her blazer back on, covering her holster and the telltale bounce of her unfettered chest. Meeting Donnelley's eyes she recognized the desire and matched his smirk with her own little half smile and shrugged her shoulders.

With a sigh, she passed him on her way out and said, "Well, back to work."

The faint scent of her perfume might be noticed, a sensual light musk that drifted after she had stepped past him. Laine headed towards the truck as the others climbed into the back and she opened the passenger door, pausing to glance around at the motel lot. It seemed as quiet as a parking lot might be at the darkest hour of the night.

Laine climbed into the Explorer and buckled in, glancing behind at the two tired faces then have Frank an encouraging smile. "We're heading home, you'll be safe there."

“Don’t call it a Safehouse for nothin’.” Donnelley’s grin shone white in the shadows of the night as he opened the door and grunted himself into the driver’s seat. He looked around for any reaction to his dumb joke, but Jason was still rubbing sleep from his eyes and Frank was understandably not in a joking mood. The only one who showed anything was Laine and her shaking head and a small smirk.

The engine revved to life, “Alright.” Donnelley said, “Let’s go.”
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>THE SAFEHOUSE
>7.6.2019
>0230HRS...///

Ava leant away from her laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of her, resting her back against the couch behind her. She took her glasses off so she could rub at her dry eyes for a moment, then lowered her hands so she could squint at the time in the corner of her screen. The numbers coolly told her it was almost three in the morning. She had woken up nearly two hours ago from a fitful sleep and being one of those people that could not go back to sleep once awakened, she opted to get some work done instead.

She quietly grabbed her laptop and left the bunkroom so she wouldn’t wake up Agent Bhaat, taking her pillow with her. From there she sat herself down in the living room, using the pillow as a cushion to sit on the floor and the coffee table as a makeshift desk.

The rest of the cabin was quiet, leading her to believe she was the only one awake so she hadn’t bothered to change out of her pajamas. It also looked like the others weren’t back yet with the witness. That worried her, especially knowing that they had some kind of encounter when they went to extract their asset, though exactly what happened she didn’t know. Foster didn’t elaborate when he told them and she hadn’t received another update since that initial call, so she hoped they were alright.

She put her glasses back on her face and looked at the front door. That was another reason she didn’t want to go back to sleep.

Ava let out a heavy breath through her nose and picked up her wireless headphones, sitting next to her on the table. She put them on over her ears, gently running her fingers over the designs of pressed flowers engraved into the red and gold surface of the ear pads. She turned on the music app on her phone, playing a soothing instrumental track of violins and a piano.

Pushing the coffee table gently away, she stood up, stretched and headed for the kitchen to make herself another cup of coffee.

The door to the garage opened and then closed, a weary Dave entering the cabin in jeans and a wife-beater. He'd vanished into the garage the moment his team returned from town, grinning like a child with a new toy as he unpacked bags of fertilizer, lengths of pipe, and various chemicals. He spent the hours since setting up his lab; jugs of acetone, bleach, and ammonia were stacked against the wall, bags of fertilizer on the opposite side, and the small workbench had been covered in a scattering of odds and ends of pipes and tools. He had gone through the electrical kit he purchased, laying out bits of wire and connectors, and labeled things as appropriate. The biggest addition was a hand-drawn sign, NO SMOKING, that he had duct-taped to the door. Things were sure to get interesting when Donnelley saw that.

With the lab set up and fatigue setting in, Dave entered the house in search of caffeine. He didn’t necessarily need to start building anything right now; he still hadn’t talked to Foster about getting phones to use as detonators, and he hadn’t hit up a Radio Shack to buy the fixings for any other means of detonation short of using an old-school fuse. Still, he didn’t want to sleep. Not right now, with his mind churning over the interview, the dead girl, and the thing he’d seen just a couple of days before.

He walked towards the kitchen, pulling up short as he came upon Ava, her coffee mug in her hand. He noted the headphones and took a few steps into her field of view, waving a hand.

“Hey, you ain’t in bed yet?” He asked, leaning against the counter. “Ain’t your parents gonna get pissed if they catch you sneakin’ a snack?”

The sudden motion out of the corner of her eye gave Ava a start. She quickly turned to face the movement while pulling the headphones off her ears. “Oh, Dave, you surprised me.” She said with a relieved sigh as she settled her headphones around her neck, her hair fluffing up and out against the band of her headphones.

She smiled slightly at his joke and wrapped her other hand around her mug. “I was asleep, but I woke up a couple hours ago.” She explained, glancing down at her coffee, which was a rich golden brown from the creamer she added and gave off the faint heavenly scent of vanilla. The tiny sounds of violins and piano drifted into the air from her headphones as she took a tentative sip of the hot coffee.

“What are you doing up?” She asked, lifting her deep blue eyes back up to him. “I didn't wake you, did I?” She asked, a crease appeared between her furrowed eyebrows as a hint of worry entered her tone.

“Nah, I ain’t been to bed. After that shit on the mountain…” He shrugged. Being trapped in a cabin by a monster the size of a Ford and seeing his team torn apart was the kind of experience to keep a man up at night. Then there was Clif, and that fucking trap… He shook his head and gestured towards the door. “Been out there, gettin’ my stuff laid out. I don’t know what we’ll be needin’ so I don’t want to go mix up HME and then leave it layin’ around.”

“Oh, yeah, that seems like a smart idea.” She glanced back down at her coffee, rubbing her thumb back and forth over the ceramic while trying to think of the right thing to say. Dave was clearly haunted about what happened to him and she wanted to do...something to help him. He seemed like a nice man, despite his unnerving knowledge of homemade explosives, and seeing the thousand yard stare in his eyes whenever it was brought up…

“Uh,” She raised her eyes up and bit her lip for a moment. “I’m not...great at advice, but if you want to talk about what happened, I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.” She offered, giving a small but uncertain smile.

He drummed his fingers on the countertop, debating with himself. Talking about things would probably help. Still, he wasn’t even sure what he’d seen himself; he’d never had a look at the creature, and while he hadn’t mentioned it to the crew, some of the parts immediately before he’d kissed that fender were a bit hazy.

“We can talk about it, sometime,” he said slowly. “But uh...Maybe by the light of day, yeah?” He gave her a grin. “You already can’t sleep. I don’t wanna make it worse by giving you nightmares when you finally do nod off.”

He walked around to the coffee pot, taking down a mug and pouring himself a cup. “So what you been up to, since you ain’t sleeping? Workin’ on that virus of yours?”

She moved out of his way and leaned back against the island in the middle of the kitchen, watching him pour his coffee. She raised her eyebrows at the sight of his muscles flexing as he reached for the mug, they were more defined than she had originally estimated. She took a long pull from her cup, shutting her eyes and enjoying the smell and taste of perfectly sweetened coffee.

Ava opened her eyes when Dave spoke again and lowered her mug down. “Oh, no, I finished that before I went to bed.” She answered. “Right now I’m putting together a new identity for the witness and I have a program running that’s compiling information on local hospitals.” She frowned, tapping her finger against her mug. “I wish I knew how extensive this new identity has to be though. If he has family in another part of the state I don’t want them to think he’s dead.”

“Shit, man,” Dave muttered. “I don’t even like tryin’ to buy ammo online, and you’re inventing people and creepin’ through hospital records. You’re kind of a scary gal.” He raised his coffee mug in a brief toast.

Ava flushed at the idea of her being considered ‘scary’ especially by a mountain man like Dave. She snorted as she looked down at herself in her pastel NASA t-shirt and pink plaid pajama pants. Not to mention her hair was a puff ball of red tangles after being in a braid all day, especially since it had been wet. “Only when you put me in front of a computer.” She responded, lifting her mug up in response to his with a smile twitching up the corner of her lips.

A thought popped into her head and she straightened slightly. “Oh! Shoot, I forgot, did you happen to find a bag of seeds with all of your, um, stuff?”

“Yeah, I found some seeds.” He grinned. “Plannin’ to throw ‘em off our trail, huh?”

She shrugged awkwardly, reaching up to rub the back of her neck. “It seemed like it made sense at the time. Like it’d look less weird, you know?” She smiled crookedly and shrugged again. “Besides, my neighbor loves gardening and she’ll be needing fall vegetables soon so I thought I’d help her out.”

“Not a bad plan,” Dave nodded seriously. “Gotta keep the Feds on their toes.” He took a sip of coffee, biting back a chuckle. He’d bought nearly 250 pounds of fertilizer. The seeds she’d purchased wouldn’t have been nearly enough to make use of it. It was like buying twelve cartons of butter and a single potato. “I’m sure your friend will appreciate the gesture, too. I probably oughta take a look around town, see if there’s anything souvenir-like that I can pick up for my boy. He’s already gonna be upset I took off on a new job without warnin’.”

Ava perked up at that little tidbit and a more relaxed smile spread across her lips. “You have a son?” She asked curiously, tilting her head to the side. “How old is he?”

“Fourteen.” Dave smiled and rolled his eyes. “Teenagers, lemme tell ya. Nobody in the world is moodier than a teenager. I’m in for it when I get home.”

“Ah,” She nodded in understanding, a soft chuckle bubbling up from her chest. “Sounds like you’re going to have to get him something really nice as a peace offering.” She leaned back against the island again, her eyes studying his hands briefly for a sign of a wedding ring or even a tan line of one. There was nothing though.

“I’ve got a pretty moody cat, he’ll probably ignore me for a couple of days when I get back home. Bribery doesn’t work as well on cats though.” She said with a roll of her eyes.

In the quiet of night and the stillness of the house it was easy to hear the crunch of gravel under tires. The opening and shutting of car doors and Donnelley’s muffled voice, ’Get him searched, no cellphones.’

The sound of a key rasping into a lock came and the door opened to reveal Donnelley with a cigarette dangling from his lip. He sauntered inside with a tiredness in his eyes and a slur to his voice from the lack of sleep. “Get that man a chair,” Donnelley thrust a thumb back at Frank just entering, and then pointed the thumb to his own chest, “And get this man a drink.”

He chuckled at his own cheesy antics and went for the door to the garage, the sound of his lighter flicking audible to Ava and Dave before they heard Donnelley stop in his tracks at the door and the sign on it. A few beats of silence before, “The fuck’s this?” He came back into view from the hallway, cigarette tucked behind his ear, “Who went’n wrote that?”

"Me," Dave said, glancing at him. "I got chemicals set out all over the place. You smoke in the wrong place you're gonna blow us all up." He jerked a head at the door. "Pain in the ass, I know, but you want me bein' the demo guy, I'm runnin' my shop my way."

Donnelley gave a nod and looked back at the door and then to Dave, “Alright.”

Instead of smoking in the garage he did what he usually did and lit up right where he stood. He drew in the smoke with closed eyes and let it out slow, nodding. He opened his eyes and gave a small smirk as he sat at the island table, “I love smokin’ indoors.” He gestured to Dave and Ava, “What have my two delightful rascals been up to at this hour? Swappin’ gossip?”

Ava straightened up and pushed away from the island as Donnelley sat down, relieved to see everyone back and in one piece. She shot a reassuring smile over to the man she was assumed was their witness, Frank while ignoring the mild embarrassment she felt from being in her pajamas.

“We were waiting for you to come back.” She said, doing her best to try and sound like a disappointed mother but was unable to keep the small smile off her face. “It’s past your curfew.”

Donnelley winked at Ava, “I’m a bad kid.”

Laine entered the cabin, her high heels replaced with Converse sneakers by this time. She gestured for Frank to sit in the living room in one of the comfortable stuffed chairs. Once he was settled she looked over at Ava, smiling at the sight of the young computer whiz looking like a kid who was trying to stay awake during a sleepover.

Her gaze flicked to Dave and he certainly did not look like any kid. His wife beater had its effect and her eyes lingered on his arms until she shook her head slightly, noticing Donnelley lighting up.

Laine rolled her eyes then said in a tired voice that was more raspy than usual, edged with a playful dryness, "He just likes doing what he shouldn't."

Laine dumped her purse and her blazer on the couch before heading into the kitchen, looking at the coffee maker, a silent debate going on within to try and stay up or go pass out. Laine snorted softly, ten years ago she would have hardly needed the coffee to stay awake, now she was dragging. She picked up two Keurig cups and started making them.

She brought a cup of coffee to Donnelley, then glanced at Frank in the living room. She spoke quietly, "Should he talk to him now or let him sleep?"

Donnelley took the offered cup and smiled to Laine, mouthing a thanks. He looked back at Frank on the couch, clutching his bag and looking forlorn at the way his life had been going this far. “Frank.”

The man looked up from his reverie and nodded at Donnelley, “Yeah?”

“You want to talk about Blackriver tonight or?” Donnelley cocked a brow.

Frank bit his lip and looked away, thoughts playing out on his face before he looked back to Donnelley, “I’ll talk.”

Donnelley nodded, looking to Jason who was sitting on the couch next to Frank’s, “Where’s his phone?”

Jason waved it in his hand, Donnelley placed his cigarette in his mouth and held his hand out. Jason tossed the phone over and Donnelley snatched it out of the air, the entire time, Frank watched in curiosity. “Frank, you have the contact information for any of the other Park Rangers you work with?”

“Um, yeah.” Frank said, his tone curious.

“Okay.” He went to work getting the SIM card out of the phone and tossing it to Ava before cracking the phone in half on the corner of the counter.

Ava quickly moved her cup of coffee off to the side as she reached out to catch the small plastic and metal chip with her free hand. She grimaced at the shattering of the smartphone against the counter, but didn’t say anything, having a good idea why it had to be done.

Frank jumped from his seat but didn’t come any closer to Donnelley and the others, “That was my phone. My parents!” He rose his voice, “If they call-“

“I don’t give a shit!” Donnelley snapped at Frank, “I got people makin’ threats on every life in this room because you know somethin’!”

Donnelley stood from his seat and sucked in smoke as he took a few steps into the living room, “You’re under my protection. They track your phone and it’ll lead right to you- to us. I just cut that little trail of breadcrumbs.” He placed his hands on the couch in front of him and leaned towards Frank, “You’re welcome.”

He turned for the kitchen again and sat down at his seat, “Just answer our questions. We’ll get you a burner in the morning and you can make a call to mommy and daddy, unless you don’t know their numbers by heart?” Donnelley’s brow ticked up, “You’re a good son, though. A good man. Good men answer questions.”

“Fuck, man…” Frank ran a hand over his face, “Yeah, okay. Sure. Makes sense, I’ll answer your questions, sure.”

Donnelley gave his tight smile, “Thank you, Franklin.”

“Francis.”

“Uh huh.” Donnelley loudly sipped his coffee for a few long seconds.

Laine crossed her arms over her chest, holding a cup of coffee close. She glanced over at Ava, "Do you mind putting on another cup, I think our friend here will need one."

Turning back to Frank, she asked, "How was the mood at the station since we talked? Any other visitors?"

Frank shook his head, “No. I wasn’t around to see them if there was. I packed my bags and left pretty soon after we talked.”

He looked away from Laine and then to Donnelley before he spoke again, “That guy. I’ve seen him before.”

"The guy in the Challenger?" she asked, "Please, go on. Where have you seen him? Do you know who he is?"

Frank nodded, “He used to meet with the station chief in his office. Used to show up in a suit to look official. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe he is but…” he sighed, shrugging, “All I know is I’ve seen him before a few times.”

“Well, he said he’s a friend of yours back at the motel.” Donnelley chimed in, coffee mug halfway to his lips.

“He isn’t. I don’t even know his name.” Frank shook his head.

“You know the name of your supervisor?” Donnelley asked.

“Hoffman. Phil.” Frank frowned, his voice was hollow and reedy when he spoke again, “He’s… he’s the one who told me to shut the fuck up about that missing hiker and his wife.”

Dave watched the activity with equal parts interest and confusion. He had pieced together that Frank was the Ranger they'd discussed previously, but this talk of Challengers and motels was new. He glanced at Donnelley and Laine, reading the tension in their postures, and then quietly returned to the garage.

He returned a few moments later with his plate carrier strapped on over his beater and his SLR hanging from its sling. He'd kept his Sig in arm's reach while in the garage, but now it rode strapped to his thigh, his duty belt buckled around his waist. He gave Ava a reassuring wink as he walked over to lean against a nearby wall and fished out his Cope, snapping it a few times and then shoving a generous portion into his lip.

Ava gave a ghost of a smile at Dave’s wink, hoping that they wouldn’t be having a shoot out any time soon. She had palmed the SIM card into her pocket while she brewed up a cup of coffee for Frank. She processed the bits of information with a thoughtful frown as the Keurig finished and she took the coffee over to Frank. She handed him the mug with a slight smile, trying to help put him at ease. “Here you go, if you want creamer we have that too.” She told him before looking up to Donnelley and Dr. Laine with curious eyes. “What happened exactly? You were discovered?”

Laine inhaled the aroma of the French roast and sighed deeply, listening to Frank. At Ava's inquiry, she glanced at her, "He was watching Frank at the motel and he made sure we knew he was there. We managed to lose his tail in Charleston, hid out at another motel to make sure. We never saw the Dodge Challenger he drove or anyone else acting suspicious again. Then we came back here."

She clocked Dave's sudden appearance, nodding slightly at him and his weapon. Right now there was no need to take chances. Turning back to Frank, she asked, "Tell us about the hikers, what you told me. And add the details you held back, please."

“The dude was fucking terrified. We found him in one of the old mines they never boarded up out in the mountains.” Frank eyed Dave and all his armor and weaponry before turning back to Laine, “His wife… she, uh…”

“She was like that girl. The one I found…” Frank’s hands were restless, going between folded together to splayed out so he could look at them and back and forth, “My partner was with me, Billy, we called it in and Phil told us to mark it down on our map and we got back to the station and that guy was there.”

“They had a talk, him and Phil, and Phil told me to stop talking about the hikers and that guy would handle it from there.” Frank shrugged, “I just did what I was told. I was new, I’ve never seen anything like that, okay?”

“So,” Donnelley got up from his seat and sipped at his coffee again before he spoke, “Foster said you called him before you called the Sheriff. That’s why I’m here, Frank. You said you saw a shimmer in the air that led you to the girl you found. She wasn’t the first one you found like that?”

“No.” Frank shook his head, “I’m sorry.”

“How did you know to call Foster? Who gave you his information?” Donnelley asked.

“Billy. He wasn’t new like me.” Frank frowned, “Billy was on leave and, um, he was in town one night. Charleston police said he got robbed at gunpoint and killed.”

Donnelley nodded, making for the stairs and taking them two at a time, albeit slowly with his bum leg, “Wait up!”

Once he came back down he had his tactical gear and his Honey Badger in his arms, which he dumped on the couch, “Dave over there makin’ me nervous.” He smiled back at the man in question. Out of his pocket he produced a small recorder and pressed record, “Joseph Donnelley and Doctor Heather Laine interviewin’ Park Ranger Frank Wilkins. July Sixth, 2019, West Virginia, Blackriver County.”

Donnelley pointed to Frank, “Go ahead and tell us everything again.” Donnelley slipped his carrier over his head, “From the start, please.”

Frank did as he was told, running through everything he’d said thus far with Donnelley nodding along, “So, guy’s a regular at your station and only Phil Hoffman knows him. Billy…”

“Britt.” Frank filled in.

“Billy Britt is Foster’s asset and after the incident with the lost hikers, he goes on leave to Charleston and somebody decides to rob him?” Donnelley raised his brows.

“Yeah.” Frank nodded.

“Well, if that ain’t the most beautiful scent of conspiracy I ever heard, I don’t know what the fuck is.” Donnelley looked to Laine and back to Frank. “Phil Hoffman know the Sheriff?”

“Um-“

A car horn blared from outside and Donnelley sat ramrod straight at the sound. He looked to Laine, then to the others. Jason wasted no time in jumping up and going upstairs for the rest of his gear. All the while, Donnelley paused the recorder and tipped one of the blinds up with a finger. At this hour, all he saw was headlights.

“Fucking Christ.” Donnelley kept his eyes out the window and gestured behind him, “Frank, get the hell upstairs. Dave, there’s a light machine gun in the garage, set up at this window and lay some hate into this fucker if you hear him bein’ rude to me.”

He stepped back from the window, “Anybody doesn’t want to shoot back with me, get to your rooms and stay on the ground. I’m goin’ to have a friendly conversation.”

Ava jumped at the sound of the car horn and glanced with wide eyes toward the front door. She felt a cold sweat break out over her body as she stood frozen to her spot. Her eyes flicked between Donnelley and Dave armed to the teeth, readying for a fight. She glanced back to the door, the thought flicking across her mind if these walls could stop bullets. She supposed that depended on the caliber…

She finally nodded at Donnelley’s orders, not trusting herself to talk over the tightening of her throat and forced her legs to move. She grabbed her laptop off the coffee table and shut it, hugging it against her chest to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

"Shit," Laine hissed when the horn blared, the hot coffee sloshing over her hand and onto her sweater as she startled. Setting down the mug, she wiped her hand as she hustled over to the couch, pulling her Glock from the holster and the extra magazine from her purse, tucking it into her waistband.

"Ava, go to our room, stay down and away from the windows. Wake Pari up," she said, moving towards the window, peering through the blinds without moving them. There was not much to see, only the blinding headlights. "I'll be right there."

“Yep, I seen it.” Dave headed for the garage, returning a moment later with the weapon, a typical SAW-style with attached ammunition box. He carried it to the window, sitting down and opening the feed tray.

“Go on now, get out of here sugar,” he said, glancing at Ava as he pulled the belt across the feed tray and closed the top cover with a snap. He racked it back and engaged the safety, settling it into his shoulder. “We got this. Keep yourself low to the ground, y’hear?”

Ava looked at all three of them and swallowed thickly before nodding again. “Okay...Okay. Be careful.” She said quietly and then forced her legs to move to the women’s bunkroom. She opened the door and ducked inside, shutting the door with a little more energy than she meant to because of her nerves.

She rested her shoulder on the door and thumped her head against it, still clutching her laptop and trying to catch her breath. She was bracing for the sound of gunfire at any moment, the anxiety brought on by the building tension feeling like it had a vice grip on her chest. It felt like the calm before the storm.

Keep it together, just keep your head down and it’ll be okay. She tried to tell herself as she lifted her head and glanced over to Pari’s bunk.

The Agent was already awake, primed and ready behind the door that, apparently, Ava pushed open. She breathed a sigh of relief as she made out the redhead.

She had been sleeping when she was woken by the sound of Donnelly entering - and for a while, she had forgotten even falling asleep in the first place. Her notebook had been beside her on the pillow, and she hadn’t even washed the cat-eye liner from her lids. It wasn’t like her to drift off like that, but she’d attributed it to the trials of the day. It didn’t take long for her to sense a surge in the tension, and so she’d snuck out from her bed to meet the others…

In her nightwear, she looked a world away from the professional FBI agent of the day, there she was in matte silk turquoise harem pants that cinched at the ankles - fastened with a bow on each. The turquoise colour was sophisticated, and the pyjamas were by her own admission, expensive. Her feet were bare, toes painted in a similar hue that stood out upon her rich olive skin. Pari’s hair too, was different, flowing to the middle of her back in loose mahogany curls.

“Ava,” she said quietly, holding out a hand, two fingers held together and facing upwards. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? I’m sorry I drifted off to sleep…” Pari’s apology more of a confused muttering in the direction of the woman in front of her.

Much like her bottoms, her shirt billowed around her curvaceous frame - obscuring it in the blanket of light comfort.

Ava looked up at the Agent and shook her head, her eyes terrified and mouth set in a grim line as she reached out to grab her hand. “No, no. We have to get to cover. The others came back with the witness but they were followed or tracked somehow and there’s a strange car outside and…” She trailed off as she realized she was starting to ramble and took in a deep breath. “They’re gearing up for a fight.”

"It's alright, that's right - first things first, breathe," Pari said calmly, dropping down into a squat until she set one knee on the ground. She made sure her head was lower than the windows. She then took deep breaths of her own in time with Ava - it helped nobody if either of them got into a panic over this. "There are more of us than them," she added, not knowing that for certain, but wanting to make Ava at least feel better. Pari brought the two fingers she had held out closer to her chest, reciting quietly under her breath; "om namah shivaay, om namo bhagwate rudraay…"

Ava followed her example, dropping down onto her knees and ducking her head low while still clutching her laptop. She focused on Pari and tried to follow the timing of her breathing, her hackles raised as she waited for the quiet to be shattered with gunfire.

She listened to Pari recite what sounded like a mantra or prayer of some kind and reached up to grasp where her Saint Michael’s pendant was tucked underneath her shirt. She had never been a particularly religious person, but it wasn’t like a prayer would hurt and maybe saying a mantra of her own would keep her calm. She started muttering under her breath, in Latin, “Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio.”




>LIVING ROOM...///

“Remember,” Donnelley grunted as he worked at buckling his helmet’s chin strap, “You hear yellin’, you squeeze that trigger.”

Donnelley winked at Laine, “Let’s see if he stands a chance against my Southern charm.” He chuckled, clenching and unclenching his hands in hopes nobody would notice they were trembling. He roughly grabbed the door handle and opened it, closing it behind him. He had his eyes closed, half-expecting the shooting to start now they had him in the open. None came, and he used that tiny bit of relief to fuel his cocky fucking smirk. He used his left hand to shield his eyes, the other was on his Badger’s grip. “Howdy!”




Laine could not return his wink, her face tense and knuckles white as she gripped her gun. She might as well be crouched naked for all her slacks and sweater would protect. She held her breath, her finger slipping to the trigger as she peered through the slats of the blinds, making out Donnelley's silhouette as he stepped out.

She glanced at Dave with the machine gun, her eyes betraying her nervousness. It had been years since she had pulled her weapon in a situation like this. Her mind second guessed her position crouched by the window. Why hadn't she brought her tactical gear, she had rushed up from the lecture unprepared and now was in a goddamn situation that might get her killed.

Licking her dry lips, she looked out at the brightly lit parking lot, hearing the voices going back and forth.

Dave steadied his breathing, letting the pounding of his heart energize rather than debilitate him. While he wasn't an expert with the machine gun, he understood the basics and had fired plenty of them in his younger days. He held it securely against his shoulder, his weight bracing the weapon on its bipod as he trained the sights on the vehicle outside. He kept both eyes open, cheek resting the stock, visually scanning the treeline.

By now he was no stranger to killing. His body count wasn't high, but it was sufficient for him to overcome any mental resistance to the act of taking a human life. In the moment, anyway. He knew that if it came to shooting he could perform. There would be time for moralizing afterwards, provided he lived through the next few minutes.




Nothing at first, then a window rolled down on the vehicle and he heard the familiar voice, “I told you you were scared!” The other voice laughed, slapping the outside of his door as he howled, “Got the vest and everything!

“Nah,” Donnelley patted the hard plate in his carrier, “I use it like a weight vest, I like doin’ calisthenics, you know? Keeps me in shape so I don’t lose my breath pipin’ your sister.

“Oh, funny, partner. You’re a comedian. How many guns you got on me?” The voice asked, a menacing smile in the tone, headlights still blaring into Donnelley’s eyes.

“Just this’n.” Donnelley jiggled his Badger. “The rest are on your friends in the treeline.”

Donnelley didn’t actually know if there were any others in the trees, but if he was going to assault anywhere, he’d make sure it was as much of an unfair fight in his favor as he could. The voice chuckled a bit, “Alright. It was good talking to you, partner. How’s Frank?”

“Real talkative.” Donnelley’s smirk widened.

“Oh? I don’t think he’ll be in the mood to talk after this.” Donnelley’s smirk disappeared as he dove to the ground, throwing open the front door and scrambling on his belly inside just as the thunderous report from a hail of gunfire went up. He couldn’t tell where or how many, but he knew it was automatic fire that lasted a good ten seconds. Ballets slapped into the timber of the walls and stitched along the wallpaper and tables. Stuffing from the couches exploded upwards and floated back down around them.

As quick as it had come, it had gone. His earpro shielded his ears from most of the damage and he rolled onto his back, his Badger pointed out of the doorway and finger on the trigger. “NODs!” He said, reaching up and flipping his down, “Cut those fuckin’ lights and get your NODs! Roll call! Dave, Laine, Frank, how’re we doin’?”

“I’m, um,” He heard Frank’s voice as he shuffled on the ground, “I’m okay!”

Donnelley stood and slapped his hands over the lights, cutting them off, before he crawled to where Dave and Laine were crouching. He whispered to Dave, “You good?”

As the night erupted in gunfire Dave responded in kind. A surge of aggression rolled through him and he clicked off his safety as the window shattered in the incoming firestorm. He felt something solid slap at his shoulder, the fingers tingling, but he squeezed his trigger and cut a long burst into the front of the truck.

His rounds stitched their way up the grille and hood, shattering the windshield as the vehicle began peeling back in reverse. He put a second, more controlled burst into the retreating truck and then switched his focus as muzzle flashes in the treeline caught his attention.

He heard Donnelley call for NODs and ignored him; he could see the enemy's starbursts well enough to engage. Besides, damned fool that he was he had left both his helmet and his NODs in the garage.

The lights died and then Donnelley appeared by his side.

"I'm fine," Dave grunted in response to his enquiry. "Ain't dead yet." He sent another chattering burst towards the trees as a particularly long string of muzzle flashes caught his eye.

“Need me to get your NODs? I can swing by the garage after checking on everybody.” Donnelley shifted to see where Dave was firing, sure enough he saw them beyond the treeline, moving in pairs. “Fire at any of that fucking movement,” Donnelley paused as he heard the cracks of disciplined fire coming from the others upstairs, “I’ll take the others out the back and see if we can’t repay these guys in kind.”

"Get 'em if you can, don't take any chances. I can just keep shootin' at their muzzles." Dave punctuated the statement with a quick burst.

The gunfire was sudden and deafening, especially once Dave started firing. Laine ducked down as the glass shattered above her and the blinds shook wildly like a cat was tangled in them. Once it stopped, she could see through the twisted slats as the truck pulled out and the muzzle flashes flared in the darkness. Laine fired a few rounds in the direction of one then dropped back down.

She saw Donnelley with Dave, vaguely outlined in the darkness and she belly crawled over, her heart pounding against her chest so hard she swore it beat a rhythm on the floorboards.

In a low voice, she asked, "Our fucking friend from the motel. Where do you want me?"

“Yeah, we’re gettin’ real friendly now. Stay with Tom. He’s switching with Dave on the SAW, watch his six while I take Dave with me outside.” Donnelley nodded, “Are you okay?”

"Got it," Laine moved up to a crouch. She looked at Donnelley's face, his expression blocked by the goggles. "I'm good. Didn't get hit. Just..."

Her hands were trembling but she managed a breathy sound between a laugh and sob, "I'll be fine, go do your thing."




The crack of gunfire ripped through the still air and Ava jerked in shock. She must have twisted her back too suddenly because there was a sharp pain in the side of her stomach, like someone had just punched her, but she ignored it as she threw herself down onto the floor. She let go of her laptop to wrap her trembling arms over her head in a vain attempt to protect it from the onslaught of bullets. Tears stung her eyes and her heart hammered in her chest as she screamed inside of her head, mentally begging for the shooting to stop.

Pari was flat to the floor. Her palms held still, and when the immediate sound subsided, she pushed herself up, into a plank to assess what had happened. She had not been hit, that much she knew - but the breeze that whistled through bullet holes alerted her that even though she might not have been, Ava might have - that was before she could even think about the rest of the team. “Ai ghalya,” she cursed, steeling herself to move across the floor to Ava, who was also on the floor. The white of her pyjamas was turning red around her abdomen.

In some absolute irony, it was Pari who was alone with Ava in the room, bullet wound and all. She’d had some kind of deep obsession with gunshot wounds ever since… The reading, the researching, the watching, the reading again, and again, and again… But even she knew that was all theory, and nothing but a fixation set in the wells of grief. She never thought she’d ever have to use that information, certainly not alone - while still under fire. She wasn’t a trauma medic until tonight when she had to slip into those shoes, for the sake of her colleague. “Ava,” she called out, still remaining as close to the ground as she could. “You’re going to be okay, hands on your stomach, I’ve got you. Okay? I’ve got you.”

Pari needed to find something to seal the wound - a cloth, or dressing or-- there!, hanging over the railings of the bunk was a fresh towel she’d taken from the laundry cupboard. She moved to it and pinched the corner between her thumb and forefinger, yanking it free as she arrived at Ava’s side. She folded it into a rectangle with precision, “lie back, we can do this, me and you. Okay?”

The shooting stopped, though the sounds of closer gunfire made her flinch, she told herself that it was probably the other’s shooting back. This was what they did right? They would be able to handle this in no time. Please let it be over soon.

Her side was really starting to hurt now, a steady burning pain that was cutting through the fog of adrenaline and panic. She looked up at Agent Bhaat as she started talking, relieved to see the other woman alright, but why was she saying…

Ava tried to move her arm to touch her stomach and cried out in pain as the movement of the muscles shot agony like electricity all up her right side. She rolled onto her other side, her breathing becoming fast and heavy as she looked down and saw bright red blossoming across the white of her shirt.

“Ah!” She screamed and frantically pressed her hands to the bullet wound, bright red blood smearing on her hands. Her blood. “What happened!? What happened!?” She found herself asking, not really understanding why those words tumbled out of her mouth. She knew what had happened, but maybe by asking it, Agent Bhaat would tell her she had not just been shot.

“Ava, Ava,” Pari began, meeting her eyes with her own. “We took some fire, and you’re going to be alright - but I need you to slow down if you can, deep breaths, nice and easy,” she said as calmly as she could before pressing the towel onto the wound, gently moving Ava from her side to her back, if anything, the dark towel would obscure the wound from Ava’s line of sight. The blood had been coming fast.

She had in her suitcase an actual first aid kit, packed with nitrile gloves and adherent dressings, better ways to manage this - but it was on the other side of the room and Ava was not yet calm enough to be left for even the twenty seconds it would take Pari to retrieve it. “I’m sorry that this hurts, I’m really sorry,” she said, her composure as cool as it could be, hopefully it would rub off on the girl. Pari then moved her knee to Ava’s stomach, letting that be the pressure. She took her now free hand and grabbed Ava’s, holding tightly to her. “Breathe with me, one… two… three….” She squeezed Ava’s hand in the intervals of her breaths, hoping it would help ground her and bring her from panic long enough so that she could make it to her kit.

Ava squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling down her temples from the corner of her eyes as she let out another yelp of pain from the added pressure on the wound. “It hurts! It hurts!” She gasped out, squeezing tightly onto Agent Bhaat’s hand. She tried to focus on the sound of the other woman’s voice. She was calm, her voice was soothing and she said she would be okay. She didn’t know what the Agent’s medical background was, but she didn’t care. She needed to hear that right now.

She forced her eyes open, her vision blurry from the tears but she focused on Agent Bhaat’s composed face. She started taking in shaking breaths in time with the squeezes of her hand, trying not to move her stomach too much as she breathed.

“That’s it, good girl,” she said reassuringly, nodding down at Ava. Pari internally chided herself for calling her a ‘girl’. But in this state, it was easy to see Ava as simply a young girl, but the reality was that she was an accomplished young woman, just like Pari was, just like Laine was. “You’re doing great - I know it hurts, I know it does but that’s your body fighting back.” She forced a smile, and squeezed her hand again. “It’s because you’re made of tough stuff, the toughest in fact, alright?”

Ava squeezed her hand back and didn’t trust herself to reply verbally so she just nodded, her lips trembling as she tried to breathe through the pain burrowing into her stomach.

“Okay, Ava,” Pari began, “my first aid kit is in my suitcase. I need to get it so we can properly dress your wound and so that we can move you.” She stopped talking and smiled, squeezing down again on Ava’s hand. “You’re going to have to be tough for me for a little bit, I’m going to move to it alright - and I need you to hold this down. Do you think you can do that?” Even if she sounded confident in her voice, inside she was wondering whether doing that would leave the girl worse off. She needed a second pair of free hands.




“Jason, on me!” Donnelley called out to the house, cracks of semi-automatic fire and Dave’s long strings of bangs ringing out into the night to offer rebuttals at the bursts of incoming fire.

Jason appeared from upstairs and nodded at Donnelley, he had his full gear on and looked ready to gunfight, “Where do you need me?”

“Go check on the girls. If none of them need patching, get outside with me and Dave.” Donnelley clapped Jason’s shoulder.

“Roger.” Jason disappeared upstairs, taking them two at a time.

Donnelley and Jason moved upstairs, opening the door to the men’s bunkroom to see Tom and Justin returning fire at whatever movement they saw in the moonlight. Justin ducked and swore as a bullet threw up dust on the windowsill he was at. He rushed to another position. Donnelley addressed the two of them, “Justin, watch the east side of the cabin from here. Dave and I are taking the west and Tom’s getting the SAW watching the North. Alright, boys, let’s go!”

Donnelley and Jason rushed downstairs, Donnelley himself going for the garage and retrieving Dave’s comms and NODs. He set the equipment down next to Dave, “Comms and NODs are right here. Switch with Tom. You’re with me, hoss.” Donnelley smirked in as good humor as he could manage.

Laine held her position, a few feet behind Dave to watch his back. Her voice caught in her throat, her hands gripping the Glock, feeling the sweat prickling the back of her neck. She watched them in their gear, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. "Donnelley," she said suddenly, as he was turning away. "Be careful, all of you."

“My middle name.” Donnelley grinned before he pushed off his back foot and he and Dave were gone to the backdoor.




Ava swallowed back a sob as she nodded to Agent Bhaat, squeezing the other woman’s hand tightly. “Please, don’t leave me alone.” She said, her voice shaking as much as her hands. “I’m scared.” She slowly moved her other hand to the towel and pressed it against the wound. She cried in pain again, but managed to keep the pressure on.

“I’m not going to leave you, you don’t need to be scared, I’m right with you. Talk to me, tell me something - tell me anything. Just keep talking…” Pari first scanned the room, to absolutely determine where her suitcase was, it was in the corner by the desk, about seven steps away. She kept her knee against the towel, which had a heavier feel to it now - it had to be changed. It would be soon. The woman kept a firm hold of Ava’s hand until she had moved one foot far enough away. Ava had it now, she dashed - keeping low as she moved.

Ava reluctantly let go of her hand and moved it to help keep the towel in place. She could feel the blood seeping through the towel and sticking to her skin; her shirt and pants starting to feel heavier as the blood soaked in. She could smell it in the air now, the sharp metallic tang as she shut her eyes and tried to breathe through the panic. “I-I bought seeds today!” She blurted out in keeping with Agent Bhaat’s instructions to talk to her. It was the first mundane thing to pop into her head and she needed to think about something other than the blood oozing out her.

“Seeds, huh?” Pari responded as the handle came into her grip. She pulled it, the wheel stuck and made it awkward – that damned gravel, still she had it, and she made her way back to Ava’s side. “Tell me about the seeds, are you growing flowers?” she asked as she reached for the zips.
Ava breathed sharply through her nose and opened her eyes when felt Pari move back to her side. “J-Just poppy seeds for flowers.” She answered, keeping her hands pressed tightly to her side. “The rest are vegetables for fall, like pumpkin and squash.”

“Those are nice vegetables, my mother makes pumpkin sabji in the fall…” Pari commented, the first aid kit now in hand, open atop the rest of her belongings on the sprung suitcase. She reached first for a pair of gloves, blue – slipping her hand into them with a snap. She pushed her knee back against the towel and peeled open the top of a hemostatic dressing, it was about the only trauma item in the damn thing. She wasn’t her parents – she was no surgeon, she just needed to stop the bleeding until they could find one. “Maybe if she ever tells me her secret,” she continued, lessening the pressure of her knee on the wound so she could slide the towel away, “I can make it for you, for everyone… I’m no cook b—"

The door squeaked open to reveal Jason’s large form. He eyed the two women, one of them on the ground with a bloodied towel and the other applying pressure. It didn’t take much of an analytical mind to piece together what happened. He frowned slightly at Ava, feeling something for her. She probably had never been in a firefight, let alone shot. “You got this?” Jason asked, eyes on Pari.

He knew what she was working at, and from the looks of it, she knew her way around a bullet wound. If he was going to provide cover for the others outside then he’d best get to another room. He didn’t want to draw more fire to the women’s bunk lest Pari join Ava on the floor.

Jason in the doorframe was a welcome sight, and Pari did her best to smile through her nerves to nod up at him. The reminder that they weren’t alone hit her hard, she hadn’t thought of everyone else since she’d been treating Ava. It was a strange pull back to the reality of it that only allowed her confidence to flourish all of a sudden. “We do, we do,” she said – repeating herself with another nod while her fingers worked to apply the dressing to Ava’s wound. She moved as quickly with it as she could – packing an open bullet wound was bound to hurt. But Ava was strong, “Mr Jimenez here would like that pumpkin sabji too I’ll bet—so we’re going to make sure you and your green thumbs are fit as a fiddle.”
Ava gritted her teeth, barely registering the familiar rumble of Jason’s voice through the pain as Pari worked on her wound. Through her pain she felt relief. He was a medic right? That meant he was here to help didn't it? She glanced over at his blurred figure in the doorway, to see what he was doing and to keep from looking down. She didn't know what the woman was doing and she didn't want to look. It was probably best she didn't.
She didn't trust herself to speak without crying more so she nodded again; bloody hands gripping tightly to her already ruined shirt.

Pari’s observations alerted her to the fact there was no exit wound, and she placed two fingers under Ava to check for any blood-- none. That meant the bullet was still in there, as she had suspected - meaning that while not worthless, her work was simply a finger in the dam - extra time, until they could get Ava to someone with the necessary skills to finish the treatment. “Mama was right, I should have been a doctor…” Pari sighed, thoughts of home drifting lazily against her already crowded thoughts like clouds. She began opening another dressing from the kit.



At Donnelley's command Dave slapped on his helmet and flipped down his NOD's, the world leaping into green-tinted clarity. For values of clarity, anyway. They cast things in the usual fuzzy emerald, obscuring distance detail in favor of contrast and movement.

He turned the machine gun over to Tom without a word, snatching up his SLR and clipping it to his 1-point. A brass-check confirmed he was ready to rock, and he paused just long enough to dig his Cope out of his back pocket and freshen up his dip.

"Let's kill these cock-suckers," he growled, following Donnelley to the door.

“How many does anybody see outside?” Donnelley spoke into his headset.

“I clock three on the northeast.” Justin’s voice came from the other end.

“Four to the south, two to the southwest.” Jason’s voice.

“Thank you kindly.” Donnelley spoke. He gave a quick check on his Badger and ensured his .40 was in the holster before he placed his hand on the doorknob outside. He turned to Dave for a quick moment, smirk on his face, “Get our slay on.”

Donnelley pushed the door open and he and Dave were off at a dead sprint for the trees, dust kicking up behind them and an accompanying series of pops and bangs. Donnelley dove into the dirt behind a tree, leaning out the slightest bit to see the telltale signs of the last muzzle flashes from the enemy’s position. He knew where to shoot. “At our 12, cover me, I’ll move up and cover you.” He spoke to Dave, before he spoke into his comms, “Tom, Justin, keep their heads down.”

“Roger.” And then the fireworks went up. At the sound of Tom and Justin firing, Donnelley rose his Badger and squeezed off a few rounds before sprinting to the next nearest tree. He was close enough now to see their figures distinctly, perhaps thirty meters between him and two black-clad shapes in the darkness. One ducked as Dave’s rounds slapped into the tree and dirt in front of him.

The other stood and aimed his weapon but before he could squeeze his trigger, Donnelley’s IR laser touched his chest and he squeezed off three rounds of his own, stock jolting against his shoulder and the satisfaction of seeing the man crumple, dead. The elation was short-lived as he ducked back, yelling as bits of bark stung his face before he was on his back. His friend had clocked him quickly after. Target acquisition that good meant they too might have had NODs.

Dave waited until Donnelley was set, squeezing off controlled triplets on semi. Movement drew his eye and he hammered five quick shots, two smacking the tree before the rest dropped the target. Then he flipped the switch to auto and rattled out a sustained burst, revelling in the throaty chop of the Kalashnikov before sprinting ahead, passing Donnelley. He threw himself against a stout tree, heart pounding, and drained his mag on another covering burst before quickly knocking it loose and seating another.

"You're good!" He roared back at Donnely, racking the rifle with the distinctive klak-klak and leaning out to begin covering the man with controlled singles.

Donnelley burst forward again, fully aware of the wound in his thigh now. The lack of traction his choice of footwear gave him plus another target aiming his way meant he took a tumble into the nearest tree and slammed himself into it with a loud grunt, “Fuck!” He barked, before taking it all in stride and raising his Badger to bear, trying to sight up with his red dot and IR laser through the thumping of his own aching shoulder.

He ignored the cracks of gunfire and the thunk-thunk of bullets into his cover as he squeezed off another series of three rounds. He watched another body drop before ducking back behind his tree and hearing a louder series of automatic fire punch into his cover and sweep wide to his right, puffs of dirt jumping at him in his squatting position. “Multiple at our 12 o’clock!”

He felt the hard rain of more bark cascade over him as he took fire from somewhere at their 6 o’clock. Hopefully Dave would sight up on them. “Get back to the cabin, we did good enough!” He flinched again as puffs of dirt gently peppered his slacks, “Fuck you!”

He took off at a dead sprint, pain tearing into his right leg and by the time he got to the wall he had to lean against it. His leg was throbbing and burning like he’d sprinted a mile and threatened to buckle under him if he wasn’t leaning his weight into the wood of the Safehouse. “Fuck,” he gasped through gritted teeth, clutching his leg, “me…”

A string of bullets thunked into the wall beside him as he let himself fall, unable to determine still where the shooters were and settling for crawling for a nearby tangle of roots.

Dave heard the order and followed Donnelley, falling back towards the Safehouse. The whickering snap of bullets told him he had incoming and he let himself drop, skidding on his side and bare arm as another burst cut the air above him. He caught sight of muzzle flashes, a steady sustained burst, and began a frantic low-crawl to the nearest tree.

"Donnelley, at our eight!" He called, then swore fluidly as another series of rounds hammered his tree and kicked up detritus to either side of him.

Dave waited for another burst. When it came he took a breath, flipped to auto, then leaned around the tree and cut loose with three long bursts, emptying the weapon before pulling back to reload.

[Hr]

Laine covered one ear with her left hand, her other hand still holding her Glock. What little it would do to hamper the deafening roar of the SAW as it barked out bursts towards the treeline. She turned to see Frank, the young ranger huddled between the overturned coffee table and the sofa.

Glancing at Tom then towards the garage she made a decision. Giving him a wave to let him know she was moving away, Laine crawled to where Frank Wilkins crouched. His fear was palpable and no wonder, those bullets were especially for him.

"Come on," Laine thought she spoke quietly but in reality it was almost a shout. Her ears were ringing and the sounds around her were muffled, as if she hearing through cotton. "Follow me, it's not safe here."

She gestured to the shattered windows, anyone could come right up to the dangling blinds and look right at Ranger Wilkins. Not taking chances, she pushed him forward.

"Go, crawl that way, once you're in hallway go in the bathroom, first door on the left," Laine instructed, rising into a crouch while she waited for him to get moving before she kept low, holding her gun at her side.

Escorting him to the bathroom, she swiveled on the balls of her feet to keep an eye on the compromised window and then back at Tom on the machine gun.

Once Frank was inside, she went to position herself at the door and glanced towards the woman's bedroom across the hall. The door was closed but she knew Ava and Pari where there. Another burst of gunfire from the outside made her pause then glance over her shoulder at Frank.

"Not a nice way to be popular. How are you holding up?"

“Fuck…” Frank breathed, his hands now noticeably trembling, “We’re gonna be okay, yeah?”

Laine tried to smile then nodded, "Donnelley and the boys know their business. And there is a big fuck off machine gun in the living room. We'll be alright."

She paused then met his eyes, changing the subject to hopefully get him focused on something else, "You said the woman hiker was found like the other victim. What was her name?"

“You want to talk about this right now?” Frank questioned, his eyes betraying his incredulity at the woman asking him questions in the middle of a firefight. He laughed nervously, “Bethany. Her name was fucking Bethany Miller. Daniel and fucking Bethany Miller, are you happy?”

Laine nodded, thinking over their names and tucking them back in her memory, "Thanks, Frank. I appreciate it, the name was part of our deal. Speaking of, you'll need to talk to Ava once this is over. She's making your new iden-"

Her words were cut off as another staccato burst of gunfire sounded outside. The choppy sound of the AK and then the chattering Honey Badger and the counter argument from the enemy. It sounded closer and she tightened her grip on her gun, her attention shifting towards the hallway.

A muffled voice, unclear made Laine tilt her head, reaching up to rub her ear the clogged feeling not going away. "What did you say, Frank? Speak up."

“I said, can we talk later? Jesus Christ, I’ve never done this before.” He reached up to cover his ears, leaning his back against the bathtub and making great pains to take in deep breaths.

"Distraction not working for you?" Laine said louder than she meant to, "I'm sorry, yes we can talk later once this is over. Just sit tight, we'll be fine."

Her own nervousness was masked for his sake, it would do worse to remind him this wasn't something she did on a regular basis and how she made sure to get the names just in case somehow Frank Wilkins caught a stray bullet.

She caught sight of movement rather than the sound of heavy footsteps and turned to see Jason heading towards them.

Jason nodded at Frank, still not in the frame of the doorway like Laine, “He alright?”

Laine looked up at him, then nodded, "He's doing good, as best as can be expected. We'll hold up here, put more walls between us and the bullets flying. How's everything going?"

“All things considered,” He glanced in no real direction as another burst of AK fire punctuated by the pops of another rifle rang out, “Alright so far. I gotta go, call me if you need me.” And he was gone at a jog upstairs.




It almost seemed like any time Donnelley even thought about moving from cover and firing back they would sense it in the air and send a few shots his way. When he heard Dave’s AK ring out and Jason or Justin’s fire from above him he decided the time was right, “I’m moving!”

He burst out from behind cover and unceremoniously pitched onto his stomach in the dirt, about fifteen meters from where he’d been. “Jason, suppress those fuckers on our 8 so me and Dave can get the fuck back inside.”

“Ahead of you.” Jason said, apparently switching to full auto and letting loose a spray from his rifle.

“Dave, move!” Donnelley spoke into his comms.

Dave moved, scrabbling to his feet and pounding for the Safehouse. Jason's suppressing fire kept the guns off him long enough to reach the Safehouse door, which he barged open with as little ceremony as possible. He stumbled inside, a victim of his own momentum, and leaned against the inside wall for a moment as he caught his breath.

"How many of these fuckers do they got?" He muttered, checking himself over briefly. He heard the enemy fire start up again and swore. Donnelley was going to need cover.

Dave steeled himself, raised his rifle, and stepped out around the doorway. As he sighted in a series of rounds impacted along the wall, throwing up chips of wood and paint. Then a hammer struck Dave in the chest and he pitched backwards, rebounding off the wall up land hard on his back.

His breath left him in a rush. He coughed, trying to pull air, cursing God and his own luck. He'd been hit. Dead center. It echoed in his head as he fought for breath, pushing himself to a seated position, his head swimming and his chest numb.

"Donnelley," he gasped, triggering his comms. His voice was hoarse. "Donnelley, I'm hit, if you're movin' do it now!"

Then, bracing himself with one hand and raising his rifle with the other, he began sending shots downrange at random, determined to die fighting.

Donnelley’s eyes widened when he heard Dave say he was hit. An instinctive urge to make sure Dave wouldn’t be lost snapped his muscles into motion as he pushed off his stomach and took off as best he could. Heroics and adrenaline or no, his leg was beginning to get to him. By the time he made it to the door, beads of sweat were forming on his brow and he let go of pained breaths with each step his bum leg took. “One comin’ in!” He roared through gritted teeth and pain as he flopped inside the back door onto his shoulder, another impact to it as hard as the tree.

“They’re pullin’ back.” Justin’s voice over the comms.

“Watch ‘em go, keep shootin’. Jason, get the fuck down here.” Donnelley said, wasting no time in crawling towards Dave. He pushed himself up to a knee, injured leg shaking and refusing to support his weight. “Where were you hit, friendo?” He asked, eyes scanning for any spots of wetness on his person. “Shoulder?”

"Chest," Dave grunted. His rifle clicked on empty and he lay down, reloading on his back. "Dunno if it stopped it… Can't breathe."

“Oh shit…” Donnelley breathed. They didn’t have the equipment to deal with a bullet to the lung. “I’m reachin’ under, alright?”

He did as he said and wiggled his fingers under Dave’s plate carrier after he loosened it a tad, feeling for wetness. There was none such and even when he did think he was onto something he frowned to realize it was probably just sweat. He continued on before he felt it, a grin forming and he let go a chuckle at the newly formed lump in Dave’s plate, “Ain’t went through. Let’s go, brother.” Donnelley stood and offered his hand.

Dave reached up, hauling himself upright. It hurt like hell; he'd probably cracked a few ribs, if not broken them outright. Still, it was gratifying to hear that he wasn't bleeding to death. Not yet, at least.

He took a few deep breaths, wincing but nodding with satisfaction.

"Okay," he growled. "What's the plan?"

Donnelley shook his head, the relief he felt at not finding a bloody hole in Dave’s chest seeping away to be replaced with concern, “They’re pullin’ back. I don’t know if they’re regroupin’, but I want us to get out of here soon as daylight comes.” Donnelley frowned deeper, “They were here for Frank and they know we ain’t givin’ him up easy. They’ll wait to get our guards down or try again just when we think they got bored of us. It’s what I’d do.”

"Yeah, okay." Dave flipped up his NOD's, checking his rifle and taking a quick inventory. "Six mags left." As he looked over his gear he became aware of a somewhat disconcerting amount of red smeared across his vest and rifle. The source proved to be his left arm; blood streaked the limb, courtesy of a neat hole drilled through the meat of his shoulder. The previously numb injury immediately began throbbing, as though it had been waiting for him to notice it.

"Well...Shit," he said. He flexed his fingers. "Fuckers shot me twice!"

“I got shot twice once too.” Donnelley smirked at Dave’s dismay of almost meeting his end twice in one night, and three times within one week as well. Even his most hellish rotations in Afghanistan as a Ranger didn’t hold that many wounds for him. He guessed the Program just had a way of doing that. “Gets the heart rate up, tell you what.”

“I think that wound needs some alcohol sometime,” Donnelley rapped his knuckles on Dave’s plate, “Lucky.”

Dave snorted. "Yeah, if you say so." He shivered, the reality of things starting to sink in.

With a conscious effort he forced the thoughts of his own mortality away. His death in some backwater shit hole, his son left fatherless, Kaliah trying to explain to a heartbroken Mal why his fool of a dad had gotten himself killed without even telling them he was going into danger… He balled it up, shoved it into a closet at the back of his brain, and locked the door tight. Then he got angry.

He let the anger in, tightening his hands into fists, gripping his rifle. "So I'm gonna go to the garage, and fill a few fresh mags while we're figurin' out our next move."

“Have Jason look at that shoulder, tough guy.” Donnelley wagged a finger at Dave, before lightening up, “You did good. I’m glad to have you.”

Dave grinned despite his anger, shrugging his uninjured shoulder.

“Just doin’ my part, man,” he said. He suddenly frowned, glancing around. “Speakin’ of, where’s Foster? We need to find his ass, he might be hit.”

“We need to ask his ass why he’s so damn keen to not sling lead when lead needs slingin’.” Donnelley looked like he’d tasted something bitter. “Keep workin’ on that terrorist shit. We won’t be around to do it soon, can’t really do that in Charleston.”

"Yeah, alright," Dave said. "But we're gonna need some real ordinance soon." He shook his head and sighed mournfully, "Most I can do on short notice is a few pipe bombs…"

With that he turned and trudged into the garage, a forlorn look on his bruised and dirt-streaked face.

[Hr]

Laine watched Jason vanish around the corner and glanced to the closed bedroom door. The wall of that room faced the parking lot and would have caught the gunfire. Maybe it would be better if they came into the bathroom with Frank.

She stepped across the hall and opened up the bedroom door, her voice still unnaturally loud, "Hey Pari, Ava- oh shit!"

Her eyes widened with shock at the small red haired woman on the floor, with a blood stained towel and smears on the pastel pajamas. Laine shot a look at Pari, her mind racing. Jason left Ava like this, she must have it under control. And she dare not move her even across the hallway.

Glancing over at Pari she asked, "Need any help? I've got Frank stowed in the bathroom."

Keeping her tone calm she asked, "Ava? You need anything?"

Ava started when she heard Laine shout, squeezing her eyes shut as the small jerk of her body created another wave of pain. She almost didn’t hear Laine ask her question over the blood rushing in her ears and the distant, though not as frequent gunfire.

“S-something for the pain!” She gasped out.

"Right, I can do that," Laine said, concern etched on her face. "Just hold tight. Pari, I'll be right back."

Ducking out of the room, gun still in hand, she looked at Frank. "Sit tight, alright?"

Moving quickly, Laine bounded up the stairs where Jason had gone and poked her head in the men's bedroom to see if he was there. He was and she nearly ran right into him as he was walking out.

Laine stepped quickly back to keep from headbutting him in the chin. She shot a look up into his green eyes, her own gaze sharp with fear and focus on her task, "I need something for Ava's pain, do you have one of those lollis you gave Donnelley?"

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded, turning on his heel and going for his bag of tricks. He pulled free one and handed it to Laine, “Is she doing okay? Pari’s got it?”

"For now," Laine said, taking the narcotic candy. "Pari seems to have the bleeding under control but Ava needs a hospital. How's it look outside?"

Jason nodded, some amount of relief filtering through him as he walked next to Laine, “They’re withdrawing. Regrouping or going home, I don’t know. It’ll be quiet for now.”

She joined him going back down the stairs, almost forgetting the vice like grip she had on her Glock. Once at the bottom of the stairs, Laine made a quick turn into the hallway, her sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floor.

Pari felt Laine’s return in her footsteps against the floorboards. With the dressing in place, she’d taken the blanket from the kit and applied it to Ava. She wish she could have taken the girls bloodied clothes away, but this was an emergency and what would do would do. Her hand reached out to the bunk and she pulled a pillow free, placing it atop her now-closed suitcase to slide it under the woman’s feet.

That was as much as she could do. She placed a hand on Ava’s shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze, despite everything that had happened, Pari’s eyes held all the warmth of a hearth fire. Just as well too, everything else around them seemed so harsh, cold, and synthetic. Bullets scattered across the ground, smoke lingering in the air. She could smell blood, discharged weapons and burning - and now the chemical smells so associated with sterile equipment. “See, told you we’d be alright,” she said after a pregnant pause. Finally taking a look at her own clothing - the knees of her silk bottoms were red, and the sleeves of the shirt had not gone without stains either. That vision of turquoise and crimson ticked the hand of the clock that was the gravity of the situation, a tense string held in silence until it broke for Pari. Not yet, not yet... She thought to herself.

Ava let out a hard breath as she felt Pari move her hands away, her side still burning with pain but now there wasn’t the sporadic stabbing of agony from Pari tending to the wound. She opened her eyes from the tough on her shoulder and took in deep breaths without moving her stomach too much. She looked up at Pari with tears still in her bright blue eyes, but she tried to force a smile on her face.

“Y-Yeah, you did. Thank you Agent Bhaat, I...you...Just, thank you.” She said shakily, her throat feeling like it was burning from both her screaming and trying not to scream. She coughed and let her head drop back against the hard floor, the sound of gunfire no longer reaching her ears. “Is it over?” She asked tentatively, the hint of hope in her voice tainted by an edge of fear that bullets would start flying again.

Laine entered the room, holding up the lollipop and spun the stick between two fingers. She set her gum down on the dresser and stepped over to Ava laying on the floor. Pari had done well to get her stabilized and one look told her sacrifice of the designer silk pajamas.

Tearing open the package, Laine looked down at Ava, speaking up, "I brought you a goody, this will help with the pain. Just suck on it, like you would a piece of candy. Twirl it, switch sides, just don't bite it."

Her face froze and her mouth contorted a moment with another bout of ill timed humor. Biting her lip to keep from laughing, she offered the opiate laced sucker, raspberry flavored by the smell.

Ava nodded and reached up for the pain killer, her hand crusted over with spots of dried blood. She stared at her hand for a moment, her face growing pale as the reality of what happened started to set in. Oddly, the pain had been a convenient distraction from the fact that she had been shot and if the bullet had been a few inches higher, she’d be dead instead of in pain.

She snatched up the lollipop and stuck it into her mouth, willing the magic of painkillers to get to work so she could have a few moments of relief from the pain and the fear.

"If you start feeling nauseous or very sleepy, stop using it," Laine said, knowing enough about basic opiate effects to figure the lollipop wouldn't be much different than oxys or morphine. She put a light hand on her forehead, Ava felt slightly cool but not clammy and to cover her concern she gently stroked the wild curls back. "You're doing good and it sounds like it's winding down out there."

She glanced up at Pari, her eyes concerned and tired. "Do you need anything?"

Pari had to tear her eyes away from Ava before she registered Laine's voice. She knew what that was in Ava's mouth, she knew all too well -- and while it didn't bother her, while she didn't crave it, it was a jarring sight. It had been a strange night where so many echoes of her own past fired through to her now. As if that same eerie vibe that had shuddered through her upon arrival had stuck around inside, like a magnet for ghosts.

“Actually, a glass of water would be nice,” she said finally, letting her lips curl upwards with a small smile as she worked the stained gloves free from her hands.

Laine watched Pari hesitate as she looked at Ava but the humming ring in her ears kept her from hearing anything clearly other than "glass of "and "nice".

"Don't give her anything to drink," Laine said loudly, then made the drink motion with her cupped hand, shaking her head.

“Oh no, no-” Pari said with a shake of her head, her smile widening as she let out a dry chuckle. She motioned with her hand to herself, Laine’s hearing had blown from the noise. Truthfully, Pari’s own ears were ringing too, but perhaps Laine had been closer to the action - weren’t they all? Where had their assailants come from? She held an invisible glass in her own hand and lifted it to her lips, with a point of her own finger to her chest. It didn’t matter, they’d be moving out of the room before long, the humour of the moment was more than enough.

Despite all that had happened, Ava found herself smiling around the opiate lollipop in her mouth. Perhaps it was the absurdity of an unexpected game of charades mixed with the relief of surviving her first gun fight, but she had to smother a laugh to keep from jostling her injury. Or maybe it was the drugs starting to take effect. Either way, she snorted back a giggle and just continued to watch with a small smile.

Laine nodded at the gestures then rubbed her fingers in her ears, "Damn machine gun, I feel like I have cotton stuffed in my ears. Hopefully that goes away soon."

She shook her head, her short black hair flying back and forth. "And the ringing. Alright, water for you and ..."

Laine glanced at the goofy smile forming on Ava's face, then raised her brow, "Looks like the candy is kicking in. I'll check on the guys, too."

She left the bedroom, pausing only to pick up her gun and made her way to the kitchen. She still took precautions, staying low and away from the windows. Laine picked up her shoulder holster and once she was in the more sheltered kitchen she buckled it on. Putting her Glock in the holster, she began to feel a little more comfortable.

Other than Tom still manning the SAW and keeping a watch, the living room and the kitchen were empty. Laine took out two bottles of water from the refrigerator and glanced around, unsure if it was so quiet or it was her muffled hearing. Her gaze caught the hand written 'no smoking' sign on the door that lead to the garage. That was new.

With the water tucked under her arm, she knocked a few times then turned the knob to test if it was locked. The door swung open and she spotted Dave surrounded by an ATF agent's wet dream.

She looked him over, he was dirt streaked and blood stained, looking worse for wear but at least up on his feet. On his arm was a red mechanic's shop rag, stained with something not as dark as engine grease

"Hey Dave, is it all over?" Laine asked, trying not to be so loud even if she couldn't hear herself very well.

Dave was busily packing HME into a length of pipe when the garage door opened. He glanced over, reaching for the Sig that sat on the table in easy reach.

“What, the gunfightin’?” He shrugged, giving Laine a crooked grin. “I dunno, I guess. Hey, you believe they didn’t put a single round through the garage?”

He waved a hand around the room. It was miraculously untouched; probably for the best, given its contents. “Motherfuckers can’t hit a goddamn garage, but I get shot twice in one night. You believe that shit?”

Laine could not help but return his smile, shaking her head slightly, "I guess you're lucky."

Her gaze raked over him, a quick study of the numerous bruises and scrapes on his exposed skin but other than the bloody bicep she saw no other wound. "At least you're still standing. Where else did you get hit?"

He bent, picking up his vest. He’d removed it after the bullets had stopped flying. It was a risk, but his chest was killing him, and besides; if they took contact now, the garage would probably go up and leave him in enough pieces that a vest wouldn’t matter anyway.

The vest met the worktable with a hefty thud, and he pointed out a small hole in the dead center of it, right above the heart.

“Somebody’s lookin’ out for me, huh?” He grinned. “Shit hurts like hell.”

Dave grabbed the hem of his beater and raised it; the center of his chest was a livid bruise, swollen and red, already beginning to darken to purple at the edges.

Her eyes ticked up as she saw the damage on the vest but when he raised his shirt, her lips parted with shock. "Jesus fuck..." His form as well as the contusion was a sight to behold. "That's a damn rainbow of bruise."

Laine looked at it for a beat then flicked her eyes down the washboard stomach, before dragging her gaze away with a sharp shake of her head. "You are damn lucky, dude. I think we all need vests, Ava was hit, a bullet through the wall got her in the abdomen. Jason checked on her and Pari's stabilized her, she's stopped the bleeding and treated for shock. We got her a nice dose of fentanyl for the pain but she needs to go to a hospital as soon as possible."

She paused to rub at her ear, the muffled feeling seemed to be getting better but it still felt clogged like it needed to pop.

"She's resting in the bedroom right now," Laine added, tilting her head slightly at the door.

“They hit Ava?” The small smirk of amusement that had appeared when he caught her shifting gaze vanished, replaced by a hard glare. He headed for the door, snatching up his Sig and shoving it into his holster.

“God dammit, she ain’t ever hurt anybody, she didn’t deserve this,” he said. He felt a surge of rage, the same righteous fury he felt when he thought about the other innocent people who’d been hurt in all of this. “I swear, we didn’t kill nearly enough of them fuckers.”

He skirted around Laine, heading for the bedroom with mingled fear and hate in his blue eyes.

"Don't go in there full of righteous fury, she needs to stay calm," Laine said as he brushed past her and she followed him a few steps behind, stopping to get the water.



DAVE/PARI/AVA

Dave strode quickly through the house, passing Tom on the machine gun without a glance. He slowed as he neared the women’s bedroom, taking a breath and pushing his anger down. Laine was right, they didn’t need to see him all worked up. It wouldn’t help.

He forced a smile and then went inside, taking in the scene for a moment before kneeling beside Ava and Pari.

“Hey, sugar, how you doin’?” He patted Ava’s shoulder gently. The sight of the small woman lying there, bloody and scared, set his heart to thudding again. He ignored it, forcing his fisted hands to relax. “Doc here gettin’ you all patched up?”

Ava turned her head to the door as it opened and she smiled around the lollipop as Dave walked in. Her blue irises seemed brighter set against the red puffiness of her eyes and her skin a shade paler than normal. “Hi Dave, I’m glad you’re okay.” She greeted, her voice soft and slow, likely thanks to the drugs taking affect in her body. “I’m alright, Pari said so.” She looked over to the woman with a curious expression to her glazing eyes. “Can I call you Pari now? Or do you like Agent Bhaat better?”

“Pari is fine,” she grinned in response, running her hand over Ava’s shoulder comfortingly, “or hey-- now that we’ve been through the ringer, you could call me Paz if you’d like.” Her eyes flicked up to meet Dave who’d swung in to see that Ava was alright, and Pari gave him a look over, mostly at the raggy cloth he’d used as a bandage. She shuddered at the thought of it. “How are you holding up Dave?” She narrowed her gaze at his shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind taking a look at you there, even just to clean it off and dress it before we can get you to Mr Jiminez…”

“I don’t mind you lookin’,” Dave snorted. “But it ain’t that bad. I only got shot a little. Mostly it’s just scratches from hittin’ the dirt in a tanktop like a damn fool, and not wearin’ a proper shirt.” He prodded his chest and winced. “Vest stopped the bad one.”

“Bad one?” Ava repeated, looking over to Dave with a concerned expression. “What happened?” She asked worriedly, her eyes dropping down to him poking at his chest.

Pari raised a brow and a smirk played on her lips, “and people can get sepsis from a papercut. I know that Ava and I will definitely feel better if you take that….” she waved a hand over at his makeshift bandage “thing off and get a sterile bandage on it.” She could see he was playing macho, brushing off his own injuries - they probably weren’t as bad as Ava’s and he was more concerned about her than himself. “Oh, and you’re not a fool,” she said softly, “what you did tonight was very brave.”

“I got shot a little, sugar,” Dave said, giving Ava’s shoulder another squeeze. “They hit my vest, it didn’t go through. Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

He nodded at Pari. “Thanks...Just doin’ what had to be done. We can take a look at my shoulder, if you wanna.”

She smiled in relief, relaxing back against the floor underneath the blanket Pari had laid over her. “That’s good. Is everyone else okay? I’ve only seen Dr. Laine and the last time I saw Jason there was still shooting going on.”

“Everybody else is fine,” Dave said. He smiled at her. “You’re the only one layin’ down on the job.”

Satisfied that Ava was alright for the time being, Pari stood up and moved around to Dave’s side, taking with her a fresh pair of nitriles and some wound wipes. She decided her silence to allow them time to talk was more valuable than anything else she could add to the conversation. The woman came back down to her knees beside him as unobtrusively as she could and untied the knot in the rag before putting on her gloves.

Thoughts were rolling through Pari’s mind like waves, pooling at a shore before retreating to the emptiness again, she occupied herself by thinking of music - a soft and melancholic guitar melody. Pari was as gentle as she could be in her touch, and somewhat methodical in the way she wiped away at the dry blood, doing her best not to disturb Dave and Ava both.

“Everyone is okay?” She repeated and shut her eyes with a relieved sigh, moving her arms out from under the blanket to rest them on her chest. “Oh good, maybe he did hear me.” She opened her eyes to look down toward her stomach, hidden beneath the blanket. “Could have done without this though.” She added, dropping her head back down.

“Yeah, everyone is okay,” Dave said. “We got a little scratched up, but I’m the only other fool who got himself shot. Twice, can you believe that? Startin’ to think maybe I’m as tough as my boy thinks I am. Or as dumb as his mother says. Maybe a bit of both, huh?”

Ava smiled up at him and started to chuckle but quickly stopped herself as she felt the bandages pull with the movement of her stomach. “I don’t think I should laugh yet.” She said, but she shot him another small smile.

“So...what happens now?” She asked with a furrowing of her eyebrows. “I have to go to a hospital, don’t I?”

“Most likely,” Pari interjected finally, peeling free another dressing from it’s packaging. “Gunshot to the abdomen should be fully checked out by a real doctor in a sterile environment.” She focussed on Dave’s wound for a moment, letting her words hang in the air. “It’s not as easy for us right now, but we’ll get you someone.” As she carefully placed the dressing onto Dave’s arm, she cast a glance to Ava with a smile - looking her in the eye, she could tell that the drugs had kicked in - Ava’s eyes were glassy and her pupils were dilating.

“Yeah, we’ll get you where you need to go,” Dave said. His tone was still light but there was a hard edge to it. He fully intended to see that Ava got some real medical attention. The idea of the only one of them who got hurt being the one who was the least threat rankled with him. “Get you poked at by some guy in scrubs, and maybe loot the candy bowl for ya.”

“Score me anything cherry flavored.” She smiled up at them, making a conscious effort not to laugh. “Even if the lollipops aren’t laced with opiates.”

“I like cherry too,” Pari said with a smile, tying off the dressing in a neat knot with a decorative bow on top. “Alright Dave, would you like a lollipop too?” she asked with another smirk. “Or even a gold star? You’ve been good, hasn’t he Ava?”

Ava grinned and nodded as best she could. “Definitely gold star. I’m not sharing this lollipop, even if the flavor is kind of gross.”

Dave grinned and flexed his arm, checking his range of motion. “I’ll take the star,” he said. “Gotta pass on the lollipop, though. Need to be sober for now. But Christ, I’d kill for a beer.”

He shook his head and glanced over at Pari. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For patchin’ me up.”

“Just doing what had to be done.” Pari replied.




Donnelley was busy holding a bag of ice to his leg, sitting on the chair he’d used last. The remains of his coffee and its mug were spilled over the island table and he sighed. His leg was throbbing, pulsating like a knife in and out of his thigh. He heard somebody enter the kitchen, turning to see Laine. “Howdy.” He hardly looked up from the ice on his leg, except to light the cigarette between his lips, “How’s everyone?”

Laine turned at Donnelley's greeting, the fact she had heard him dimly registering in the back of her mind. She looked him over, a faint line of concern forming between her brows. She moved over to him, opening one of the bottles of water and handing it to him. Laine grabbed some paper towels and began wiping up the mess, glancing over at him.

"Howdy, yourself," she said, turning the mug up right. "How is everything, did they all leave? Shit...you didn't get hit too, did you?"

Her gaze dropped to his thigh, it had been the one wounded not 48 hours ago. His dark slacks made it hard to tell if he might have been bleeding. Laine sighed, her green eyes flickering sympathetically up to his face, "Your leg must hurt like hell, I hope those stitches held up."

“Me too.” Donnelley chuckled. He shrugged his broad shoulders and shook his head. He lifted the bag of ice from his leg to reveal there was no bleeding hole. “Part of me thinks I’m stupid for runnin’ out there with Dave. Shouldn’t be on this fuckin…

He bit his lip, complaining and getting angry at his own choices wouldn’t endear him to many people. He knew Laine well enough that it probably wouldn’t for her. He gave a small smirk to her, “How much of you thinks I’m stupid for that?”

Laine tilted her head slightly, looking away from him to the figure of Tom at the gun and the ruined blinds beyond where she had been when the guns opened up on the Safehouse. When she looked back at him, her lips settled into a half smile.

Laine rested her hand on her hip, leaning the other on the back of the chair beside her. "Just a little but there's a fine line between stupidity and bravery. You did what you had to do, though walking out there in full view did have me wondering if I should get you on the couch," she said with a hint of a wink, maybe it was just a twitch of her tired eyes.

“You tried that before, remember?” He smirked, and then maybe his mind went to other places than therapy. Places they’d almost gone together before and he gave a mischievous chuckle. “You did good too. Shot back with us, I wasn’t expectin’ that.”

She dragged the chair out and plopped down in it, leaning back but her eyes remained on his. Laine nodded, huffing a short laugh. "Well, I am an FBI agent, and though it's been some time since I've been in the field I still have to pass my firearm qualification. But I don't think I hit anything except maybe one of the rental cars."

"More importantly Ava was hit, bullet through the wall. Jason thinks she's alright to leave her in Pari's care, she has her bleeding under control and treating for shock and pain." Laine rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply, "But dude, Ava's shot in the abdomen, she is going to need a hospital. We can't keep her here for long, too much can go wrong. And honestly you need your leg x-rayed and Dave should get checked out."

Opening her eyes, she leaned forward, her dark hair sweeping over her shoulders to frame her face as she looked at him, "What do we do now?"

“Goddamn it.” He rubbed his hand over his face and leaned back in his chair, the urge to have a drink now growing stronger than his reminders to himself to stay sober. “We have to go. They know where our Safehouse is now, we gotta get to Charleston or somewhere public. They’ll think twice then, and Frank will be safer.”

He snorted, “We all will too.” He looked in the direction of the women’s bunks, shaking his head, “She’s so goddamn young.”

If Ava became a casualty it’d be the third kid he’d let die under his care on this Op. If that happened, Laine would have him on a couch for sure. “I’m gonna…” He gritted his teeth and got to his feet, or foot, and nodded towards the door, “I’m gonna get some fresh air. Come with me?”

"Charleston or hell, even Clarksburg. It's crawling with federal agents. But I suppose it might be better to be able to reach out to the State Police," Laine pressed her lips together, then sighed, looking at him.

Donnelley would carry this heavy, as he did with the deaths of Laurie and Gwen. She nodded, "Ava is young but she's not a kid, she's strong. She's holding up right now, Dave went to see her and Pari."

When he asked her to come with him outside, she stood up and took a few steps to where she had left her blazer and fetched her Djarums and lighter. Laine paused at the door, looking over at Donnelley, a hint of nervousness in her eyes as she turned the knob. "They cleared out, right?"

“Justin,” Donnelley spoke into his comms headset, “They cleared out?”

“Yeah, I don’t see shit. I think we scared ‘em off good.” He heard Justin’s chuckle and gave him one back.

“Thanks, partner.” Donnelley slipped off the headset, placing it on the island table and joining Laine.

He placed his hand on the door and pushed it open, holding it there until Laine stepped out with him. He looked out at the cars in the driveway. If Laine was right about her marksmanship and only hit the cars he had no way of telling. They were filled with holes. He hoped they would still run, because he hadn’t worked on an engine in a damn long time. He pushed that to the wayside and grunted into his rocking chair. “Your call. We either go to Charleston and get Roy’s boys to keep an eye out, or we get cozy with your Fed friends in Clarksburg.”

Laine stepped outside, the night air still scented with odor of the firefight. The very air seemed to hum with the residual energy of the explosion of violence. Or maybe it was the ringing in her ears. It had started to fade and she could hear better but it was still noticeable.

She flipped the black box open and drew out clove cigarette, lighting it up. Laine kept an eye on Donnelley, his hobbling pronounced as was the relief from getting the weight off his leg once he sat down. Taking a deep drag she thought over his question then blew a stream of smoke into the deep dark of the early morning.

"Well, now that I think about it, the feds that are in Clarksburg are a bunch of nerds working at the CJIS staring at fibers and fingerprints," she said, a hint of a self effacing grin flickering on her face. "More comfortable with forensics than firearms. You know the type. No, I think your instincts are right, we should go to Charleston. Roy has proven to be a friend and dedicated to this case and she's our best bet. Plus there's more places to hide and hold up, more hospitals and an airport."

She put the cigarette to her lips then paused, adding, "I'd rather not have to explain this to someone else. She'll understand, I think. Roy knows that Blackriver is a festering boil."

Donnelley inhaled sharply, letting out the smoke as he replied to Laine, “Yeah, but I don’t think she was expectin’ a war here.” He frowned, the events of the night weighing down on him the less adrenaline he had coursing through him, “I fuckin’ wasn’t. If these guys are serious, we need to put Frank up with Roy in the Station.”

“And we don’t need him weighin’ us down,” he said, his voice quieter as he looked at Laine, “I want to know who that guy was. Everythin’. If we’re goin’ to move forward with this case, he needs to be taken out of the picture.”

"If? I think these guys are pretty fucking serious, man. For all they know, they attacked a cabin full of FBI agents with murderous intent. Whacking a witness right in our midst, and probably killing everyone else," she replied, flicking the black cigarette, a tiny flurry of embers popping in the darkness.

"They're worried, which means we're on the right path. There is still so much more we need to do here, though," Laine said, "There is Dulane and the mines and I want to track down Daniel Miller, his wife was the hiker killed like our Jane Doe. But you're right, Frank needs more protection and we have enough to occupy our attention."

She looked at Donnelley, the glow of the cigarette lighting his face and the care and worry rested as heavily on his features as did the burn scar.

“Charleston it is then.” He sucked in smoke and blew out a stream of it before opening his mouth to speak-

“Help!” A cry in the darkness, “Help, I need a medic!”

Donnelley’s brow rose as he finished off his cigarette in a series of puffs before flicking it off the deck. It came again, “Medic!”

He didn’t recognize the voice. He stood, arms doing most of the work to get him up on his feet again. He limped towards the cries for help, drawing his .40 the closer they got. “Med-“ he quit his bleating when he saw Donnelley and Laine. “Hey… look, I’m-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Donnelley kept his handgun at low ready, limping closer to the man and kicking his rifle away from him, “I’d like you to meet some friends of mine. It’ll be fun. Trust me.”

“Come on- gugh!” Cut off by Donnelley’s oxford to the temple hard enough for Donnelley to feel an ache in his foot afterwards.

Laine kept silent as they approached the wounded man left behind in the retreat. That in itself was telling about the damage done by Donnelley and the tactical team and about how their attackers were organized. Maybe the boys had killed their leader and the organization of the team crumbled or he wasn't as concerned about leaving his men behind.

When Donnelley spoke, Laine frowned, her first instinct being to read the man his rights and worry about keeping the questioning clear of anything that would get it thrown out of court.

The kick sounded like he had hit a ripe watermelon. It reminded her that Donnelley was Donnelley and not Agent Davidson, he had told her that he was not in the business of making arrests.

Laine looked down at the now unconscious man and said quietly, "He needs medical attention if we're going to question him. What are you going to do?"

“Keep him alive… enough.” Donnelley snorted something at spit it on the man’s chest. “Let’s get Jason. We’re gonna find out if this guy knows anythin’.”

Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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>THE SAFEHOUSE
>BLACKRIVER COUNTY, WV
>2019.JUL.6
>0330

The room was a little more breezy now that there was a fair few extra holes shot through it. Moonlight speared in through some, and the window in the room offered enough light to see Foster and the bastard they’d caught crawling away. Jason did what he needed for the bleeding and the pain for the stranger. Funny that, taking away a man’s pain only to give it back later when he needed. “When do you think he’ll wake up?”

“Don’t know.” Donnelley shook his head, folding his arms tighter as he turned to Foster, “You still never answered me.”

Foster nodded, sighing and shaking his head, “I’m a goddamn Operations Officer, Donnelley. I recruit assets, I don’t raid bomb factories in Iraq, I find people who know and then tell you where the factories are.”

“I get the goddamn difference, Foster, but when people are shootin’ at you do you not think you should shoot the fuck back?” Donnelley hissed. “Or do you just tell me to shoot for you?”

Foster shrugged, which only made Donnelley more angry to be looking at Foster’s smug fucking face. The only man even more self-righteous and smug than himself. Donnelley shook his head, pointing at the door, “Out. Let me get to work. Wouldn’t want your hands to get too dirty.”

Foster only turned and closed the door behind him. Donnelley rummaged around in his suit coat pocket and pulled free his flask, taking a long pull from it and growling as he capped it back up. “Can I get some of that?” Donnelley almost flinched, but the bag over the man’s head obscured his eyes from it.

“You’ll get more than you’d like soon, boy.” Donnelley said as he followed Foster out of his room to step into the living room, dirty and covered in brass as it was now.

He looked at the faces of Working Group UMBRA, taking a bit of time to pay special attention to each one, his blue gaze falling on each. He drew in a breath and let it all out, “We’re pretty fuckin’ compromised if anybody didn’t know. We got a wounded here and some changes to make. Charleston is our best bet to find safe haven.” He frowned, “What say y’all, my beloved fellowship?”

Ava blinked her eyes as Donnelley’s voice registered through the comfortable fog settled over her mind and turned her head to look at him from where she was laid out on the couch on top of a bedsheet they’d repurposed into a makeshift stretcher. She’d gotten changed into a set of non-bloody clothes at her insistence. She didn’t want to continue to smell the dried blood or feel the scratchiness of the blood stained cloth on her body. So now she was dressed in a soft pale orange t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, to keep pressure off her side and to be more comfortable.

The fentanyl lollipop had long been taken away from her when the raspberry flavor started to make her want to puke, but the opiates were still in her system and numbing the pain of her side. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and wool and her thoughts were coming to her at a crawl which normally would bother the Hell out of her, but right now she didn’t mind the feeling. She knew what was going on though...Vaguely.

“You have my bow.” Ava muttered dazedly, lifting up a hand and then letting it flop back down on her chest.

“If Charleston’s our best bet, then let’s go,” Dave shrugged. He stood behind the couch, leaning against the back with his rifle in arm’s reach. He jerked his head towards the garage door. “I ain’t gonna be able to set up a lab in some rat-hole motel, but I rigged up a couple of little pipe-bombs that we might be able to use for somethin’.”

Laine nodded, already knowing that was their destination then grinned at Ava's slurred oath, the pain meds were definitely working.

"I'm going to get cleaned up, then pack my things. We need to take the books and projector, I'm going to be in trouble if I don't get that returned soon," Laine said, then glanced at Donnelley, meeting his eyes and said in a firm voice, "I'll be joining you in a few minutes to speak with our guest."

“Please do.” Donnelley nodded, turned to Dave, “You too, BLACKBEARD, learn how UMBRA does things.” He smirked.

“Already planned on it,” Dave growled. He narrowed his eyes, returning Donnelley’s nod.

Pari had remained quiet, standing in the corner closest to Ava with her arms folded. Her gaze flitted between Donnelley and Dave. It wasn’t her place to make comment on the assailant they’d captured, but her thoughts were on him too, she had so many questions - and this was only the first day of her work with UMBRA. She just breathed a weary sigh, lowering her head to look down at the floor while she waited for the meeting to be over. She hadn’t much to pack, on account of the fact that she hadn’t yet unpacked, so she set her mind to making herself as useful as possible and attaining a maximum efficiency of the time available.

Pari turned to face the direction of the kitchen -- she’d pack what she could, and what was suitable from the supplies they had there. Everyone would need a snack at some point, but it might not be crossing their minds. There were linens she could bag up also, an extra blanket here and there for the motel wouldn’t go amiss. Then there was Ava, her eyes tracked the room until they fell back on the young woman, someone would need to assist her with her things too. Pari could make herself useful in that endeavour.

“As for everyone else…” Donnelley shrugged, “Get to packin’ your shit. Bare essentials, I’m leavin’ your ass in the dust if you take too long.”

He looked over his battle weary team once more, “Dismissed.”




Donnelley opened the door with his music blaring out of the phone. He didn’t necessarily care if he woke their subject up, that was the point. He watched the other man tied to the chair wriggle, sack over his head move with his quickening breath. He loved these moments. First impressions were everything and Donnelley was a man who loved good ones. He dropped his bag of tools on the floor, the duffel clanking heavily on the floorboards, making their friend in the chair jump.

“Fuck you!” It was a powerful set of words, sure, but the distress was apparent in his quivering tone.

Donnelley laughed, looking over at Laine and Dave as he switched the music off on his phone. He kept the smile as he took a few steps toward their guest and leaned in close to the sack, just next to his ear. “Shut the fuck up!” Donnelley leaned away and crossed his arms, speaking in a tone that switched from angry torturer to hotel receptionist, “Speak when spoken to, please. Look, man, this is where you decide how nice I’m goin’ to be. We’re gonna ask you some questions, it’s your choice if you answer ‘em. Be nice to my associates.”

Laine stood near Dave as they watched Donnelley begin his work on the prisoner. She had freshened up and changed out of her coffee stained sweater to a sleek black shirt. Her bra was back on, it was time for business.

She watched with her arms crossed, keeping her expression neutral but she winced slightly at the duffel bag of tools. Laine's stomach knotted as she told herself it was mostly for show, to intimidate. Mostly. Donnelley was CIA and the stories of their interrogation methods were not as secret as they probably liked.

Laine held up a recording device and pushed the buttons to start it, setting it on the side table. "This is Special Agent Heather Laine July 6th 2019 recording the interview with..."

She glanced at Donnelley and Dave then spoke their full names into the recorder. "Suspect being interviewed was caught after an assault with intent to murder National Park Ranger Frank Wilkins, a federal witness."

Laine stepped over to stand before the hooded prisoner. "Please state your full name for the record. And please understand that your cooperation will benefit you because you are in very deep trouble right now."

Dave cracked his knuckles, unintentionally punctuating Laine’s words. His shoulder was wrapped, courtesy of Pari’s ministrations. The agent had looked him over while he sat and talked with Ava, masking his anger behind soft words until Laine had come to tell him they had a prisoner. Then he’d given her hand a squeeze, gotten his hunting knife out of the garage, and joined Laine and Donnelley with their new companion.

He had winced when Laine used his name. He didn’t like having his identity attached to what they were doing, especially in light of the current situation. But at this point here was nothing for it; he was already going to have to explain a bullet wound to Kaliah when he next picked up Mal, and that seemed scarier than anything the Feds could do for some reason. That was a worry for later, though. Right now all that mattered to him was beating a little justice into the scumbag tied to the chair.

“MacCready?” The Subject chuckled, and then laughed heartily, “I heard of you!”

“That’s not what she asked.” Donnelley bent down for his bag and unzipped it, retrieving a pair of large rusty pliers and snapping the teeth together, “You’re not being very nice right now.”

“Fuck you, I ain’t even been read my rights!” The Subject snarled.

“Laine, please read this man his rights.” Donnelley asked, if looks could kill, the man would’ve been reduced to a black mark on the floor.

“What you heard, boy?” Dave growled, taking a step forward as his heart jumped in his chest. His hand went to his knife. “Gonna want to be real careful how you answer that.”

“I heard y’all been into shit that ain’t any better’n what me and mine’re into.” The Subject chuckled, then cooed, “Rights, please and thank you.

Laine pressed her lips together, it was a charade of an interrogation, reading his rights with pliers snapping at him already. She recited the Miranda rights to him and once she was done she added, "And while you have the right to remain silent, I don't recommend it. Your best chance is to talk and speak the truth. Your boys left you behind, you don't owe them anything."

“What the fuck do you wanna ask me?” The Subject’s head turned dismissively away from Laine.

"Let's start with your name and where you're from, and who you were with tonight. Simple questions," Laine said, ignoring his gesture, her voice even and noticeably lacking the country twang of the men in the room.

“I dunno.” The Subject shrugged, “My name’s Michael. Whoever put us up to this gave us a fake name, obviously, because who the fuck names their kid ‘Just Jay,’ right?”

The Subject’s chuckle guttered out into clearing his throat. Nobody here was in a laughing mood. Donnelley stepped back from the Subject to sit on the desk in the room, drumming his fingers over the particle-board.

“So you’re what, some hillbilly mercenary?” Dave snorted, shaking his head. “Guy just picked up you an’ your buddies at the local taproom?”

“Yeah, sure. And you’re what? Some Brotherhood boy waitin’ for the Aryan Uprisin’, hoss?” The Subject laughed, “I’m from Tennessee, boy, and when we want to start some shit we don’t run to the hills and holler at the people below us that we’re gonna do somethin’. You and your fuckin’ ilk need to get with it. Revolution ain’t gonna start itself.”

“So, that’s my name, where I’m from. That’s who hired me and the boys. Fuck else?” The Subject hissed, the sound of contempt in his words. “Is that what this is? Is that who y’all’re with? Buncha fuckin’ MacCready Brood musclin’ in on…” Donnelley got the feeling that Michael almost let something slip. He figured these boys weren’t the best at OpSec.

“On what?” Donnelley whispered, putting his hands on his knees as he bent down to ear-level, “Musclin’ in on what, Michael? What’s Just-Jay got down here in bumfuck West Virginia to muscle in on?”

“Nothin’.” Michael muttered, trying to get his ear away from Donnelley, but the CIA officer chased it with a smirk.

He was loving where this was going, “Oh, okay. I was worried for a second, Michael. Turns out y’all were just shootin’ up a cabin full of folk for nothin’.”

“Cut the recorder.” Donnelley’s hand shot under the chair and he growled as he toppled Michael onto his back, and placed his hands on his bent knees again. Towering over Michael, “You’re all alone, boy! Answer the goddamn questions!”

Donnelley roughly slapped his hands on Michael’s collar and hauled him back up onto the chair’s four legs. Donnelley lightly patted Michael’s cheek, the man flinching away as Donnelley cooed, “Please, Michael. I want to get to know you.” Donnelley grabbed Michael by the chin and back of his head, forcing him to look at Dave, “Recorder’s off, you want some of this?”

“Yup,” Dave grunted. He stalked towards the man, cocked back a fist, and fired a firm jab into the bag where he guessed the bridge of his nose was.

“I ain’t my kin, boy,” he growled. “They’re up there hidin’ in them hills. I ain’t. I’m makin’ shit happen.” He hit him again on a whim, this time in the mouth.

“You Tennessee boys need more range time, though. Way I figure it, all you did was let us put points on the board. How many of y’all you figure we killed? An’ all of our shooters are still breathin’.”

“You can’t hit me!” Michael cried out, “Miss, ma’am, you- they can’t do that! You read me my rights! I got rights, you fuckin’- Oof!”

“Bless your little heart, son.” Donnelley landed a good hook into Michael’s solar plexus and bent down again, cooing, “All alone, boy.” He stood back up and hiked up his sleeves, watching Michael gasp desperately for air, “Now, I’m gonna put that recorder back on. You better answer them questions ‘fore this Texas boy here shows you somethin’ good.”

Laine watched from her corner, arms still crossed under her breasts and her full lips pressed together to keep herself from interrupting. When Michael called out to her, she merely looked at him with a pensive expression, tilting her head slightly as if watching some curious specimen under glass. Finally she spoke up, her tone even with a hint of sympathy she did not feel.

“Michael, you’re not answering questions. If you don’t answer questions, then we have no use for you,” Laine said, taking a deep breath. “Do you understand? Please, do yourself a favor. Tell us more about Just Jay and what he is doing in Blackriver County. And what it has to do with silencing a park ranger who found a murdered girl.”

“Jay told us he wanted Frank because important shit was happenin’ up in these here hills, okay?” Michael sniffled, more likely blood than snot, “He told us to come with him and make sure you folk knew not to fuck with us anymore.”

“Turned out well for you, you think? ‘Cause all I learned is you’re a thin-skinned bitch with a glass nose.” Donnelley chuckled, “How did Jay get you from Tennessee to West Virginia, how long you worked with Jay?”

“A while.” Michael said, Donnelley placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder and took up a fistful of his shirt, “A few months now! He picked us up in Tennessee, paid us a fuckin’ lot just to stand around and act tough. I’m pretty sure Jay’s with the Brotherhood, he cooks and sells. People he knows does, leastways.”

“Meth?” Donnelley growled, fist tightening.

“Uh huh, yeah.”

“What else?” Donnelley asked.

“Guns.” Michael whimpered.

“So he runs guns and drugs. You’re his muscle. I’m guessin’ his little hillbilly Ho Chi Minh Trail cuts through Blackriver. And I’m guessin’ if Frank opened up his mouth about murdered hikers it’d put some heat where he don’t need it.” Donnelley nodded at Laine and looked back at Michael, “Am I close?”

Michael only nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Who does he sell to?” Donnelley asked.

Michael whimpered again, a useless little bleating. He shook his head, letting it hang as he took in a shuddering, pitiful breath. “I don’t know…” he whimpered.

Laine moved forward, looking down at the hooded man. She lay a light hand on his shoulder and spoke in a gentle tone, sympathetic. “Michael, I think you do know, but you’re afraid to tell us aren’t you. Just Jay and his buyers, they are dangerous men.”

Her eyes flicked to Donnelley and she caressed Michael’s shoulder in a comforting gesture as Donnelley’s fell away, before removing her hand from him. “I know you’re scared, I can hear it. But these men here, they’re dangerous and you’re at their mercy right now. A few punches isn’t anything to a tough man from Tennessee but you know that’s just a warm up. I can help you, Michael, if you tell us what we need to know. I can keep them from hurting you.”

“R-Russians.” Michael stammered.

Donnelley’s ears perked with his brow, looking at Dave and then Laine. “Don’t hear that every day.”

Dave frowned, chewing thoughtfully at the wad of dip he’d crammed into his lip while Donnelley and Laine were talking to Michael.

“Fuck do Russians want out in bumfuck West Virginia?” He grumbled. He shook his head. “If I got shot over some goddamn mob misunderstandin’, I’m gonna be even more pissed off.”

He gnawed at his dip for a moment more, then pushed it aside with his tongue. “Look man, I’m gonna level with ya,” he said. “I ain’t what you’d call a professional when it comes to this sorta thing. All I really know how to do is hurt ya. But this shit about Russians, it ain’t really helpin’ us. Least not with the bigger picture. What else you got in that head of yours? Why we got hikers turnin’ up skinned out like whitetail? An’ why is Jay so worried about it he’s willin’ to send you boys on a suicide mission against a house full of Feds?”

He cracked his knuckles for emphasis.

“I don’t fuckin’ know ‘bout no hikers, man! Jay just told us to come with him and shoot y’all dead!” Donnelley reached over with his pliers and snapped them shut around Michael’s nose, “Agh! Fuck!”

Donnelley let go, “You know I fuckin’ hate it when you say you don’t know somethin’. What do you know?

“I know Jay is runnin’ Guns and drugs to Russians! I don’t know who the fuck these guys are, but they talk about London a lot and they meet Jay in an old shed out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere and… and…”

“And?” Donnelley spoke up, “And what?”

Michael shook his head, letting it drop as he choked back tears. Donnelley looked at Dave and then Laine. “Cut the recorder.”

“No! Look, that’s all I know, it’s Russians from London! Russians from London!” Donnelley forced out a laugh as he cocked back his elbow and let fly a strong cross to Michael’s jaw, snapping Michael’s head to the side. “Russians…” Michael slurred, his head lolling. “London.”

“So, these Russians, the meetin’s. What do you know about ‘em?” Donnelley asked. “Talk, Michael, or I’ll show you what else I have in my bag.”

“‘Lectrical burn… Ozone…” Michael whimpered. He let go a pitiful sound as Donnelley grabbed him by the back of his hair and yanked his head up.

“You just sayin’ bullshit or am I gonna have to keep goin’ on you, boy?” Donnelley spoke close to his ear.

Dave felt his stomach roll; the idea of beating on a defenseless man was sitting poorly. Still, he told himself it was necessary. BLACKBEARD had been wiped out, good men dead, and Donnelley’s team had lost two more. Ava was gutshot, he’d been hit...People were dying. Answers might stop the killing.

“You can’t keep hittin’ him in the head like that,” Dave said. “He ain’t gonna be able to talk if you knock his brains out.”

He put a stiff right into Michael’s belly, then another.

“Work him lower down some,” he said, swallowing his own disgust. He punctuated it with a kidney-shot.

“Please,” Michael wheezed out, “Please, please.”

“Alright.” Donnelley bent down in his bag again, retrieving a power drill with a thick bit in the end this time. He gave the trigger a quick squeeze and the whir was enough to have Michael yelping. “Electrical burn and ozone.” Donnelley frowned. He knew. This guy knew something, because the last time he smelled electrical burn and ozone in places they had no business being was Pakistan, Somalia, and Chechnya. “You sure they weren’t Chechens?”

“I don’t kn-...” Michael cut himself off like a little boy almost said something he wasn’t supposed to. “They were speakin’ Russian to each other, accents and stuff when they were talkin’ to Jay.”

"Names," Laine said, frowning at Donnelley when he got the drill. "Names and places, unless you went blindfolded which I doubt then you have an idea how you got to these meetings in the middle of nowhere. And what about the smell, when and where did you smell it?"

Michael kicked uselessly at his restraints, struggling arms not gaining anything by wriggling against the zip ties that held his wrists to the arms of the chair, “I…” Michael sobbed, “I. Don’t. Know!”

Donnelley jabbed the drill bit against Michael’s hand, “You don’t know, or you don’t want to speak? Pleadin’ the Fifth is a thing in court, but this ain’t no courtroom, boy.” Donnelley spoke over Michael’s sobs, “What about the smell, give me somethin’, man!”

“It was always before they got there! We’d get there first and then it would start to smell! Something loud like thunder or some shit and they’d just fuckin’ walk out of the fuckin’ shed like they’d been there!” Michael stammered out, tongue working quick, “Billy, he’s another guy with our boys, he looked into the little shed one day and there wasn’t anyone in there and they walked out after the noise! I swear! I swear!”

Michael shook his head, “Its weird shit, but I swear! That’s how it happens!”

Donnelley lifted the drill and stepped back. It was true then. He’d seen it in Chechnya. Maybe that’s what was going on in Iraq, that’s how they’d get to those villages and then disappear. He looked at Laine and Dave, then back to Michael. He set the drill on the table and moved his hand to Michael’s shoulder, ignoring him flinching away from it to rest it there, “I believe you.” Donnelley said, voice solemn as ever, “I do. Thank you, Michael.”

“Is that it?” Michael whispered.

Laine ground her teeth as Donnelley put the drill to the man's hand but waited and said nothing when he did not need to use it. Her attention was taken by the stuttering story now spilling out. It was strange, nothing like she had heard before but it made her scalp tingle at the description.

Whatever Michael had told them would never be admissible after the beatings but it was information they could use. She spoke up, trying to ignore her nagging conscious, "Do you have any recollection of where these places are? Anything, roads, landmarks, what the house looked like?"

“Broke down. Real old. Jay… he said we… we were out near the mines. Some of the local guys said nobody came up to those parts anymore. Said some guy named Dulane blew up the mines.” Michael shook his head, “I don’t know anythin’ else, I swear.”

Dave frowned and looked over at Laine and Donnelley.

“Them mines,” he said, his voice low. “That’s out near where my team was.”

Laine took a deep breath when the mines were mentioned, Dulane and the strange happenings that stretched back into history. The books she brought from the library still sitting on her bunk.

She glanced at Donnelley, then at the hooded man in the chair. "Thank you, Michael. Your information might save lives."

“Do I get anythin’? Lighter sentence, somethin’?” Michael pleaded, “I told all I know, I don’t wanna get killed for tellin’ y’all. Please?”

Laine looked at Donnelley, tilting her head slightly towards the door then said to Michael,, "We can work something out, the State Police will need to hear your testimony as well."

“Laine, Dave,” Donnelley interjected, “Outside, for a second.”

Donnelley turned for the door and placed a cigarette between his lips, casting a glance at the Team going about packing their things before he led Laine and Dave out to the front porch. Once they’d settled, Donnelley lighting his cigarette, he spoke, “Under what jurisdiction is this Workin’ Group operatin’ under?”

Dave shrugged at the question. His hand rested on the grip of his Sig, still worn on his thigh, and he played his eyes over the treeline before answering.

“I dunno, never thought about it,” he said. “I’m just one of them...You know. Independent contractors. I figured y’all would handle the particulars.”

“Laine?” Donnelley did not look away from his cigarette.

Laine watched him light his cigarette and his question touched her nerve. She remembered what he said but it was a different thing to be faced with that fact. She stared at him, "No. You're not doing that, Donnelley. I stood by while you beat information out of that man because we're pressed for time but...no, something else. We can figure out something else."

“He’s a loose end,” Donnelley said through a cloud of smoke, “Before all of this, if I took him out of that chair and locked you two in a room, how do you think that’d go?”

“The Program does not prosecute. The Program eliminates very special threats to the United States and the only way we can do that is if we remain faceless. If we expose Michael’s story to the wrong people then people will know about the things they shouldn’t.” Donnelley shrugged, “You might be FBI, Justin might be a Ranger, Dave might be just some guy, I might be CIA. But right here, right now?”

“We are The Program. Whatever Michael knows, nobody else should.” Donnelley frowned a tad deeper.

Dave laughed bitterly, shaking his head and leaning against the wall.

“You know, my whole life I grew up thinkin’ any minute the black helicopters were gonna come, an’ I was gonna get carried off to some black-site and tortured because I was a threat to the system.” He looked over at Donnelley. “Now I’ve got some guy in a back room with a nose that I broke, an’ I’m talkin’ about puttin’ him in a shallow grave out here in these hills.”

He sniffed and crossed his arms, growing silent for a moment.

“If killin’ this man will keep my boy safe, I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll even pull the trigger. But Donnelley...If I find out there was some witness protection thing an’ you just thought this was easier, I’m gonna hold that against you.” He held the agent’s gaze. There was pain in his eyes, and a bone-deep weariness, but no fear. None at all. “You sure he’s gotta die?”

Laine crossed her arms and looked at Donnelley, "I remember what you said. But I agree with Dave, are you sure that..."

She bit down on her lip and shook her head, then whispered harshly, "I catch killers, I don't fucking...stand by and..."

Her words caught and she closed her eyes, the reality was there, in plain sight. Michael would have killed them all for his paycheck and if they let him go he knew their names. And it was her damn fault for pretending the interrogation was anything close to legitimate and speaking their real names in front of the suspect.

Laine rubbed her face with both hands, then shook her head, "So that's it? This is what we become."

Donnelley nodded, slow as slow. He felt sympathy for Laine. He knew he was like her once, an unflinching loyalty to the law and a trust that working through the law was the only way. His time in The Program, even just the CIA, made him privy to the fact that some laws only tie your hands. “So that no one else has to.” He whispered, holding her gaze.

He looked to Dave, “I’ll do it.” He said, knowing what it was like to cradle a child in hands that had clutched a rifle. That had clutched knives in places the public would never know about. Bottles too. Dave and his boy didn’t deserve that. He turned for the door, “I’ll do it.”

Dave looked over at Laine, then sighed heavily. He spat on the floor and then followed after Donnelley. He caught up with the man in the hallway.

“It’s one team,” he muttered, falling into step beside him. “You watched my ass out there, an’ you don’t even know me. I’ll come with ya. Somebody gotta watch your back out in them trees.”

Donnelley nodded, just once. But he held the man’s gaze all the same. Donnelley didn’t really know where Dave had come from, he was an enigma from the time he found the man huddled in a tumbledown cabin in the woods up until they were killing folks together. But there was the same kind of bond there he felt in the Ranger Batts, the Berets, even with Kingsley and Smitty in Iraq. “All of this. Not everybody understands.” Donnelley nodded at the door, “It stretches the morals. But everything we do out here keeps your boy safe.”

He turned and continued on his way, “My little girl too.”

Dave nodded. “Then let’s handle business.”




Laine remained on the porch, lighting one of her clove cigarettes with a trembling hand. She watched Donnelley then Dave go, leaving to commit a crime that was a necessity to their survival. More than a crime. It was murder.

She stared off into the darkness, the glow of her cigarette the only light now on the porch. Hot unshed tears burned her tired eyes, guilt heavy in the pit of her stomach. For having to stand by but even moreso that she did not stand up. That she had been a damn fool and tried to walk a line between the law and the abyss, darkness that she fought against. But there was a deeper depth beyond the death of a piece of shit hired gun, as wrong as it was. There was a tortured dead girl, skinned and left. And she wasn't the only one. The greater evil still lurked in the hills. And to find it, she had to find a way to justify the means.

Laine took a deep drag and sat down in the rocking chair, smoking and waiting for the sound.




Donnelley opened the door and closed it behind him and Dave. He didn’t say a word, just unholstered his handgun, rummaging in his things for the suppressor.

“Did y’all come to some sort of plan for me?” Michael asked, a tired and weary hope in his voice.

Donnelley finished with the task of screwing on the suppressor, he didn’t even glance at Dave as he turned for Michael. He sighted up.

“Sirs? Ma’am-“

Donnelley squeezed the trigger twice, felt the jolt of the pistol in his hand, put two .40s in his chest. Michael flinched and sagged to the left, his head bobbing as he tried to draw a wheezy breath, sounding like he was sucking in liquid. Donnelley squeezed once more, another jolt, another of the sharp pops cracking into his skull. The bag saved most of the gore but there was still a thick stream of it dripping out of Michael’s head. Donnelley lowered his FN and sighed. “Alright.” Donnelley unscrewed the suppressor, tossing it back onto his bag. “I need a drink.”

Dave forced himself to watch, locking his eyes on Michael with gritted teeth and fisted hands. He managed not to jump when the suppressed weapon barked, merely narrowing his eyes and fighting back a brief urge to vomit. He stood there for a while until the urge passed, keeping his gaze on the corpse of the man they’d tortured. Finally he nodded.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Donnelley holstered his .40. He shook his head, looking down at Michael’s lifeless body and remembering what his voice sounded like just before. Hope. And nothing now. He looked at Dave, “Arms or legs?”




The burn replaced whatever pain he should’ve felt from taking a man’s life, but just like lives taken in the past the burn was gone like the smoke on the wind from his cigarette. Maybe that’s not how things should be, but that’s how they were for him now. He watched his team load their supplies in the backs of the SUVs, the bodies and brass sprinkled about the cabin soon to be the only evidence a battle took place here. Come morn they’d be twinkling with dew in the underbrush, but for now they were still yet warm.

The intake of a sigh through his nostrils brought the thick stink of gunpowder to him, a smell long familiar. He looked at Laine as she slid into the seat of the Yukon, but she did not look at him on the porch. He’d finish this last cigarette and join them, but for now, he was content to be alone in his rocking chair for the last time.

Dave edged his way sideways through the door, Ava cradled in his arms. He turned slowly to avoid knocking her against the door jamb, passing Donnelley with a nod.

“Alright sugar, down the steps,” he said, walking down them one at a time. After the gunfight he’d attached himself to the small woman; taking care of her helped him keep his mind off the violence of the night, and he’d always been the old-fashioned sort, quick to help a lady in need. He reached the driveway and headed for the car that he and Donnelley would be using to get into town.

“How you holdin’ up?” He asked, looking down at her. “Hangin’ in there?”

“Yeah,” She answered quietly, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she watched him approach the car. Her head still felt pleasantly foggy from the painkillers, but she felt a little more awake than earlier. “‘M sorry you have to carry me. I’ll walk next time, I promise.”

“Nah, it ain’t a bother,” Dave smiled at her as he opened the door to the back seat. “Lil’ thing like you, I can barely feel ya. Now I’m gonna set you down, okay? You scoot on in and lay down, we’ll be with ya soon.”

He set her on the seat, helping her get situated. “You need anything?”

Ava shook her head as she laid down on her back, using one arm as a pillow underneath her head. “No, I think I’m okay. Thank you Dave.” She said giving him a small, if slightly dopey smile.

“You’re welcome, sugar,” Dave said. He turned and headed for the house, leaving the door open so she could get some air.

He’d once again donned his flannel shirt, since the rest of his clothes barring the suit were still up in a cabin full of corpses, and wore his pistol belt and damaged vest. He reeked of sweat, blood, and gunsmoke; the only thing he wanted more than a beer was a shower.

As he made his way up the porch steps he looked over at Donnelley. A quick glance around proved they were alone, for the moment, and nodded at the other man.

“How you holdin’ up, hoss?”

“Good.” Donnelley ground the cigarette into the arm of the chair, not looking at Dave at first, but his tired eyes met his tired eyes, “Or good as I can be. Ain’t every day…” I execute a man in cold blood, he thought, “You get into a firefight. Haven’t had that much blood pumpin’ in a bit, partner.”

He sniffed, set his hands on his knees and leveraged himself standing, “You?”

“Same, or thereabouts,” Dave shrugged. “First real firefight. Did some dirt with BLACKBEARD, back home...Took my mountain back...But…” He shrugged again, unable to find the words. “It’s a different feelin’ for sure.”

Donnelley sucked his teeth, wasn’t that the truth. His first was in Dalhart, long time ago now. “Ain’t it? Used to like it,” He admitted, then looked at the car with wounded little Ava in it, “Sometimes, I don’t know anymore. Anyhow, let’s get this convoy goin’. Me or you drivin’?”

“I can drive if ya want.” Dave nodded at Donnelley’s leg. “Your shit’s still all busted up, and I think between you gettin’ monstered an’ me an’ Ava gettin’ shot, we’re kinda low on lucky breaks. You put us into an 18-wheeler and we’re all gonna die.”

He gave a ghost of a grin. “Hobble your ass to the car, I’ll carry your shit over. Gotta grab some stuff from the garage.”

Hobble.” Donnelley feigned offense through a more sincere grin as he turned for the car, “Alright. Thank ya kindly.”




Smoke was still rushing through the air, and a biting chill had taken over for the early morning hours. The beautiful silver grey of morning was mottled with a sense of urgency. Pari sat in cleaner clothes now – a neat pair of high waisted sweatpants and a cropped vest shirt in a deep teal hue. She had taken a seat around from the porch, having loaded the trunk of the car with what she’d deemed as the essentials - as well as her own belonging from the bunk.

Pari sat in lotus position with her eyes closed, a hand wrapped around a pendant on a gold chain sitting at her collarbones. The other hand rested softly on her knee, the hand turned to face upwards at the murky sky, fingers pinched in a mudra.

It had taken her several deep breaths to quell the thoughts of the past that had been kicked up like sand and turned this way and that – but once more there was a line of serenity, a clear sunset over an oceanic horizon in her mind's eye. Everything was still again, her heart slowed down, and she felt herself return after the shock, panic, and events of the night. She’d be driving Dr. Laine and the men to Charleston, she didn’t want to be weighed down by any fright - she needed to be a signal of strength for those who may not be. From what she’d observed of Laine, and of what her gut told her, the woman was incredibly frayed. Soothing and alternative conversation might help ground her.




The door slammed shut on the passenger side, Donnelley shifting in his seat a few times to get comfortable. He made to roll up the window and then realized it had been shot out. He used his suit coat to brush away the grains of glass that hung on to their shapes and then sat quietly, glancing at the Yukon in front of them and then away. He didn’t know if Laine would ever look at him the same after witnessing and being forced to be party to what The Program sometimes needed doing. He shook his head, huffing. She would either grow to understand or would not. That wasn’t up to him. He instead turned his head to the back seat, “Ava,” he called out, “You alright, trooper?”

Ava blinked her eyes open as the car moved and a door slammed shut, looking up at the back of Donnelley’s head. “Yeah, I’m okay.” She answered, pushing her glasses up to her forehead and rubbing at her eyes to try and clear some of the haziness. “I feel like my brain is swimming in molasses though.” She lowered her glasses back down to look at him again. “Where are the others going? I know we’re going to the hospital, but I don’t remember much past that.”

Donnelley found himself grinning as he listened to Ava’s slurring. He nodded, looking to the Yukon and then back to the cabin, “Gettin’ us a place to sleep for a few nights. Can’t really get comfortable in the cars.” He smiled, looking back at Ava through the rearview, “You know, you’re pretty damn tough.”

“That’s because I’m high as balls right now.” Ava muttered with a small, crooked grin, her eyes falling half closed. “And I do my crunches.”

“I might start tremblin’ if you tell me you’ve been eatin’ your wheaties on top of that.” Donnelley chuckled, “But, really. I know some Rangers that’d still be hollerin’ about now. Slap a vest on you and teach you how to shoot, we’ll have a damn Terminator.”

“Where’d Foster get you from, anyway?” Donnelley’s brow ticked up.

“Dave already called me scary, before the shooting. Maybe I am scary.” She giggled before tilting her head at the question. “From CIA and Program Headquarters in Virginia. Before that, I just worked for the regular CIA, but then I had some weird dreams after meeting a weird man that made me draw weird things on my walls and so they transferred me to The Program.”

She paused for a moment with a frown. “I said weird too much in that sentence.”

“Yeah, well,” Donnelley clucked his tongue and shook his head, “That sentence was too much weird. I saw some weird shit in Pakistan. I got recruited by the Regular-CIA and now I’m with The Program too, makin’ sure all that weird doesn’t get a chance to get too weird. Eight years now.”

“And it’s probably the ginger.” Donnelley winked with a devilish grin, “No souls.”

“Noo, I have a soul.” Ava protested with a frown. “I’ve only been with the Program two years.” She pushed herself up on her elbows slightly so she could see him better. Her head swam for a moment, but she shook it off to focus on Donnelley. “What weird shit did you see?” She asked curiously, raising her own eyebrows with the question.

“Black slabs.” Donnelley nodded, bitter frown on him, “Deep in them mountains in Pakistan.”

He pursed his frowning lips and sighed, letting go of those memories for a while and wondering how much shit Dave had to grab, “What kind of weird man?” Donnelley shook his head, knowing how much prying bothered him when Laine was doing it, “You know what, never mind. How do you feel about the team? They been good to ya?”

She cocked her head to the side at the vague answer but her drug addled brain let it go as she lowered herself back down on the seat. “Oh yeah.” She nodded at his question. “Everyone is so nice, a lot nicer than I thought they’d be because of the things people say about Working Groups. I was real scared after I was shot and everyone was just so…” She trailed off as she struggled to think of the right word, her brows knitting together and the wheels of thought visibly inching across her face. “Nice,” She finally settled on. “I didn’t feel so scared.”

Donnelley smiled, looking at Ava through the rearview, “It’s what a good Workin’ Group does for each other.” Donnelley said, “Some say a Team is only as good as its weakest member. Takin’ a look at any of us?”

Donnelley nodded, “We’re some tough sumbitches.” Donnelley looked back to the cabin, “Jesus Christ, Dave, you tryin’ to pack the cabin too? I ain’t got that much shit.”

Ava grinned at his comments and let her head fall back, closing her eyes. There was a beat of silence before she muttered, “His eyes weren’t human.”

As they spoke Dave finally exited the house, his gear slung over one shoulder and a duffel bag over the other. He'd loaded it with what he could from the garage, from ammunition to ordinance. It went into the trunk with a heavy thud and he slammed the door.

"Y'all all settled?" He gave them a perky grin as he sat down in the driver's seat, masking a grimace as he pulled the door closed. The bullet to his shoulder had punched straight through, the high velocity round making a tiny pinprick hole in either side, missing the bone by a couple of inches and instead taking a bit of the outer meat. The bulk of his shoulder was covered with an angry purple bruise, the sister to the ones on his chest and his face.

"So we ain't got any music," he said, firing up the vehicle, "but I figure we can play some road games or do a sing-along. If y'all are good, we can stop for McDonald's when we get into town."

“Thanks, Uncle Dave.” Donnelley chuckled.

“Fuck yeah, McNuggets.” Ava slurred from the back seat with a grin, what she had been talking about with Donnelley leaving her mind at the mention of food. “It’s been...forever since I ate, I think.”

"...Shit I'm hungry, too," Dave said, suddenly feeling his stomach start to gnaw at him. "...Do y'all actually want nuggets? Cuz uh… I could actually eat."

“Fuck yeah, I’m hungry. Let’s get some goddamn nuggets.” Donnelley pumped his fist in the air before retrieving his cigarettes, “Y’all mind?”

“I don’t mind stopping for nuggets before we go to the hospital.” Ava said, not able to see Donnelley’s cigarettes from where she was laying down. “Hospital food is never good anyway.”

"Go for it. Nuggets it is," Dave said, smiling broadly. He fell in behind the other vehicle. "Oh. So we got a couple rifles, some thermite, a fuckload of ammo, and a couple pipe-bombs in the back. So uh… I'm gonna drive real careful."

“Thanks, Uncle Dave.” Donnelley echoed with the cigarette already poised between his lips. The flame kissed the end of his cigarette and he slouched back in his seat. They made it down the road and a break in the trees showed the sky the color of gold and blood. Another sunrise. “What a fuckin’ night.”




Laine sat in the passenger side of the Yukon they had rented earlier the previous day in Charleston only to be running back there in less than sixteen hours. Frank was in the seat behind her, crammed between Jason and Justin's broad forms and Tom in the far back seat with the box containing the library books and projector, and the Keurig machine she liberated. The hell if they would be stuck choking down motel coffee. The Baughman footlocker was under the box, locked once again.

She leaned her elbow against the door frame, the window rolled down so she could smoke without bothering the others too much. Laine watched Dave carry out Ava out the door, like a bridegroom in reverse. She took a drag from the black cigarette dangling between her fingers, it was one of her last cloves so she tried to savor it. Then he hobbled out, Donnelley was the last to leave and she glanced away. It hurt to look at him, a part of her wanted to forget and go back to how it was in Charleston but she could not. Somethings you just could not go back from.

Her conscious nagged at her, it wasn't all about Donnelley's dirty work that bothered her, he had been honest about that possibility from the beginning. It was the Program, no loose ends were ever left to compromise their important work.

What gnawed at her was how she had went along with it all. Laine knew in the back of her mind how it all would end yet she crossed that threshold into the room with the hooded man tied to a chair. A farce of legitimacy that even she could not pretend to have believed. Wasn't that why she hadn't bothered to read his rights until he demanded it. She had known, she had not tried to stop the beatings or the threat of torture. Laine had played her fucking part and then when it all slid out of her control she tried to escape responsibility.

Shame filled her and she drew on the cigarette deeply until her lungs burned and started to feel the same numbing sensation that the cloves had on her throat. If only it would do that to her head as the taunting thoughts bounced around in her mind.

She blew the smoke out in a stream, waiting as Pari made her way to the truck.

They were ready, and Pari finished collecting herself as she made her way over, a vibrant shawl draped over her shoulders to give her just enough warmth. She'd scooped her hair atop her head into a thick bun, only a select few strands had wriggled loose. She opened the door and the freeze hit hair - the wave of uncertainty, and still she took her seat and started up the car without too much of a fuss.

Laine had taken the front passenger seat, and had she not been leaning towards the window, she would have seen a smile from her new colleague. Pari stayed quiet for the first few moments, as she took the car over the gravel - feeling its bite against the tyres. This car was bigger than she was used to behind the wheel of but as her father had always said, "if you can drive one car, you can drive any car." She smiled at the thought as the car headed down the path, leaving the safehouse in the rear view mirror as they began to crawl the landscape of rugged mountains and dense forest.

Pari could sense that Laine's mind was at work, and as she took a glance at the boys in the back she saw that already the drive had lulled Justin and Tom to sleep. No surprise either, they'd been through hell.

Once the car tore away from the gravel to concrete, she glanced sidelong at Laine, "how are you holding up?" She asked, her expression serious but tone warm. It was a frank and heavy question to ask, but… They were in the line of frankly heavy work.

Laine had buckled the seat belt on and remained quiet as the truck pulled out, her only movement was flicking ash out the window. When Pari spoke, Laine reluctantly pulled herself out of thoughts.

"I'm tired," Laine answered, not looking over at her as she took another drag and watching the dark landscape. "How are you?"

"Tired," Pari answered with a shrug. "Not every night I wake up and get shot at… Really breaks up a seven hour sleep."

She turned right at a junction, taking to a longer strip of road. "I suppose this is a bit of a welcome to the mission though."

Laine huffed a smokey chuckle at that statement, then flicked a cascade of embers from her nearly finished cigarette. The memory of her own first mission had never faded, as being strangled by a living corpse had a way of staying with a person.

"You could say that," she replied, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you my introduction . There's some weird shit in these hills."

Laine finally glanced quickly at Pari, her green eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. The woman looked calm and pulled together, how Laine usually tried to be but at this moment she felt the threads fraying along seams in her mind. She took the last drag from her clove cigarette and snuffed it, then looked around for a place to throw it away.

"I might," Pari replied, eyes on the road. "You teased that story earlier too. I hope to hear it sometime, even if that time isn't tonight…" Her soft voice trailed off and she narrowed her eyes. "I've seen some weird things… Scary things… But, tonight… I was pretty scared of a young woman dying in my care…"

Laine looked back out the window when the subject returned to events of the last few hours. The gunfight had been sudden and frightening, catching them in the one place they were supposed to be safe. Ava's injury had shook them all, the least threatening of the group to suffer the most. She knew some of the punches the suspect... Michael, he had a name, she reminded herself. Some of the punches Michael had taken from Dave and Donnelley were revenge for Ava.

"You did really well, patching her up while Jason was unavailable," Laine sat, flicking a glance to the rear view mirror catching a glimpse of the big man who sat dozing behind her seat. "She very well might owe you her life. We already lost two people on this mission, so we owe you, too."

Laine took a deep breath, thinking briefly about the two former teammates still laying dead in the hills. Another death might have been a blow Donnelley could not have bounced back from so easily. She knew how the deaths weighed on him, how he felt responsible. Not unlike her own guilt she carried now.

"Were you a nurse or something before the Bureau?" Laine asked, unsubtly trying to steer the conversation away from the events of that night.

"Oh," Pari raised a brow and chuckled. "I'm not a nurse. My parents are surgeons though, so it would tickle them to hear that you thought that…" She cleared her throat, bringing back a level composure, she was concerned to hear they had lost two team members already, and maybe there were some questions about that for later. That meant her list of questions was growing longer still. Donnelley and Foster would be sure to appreciate it…

"But thank you, I just… I just did what needed to be done - just as you all did to fight them off. That can't have been easy." A quiet moment stretched on just like the road. Smooth and steady. "You have a good bond with them," Pari commented with a tilt of her head at the men in the back. "It makes everything easier when that's the case… Even the hard nights like this."

Laine shook her head slightly, a sardonic half smile forming on her lips before she said, "I hardly fought them, I popped a few shots in their general direction. I probably put a few holes in this truck rather than any of the shooters. It was...silly, we have actual operators but the training just kicked in, I guess. It's been years since I've had to pull my sidearm."

When Pari spoke of the bond, glancing sideways at her. "Yeah, maybe we do. Being involved with things like this, especially when you can't talk about it with your friends and family outside. It'll make those bonds."

Her gaze flicked once more to the mirror, catching a glimpse of Jason's handsome freckled face. He was still sleeping and she looked back out the window, at the side view mirror where the headlights from the Suburban reflected.

"I guess some of us are more used to it," Laine said, digging in her pocket to find the nearly empty box of Djarums, mentally debating on whether to burn another. Fuck it, she thought, there would be places in Charleston she could maybe pick up some more.

Lighting the clove, she inhaled it deeply then let the smoke out into the early morning wind rushing past the truck.

"You know, dude," she said, trying to stifle a yawn. "The things we see in our day jobs aren't exactly dinner table conversation."

Laine paused, then said, "So, your parents are surgeons but you followed this path. How much shit did you get for that?"

“So much, so very much…” Pari laughed dryly. “They wanted me to be a doctor too,” she shrugged again, wondering if Laine’s family had ever pressured her in one direction or another. “I rebelled a lot as a teenager… I think they just accepted it eventually when by some miracle I still ended up at Stanford… Even if it wasn’t for medicine…” Her voice trailed off as she took another turn.

Pari began tapping her fingers over the wheel, a gentle rhythm from her manicured nails. She was happy that she had an easier relationship with her parents these days, even if there were regrets somewhere in that mix too. She moved back on the conversation, wanting to steer it away from her family and back to the present; “and hey, whether you hit something or not - you stood up back there. You shot at them, you pulled your trigger when it mattered Laine.”

Laine grinned crookedly, resting her elbow on the window frame and held up the black cigarette between two fingers. "I know all about that angsty teen rebellion. And Stanford? Well, that's impressive. I went to UC Irvine for criminal psychology, from freshman to doctorate. An Anteater for life."

At Pari's comment about the shooting, Laine shrugged, "Maybe. But the boys did the real work, they saved our asses. We should, like, bake them a 'thanks for killing all the bad guys' celebratory chocolate cake or something."

As soon as the dry comment slipped her lips the image of the helpless hooded man who had been one of those bad guys popped into her mind and she visibly recoiled, sitting up in her seat. Laine closed her eyes for a moment then put the clove cigarette between her plush lips. Maybe a thank you card signed by the team for Donnelley for having to execute the man so he wouldn't run back to whoever the fuck Just Jay was and tell them all about Heather Laine, Joseph Donnelley and David MacCready.

"So stupid," Laine said to herself then realized she spoke out loud. She exhaled smoke out the window then turned to Pari. "Sorry, it was a stupid joke. I have a bad habit of that."

Pari laughed quickly, grip tightening on the leather of the wheel, “you’re right - that was a stupid joke. As if they need to be enjoying that kind of indulgence, right? Us girls on the other hand…” Her shoulders raised and her lips curled with a soft giggle.

She let a silence hang in the air, and she glanced sidelong at Laine. Pari’s eyebrow raised and she sighed. “I know we’ve just met and all, and I know that tonight has been especially difficult, and I know I’m no psychologist like yourself,” she stopped, taking another breath - wondering if she’d regret the words, and if she’d poked at something she shouldn’t have. She let it sit in her gut before she continued. It felt right, afterall. “Are you really okay?” The road was clear enough for her to turn her head to face the woman beside her, even if she was more concerned with the road outside of her own window.

Laine looked at the smoldering cherry at the end of the black cigarette, ash starting to build up until she flicked it into the wind.

"I'm pretty fucking far from okay," Laine quipped, watching the sky starting to lighten in the east, a faint changing of black to indigo behind the humps of dark mountains. She sighed, then gave a slight shrug, "I just need some time, some sleep. I've been going for almost twenty four hours and I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"I don't know what it is about Blackriver that amplifies feelings, memories... I've been here less than 24 hours… It's already under my skin, you know?" Pari admitted, her expression showing moderate signs of a concern. Eyes bright, focussed on driving. "You've been here longer than I have…" She wasn't really sure why she was saying it, and why her hands were gripping the wheel tighter still. Maybe she was searching for a reassurance from Laine that there was something hovering above them. She abruptly shook her head and cleared her throat. One of the men in the back stirred and her eyes shot to the rear view mirror.

"But also, yes. We'll eat at the motel, I brought as much of the food as I could. Sorry about that, didn't mean to suggest something else was at play. You're right -- it's lack of sleep, lack of food. We can remedy that though," Pari finished, flashing a smile at Laine.

"Blackriver is a festering sore, a weeping scab on the rot running through this country," Laine said after a moment of deep silence. "Things here are...well, they're not right. Someone is killing and skinning women in those hills. Something very big and very dangerous is in those hills. We have people dead up there. And there are those here that don't want that information to leave the county."

She glanced at the rear view mirror, Frank sleeping with his head on Jason's broad shoulder, mouth slack. "They were willing to kill a team of FBI agents to get at a witness. That tells me they are hiding something very damning. So the feeling you get in these mountains, something is definitely at play here, it's not your imagination."

Laine smoked quietly, watching the sliver of gold starting to glow beyond the deep blue rolling hills making the sky start to blush. Day was breaking, another sunrise.

Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead

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>CHARLESTON, WV
>CAMC MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
>2019.JUL.6
>0700

Donnelley scanned the garbage-strewn, street lamp lit parking lot with tired and practiced eyes. As his gaze swept the cracked cement and faded parking lines he wondered if there was a single place in Charleston that didn’t look like shit. He snapped his head to the right after he heard what sounded like whispering, only to find that it was a grocery bag gliding across the parking lot. “I wonder if they have a designated area I’m supposed to smoke.” He wondered aloud, spotting none apparent, “Fuck it, I’ll just tell them I don’t speak English or some shit.”

He shoved a cigarette between his lips and lit up, relishing the moment he and the stick of tobacco were sharing like the two hours had been twenty years apart. Then again, twenty years apart and he’d probably have kicked the habit by then. And then again, he had to wonder if his line of work had scheduled him in for twenty years from now. He shook his head, looking at the physical therapy packet he had folded in half in his hand. “Remember to do these stretches daily. You could do it while watching TV or something, whenever you’re bored. Set reminders. Oh, and use this cane if you’re having trouble with balance or uneven surfaces.”

The doctor’s words came back to him as if it was his epitaph and he was half-listening from his coffin. He took a long pull from his flask, knowing the smell of cigarettes would mask the alcohol. The day he needed a cane was the day he ran to the arms of a freight train. “Fuckin’…” He tossed the cane away and turned to face the automatic doors to the hospital’s emergency room, “What the fuck’s takin’ y’all so goddamn long…”

There was a flash of wild red curls in the glass windows of the automatic doors before they quietly slid open and Ava walked out with Dave by her side, now wearing a shoulder sling for his injured arm.

Ava had one arm wrapped around her stomach and a small plastic bag clutched in her hand. She was still dressed in her pale orange shirt, grey sweatpants and a pair of brown UGGs, with one pant leg bunched up around the top of one boot. She glanced around the entrance for a moment before her eyes landed on Donnelley. She nudged Dave to get his attention, then nodded her head in Donnelley’s direction.

Dave waved cheerfully at Donnelley. In his open flannel shirt and bandages he looked for all the world like a lumberjack who had been attacked by rogue paramedics.

His wounded left arm was in a sling, bandages wrapped around the upper arm to protect the injury. More bandages were wrapped around the days-old gash on his forearm, which they had cleaned thoroughly and stitched closed, chastising him for not coming in sooner. Beneath the open shirt his beater was gone, his chest and ribs wrapped tightly.

"Medium concussion, cracked sternum, three cracked ribs, a through-and-through to the shoulder, an' eleven stitches in my forearm," he said proudly. He blew on the fingernails of his right hand and mimed polishing them on his chest bandage. "Got the nurse's number, too."

“Yeah, they do that in case you’ve fallen and can’t get up.” Donnelley’s frown turned to a smirk, but it took a second, “‘Less Doctor Francis Chung had the hots for me too.”

“How’re you, Heracles?” He put his smirk and blue eyes on Ava, speaking through a cloud of tobacco-sweet smoke.

Ava was staring up at Dave, shaking her head with mild, but fond, exasperation. She turned her eyes up to Donnelley, the blue irises bright and clear of the cloud of opiates. “I’m fine, the bullet stopped in my abdominal wall and didn’t damage any of my organs.” She answered with a small shrug, her expression a little embarrassed as she glanced down. “My injury is actually a lot less severe than Dave’s. They didn’t even bother to remove the slug and said I could take Advil for the pain.” She said while lifting the back in her hand for emphasis.

She looked back up at Dave with a frown. “I can’t believe you were carrying me around with a cracked sternum and ribs.”

Dave shrugged, giving her a sheepish grin and rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I thought you were hurt pretty bad, and then you were stoned as shit, too… Besides, you're pretty tiny, so it wasn't no trouble."

He patted her gently on the shoulder and looked over at Donnelley. "How's your leg? You gonna keep it, or we gotta make you a pirate peg?"

“Oh, you’d be my cabin boy, son.” Donnelley chuckled, turning for the car and beginning his limp that he tried making out wasn’t as bad as it was, “Let’s get underway for some nuggets, my faithful crew. Y’all earned it.”

Ava watched Donnelley walk with a concerned frown and then glanced around the parking lot to make sure they weren’t being watched. She saw a cane a few yards away and glanced back at Donnelley and then up to Dave before following after their team lead. “Maybe, I should drive?” Ava suggested, looking between the two men. “It’s the least I could do after everything you both have done for me.” Especially after she had been pretty useless the past few hours.

"Yeah, sure." Dave dug out the keys and offered them to her. "I can do with a nap in the back seat." As they approached the car he removed his sling, moving his left arm with a wince. "Damn thing. Ain't like the joint is damaged. Don't wanna get caught in a gunfight with one damn arm."

Ava accepted the keys and frowned worriedly as he took off the sling. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it and just shook her head, unlocking the car for them.

Donnelley heard the locks disengage and began the process of getting himself into the Suburban. He grunted himself into the seat, pulling himself up with the oh-shit handle and waiting patiently in the passenger seat, rubbing his aching thigh. As the other two got into the Suburban he turned his head, “Nearest McDonalds, or one on the way to the Goldstar?”

"Nearest," Dave said firmly as he boarded the vehicle. "I could eat a fuckin' bear, and not bother to kill it first."

“Yeah I’m hungry too.” Ava agreed as she went through the process of adjusting the driver’s seat for her height. “We should get food for the other’s too.” She suggested, glancing over to Donnelley. “Unless they already ate? Can either of you call the others to see if they want anything?”

“We’ll just buy shit.” Donnelley chuckled, sucking in a bit more smoke and letting it out further with his chuckling words, “If they don’t eat it, we will.”




The nearest McDonalds turned out to be only ten minutes away and the Suburban, peppered with bullet holes as it was, garnered a fair bit of attention from bystanders standing in the parking lot. Sleepy contractors and businessmen gawked and stared at the rumbling SUV and Donnelley’s kissy faces as they rolled slowly into the drive thru.

“Wait up a sec.” Donnelley held his hand up at the first menu, sans speaker, the ones stoners the world over stopped at for a half hour to ruminate on the great and weighty decisions to be made. Donnelley would know, “I have a need. And the only cure is a goddamn McFlurry. One o’ them stroopwafel ones. What y’all wantin’?”

“Coffee,” Ava answered right away, eyeing the ‘McCafe’ menu intensely. “And orange juice and whatever has the most protein in it. I’ll have three of those.”

"Forty goddamn nuggets and a McFlurry," Dave said, sitting up from where he'd been sprawled in the backseat. "No shit forty of 'em. No fries. Just nuggets."

Donnelley nodded as if those were the truest wisdom spoken, “Good man.”

Ava smiled slightly, looking at Dave through the rearview mirror. “Screw it, I’ll get a McFlurry and some nuggets too, along with two McGriddles.”

“Oh, fuckin’ McGriddles, yes.” Donnelley murmured, “Let’s pull up.”

The SUV lurched forward to the speaker and it crackled to life as Ava rolled down the window, “Welcome to McDonalds, can I take your order?”

Donnelley leaned forward and spoke up, voice raised enough for the attendant to hear through his shitty mic, “I want a hundred chicken nuggets, a large coffee, three McFlurries, one stroopwafel, the other two…” Donnelley looked at Ava and then Dave as they chimed in with their answers, “And ten McGriddles.”

The speaker was silent.

Donnelley looked to Dave and then Ava before the speaker crackled to life again, “We’re only doing breakfast items and our ice cream machine is down for maintenance, sir.”

Donnelley frowned. That would simply not do. “Son, I swear on my Ma’s grave and sweet little baby Jesus, I will pay you double under the counter if you fry me up some fuckin’ nuggets.”

Again, the speaker only stared back at them in silence.

Donnelley quirked a brow at Ava and then Dave, “You think he’s gonna do it?” He whispered to them.

"I think if we go on there flashin' badges an' bullet wounds he'll let us make our own goddamn nuggets," Dave said, fire in his eyes. "Shit, I'll pitch money, we can triple the bribe."

Ava grinned at the two men and started laughing, wincing as it sent dull throbbing pain through her lower torso, but it didn’t stop her. “You both are crazy.” She laughed, leaning back in her seat with a grin and a shake of her head.

“Alright,” the speaker crackled, “Just, um, just don’t tell my manager, okay?”

“Son, I look like a snitch?” Donnelley narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t even know what you look like.”

“You will if you don’t come through for me, partner.” Donnelley spoke. He nodded further down the drive thru, “Take us over. Dave, you got your cash? How much you puttin’ in, Ava?”

Donnelley gathered the bribe money with a devilish little grin on his lips. If it was one thing he learned from the Northern Alliance in Afghanistan it was that people were willing to do dumb shit if the payout was enough. And sometimes, it worked out. From Mujahideen to McDonalds, the wisdom rang true, “Here, take it, hurry.” Donnelley hissed in a hushed tone to his scrawny teenage co-conspirator leaning out the drive thru window.

“Thank you so much, man, really!” He shook his head, eyes wide at the assortment of ones, tens, and a hell of a lot of pocket change.

Donnelley touched a finger to his lips, “Don’t thank me, partner. Thank those taxes your ma and pa pay.”

“Just pull through and wait in the reserve stall, I’ll be out in a few.” The attendant swallowed, looking around and then deciding to just stuff the heavy wad of cash in his pockets. He smiled a toothy thing set in his pimply face, “Thanks again.”

Dave grinned, rubbing his hands together with something akin to childish glee

"Hell yes," he said. "Gettin' our nuggets!" He patted the back of Donnelley's seat. "Gotta admit, it's hard to be upset about bribery an' government corruption when it's puttin' food in my belly."

Ava chuckled again as she pulled through the drive thru lane and parked the SUV where the employee had said. “It’s definitely different than how we worked in my old department.” She said as she turned the engine off but left the keys in the ignition. “Shame about the McFlurries, but we can probably find a Dairy Queen.”




With James McMurtry’s Choctaw Bingo on the radio from Donnelley’s phone it was hard not to prolong the sense of great victory. Donnelley busied himself with a cigarette and nodding along with the beat before he turned to his two partners in crime, “I wonder if he got caught.” He clucked his tongue, “None of that was proper illegal, right?”

"Who cares?" Dave said around a mouthful of chicken nugget. "I've done plenty of illegal shit. Long as it's a victimless crime, government ain't got no business outlawin' it in the first place. Shit, I only got a carry permit an' a driver's license cuz Kaliah didn't like Mal drivin' around with me without 'em."

Donnelley chuckled, nodding along a bit more enthusiastically. He turned to look at Dave as he flicked his cigarette out the window and shoved a nugget in his mouth, “I like you, partner.” He turned back to face the front and poked Ava in the arm, “What about you? Got any rebellious streak under your belt?”

Ava stopped sipping on her iced latte at the question and set it down in the cupholder with a thoughtful frown. “Uuuuh.” She scratched her head as she wracked her brain, keeping her eyes on the road in front of her as she drove. “I...don’t think so?” She answered slowly, knitting her eyebrows together. “I like cycling and I know that annoys people that they have to share the road with me?” She glanced at Donnelley next to her. “Does that count?”

"Aw, shit, she's an outlaw biker," Dave beamed at her in the rearview mirror. "Never woulda guessed you for a Hell's Angel, sugar."

“Goddamn,” Donnelley chuckled, “A real as real One-Percenter.”

Ava blushed and shook her head. “I meant bicycling.” She corrected them quietly.

Dave crammed another nugget into his mouth. After the night they'd had the food was the most glorious thing in his life. "Hey, so what's the plan now? We gonna go find this Jay and fuck up his operation? See if they're summoning demons or some shit?"

Donnelley sighed, though a small smirk remained through the sobering reminder of the operation, “Well, we regroup. Plan out our next steps. I wanna hit these fuckers hard and fast.” Donnelley nodded, chomping down another nugget, “Ava can use her drones to find those mines and that old ass shed they said them Russkies were usin’.”

“Hey, your old team, BLACKBEARD. They ever get eyes on those mines?” Donnelley quirked a brow.

“Wait, what?” Ava asked, straightening in her seat and looking at Donnelley then Dave in the review mirror. “Who’s Jay? And there are Russians in an old shed?” She asked, sounding and looking completely loss as to what they were talking about.

“Um,” Donnelley looked back at Dave, realizing what happened hours ago was withheld from Ava thus far. Not that he wanted to talk about it much past the good intelligence they got from it, “Jay is working with the Russians, who are working in them mountains, I guess.”

“One question remains, is it mob or are these Russian Intelligence guys over here? Ones illegal, and the other…” Donnelley shook his head, muttering, “One’s a real fuckin’ problem.”

"We never got to the mines," Dave said. "Me and Clif were on our way there when that thing… Well. You saw what it did."

He fought back a shudder. Thundering footsteps and a bovine roar echoed briefly in his head before he continued. "Anyway, we need bigger guns if we're gonna take that thing, and if there's damn Russian spies involved we're probably gonna need more guys. You got another Working Group in the area?"

Ava continued to frown, understanding a little better about what they were talking about but not sure how they came about this information. If it was important though, they surely would have told her, right? “I’ve got two drones,” She began, willing to move past that omission of information. “One is an aerial drone and the other is a terrain drone, so I can give us a birds eye view and we can send the terrain one down into the mines if it can fit.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Donnelley nodded, looking out the window to those heartbroken hills framing the sunrise, remembering that big beast, the firefight, and wondering just what secrets were weaving themselves in those mines, as he sucked in a spoonful of stroopwafel McFlurry. “Fuck, this shit’s so good…”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead

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>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.”
Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead

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>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.”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by KuroTenshi
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KuroTenshi

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>HIGHWAY I-64
>2019.8.JULY
>1400...///


As the hours passed the dull grey of concrete sidewalks and buildings eventually gave way to tall, bright green trees and picturesque views of the mountains as the car drove down the faded black asphalt of the highway.

Ava watched the countryside pass them by, admiring the beauty of the mostly unspoiled nature just 20 or so feet away. Though the admiration was tainted by the knowledge of what lurked among the towering trees and lowely undergrowth. An insidious black market operation skulking in the sleepy mountains. Or possibly something worse.

Ava glanced away from the window, picking up her slurpee from the cup holder and taking a long drink of the radioactive red drink that was cherry flavored. From the corner of her eye she looked over to Laine, driving their rental car for the first few hours and then Ava would take over. She felt a little nervous being in the car for hours on end, fearful of them lapsing into long awkward silences.

Well, when in doubt, talk about work.

“So,” She spoke up, setting her slurpee back in the cupholder. “What do you think of the case so far?”

Laine drove in silence, her thoughts to herself and she suppressed the urge to crank up the stereo in deference to Ava. She took a drink of her own slurpee, a blend of cherry and Coke.

"I think it's much bigger than I imagined when I first arrived in Blackriver," she replied, then hesitated. "It's actually the second time, I never thought...well I still don't know if there is a link between what I've seen on both my visits. Blackriver County is just full of weird shit."

It wasn't much of an answer so Laine continued, "I think we have a lot of information, bits and pieces that need sorting out."

“No kidding.” Ava agreed softly, her mind sifting through what information she did have and all the questions that need answering.

Shaking her head lightly to snap herself out of it she focused back on Laine with a curious frown. “What...happened on the first trip? If you want to talk about it.” She quickly added so Laine wouldn’t think she was being pushy. “If you don’t, I understand.”

Laine huffed a soft laugh, smiling slightly, "Are you curious? I find the best way to satisfy that is just to ask. I suppose it's alright to tell you, you're part of UMBRA now."

She cut her eyes to Ava then back to the road. "It was my trial, so to speak. To see if I could cut it with the Program. We were to clean out a retired agent's apartment, he'd passed away. But we found something."

Laine gestured with her head towards the back, indicating their luggage in the trunk. "That footlocker I've been lugging around. It belonged to the late Agent Clyde Baughman, we found he had a cabin up here in Blackriver. So we paid a visit."

Her hand gripped the wheel tightly and she reached for her slurpee, taking a long drink.

Ava furrowed her brows in confusion and concern as she listened to Laine, a chill starting to settle over her with each word she spoke. “What happened at the cabin?” She asked, her voice having gone a little quieter than her normal speaking volume.

Laine took a deep breath, then said, "In one of those books you'll see a story about a chief that grieved the loss of his wife so much he tried to bring her back. Well, Clyde grieved for his wife."

She reached for her Djarums instinctively, then said, "And he brought her back."

Laine lit the clove cigarette, pushing the button to roll down the window. "None of us knew, especially not a bunch of rookies. But even Donnelley didn't know, though...I should have heed his warning. I thought this Baughman had someone locked away. We heard a woman's voice, calling for him. From the septic tank. I was so damn sure it was a possible victim, because that's what I work with, you know?"

She shook her head, wincing slightly and drew deeply on the black cigarette, "It was dark in there and the smell...like wet rot and suddenly she was there, reaching out with corpse hands. Mrs Baughman... she was living but dead. I felt her strength, she grabbed me by the neck and tried to strangle me, she was strong but so cold, decomposing...then Donnelley and the rest of the team with me shot her. That was the only thing that made her release her grip, they killed her..."

Flicking her ashes out the window, she glanced at Ava, "But according to records she had died and been buried. So what was that in the septic tank?"

Laine shook her head, her voice slightly raspier, "Baughman must have found something, someway to do that to her. Maybe, I don't know. It's not scientifically possible yet...there she was."

She smoked harder, her cheeks hollowing as she took a sharp drag. "What do you think about that?"

Ava was staring at Laine with wide eyes as she told her tale, the chill that had creeped over her now settling on her fully like a blanket. She tore her eyes away as she brushed a loose curl of copper hair behind her ear, her expression troubled as she processed the information.

“I...I don’t know what to say.” She answered truthfully. “I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked since,” Her mind flashed to that short encounter two years ago that drastically changed the course of her life. “I’ve worked for the Program for a few years.” She finished, trying to cover up her pause.

She turned her head back to Laine, her eyes softening from fear and shock, to something more sympathetic. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. Are you okay?”

Laine nodded, then took a sip of her slurpee, "Then you've seen more than I have."

Laine took one last drag and snuffed out the cigarette, "Yeah I think so, it was like a few months back, but it did shake me up. Hell, I ran away and tore off my jacket and shirt because it had uh...well she came apart being shot so much at close range. Donnelley helped me though, he's...you know, he's experienced. Anyway, we had one person never come back after that and I don't blame her, it was tough. But I'm wondering how Baughman did it and if there is any connection to what is going on in Blackriver. Of all the places to buy a vacation cabin he picked the center of weird in the Appalachians. I don't think it was just a coincidence."

“I think you’re right.” Ava agreed with a frown, looking down at her hands for a moment. “So, you think that whatever he did is the same as that chief in the story?” She asked, lifting her head to look in the backseat for the book she mentioned.

Laine pressed her lips together tightly then sighed, "I don't know, I mean like the scientific research I've seen even experimental stuff still says it's impossible. Mrs Baughman was dead and buried according to the records. Did he exhume her or was she never dead but maybe sick and the funeral and death records a farce? Not quite out of the question considering Baughman was with the Program. I wish I'd got tissue samples but the body was burned along with the shed. I was too out of it to think clearly at the time."

She shook her head slightly, "I wanted the opinion of Agent Bhaat about the stories in those books, there are similarities that I can see to what's occurred in Blackriver but..."

Laine shrugged, "She didn't seem interested in reading them. I have friends in forensic anthropology and sociology fields, maybe they might be able to help me understand. But you know, it's risky asking too much from outside sources."

Ava glanced at her with a concerned crease between her eyebrows at the mention of Pari. “Maybe she was distracted by...everything?” She suggested with a small shrug. “Um, it’s not my field, but my mother is an anthropologist professor at Brown University so I know a little bit about the study.” She turned back to her searching and spotted a box of books.

She twisted her body, not taking off her seat belt as she got up on her knees on the seat and reached back with a grunt to pull the box closer before picking it up. “Which book is it?” She asked, turning back around and settling in her seat with the box in her lap.

Laine merely shook her head slightly and sniffed, "I guess so, it was certainly an eventful week."

"Impressive, an Ivy League mom. Well if you want to take a look I believe it was Backwoods Witchcraft of Appalachia, there is a section on local Native American legends and their religious and magic beliefs," she said.

Ava looked through the books until she found the one Laine spoke of, then set the box down between her feet. “Does the story go in to detail on how the Chief brought his wife back?” She asked Laine curiously, even as she flipped through the pages to the section she spoke about.

"Not really," Laine said, "At least not like a recipe for zombie making. It talked about ritual and sacrifice, bargaining but no details."

Ava pursed her lips together as she started reading. “Maybe he bargained with The Sleeper?” She muttered distractedly as her eyes flickered across the page.

Laine glanced at her, raising her brows, "Huh, maybe something like that. Dulane did say he made a promise. He promised something to the Sleeper, he was very adamant about that."

“Yeah, I was wondering about that,” She began, her face still locked toward the book. “Do you think if Dulane promised something to the Sleeper, he was expecting to get something from it for fulfilling that promise?” Ava asked with a frown.

"It's not too far fetched, it's the same geographic area and..." Laine paused then said, "That thing in the footlocker, it's some Native artifact. It looks old and strange, maybe Clyde used it. You know like a ceremony or prayer. Hey, you have your phone, got any signal? Maybe you can look up that story, see if there is anything else out there on the interwebs."

“Let me see.” She said while shutting the book and setting it in her lap. She picked up her phone from the center console and started tapping at the screen. “I hope I can find something that goes into more detail about the story.”

She didn’t take her eyes off the screen, but did turn her head slightly toward Laine. “You found an artifact?” She asked, her tone surprised.

"Yeah, I'm not sure exactly what it is, it was in the foot locker with some research papers and a knife and some other oddities," Laine said, "I pretty much forgot about it until now. Find anything?"

“I think I might have.” Ava said, her eyes flickering back and forth over the screen. “Huh, this is interesting.” She muttered, her finger moving gently over the screen as she read through something. “It doesn’t look like the story has gone through much evolution in tellings like myths and legends tend to do. That’s unusual considering how old it is.”

"Yeah? No evolution of the legend to myth? It's been awhile since I had any cultural anthropology classes but do you think it might mean that it's more of a telling of an incident rather than like a metaphorical tale?" Laine asked, "But still, it's very... supernatural. I mean, I know what I've seen and heard, it's still hard to wrap my head around."

Ava shrugged her shoulders as she continued to read. “I’ve been with the Program for two years, I’m still having a hard time accepting it.” She admitted to her, her voice quiet.

She straightened in her seat. “Here it is, some fringe historians do believe that the story of the Grieving Chief is an actual oral historical tale that was used as a cautionary story of the dangers of bargaining with the Lord of the Woods.” She frowned as she continued to read. “They’re citing some Occult writer called John Dee, so I’m not sure how factual that might be.”

"John Dee the occultist? Never heard of him, doesn't sound like solid resume for historical accuracy but it's a start. Look him up, see what you find," Laine replied, "And Lord of the Woods, that's that picture I saw, the guy that looks the Horned God or Baphomet. Maybe a connection with the Sleeper, I can definitely follow up with Dulane about more details, if he saw it or what exactly he was bargaining for."

Ava picked up the book again and flipped through it until she found the picture she was talking about. “Oh, well, that’s creepy isn’t it?” She said with a grimace as she looked over the strange chimaera of goat and man. “Usually local...let’s go with “spirits” for this,” She said, motioning to the picture. “Have a tendency to have more than one name or title, so it’s possible?”

She shut the book and returned to her phone, tapping away at the screen with her thumbs. “So, what exactly is the plan with Dulane?” She asked Laine curiously as she searched. “You guys are just...going to take him to the mines?”

"The idea is returning him to the scene of the crime, that whole area is spooky. That's where Dave's team was killed, where Laurie and Gwen were killed and the men attacked by that... whatever it was. It was big and dangerous and it makes me nervous about going out there, I'm not afraid to admit. I hate hiking, fresh air is for dead people. But if it helps Dulane remember details about this Sleeper then, I guess I better bring my Docs."

Ava looked over at her, a worried tilt to her lips and the furrow of her brow. “It seems like a big risk.” She said, shifting her gaze back to her phone. “I wouldn’t go up there without a Sherman Tank as an escort.”

She scrolled through her phone and started to shake her head. “There isn’t much I’m finding on John Dee, just that he’s an Occult author that some fringe historians cite for his writings and his influence on witchcraft.” She frowned. “There’s also mention of his work translating something called the Al Azif?”

Laine drove in silence, the mines were too big a key to the mystery to stay away from. She might not have a Sherman Tank but she had Donnelley and she knew he wouldn't risk taking her or any of the team back up there unless he was planning on heavy protection.

Ava's voice broke into her thoughts and she glanced at her, "I never heard of that, Al Azif. Well, we have our homework don't we. Answer one question and get a dozen more. The nature of a mystery," Laine said, a hint of pleasure in her voice. "What are your plans for the break?"

She was surprised by the sudden change of topics, but it wasn’t an unwelcome one. “Oh, you know, the usual.” She said with a small shrug. “Probably be ignored by my cat for a day for leaving, maybe go for a jog with my neighbor and I’ll be moving offices since I was transferred from Logistics to Operations. Oh and hunting down Jay’s online trail.”

She put her phone down and picked up her slurpee, frowning as she realized it had mostly melted. “That’s a shame.” She muttered, but took a sip anyway. “What about you?”

"Work," Laine replied, "I am going to teach a course this fall for the Academy, so I'll be preparing for that and working any cases that I'm assigned. In the meantime, I'll be working on our case. There is a lot of information that needs to be written down and organized."

She paused and grinned slightly, "And maybe go out for drinks or something, unwind."

Laine drove in silence for a moment then asked, "So you have a cat? I love cats, I just don't have any pets because I'm always traveling."

“I do.” Ava said, perking up with a grin. “He’s...well he’s basically a miniature lion. I call him my guard cat because he’s 20 pounds of Viking feline breeding; his name is Thor.” She was tempted to whip out her phone again to show her pictures but decided against it since Laine was driving.

She leaned back in her seat and let out a mournful sigh. “I miss drinking. A margarita or a glass of wine sounds really good right about now.”

"He sounds great, I had a black cat in highschool named Bastet, because well...I had a little Wicca phase and Bastet was the Egyptian cat goddess or something. I thought it was very clever," Laine chuckled at herself and then took another drink of her slurpee, grimacing at the melted mix of flat Coke and fake cherry. "You don't drink anymore? Did you...are you like recovering?"

She cut a glance at Ava, who did not seem the type to be recovering from any addiction. She hardly looked old enough to drink at first glance, because of her size and girlish features.

“Oh, no! No, I’m sorry.” Ava flushed at the misunderstanding and gave her a smile that was part reassuring, part flustered. “I should have been more clear, I can’t really drink anymore because I take a type of anxiety medication that reacts poorly to alcohol.” She explained, brushing a hand through her mop of red curls. “Some people can balance the two, but because I’m a munchkin, it was just easier to stop drinking.”

Laine nodded, "Yeah, that'll do it. Medications can really do a number and pretty much alcohol will make anything like that worse."

After a beat, Laine grinned slightly and glanced at her, "Do you smoke weed?"

Ava looked over to her, startled by the question before she grinned and laughed at the idea. “Oh yes.” She said, her quiet voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m a big partaker of the Mary Jane.”

Laine chuckled at her reply, "Only Mary Jane shoes, I bet."

They crossed the state line and Laine casually flipped the middle finger at the sign proclaiming 'Now Leaving West Virginia, come on back soon, y'hear!'

"Oh we will be," she muttered then spoke up, "Let me know if you're hungry we can stop for lunch or just keep going straight to Langley, still got another two hours of driving."

Ava grinned slightly when she saw Laine flip off the West Virginia sign, giggling to herself at the unexpectedly crude gesture to an inanimate object. “We can stop for lunch and I can take over the driving so you can have a break the rest of the way. Especially since we’ll be driving to my house.”

"That's fair, I could use a break," Laine agreed as they continued down the highway. A billboard caught her eye, and she grinned, "Let's go to Waffle House, ever been?"

“I haven’t, though I’ve heard about them.” Ava said, straightening up in her seat with interest as she watched them pass the billboard. “Is it good?” She asked curiously.

"They're good enough but more importantly, it's essential to any road trip in the south," Laine replied, a grin cracking her serious expression.

A few miles later she pulled into the parking lot under the yellow block sign of the roadside diner, parking the rental Honda Accord a few spaces away from a pick up truck and the far side was lined with big rigs.

As they walked in heads turned, eyes looking over the pair as Laine lead Ava to a booth near the back. She sat down, facing the door and picked up a plastic cased menu.

A waitress trudged over, "'Mornin' ladies, getcha something to drink?"

"Coffee for me," Laine replied, then glanced at Ava, "Same?"

“Yes, please.” Ava said with a polite smile to the harried looking waitress. “With some creamer please.”

Once she left, Laine tapped the menu, "It's basic but the waffles are good. And the blueberry biscuits. Nothing like the nice cafes in the city but it'll do for road food."

She set it down and leaned forward, "You know what I really miss is good Mexican food. Fish tacos, chilaquiles... you know? I've yet to find anything in the DC area that's comparable to LA taquerias."

“I’ve never been to LA.” Ava said, her eyebrows ticking up with interest. “I’ve heard that the Mexican food was good there though.” She looked away, her eyes growing distant for a second with a small smile. “I miss clam cakes and home cooked Italian food.” She blinked her eyes as she focused back on Laine. “So, did you use to live in LA?” She asked her curiously, glancing down at the menu for a moment just to read it over.

"I was born there, in Van Nuys to be specific," Laine said, "You know, like the Valley. We moved a few times but always in the Los Angeles area. My mother insisted on it so my dad went along, I didn't mind. I like the beach, I just hate the sun. You sound very East coast, where are you from?"

“Uh,” Ava frowned as she rubbed the back of her neck with an awkward expression on her face. “Technically I’m actually from West Virginia, but I grew up in Rhode Island and then lived in Massachusetts for awhile for college.” She shook her head with a small smile. “Fun fact, Massachusetts and Rhode Islanders both take their clam chowder very seriously.”

Laine looked at her closely, then grinned slightly, "No shit? You don't look inbred, must not have been from the hills. Amazing your mother made it out and became an Ivy League professor. And where did you go, Harvard?"

“No, MIT.” Ava answered sheepishly, looking down at her menu even though she had already decided to get the waffles. “I’m actually adopted, but that’s a long story that’s probably not appropriate for this setting.” She fiddled with the plastic edges of the menu for a moment and then set it back down, folding her hands on top of it. “So, where did you go to school?” She asked as the waitress returned with their coffee and a small pouring dish for the creamer. “Thank you.” Ava nodded to the waitress.

"MIT, of course, the computer science," Laine nodded, then looked at her with mild surprise, "Nothing wrong with being adopted but we have plenty of time for long stories in the car, if you feel like telling it. "

The waitress took out her pad and clicked her pen, "Y'all ready to order?"

"I'll have an order of pecan waffles and a side of bacon," Laine replied.

“I’d like the chocolate chip waffles with some blueberry biscuits please.” Ava answered with a polite smile as she handed her the menu. “And extra whip cream.”

The waitress wrote it down then nodded, "Be a few minutes. Enjoy ya cawfee."

Once she was gone, Laine continued, "And I went to school at the University of California Irvine. From freshman to doctorate, good times. I have a lot of good memories and friends from those years. How was MIT, and being a woman in a male dominated field?"

“It was...interesting. I was able to earn a doctorate in Computer Science as well as a Mechanical Engineering degree.” Ava answered, picking up the little container of cream and pouring it into her coffee. “And I was ten years old when I went.” She explained with a small, awkward shrug. “So it was less about me being a woman and more me being a kid that stood out.” She suddenly gave her a small grin, a hint of mirth breaking through her obvious discomfort in discussing her college experience. “So, you can see why I didn’t experiment with weed in college.”

Laine blinked in surprise, tilting her head, "Wow, ten? That's amazing. Your folks won the lottery adopting you."

She smiled warmly, noting her discomfort, "Hey, you should be proud. But I'm sure it wasn't easy, just the social situation alone must have been very difficult."

Laine paused, considering for a moment how lonely and awkward it must have been to be so young among adults doing adult things and no one her age to bond with. She sipped her coffee and tried not to make a face, it was more bitter than she liked, almost burned. "So, did your parents move with you to live in Boston while you went to school?"

Ava shook her head, the curls and waves bouncing against her shoulders and around her head with the motion. “No, no, my dad is a surgeon and he couldn’t find a new position in Boston and I don’t think my mom wanted to give up her professorship with Brown University. So they rented a house for me to live in during the school year and my grandparents moved with me to look after me since they were retired.”

She took a sip of her coffee herself, grimaced at the taste and added a bit more cream to it. “I can see why they don’t call this place the coffee house.” She commented, then took a quick look around before leaning in closer in a mock conspiratorial whisper, “Though honestly, with only four options for waffles, I don’t know why this is called the Waffle House either.”

Laine snickered at her comment then shrugged, "Yeah it's trash, sorry. I have questionable taste sometimes. I do it for the experience."

"How was it living with your grandparents?" she asked, following up on her comment.

“It was great.” Ava answered with a genuinely happy smile, her eyes growing distant as she thought back on the days she lived with her grandparents. “They're a loving and fun pair, made sure I didn't work too hard and just looked out for me.” She said, her hand reaching up to touch the pendant of her necklace.

She shook her head and smiled sheepishly. “I'm sorry, I'm probably talking too much about myself.” Ava said with a nervous huff of a laugh. “You sound like you've had a lot of interesting experiences, any of them Waffle House related?” Ava asked her with a small grin.

Laine shook her head slightly, "No, you're fine. I did ask you about yourself. And I'm glad you had supportive grandparents that remembered you were still a child despite your intellect."

She sat for a moment, glancing out the window at the cloudless blue sky and the stretch of highway as eighteen wheelers rumbled by. Laine turned back to Ava, "I've had a few interesting experiences and maybe one or two involved a Waffle House. Being a criminal behavioral analyst I travel a lot, which is why I don't have a pet. I spent some time in a small Georgia town, assisting in an investigation of a string of murders in that area and the detective I liaised with always wanted to meet up at a nearby Waffle House. It was one of my first cases and the first time I went alone so...I guess it's sentimental rather than actually liking the food. Another time, when I was with my ex we did a road trip down to the Outer Banks and I made him stop at one. He hated it, it was funny and we...well, you know how it is we were still in that honeymoon phase of dating."

Laine raised her brows then shrugged, leaning back into the booth bench.

“Wow,” Ava said, her eyes sparking with interest behind her large circular glasses. “So, I guess we’re kind of honoring a tradition here, aren’t we?” She asked with a smile, picking up her coffee to take a sip. It was serviceable. “I don’t know much about dating, but I’ve heard of the honeymoon phase, I’m sorry it didn’t work out after it was over.”

She set her cup down, biting her lip for a moment before asking, hesitantly, “Did you catch the guy?” She asked, referring to her first case.

Laine turned her coffee mug then said, "You might say that, though both are viewed in rose tinted glasses. One was a murder investigation and the other a failed relationship. Well, Alex and I made it two years, and we're still friends, sort of. We worked together and he actually helped on this case. He did the autopsy of Maria Vasquez when we first found her."

The mention of the case Laine nodded, "Eventually, I wasn't there when they finally made an arrest. That happens often, we drop in and study the evidence and make a suspect profile. It's nice when I'm present for a resolution."

“I can only imagine.” Ava said, shaking her head in amazement. “I have no idea how you’re able to do what you do, looking the worse of humanity in the eyes and getting inside of their heads like that.”

Laine crossed her arms and leaned forward in the table, looking at Ava directly. "It's fascinating work but more importantly it's the way I know how to fight the darkness. I witness, I try to understand these people so we can stop them. It's ugly, but necessary to catching killers faster. And that's the ultimate goal, to stop the predators and I guess that's why...well I'm here, with the team."

She paused, her gaze shifting past Ava as she added, "Like Donnelley told me, it's the only war that matters. I'm starting to understand."

Ava stared at her for a few silent moments before she slowly began to nod. “I’m still adjusting to being on the frontlines.” She admitted with a small, if tired, smile.

Laine gave a half smile, looking back at Ava, "I bet. Getting capped your first time out. How are you feeling about that? Sometimes it takes a while for a trauma to settle in."

“I’m...not sure?” Ava answered honestly with an uncertain frown. “I feel okay, I guess, but I’ve been pretty occupied with helping the case so maybe it hasn’t really hit me yet?” She shrugged awkwardly. “Already being on anxiety medication also probably helps.”

She laughed, then covered her mouth, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh about your anxiety but yes, it's probably helpful. If you feel like you need to talk, you should. A counselor or psychiatrist, there is no shame in it. Though I suspect you'd have to be circumspect with the story you give them."

“I don’t think I can do that.” Ava said with a wince. “I’m the worst liar I know and panicking about lying and getting caught while talking about the trauma of being shot seems counterproductive.”

"You're right, well I'm not a therapist but I'm a psychologist," Laine said, glancing toward the kitchen then back at Ava. "So if you need to talk about anything, I'm here. That goes for everyone on the team."

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Ava said, relief flickering across her features. “I’m obviously not a psychologist, but I’m a pretty good listener if you ever need to talk.” She offered with a smile. It only seemed like the decent thing to do, especially after she had witnessed Laine deal with the weight of the case first hand.

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you," Laine gave her a warm smile then glanced up as the waitress brought the plates, the huge waffles protruding over the sides and then placed the syrup on the table.

"Any more cawfee?"

"Not for me, thanks," Laine said, picking up her fork.

“I’m good too, thank you.” Ava nodded to the waitress, picking up one of the blueberry biscuits. She waited for the waitress to leave before turning her attention back to Laine. “If these waffles aren’t good, then this place is a House of Lies.”

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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by KuroTenshi
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KuroTenshi

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>VIENNA, VIRGINIA
>AVALINE MOORE, RESIDENCE
>2019.8.JULY
>1740...///


The sun was dipping low toward the horizon when Ava walked down her front steps, her eyes on the bright colorful garden of her neighbor and friend. She had parted ways with Laine almost an hour ago, the FBI psychologist having wished her well before driving off into the sunset.

The next hour Ava had packed her drones back in the garage, started a load of much needed laundry and took twenty minutes to just sit on her couch. She watched an episode of Bob’s Burgers and just took a moment of quiet to catch her breath and soak in the comfort of being home again. Home and safe, where Blackriver was far away from her and so were the events of the shooting.

She wished she could stay there a bit longer, just turn off her brain and enjoy one of her favorite shows. In fact she fully intended to call in to Headquarters and tell them she would be taking a few personal days, but not at this moment. Not tonight. It could wait until tomorrow.

However, there was one more piece of reality she needed to face before she could settle in to her time off.

She wrung her hands together as she walked up the pathway to Mrs. Grier’s front porch; her mind racing. What did she tell her? What would she ask? Would she be upset with her if she didn’t tell her?

Those questions raced round and round her head, like a train caught on a set of circular tracks. She could feel sweat gathering on the back of her neck as she walked up one step and then two until she was at the front door. A warm breeze blew across the garden, carrying the scent of summer blooming flowers. It normally brought her comfort with its familiarity, but at that moment, the smell of the flowers was almost nauseating in their sweetness.

Daisy was already barking on the other side, the pugs breathy, snorting yips giving away her presence before she even had a chance to knock. She shut her eyes, took in a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

A few moments later a voice on the other side could be heard, "Daisy, get back, dear."

"Who is it?" Mrs Grier asked through the door. "Oh, sorry...let me..."

Her voice went in and out, the sound of latches unlocking and a chain before the door opened. Mrs Grier was dressed neatly in white slacks and loafers, the neat mint green blouse accented with her elegant gold jewelry. Her white hair was swept back in a neat French twist, held by an art nouveau style dragonfly comb.

"Ava!" She smiled brightly, looking the younger woman over before stepping back, "Come in, please. I wish I had known you were coming home tonight or I would have held dinner. Come inside, have you eaten?"

The elderly woman stepped aside, gently nudging Daisy out of the way, the fat pug wheezing and wagging her curly tail.

Ava returned the older woman’s smile and tried not to show her how tired she felt. “I’m sorry, it slipped my mind to call you. I came by to come get,” As she was speaking there came the rapid padding of feet and then Thor was running out of a hallway toward her. “Hey Thor!” She greeted with a smile, bracing a hand against a nearby wall as the cat ran himself into her shins and started rubbing against her legs; purring like a motorcycle.

She stooped down to start petting him. “Hi, did you miss me? You’re not mad at me for leaving?” She cooed to the cat, scratching his ears and then stroking his back. “Hmm, how many table scraps have you been eating?” She asked in a mock serious voice while looking up at her friend.

Daisy yipped and waddled over to participate in the scritches, attempting to butt in but the plume of Thor's tail whipped in her squished face. Mrs Grier used her foot to gently push the pug away and allow the big cat his reunion.

She held her hands up, her wedding set still in place on her left hand even after being widowed for years. "He might have persuaded me to part with a few bits of salmon and chicken. I hope you don't mind too much."

“I don’t mind.” Ava assured her, standing up with a wince as it tugged on her sensitive side. “You’re supposed to be spoiled when you have a sleepover.” She looked back up at Mrs Grier and smiled a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. “I hope you don’t mind watching him again in two weeks? I’ll have to leave again for an...unknown amount of time.”

Mrs Grier looked her over, her fine brows drawing together with concern, "Of course I don't mind, but an unknown amount of time? They're keeping you busy. Have you eaten, come inside I have plenty of leftovers. I made lasagna last night, spinach and ricotta. I always make too much, even when I have guests."

She waved Ava along, gently herding her towards the dining room.

“That’d be great, thank you.” Ava said honestly, relief evident in her voice as she followed her to the dining room. “I’m way too tired to cook and I’ve only had coffee and subpar waffles for food.” She carefully walked around Thor as the cat stuck close to her legs, meowing up at her and purring. “You had guests over?” She asked, genuinely curious and to get the topic off her work. “Did you have a dinner party?”

Mrs Grier put the lasagna to heat up and returned with two glasses of ice tea, setting one in front of Ava. "Oh no party just a friend from the Gardening Club. Jeremy helped me by turning the soil over in the vegetable garden for the autumn crop. So I repaid his kindness with lasagna!"

She chuckled, setting out lemon slices and "He ate a good portion and took a serving home and I still have more left."

“Oh!” Ava’s eyes widened and she slapped her hands lightly on the table as she was sitting down. “I forgot! I bought you seeds!” She said, frowning over her shoulder at the door. “I’ll drop them by tomorrow, I got you your favorites.” She said, looking back to Mrs. Grier with a smile, picking up her ice tea and taking a drink.

"How nice, thank you," Mrs Grier smiled then turned toward the kitchen when the microwave pinged. "When do you think you'll bring them by, before work or after?"

She placed a plate of a large square of lasagna and fork before Ava and sat down to sip the sweet iced tea. "Or are they at least giving you a day off to recover from traveling?"

“I’m thinking of taking a few days off.” Ava said, picking up her fork and cutting into the lasagna with the side of it. “They sprung this assignment on me, I’d like to take a few days to catch my breath and get...reorganized.”

She looked down as she took her first bite, smiling at Thor as he brushed up against her legs. “Wow, I was wrong, you’re being clingy instead of distant.” She chuckled, reaching down to give his ears a few scratches, trying to ignore the ache it sent up her side to do so.

She sat up straight with a wince, then tried to cover it with a smile. “So, did I miss anything exciting while I was gone? Daisy chase down anymore birds?”

"Time off seems like something you could use," Mrs Grier agreed. She sipped her tea, her sharp eyes behind her bifocals watching Ava. "Did you hurt yourself in that time? You seem tender on that side, if you don't mind me asking."

“Oh,” Ava frowned self consciously and touched her injury, a battle waging inside her mind about whether or not to tell Mrs. Grier she had been shot. On the one hand she didn’t want to lie, but on the other hand, she didn’t know how to handle the follow up questions either.

Realizing that the silence was stretching on for too long, she bit her lip and decided to just rip off the metaphorical bandaid. She took in a deep breath and looked her friend in the eyes. “If I tell you, you can’t freak out okay?”

Mrs Grier clasped her slim fingers and peered across at Ava, smiling gently, "You'd be surprised, I don't freak out easily. What happened?"

Ava paused for a moment longer than said, slowly, “I...was shot.” She held up her hands. “I’m okay though! I didn’t even need surgery!”

The elderly woman raised her fine arched brows in shock, "Shot? Where on Earth are they sending you that would would get shot? You're an analyst for heaven's sake."

She caught herself and sighed, "My apologies, I know you probably can't tell me, I understand. But goodness, that's quite the experience. How are you doing now, after that?"

Ava bit her lip again. “What I can tell you is, I’m assisting an ongoing investigation as a cyber crime consultant.” She said, inwardly happy with herself for coming up with that line. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie and it basically was what she was doing.

At the question about how she was doing, she looked down, setting down the fork and wrapping her arms around herself. “And, I don’t know. It was...pretty scary at the time.” She said, blinking her eyes as she felt them start to sting and her throat tighten up.

"Oh my, of course it's frightening," Mrs Grier said, standing up to scoot over to Ava and put a gentle hand on her shoulder, lightly rubbing her back as she had her own children and grandchildren to comfort them when they were in distress, "You poor dear, how could anyone want to shoot you. Did they catch them?"

Ava sniffed and leant against her. “Yeah.” Again it was technically the truth, she at least knew of one shooter that had been caught and was now dead. She imagined that there were quite a few more bodies surrounding that cabin now. But there were others that probably survived and were back in Blackriver looking for them, waiting for them.

She felt herself start to shake and she turned her head to rest it against Mrs Grier’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” She said, her voice breaking as she sucked in a deep breath. “I-I think it’s starting to hit me.”

Mrs Grier silently rubbed her back in circles under the wild red curls, a soothing motion that used to put her babies to sleep. "Shh, you don't ever need to be sorry, Ava. You go on and let it out, there's no shame in crying especially over getting shot. It's a terrible violation by violence, no matter if you needed surgery or not. You have every right to be upset so you let it out. It's what strong women do, we let it out. We cry and we grieve and we keep moving forward."

Ava heeded her advice and let the floodgates open.




>2019.9.JULY
>0846...///

The next morning saw Ava rise after a fitful night of sleep. Laine had been right about the trauma taking its time to hit her. Crying it out with Mrs. Grier had felt good, but it also felt like it had only been the beginning. Now it felt like she was dealing with the full force of not just the shooting but everything that had happened in Blackriver.

Her anxiety medication helped, but only to a certain extent she was realizing. It helped with the shaking and the cold sweats and she wasn't completely panic stricken when she was in the front part of her house. However there was still that fear lingering at the back of her mind that the front walls and windows would explode with gunfire at any moment.

The one good thing to come out of her shaken state was it hardened her resolve to take a few days to steady herself and work through her emotions. Even though work was her normal escape from her anxiety, and she certainly had a lot of it to do, she didn't know how productive she would be like she was.

So she called Headquarters, reported in and informed them she needed a few days to recover from an injury received in the field.

Once that was done, Ava tried to return to some sense of normalcy.

Thor purred happily in her lap as she absently stroked his back, her elbow on the arm of the overly stuffed and comfortable sitting chair in her living room and her head resting against her fist.

There was a cup of breakfast tea next to her, she was afraid coffee would make her more jittery, but it had long gone cold inside of the owl shaped mug.

Her heavy blue eyes were fixed on the television, but she was only half tuned in to what was happening on the screen. Normally this helped her when she was feeling overwhelmed. Sitting in her favorite chair, a warm drink in hand and the comforting weight of another living creature on her lap.

Now though, after sitting like she was for a couple hours, all she could think about was how quiet her home was behind her. She felt off...strangely disembodied. This felt like it should have been comforting and normal, but she wasn't feeling it.

Ava sighed and took off her glasses, tilting her head up and rubbing her eyes. Why couldn't she relax?

She moved her hand from her eyes and looked at the window that faced the side of Mrs Grier’s house. She could go back and visit her friend, but she wanted to give Mrs Grier time to breathe after last night. It had been a lot of raw emotions. Maybe in a few more hours, she at least wanted to be a little better held together.

She put her glasses back on and found herself looking at a picture on the wall. Among the framed paintings and prints were family photos. One such photo was her favorite; a picture of her when she was young and her maternal grandparents at the Boston zoo. She smiled at the picture, chuckling as she recalled the trip to the zoo having been her reward for acing her Freshman finals. Quite the trip idea for getting good college grades.

She stared at the picture for a moment longer, warmth filling her chest and chasing away the strange disconnect she had been feeling.

Without giving it much thought, she pulled out her phone and called her grandparents.

The phone rang twice before it was answered with a loud clatter. A voice thick with Jersey irritation came across the line, shouting to somebody on the other end of the phone.

“Not even nine, already they’re calling! The telemarketers! No, I don’t know who it is, I just got to the phone!”There was a rustle and then Mick Cavallo’s voice returned. “Who’s this?”

Ava grinned, her nose wrinkling as she tried to keep from laughing at the familiar sound of her grandfather preparing to give someone a verbal ass chewing. “I’m sorry Gramps, I didn’t realize I was calling before you had your first cup of coffee.” She said in a light voice, sinking into her chair and picking up her mug.

“Ruby!” There was a rustle and some brief swearing as seated himself. “How are you, girl? It’s been a while.”

“Oh, you know, I’m hanging in there.” She answered cryptically with a frown as she stared down at her mug of cold tea. “Work is getting a little crazy though.” She waved Thor off her lap, making him jump down with a protesting rumble of a meow before she stood with her mug in hand.

“Keepin’ ya busy, huh?”Something clattered in the background and his voice grew muffled. “I know, I’ll tell her, I heard you! Your gramma says hi, Ruby.”

She smiled. “Tell her I said hi and I love her.” She said, walking across her wood floors to the kitchen with Thor meowing after her. “Thor says hi too.” She put her mug in the microwave and set it to reheat. “I really miss you both.” Now more than ever.

She leaned back against the counter of the kitchen island. “How are you guys doing? Are you being nice to daddy?”

“And we miss you,” Mick said. “Of course I’m bein’ nice to him. When he deserves it. We’re doing just fine out here. Your gramma won’t quit badgering me, but I guess that’s life. Ow!.”

Ava grinned, picturing her grandmother reaching over from wherever she was to swat at her grandfather. Slowly the smile faded as she took in a breath. “Gramps, can I...talk to you about something?”

His voice grew a little more serious. “You know you can. What’s wrong?”

“I’m just,” She sniffed, feeling tears well up in her eyes as her voice wavered slightly. “I’m having a really hard time with my anxiety right now.” It was technically the truth, that was her main problem. They didn’t need to know the cause of it though. “I can’t get myself to relax, my normal comfort routine isn’t working and I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you been doing your breathing? Have you had any full-on panic attacks, or just anxiety for right now?”

“Just anxiety.” She answered, glancing over her shoulder at the front door as she heard a car drive by, playing music loudly. “I didn’t think to do my breathing.” She admitted, wrapping an arm around herself as she watched her yard through the front windows of her breakfast nook; her eyes on the street. “I’ve had...other things on my mind.”

“Well give it a try.” Her grandfather chuckled. “Gotta remember the basics, Ruby. You wanna talk about whatever it is that’s been bothering you?”

Ava took in a deep breath and nearly jumped when the microwave beeped. “I wish I could,” She frowned as she opened the microwave and pulled out her mug of reheated tea. “But it’s work related so I can’t really go into detail.” She removed her phone from her ear and turned on the speaker while she sat on a stool with her mug in hand.

“All I can say is I’m assisting an investigation as a cyber crime consultant and it’s...it’s rough. It’s not the kind of work I’m used to.” She frowned down at the black tea in her mug and gently blew on it, watching the graceful curls of steam scatter and vanish into the air.

“Sounds stressful,” Mick said. “Not sleeping well, I take it?”

“I’m...getting a few hours.” Ava answered before taking a slow sip of her tea. “The nightmares aren’t bad.” Not yet anyway. She slumped against the counter slightly and rubbed her hand over her freckled face. “Maybe I should just binge watch Batman again.” She muttered, looking over to her television that was still playing in the background. “That always helped before.”

“Or maybe you should focus on getting some sleep.” Mick chuckled, his rough voice as gentle with Ava as it ever was. “Melatonin, that’s the ticket. It’s what the quacks at the VA gave me, and it works.”

She smiled, folding her arms on the counter and resting her chin on them. “Are you saying Bruce Wayne punching people in the face isn’t soothing fodder to fall asleep too?” She asked with a soft chuckle, looking at her mug filled with caffeinated tea. “I think I still have that bedtime tea Mrs. Grier gave me, it has melatonin in it.” She sat herself up and picked up her mug, stepping a few feet away to dump it out in the sink. “I guess I can try, take a little nap and see if that helps after doing my breathing exercises.”

“See, now you’ve got a plan.” Her grandfather sighed. “You know we love you, Ruby. Our little Bond agent. You need to take care of yourself.”

The mug was set down with great care as Ava stared down at the screen of her phone, lit up with the picture of her swarthy grey haired grandfather holding a pitcher of beer and smiling. “I know, I’m trying.” She answered, picking up her phone. “I love you too, both of you. I’ll call you again soon, let you know how I’m doing.”

“Alright, go get some sleep.” His voice grew muffled for a moment. “Your gramma says to go to bed.”

“Oh well now I have to do it.” She smiled, wrinkling up her nose slightly. “Bye Gramps,” She raised her voice, “Bye Grammy! I love you!”

“We love you too,” Mick said, his wife calling out in the background. “Goodbye, Ruby. Take care!”

With that the screen proclaimed the call had ended, lingering on her grandfather’s picture before fading to black. Ava tucked her phone away, taking a moment to sit and reflect on the conversation, dimly listening to the TV in the background.

She rubbed her thumb against the mug in her hand, the warmth from the microwave lingering within the pastel painted ceramic.

Hearing her grandfather’s voice again had brought on a wave of comfort and security. She could feel it help relax a little of the tension that had been steadily winding itself tighter and tighter in her body.

Seizing on the moment of calm she stood up and began to prepare herself that cup of melatonin tea. While the water was boiling she leant herself back against the counter, closed her eyes and began to breathe.
Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by spicykvnt
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>AGENT BHATT’S APARTMENT
>BEACON HILL, SEATTLE
>2019.JUL.8
>1830...///

The soft charcoal coloured carpet of the apartment was pristine, the last of the daylight pouring in through the large window in the living area. The suns rays were catching antique glassware that sat on tables, sprinkling out to illuminate everything else. A tall, rustic looking bookshelf - covered in books with the occasional potted succulent in between tomes as a decorative bookend.

An oblong, mahogany coffee table was the centerpiece, and the scent of the polish hung in the room. Propped atop the shiny surface was a copper bowl, and inside of that a potted aloe vera surrounded by glass beads. Across the cream three seater sofa was several throw cushions, in an ombre from the colour of sangria to a dusky pink, a thick crocheted blanket, topped with a thinner throw. Monochromed, with a detailed mandala - folded perfectly and hung over the arm.

Knick knacks adorned the shelves and other surfaces - but there were never too many. A tribal mask sat beside a glass lamp in the corner, a brass elephant accompanied a candle stick on a mounted shelf, a small Mayan pyramid on the windowsill, surrounded by potted herbs and flowers.

Perhaps strangely, the pride of place item was a long framed image depicting a series of old, anatomical drawings set on a crisp white background, framed in gold. By every sense of the word, Parinaaz’s apartment was pristine. There was not a speck of dust to be found, and even as she let her cat free from the mobile box, the cat seemed to appreciate the cleanliness too - moving softly over the carpet - her nose in the air until the snaked her way through the legs of the chairs and tables to find her house. “Go on now Audrey,” Pari said quietly, letting the cat run under her hand.

She took a moment to take in the sight of her home, pleased to be back in it. She left her suitcase by the front door - her heels tapping against the hardfloor until she met the carpet too, phone in hand as she made her way to her sofa, removing the suede sock boots so she could curl up within the upholstery, grabbing a cushion and hugging it as she dialled the number of Dawant from the business card he’d given her.

She stretched her back out, groaning as she did so - flying played havoc on her body and she was as stiff as anything. The phone ran out in her hand, and so she waited to see if the man would answer.

The phone picked up, the aged and gravelly voice of Dawant coming from the other end, “Hello?”

"Dawant, it's Agent Bhatt." She said clearly, "you left in something of a hurry yesterday… Anyway, I'm in Seattle again, I would like us to meet and catch up."

“I’m free!” Dawant said, the smile in his voice lending him some warmth, “Where would you like to meet up?”

"Actually, I want to take you to a place called Cedars, if it's not a place you've already been - I think you'll like it," Pari also smiled at the other end, turning her head to look out of the window from where she was sitting. "Tomorrow at six? How does that suit you?"

“That suits me fine. I look forward to meeting another competent Seattleite,” Dawant chuckled, “How are you, by the way. If you don’t mind me asking, of course. You and your colleagues seemed troubled when we last met up. Especially the red and black-haired one.”

She considered his question, "You mean Davidson? I don't know that I've got quite a read on him yet, he's an intense man and nothing makes people like us more intense than a case like this, you know? We all feel the trouble of it in our own ways. I pride myself on being able to remain cool-headed…" Pari sighed, curling herself up tighter, "But, it seems I'm not immune to Blackriver, it pokes at your old sores if you're not prepared." She raised a brow, surprised at her own admission of herself. "Next time I'll be more prepared," she added with a light-hearted chuckle. Levity.

Dawant breathed a chuckle himself, “I know what you mean. One step in that place and, I don’t know. Something in me wanted to play things loose, like I used to.” He chuckled more open this time, if not a bit sheepish, “It really does make you want to be something you aren’t anymore, doesn’t it? Anyways, there’s some things I’ve been researching about Blackriver. Tapping my contacts, nights at the library. We can discuss that tomorrow though, I’d hate to take up too much of your time, Agent Bhatt.”

"Something like that, it made me feel well… nevermind." She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "and of course not, I'll see you then, see what I can bring to the table too. Take care Dawant." Pari waited for him to hang up before placing her phone onto the coffee table. She turned her face to the books on the shelf, all in a row. She could do some research too.

>2019.JUL.9
>1100...///

The cosmopolitan vision outside of her apartment window was a far cry from the endless horizon of mountains and forest she’d been entrenched in while in Blackriver. Still, as dark and mysterious as it was - the air there had been fresh and pierced through with pine. City air was just that, city air. As Pari hummed quietly, watering the plants on the windowsill, she thought of her time there, and bit down on her lip as her thoughts drifted to Laine. She had missed them, saying goodbye, anyway. With dinner with Dawant on the schedule for the evening, she wanted to check in on the psychologist, at least to talk…

Laine sat at her desk in the BAU office, her lunch break was a brown bag today, a sandwich and salad which she ate as she reread her notes about the legends. The Lord of the Forest, The Sleeper, bargains and promises. It reminded her of the last conversation she had with Pari and the frustration of miscommunication. Things had been left unsettled so finally Laine put down her sandwich and picked up her phone, swiping through her contacts until she found Agent Bhatt. Tapping it, she let it ring as she stood up and went into an empty meeting room, shutting the door behind her.

The thoughts she’d put out into the world must have made their way to Laine, Pari thought as she saw her name pop up on the screen of her phone, she picked it up quickly; “hey Laine,” she said, a smile on her face as she placed the watering cup down. “Are you okay?” she asked quickly, glancing to the side.

"Hey, Pari," Laine replied, "I'm fine, just...uh, checking in. Seeing how you were doing. I didn't really get a chance to say goodbye before I left."

The corners of Pari’s mouth tugged into a smile. “I didn’t either, sorry… I get into a bit of a mindset when I have to catch a flight… And well, I think I’m okay. It’s nice to be home. Are you doing okay too? I know it was a… hard few days for us out there.”

"I'm doing better now, thanks. And yeah, definitely a rough time. But that's...that's how this job is isn't it? But it's worth the rough spots in the end, that next sunrise," Laine replied, her last conversation with Donnelley coming to mind, her understanding a little bit more the role of the Program. "You've done this before though, I guess I don't need to tell you. Met up with Dawant yet? My contacts confirmed his information, though they didn't have much else other than victim information unfortunately not including Maria Vasquez."

“You’re right, it is. And…” she sighed, placing a hand on the windowsill, “I’ve done it before but everytime is new. I have a difficult time reminding myself it’s okay to find things hard.” Pari sighed again, running a hand across her brow. “I’m meeting Dawant tonight, invited him to dinner. Trying to keep it casual, you know? Establish trust beyond the case. He might let his guard down and let us breathe some. If I can do anything to help you all…”

Laine glanced at the blind covered glass that kept privacy from the main office. "Every case is different, that's one thing in my line of work I always have to keep in mind. Each crime scene, each victim, each suspect is different even if there are common features. The danger lies in expectations and assumptions before really looking at every piece of evidence. I'm not sure how much you know about criminal analysis but we always look at the crime scene first, we learn about the victims before we ever want to hear about the suspects if there are any because working that way it helps us avoid having other perceptions contaminate our analysis. Anyway, I'm babbling, the point is this is a new case, and a fucking hard case. We're going to go down dead ends and chase false leads, it's the unfortunate nature of the beast."

Laine sighed, "It's certainly fine to find it difficult because it is. And none of us are geniuses...uh, well except for Ava. But that's not my point. I like the idea with Dawant, he's a good source and hopefully he'll learn to trust us with his case. But I know from experience that it's hard to be left out when you've made a personal investment."

“Yeah, you’re right Laine. There’s always a new curveball in every case. You’ve got to stack up your facts before you press to anything else. I’ve seen some weird things, and then some completely straight forward ones too… And then there are the cases that are just timebombs.” Pari paused, thinking back to Montana, the pressure and tension that had been built there especially, she felt it ring over her even now. “I tend to take pride in my regime, my analysis. Everything with the case I can turn it into data in my mind, piece together the logical, and sometimes illogical. But what I find hard is how it… How these things just get past my own defenses.” Pari moved from the windowsill, making her way through to her desk, to the line of books in a row. “I’ve seen some… Real heavy things. Blackriver is something else though, whatever is simmering beneath the surface…” She pulled her lips to the side and narrowed her eyes. “You know?”

"I feel that, it's a place with deep and dark history, bones lying just under the dirt," Laine replied. "Those heavy things can definitely stay with us, things we can't unsee or forget, we just have to find ways to compartmentalize or we can't function and do our jobs."

She sighed, the memory of Mrs Baughman flashing through her mind. She added, "You've worked other cases involving weird shit, anything like this one?"

“I’ll hold steadfast to my faith next time. Make time to check in with myself, I underestimated it, Laine, I won’t make that mistake again.” Pari smiled on the other end of the call, the warmth of it slipping into her tone. “Not quite like this. As you said, they’re all different. But, I get called to a lot of cases that involve religiously motivated crime. Whether that’s simply a shooting at a church, or well, an apparent sacrifice. With the Program? Darker things. Occult. Where the lines of what’s real and what shouldn’t be get blurred,” she confessed, taking a seat at the desk. She thought back to Laine’s comment at the prison, “had a case with some Wiccans too, once,” she chuckled.

"If faith is what helps you, then certainly hold onto it," Laine said, leaning against the conference table in the darkened room. "Wait, wiccans really? That silly shit is pretty harmless from what I remember but it's pretty broadly interpreted. What happened?"

“Perhaps calling them Wiccans is a stretch, but a few years ago now, some sorority girls attempted to drown a girl in an apple bobbing game… This happened over Halloween and we found that they had planned to make more sacrifices in the name of Samhain.” Pari rubbed her lower lip, “they thought that doing so would make them more powerful in their witchcraft. Grant them more powers, make them more beautiful… It was nothing but the vicious games of young girls in the end. But, every year is the same, I get so much more work to do in October...” she sighed, bringing her hand to her hip. “Sometimes when desperate people get desperate enough, they’ll trade lives for the chance to be recognised by their Gods.”

Laine huffed a sardonic laugh, "Damn kids. That's terrifying what greed and jealousy will make people do, in the name of religion or otherwise. I love Halloween and people like that ruin it. Same reason black cats aren't adopted out in October, there's always some chance they might be hurt by some occult types. Tortured because of old superstition. Well, I'm pretty sure they got that idea in some misinterpreted Wiccan text and ran with it. I've had a case or three with Satanic overtones. One in Massachusetts which the murderer was a legit Satanic 'cult' leader who was also a pimp. I'm not sure if he actually believed it, I think he liked the aesthetic and the fear he could use to keep the girls he pimped out under control. Which he did until one pissed him off enough and he decided to cut her head off as an example. He ended up killing two others in a similar manner.”

Laine caught herself, "Sorry about that, I start reminiscing and I forget it's not casual conversation for most people to mention murders."

“We aren’t most people,” Pari replied with a smirk. “I bet between the two of us, we’ve enough stories from the job to fill a book or two of our own. I’d like to hear more of them some day. I’m still waiting on that one you teased on my first day.” Her voice lowered, practically a quiet purr down the phone as her eyebrows raised. “Be one hell of a girls night. Toasting smores, talking murder…”

"That's true, I can't ever claim to be bored our line of work, an FBI agent's job is never done," Laine quipped, then said, "As long as it's around a bonfire in the backyard and not camping. You won't catch me out in a flimsy tent in the woods."

“Not knowing what we know, right?” Pari said, before drawing a breath through her teeth. “Anyway, before this evening, I’m hitting my own books. See if your ‘Lord of the Woods’ pulls anything for me, I’ve got a starting point for some research. I really think we’re dealing with sacrifice, Laine. Someone wants to gain or appease something -- and that’s never going to end well for anyone involved. Gods, demons, beings - they’re wrathful, spiteful, spread and sow deceit… But, how are you going with your profiling?”

Laine took a deep breath, the profiling was an issue, she was certain of a few things but other aspects were less clear especially now that there was the involvement of cartel and Russians and the strangeness that came with them, “I’m still working on it as I get new information but so far it’s pretty basic unfortunately with everything else going on, I haven’t been able to just sit down and go back over the evidence. I know the answers are there, I just need time. I’m back at work so I’ll have access to our facilities but I plan on working on the Vasquez case on my off time. There’s too much to let it wait. Once I have at least a basic profile I’ll send it over to you.”

She paused, then decided to continue, “You know, it might be a sacrifice but there’s something that’s bothering me. The Satanic Pimp I told you about? He fully believed he was a two thousand year old demon and that he could gain the powers from the Devil, at least according to all accounts. He had faith, I suppose, but you know, he killed three girls in so called sacrifices. They were sacrifices to Satan and he said himself he had tortured them with the purpose of causing the most pain to get them to an emotional point that would make the sacrifice more powerful as he delivered the killing blow. Sounds very religiously motivated doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Pari replied, her eyes narrowed as she made sense of Laine’s words. “Sacrifices, they’re… Well, horrific. We all know the cliche of throwing a virgin into a volcano. It’s tale as old as time, but creating pain in a victim leaves behind an energy. It raises fear, even changes the chemicals in the blood. There are stories in folklore of demons who feed on fear itself… With sacrifice, it’s all symbolic. It’s about showing just how powerful you are. ’look at what I’ve done to this sacrifice, look at how she trembles before me’. Perhaps a sickening show of bravado, perhaps to add… Well, seasoning to the meal.” Pari added, curling her lips at her choice of words. “Our killer wants to be seen as powerful, to stand above the rest. He really wants attention. Not just from us, but from that which he worships.” She sighed, pacing through her apartment to her small bedroom.

“Laine, we could be looking at someone who was seen as extremely inferior throughout his life. Abused, mentally scarred, always a loser - and I don’t mean in an always the bridesmaid, never the bride... I mean a complete loser.” Pari thought on what she was saying, it felt obvious to anyone who had watched a detective TV show, but it was at least worth emphasising. “But that’s obvious to you - that’s almost every serial killer ever, right? But, someone who would try to prove himself worthy to a God with such a tremendous sacrifice. Maybe he was in the background for a long time, desperate for attention... He’s sure getting it now.”

"It certainly could be, I've considered it. Still working that up so I'm not ready to speculate," Laine replied, "But what I'm looking at is the Satanic Pimp killed three girls. The first was a girl that refused to trick for him and was working on her own this in his eyes stealing from him since that was 'his' territory. The second was a girl who started to get scared and doubt his power and threatened to leave. The last was the witness who told the local cops what she had seen in the group. So yes, all the murders had ritual and he had his MO and certainly got off on the power he felt and from all accounts he likely felt Satan was pleased ay his offerings but there was a pragmatic reason to it too. Religious killing, sure but it got rid of potential threats and betrayers. He picked his victims for much less esoteric reasons. So I'm thinking maybe there is another reason other than ritual and sacrifice or just plain sadistic reason for killing her how he did. And the hiker, a few years back, she was killed in a similar way and it was covered up by the good old Blackriver Sheriff department."

“You’re right on that. Why did he pick Maria?” Pari mused, running a hand through her hair. “Dawant seemed quite set on this being a case of an example being made to rival cartels… But, do you think that maybe she was going to blow their operation somehow? That something she did defied someone, or even greatly insulted them and this was also a punishment for her, personally? And as there’s been a cover up in the past... ” she paused, taking a seat at the corner of her bed. “I don’t know, but I want to. Did our girls know something they shouldn’t have?”

"That's what I'm thinking, I was certain she had just been a target of convenience like the hiker must have been when Frank told me about her. I still want to find her husband but that'll have to wait, now I'm reconsidering that with Russians in the hills. Maybe it'll be clearer once we get more information... Donnelley should have that information from Carlisle in a couple days and whatever more you can pull from Dawant," Laine sighed, rubbing her temple. A dull ache was developing as she was tired and faced a new case and a meeting with her supervising agent after lunch.

"I'm thinking in circles right now," she sighed, "Look I'll keep you posted, once I'm done with the profile."

“Food for thought,” Pari said in response, glancing at the outfit she’d prepared for the evening. “As long as Dawant plays ball tonight I should have good news for Donnelley too. We’re getting there, we are. Leave the Lord of the Woods to me, and maybe you keep on the husband, and digging at those Russians. I’m sure there’s something that Ava can find too…” The woman took a long breath, “and hey, if you ever want to just talk about everything or anything, well… Give me a call, and take care.”

"I look forward to what you find out, I probably should have taken a day off before coming back to work," Laine remarked, "I have a meeting with my boss in about an hour I better finish up my lunch. It was good to talk about this case, I can't mention it with the people I normally work cases with. Good luck with your research...you know, Ava and I discussed the Lord of the Woods and considered there might be a link or even that the Sleeper and the Lord might be the same being or at least related."

She snapped her fingers, remembering, " And also we should think about what we'll ask Dulane when we get him up to the mines. I really want to know what he was supposed to get for his promise to The Sleeper. What was going to be his reward for killing those miners."

“There has to be a link, you’re right there. I’ve got a starting point for it, I’ll start compiling something into a report -- in fact, when we get back the three of us should sit down and make a formal report of everything so far. Our notes, images. I don’t want anything to get lost. And, well, I get a kick out of putting together a well organised binder…” Pari confessed with a chuckle. “I’ll let you go, and finish your lunch, good luck with your meeting.”

"We definitely need to do that, and if you're offering to sort things into a case binder, go for it. Alright, talk to you later, and thanks," Laine said, glancing up as a knock sounded on the door and she ended the call.

>2019.JUL.9
>1330...///

The streets were always the same, and it always felt dangerously close to rain - even in summer. She’d stepped out for milk, and on her way back to her apartment she made out the figure of a familiar face in the doorway of apartment seventeen; "hey Ciaran," she said with a smile, watching as he turned around to greet her back.

"Oh hey, alright?" He replied with a friendly grin, looking over his shoulder at her. Blue eyes inviting, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, his teeth were perfectly straight and white. As much of a Hollywood smile as one could have. "Back from yer trip then?" He asked, an Irish lilt thick in his voice.

"Yeah, just got back yesterday. Has everything been alright?" Pari asked, crossing her arms over her chest, the milk bottle hanging from it’s handle on the index finger - swaying gently. She comfortably leaned against her own doorway.

He nodded and gave a shrug. "Aye. June kicked off again 'bout me music like… Same old, Paz, same old." He chuckled, glancing down the hallway to the third apartment.

"You should be a better neighbour like I am,” she said with a wry laugh and a feline smile, as if they’d had this conversation a hundred times over. “But really, she took her meds?" she said with her smug expression before it turned concerned and serious.

"Yeah, I popped in every morning like you asked." Ciaran smiled, his expression carefree. " And speaking o'being a good neighbour - was gonna get a pizza in tonight. Up fer it?" He asked nudging his head in the direction of his lounge.

Ciaran was great company, that was for sure and she took a glance back into her own apartment - at the bookshelves, and there was also her dinner with Dawant on the schedule. "I'd love too, but I have plans already…" she pouted. "Maybe later this week?"

"Aye aye, maybe. Don't work too hard, yer looking jaded. But swing round later, I want all the craic. Later though." Ciaran chuckled before entering his apartment, closing the door behind him.
Pari's gaze lingered a little while longer as she remained in the doorway; she breathed before returning to her own room, leaving the milk on the kitchen counter before making her way quickly across the floor to the bookshelf, dragging a finger over the spines until she landed on a particular book. Ireland's Immortals. As she turned the cover over, a note on the first page read;

Get a load of our myths for a change, nerd.
Happy Birthday,
Ciaran


He was a good neighbour, and had just helped her in more ways than she would be able to tell him.

What felt like hours later, this time with a relaxed and purring Audrey, she stumbled upon something that suddenly and completely resonated with her. Enough for her to bolt upright and place the book down on the surface of her table. A name. A picture. A chill down her spine: Crom Cruach.

He was a God in old Ireland, pre-Christian. But the etymology of his name was of interest to Pari in the moment. Crom Cruach, ‘Bent Chief’, ‘Crooked Head’ - of hills, mounds, and stacks. Legend said that Crom Cruach’s image was destroyed by Saint Patrick on Samhain eve, destroyed with a sledgehammer.

Pari ran her thumb across her lip, an eyebrow quirked in she exhaled a deep breath as she continued scanning through the stories - more and more of it making sense. The Old God, obscured by mists amongst his hills. Myth tells of the cult image of Crom Cruach surrounded by his twelve figures, falling into the ground and leaving his imprint when Saint Patrick appeared.

Before he was ended, he ruled with the Old Gods - bringing blessed harvest in exchange for human sacrifice. Pari placed the book face down into her lap, narrowing her eyes as she recounted upon conversations she’d already had. In the modern age, a blessed harvest didn’t always amount to grain for the fields. So what was it now?

How did the Old God Crom, of fertility and of the sun become so demonised? At what point in Irish history did he transform from a wisened man to be seen as a worm to be defeated? And what did it have to do with a river?

The Lambton Worm came to her mind. The Worm that grew so big it wrapped itself around an entire hill and terrified villagers, as beasts are to do… Upturning trees with its wrath and using them as a club to fight back at those who arrived in the territory. It was slayed in the river and washed away, cursing the man who lifted his sword for generations afterwards…

They fought something in the woods. They had, and still Pari did not know what it was, she’d not had chance to ask… Could it have been a Worm from the pages of Gaelic mythology? Now it was time to ask, which of them had been closest to it? Who knew the most about the ‘Lord of the Woods’? If not Crom Cruach, then another similar to him. If not of Irish myth then of Scottish, or English... Whoever it was, she would find his name.

“We’re not dealing with a demon,” she whispered out in front of her, and while maybe it shouldn’t have sparked a sense of excitement, it did. Her eyes flashed with it, and her front teeth pressed into her lower lip.

“We’re dealing with a God…

>CEDARS RESTAURANT
>CAPITOL HILL, SEATTLE
>2019.JUL.9
>1755...///

Pari entered the restaurant earlier than she’d arranged with Dawant. She was dressed in plum cigarette trousers, and a loose silk cream shirt. A chain hung around her neck but whatever was the centrepiece was out of sight, dropped below the gold buttons. There was a slight shimmer across her decolletage, matching the same golden hue that glistened across the heights of her cheekbones.

For a change of pace, she’d styled her hair to be straight, and it hung free to her elbows, an almost mirror shine on the surface. She walked steady on the high-heeled pumps as the wait staff escorted her to her table; “this way,” the young man said - most definitely a student. “Will it be your usual tonight?” he followed up with a smile and a tilt of his head.

“I’m actually to be with a friend tonight, so I’ll save ordering until he arrives,” she replied with an easy smile, placing her handbag on the corner of the table, the books inside it made it bulkier than usual. For a moment, the waiter looked surprised to hear that the woman wouldn’t be eating alone, but that expression quickly smoothed into a neutral smile and he wandered across the floor to serve the other diners.

Pari, meanwhile, gazed lazily out of the window, drumming her fingers over the table absentmindedly.

“Hello, Agent Bhatt,” Dawant’s smile was warm, almost seeming to be a different, more soft man now that he was away from Blackriver. Perhaps there was truth to his claim that something in Blackriver made people harder, “This is a nice place. Lighting’s good. My real question is if the drinks are just as fine.”

He chuckled, “How are you tonight?”

“Detective Dawant,” Pari replied, his difference in demeanour did not go unnoticed by her soft gaze. “I thought you might like it,” she remarked with a smile, “and I’m fine, glad to be back home for a while. How about yourself? You seem well.”

He straightened his tie with a self-assured smile, “I am well, after leaving that place.” He cleared his throat and looked at the menu, talking as he did, “Did you want to immediately discuss the case? I’d like to get everything out on the air as soon as I could.”

"Of course, I understand that. I want to discuss the case with you, so let's get it out into the open between us. But first..." she said with an affable smile, waving a hand to grab the attention of a passing waiter. "Can we get drinks please? A soda water for me, please" she said before she turned back to Dawant, "what would you like?" Pari asked, placing her hands in front of her.

“I’ll take an Old Fashioned, please and thank you.” Dawant smiled at the waiter before they turned away to take their orders to the kitchens. He turned back to Pari, “So, what would you like to touch on?”

"You've been on this case for a long time. Maria's case. Now it's become so much worse. It's not yet closed…" Pari sighed, crossing her arms. "We've got her body, but just so many questions and no answers…" Pari's eyes closed momentarily, her voice quiet, the soft music and ambient chatter of patrons masked their conversation and prevented it from leaving their table. "I want to find the answers for you, but I need to know what you're expecting of me, of our team." There was nothing sour in her words, and the way her brows fell soft was telling of a woman reaching out, not putting someone into a corner.

"I can talk the case with you all night detective, but… we both know it's not going to work unless there's trust. Do you trust us, Dawant?" Pari asked candidly, her head tilting to the side.

Dawant pursed his lips, looking around the restaurant in front of him. When he thought he could speak freely, he leaned in close to Pari, “I know I can’t trust anyone. I know this goes deeper than just Maria Vasquez.” His eyes searched Pari’s, “And I know you and your team aren’t just FBI.

He shook his head, “And maybe that’s why you’re the only ones I can trust.” He leaned back, a smile back on his face like switching demeanors was easy as flipping a switch, “I’ve seen it. On the force. Years and years before I was retired those peckerwood fuckin’ cops harassin’ people ‘cause they were like me and you.” He nodded slow, pointed with his index and middle finger to his eyes, “These have seen it all. You ever hear about those missing children cases in Seattle? No? Ain’t that weird?”

He spoke in hushed tones, but harsh as his eyes all the same, “I’m old, Agent Bhatt. I been around. You ask me if I trust you? Trust your team?” The drinks came and the glasses clinked onto the table, but he didn’t break his stare. He mouthed silently, “Real question is do you trust me.

Pari's answer came quick; "yes." Her hand reached towards the tumbler with the sparkling water. A slice of lime as garnish and a cocktail straw a piece of colour. "Yes, I trust you." Her own deep and dark gaze was fixed to his and she matched his intensity.

Pari smiled and placed the tip of her finger against the rim of her glass, "I trust you detective Dawant. I wouldn't be here otherwise." She broke her stare with a blink. "Maybe that might come back around to hurt me," she sighed, waving a hand carefully, "but yes, I trust you."

“Your Team Lead doesn’t seem to.” Dawant snorted, regaining a more friendly composure, “Can I ask you something? Without you getting offended?”

"Of course," Pari answered with a slight nod, suddenly intrigued. Making a mental note to circle back to Donnelley and Foster later in the conversation.

“All this talk of trust.” He smirked, taking a sip of his drink, “I can guarantee they already went and captured Carlisle without me. I knew they would, that your people would. I want a yes or no answer, if I can trust you. You’re not all really FBI, are you?”

She thought on his question, lifting her own glass up, turning it about in her wrist, she purposely averted her gaze from him and lowered her shoulders. Speaking quietly, "if they've gone to Carlisle, it's not something I know about." If they had or they had not, that was the truth, her truth. She furrowed her brows, as if musing on it.

"Your second question," she brought her composure back, leveling her posture as her fingers held tight to the glass. "We are all FBI," again, a truth. For the purposes of the case, they were all FBI. Pari didn't know any of them enough to speculate where they were really from, or of what background they were from originally. She knew of the dangers and risks that came to people who spoke too much about the Program, but still, she could soften that blow for Dawant - file down the sharp edge some. "But… I'm not FBI," she began, bringing the straw to her lips to take a sip of the drink -- holding him gently on her string. "I'm a Stanford graduate… Now an occasional professor there… An academic…" She took another sip, running her tongue slowly over her lower lip when she was done. "I'm a practicing Hindu… A daughter… Hell, I'm an Alcoholics Anonymous member too," she scoffed with a feminine laugh, shaking her wrist to rattle the ice her glass. "Most importantly Detective Dawant, I'm qualified to solve this case."

Pari's lips formed a smile, and she placed the glass down, resting an elbow upon the table to place her chin against a closed fist, "can I now ask you a question, without you being offended?" She blinked softly, the dim lights catching the shimmer across her eyelids, setting gentle simmering flickers in her irises.

Dawant nodded appreciatively, “I would’ve accepted yes or no.” He smirked, leaning close as if sharing in a great conspiracy, “Ask it.”

"Well, I'm also a talker," Pari replied, placing her glass down again and relaxing somewhat. "Why are you so interested in who we are?"

“You said it yourself, Pari. You’re a talker and you’re talking me in circles. I talked to Davidson and he seemed real damn offended when I insinuated you people weren’t just FBI.” He chuckled, shaking his head, “You think I’m gonna blab on myself? I gave Davidson the whereabouts of Carlisle so he could interfere in an official Federal Agency’s investigation into the Sinaloa.”

“I’m an accessory. An accomplice. And I’m okay with that. Because if my theory that you people are more than FBI is true,” His smile faded as he got closer, leaning on his elbows, “Then that means we can do whatever the fuck we need to get at who’s really responsible for taking girls just like Maria and turning them into fucking whores.

“I could give a shit about due process anymore, Agent Bhatt. I’m goddamn ready to show my fucking teeth to these sick fucks.” He hissed, “No more due process and bribed judges and dirty cops. Just us and them. I’m old as fuck, Bhatt. My clock’s ticking. If this is gonna be my last case then I’m gonna get my hands dirty with you.

Pari spent a moment digesting his words, keeping a lock on his eyes, looking deep in them for a crack in his veneer. But it was all him, the slow burning flame of a career spent humming through the wells of due process, surrounded by the dirty cops he despised. His aura changed, as if in the candlelight of Cedars she was seeing the real Dawant after the last shaky encounters. The corners of her mouth tugged into a smile too, whatever was on him was contagious and she clucked her tongue at last, raising her glass in his direction, with a huffed breath. "So let's raise a glass to showing our teeth then."

He smirked and raised his glass, taking a mouthful of his drink and swallowing it down. He sighed, sitting back in his chair, “So,” he began, “What do you know about the MacOnies and their family in West Virginia?”

Pari felt better. Like Goddamn Betty Crocker in fact, she could soften the act now. She and Dawant had furthered their rapport enough and she didn't want to keep poking at that hole for much longer. "MacOnies? Blackriver's Royal Family from what I gather… William MacOnie is the Sheriff of Blackriver, currently his whereabouts are unknown. Beyond that, I know very little, sadly." She remained straight backed in her chair. It was business now, and she was listening. "Do you have something for me?"

“His brother is the County Prosecutor. You know what that means? The Sheriff can do whatever the fuck he wants. They put Dulane away in a jail cell instead of a mental ward.” Dawant chuckled bitterly, “It’s so fucked up I can only laugh at it. I’ve never seen corruption so efficient and I thought I’ve seen it all.”

“Their cousin, Simon MacOnie, is a wealthy real estate mogul that owns lots of properties in northern New York. He bumps and grinds with wealthy people and no one knows about his corrupt family. Or they don’t care.” He sipped at his drink, shaking his head, “He owns a hotel ten miles outside of Charleston on the way to Blackriver. It’s marketed as a mountain getaway, nothing for miles and scenic views with upper-class tastes. Five hundred dollars per guest and the guests are almost always the same. That is, a bunch of goddamn oligarchs.”

He leaned in close to Pari, “And there’s a few wealthy Russian business people that stay there every year to meet with Simon MacOnie. I have a guy on the inside, his name’s Francis Hughes, another Specialist with CMC with a shitload of money and…” Dawant raised his eyebrows, “A reservation at the River Valleys Retreat. He checked in under the name Frederick Hohenzollern and his last few emails have confirmed Nikolai Gorochev’s daughter and her husband and their hired goons staying there.”

“Ask Davidson Who Nikolai Gorochev is and you’ll know why this is important. I can’t really stay there because I’m more black and middle class than I am rich and white.” Dawant smiled, sharkteeth in his lips. “But there’s a few of you that can.”

“Wait until the thirteenth to share this with anyone. Make sure no one sees us exit this restaurant together.” He slapped a fifty on the table, “I hate to cut this short, but our meetings have to be quick and seldom. These are dangerous people. They’re not to be fucked with. And we’re fucking with them.”

He rose, straightening his coat and pushing his chair in, “Thank you for meeting with me Pari. Next time anyone says Seattleites can’t do shit…” he winked and turned, pausing on his way, “Wait thirty minutes before you leave. Check the wheel wells of your car for anything suspicious and do not go home if you think someone’s following you from here. I’ll be in West Virginia on the fourteenth.”

He walked away from her and disappeared past the doors of the restaurant, evaporating into the night.
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>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."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by idlehands
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idlehands heartless

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>QUANTICO, VA
>BAU 4 OFFICE
>08.JUL.2019
>0815...///

Dr Laine entered the office, it felt comfortable and familiar as even more so than her apartment. Which made sense in her mind as she spent more time in the office or on the road assisting in cases than she did sleeping in her own bed. She was dressed in heels and a knee length fitted skirt, all black except her gray silk blouse under her blazer.

Her desk was dusty, the cleaning crew would not touch the desks of agents, so as she settled in, Laine began her routine of wiping it down. Her dual monitors sat dark, unused for what felt like a month but was actually about a week during her absence.

"Welcome back, enjoy your vacation?"

Laine glanced up, another analyst Agent Lewis who sat at the desk across from her had arrived with coffee from the break room. He was average height and developing a pudgy spare tire, an unremarkable middle aged face except for keen dark eyes beneath a furrowed brow.

"Oh, yeah, very restful," she remarked, tossing the antibacterial wipe away. "How's the wife and kids?"

"You know, I still keep them around, hanging like a noose around my neck," Lewis said lightly with a straight face. "One day they'll finish me off."

Laine huffed a laugh as she turned on her computer, no one doted on his family more than Special Agent Russell Lewis. His desk was full of pictures of his lovely wife and four children, various framed Little League and Scouts portraits.

"Not a day too soon," Laine quipped dryly, raising her eyebrows slightly at his chuckle. They had their routine, a comfortable gallows humor that had developed over the years as Lewis had been a mentor when she first joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit. "What are you working on?"

"Hmm, a stroke," Lewis muttered then opened a file, "We got a request from Phoenix police, they had a pretty nasty murder of a customs agent. They're considering it could be Cartel related considering the work she was in but it also looks like it could be the work of a lust killer. Raped, cut open and decapitated. Her heart cut out, maybe a very upset ex boyfriend?"

Laine shook her head, "Brutal. Not unlike the cartels to cut heads off, anything else?"

"Nothing more other than very distinct lack of evidence," he replied, sliding the file over to Laine. "No other blood, no semen, not even a goddamn hair and you wanna know why?"

Laine winced inwardly at the photos but her face remained unchanged. "Good planning. Definitely not an uncontrolled act despite the brutality. He was very much in control."

Agent Lewis nodded slowly, "Handcuffs, a pistol found without ammo...you don't think a customs officer with no children in the house would bother having an unloaded weapon by her bedside, do you?"

"Nope."

"He cleaned up after, crime scene was spotless other than what he wanted us to see," he sighed. “Professional, practiced.”

"Good luck," Laine offered with a shake of her head. Her own case for the program was stalling for lack of victimology, the results of Bethany Miller’s murder hidden by the Blackriver Sheriff and little else but bones that she was still waiting on the results of from CJIS.

"Waiting to hear back from the border patrol office in Nogales where she was assigned, they've been slow," he added, then sat back in his chair to go back to work. “By the way, I heard Dr Bakker put in his resignation.”

Lewis’ dark eyes flickered at her with interest at her reaction but Laine only glanced over and nodded.

“It’s too bad,” he continued, “The Academy probably won’t replace him I heard, cutting back on the pathology course, letting that fall into general forensics. A shame.”

Her gaze shifted to the other agent as she peered around her monitor, “It is a shame. Is this why your wife is probably slowly poisoning you?”

“Just tell me to shut up, like she does,” Lewis grinned then went back once again to work. “By the way, she’s got an open invitation for dinner once you got some time.”

“As long as she makes her chili, I’m down,” she replied, “Tell her thank you.”

“Will do.”

Laine opened her email, noticing one dated earlier in the morning from Supervising Special Agent Barnes. A request for a meeting after lunch. She sighed, most likely he had not been happy with her disappearing from the CJIS conference despite her quick email sent from the road to inform him she had been called away. She clicked the ‘will attend’ meeting button then closed it.

Before getting into work emails, she opened the icon on her desktop labeled “VICAP” and logged into the system. It was a comprehensive database compiled over the last thirty years of victims, missing persons, murderer’s signature and other details that might link cases. While under utilized and poorly maintained for most of its existence, the FBI finally was given a grant to revamp and build on the potential to make it more user friendly for local PDs.

Glancing over her shoulder, Laine slid her phone out and opened it, bring up a list of terms she copied into the search engine. “Skinning, amputation of tongue, removal of eyes, removal of larynx, missing children Sinaloa cartel sex traffiking, sexual trauma foreign obeject, pelvic damage with foreign object, black stone, Russian sex traffiking missing children, Blackriver, West Viriginia...” The list was long for all possible hits and it was going to bring a lot of stuff up that might not be related at all but Laine had little other options.

Then it was a wait while the program sorted along its parameters and it could take awhile. Laine tucked her phone away and went back to her emails but the Blackriver case weighed on her. How she would love to run it by Lewis or another analyst, but it was something she could not talk about, unless it was another UMBRA member. Laine reached for her phone again and scrolled through her contacts until she found Pari.

***
Once she was off the phone with her teammate, Laine felt a little better. Getting the ideas running through her mind verbalized helped her see them more clearly. And Pari mentioned something that Laine had considered, the killer being a pathetic loser. That was often true about serial killers, they took out their perceived inferiority on their victims in various ways, ultimately the control over life or death finally giving the murderer a sense of power and success he or she lacked.

Dr Laine's partially written profile included the man was likely in his thirties or older considering the skill and patience it would have taken to kill and skin Maria Vasquez. He hated women, feared their rejection and mockery so he found ultimate control over his victim by drugging them into paralysis and removing their ability to speak rendering them truly helpless. He used a foreign object to penetrate vaginally though if he himself had raped them before it was unknown as the evidence wasn't there. But what was certain was the amount of force and trauma caused to Maria's body was horrific. After looking at the x-rays, Laine knew her pelvis had been fractured. In fact so had the ulna bone of her forearm, an elbow partially dislocated. Maria had struggled, she had tried to get away before being subdued.

Laine blinked, she had been lost in thought standing outside the empty conference room still holding her phone. She needed more information, the victimology would provide her clues to the man who did this. Her next call she made as she walked back to her desk, her sandwich she had made at home waiting for her to finish. Lewis was gone and most people in the office had left for lunch so she looked up the directory.

"Forensics lab, this is Dr Pigeon," the chipper voice came over the phone.

"Hey, it's Dr Heather Laine, BAU," Laine replied, the young forensic anthropologist, Dr Erin Pigeon, an intelligent, detail fanatic of a woman that she had worked with on previous cases.

"Oh, howdy Laine," the woman's voice became cheerful, the faint Oklahoma drawl curling around her words. "Calling about that boneyard the State Police sent us?"

"Yeah, I hadn't heard back and I was wondering about the progress."

A clicked of a tongue and sigh could be heard before Pigeon answered, "We're backed up, you know how it is. But I took a precursory look as we organized them. I can tell you this, they're all female and young but not children and some have injuries.”

"I hate to be pushy but this is important to a recent murder, a very bad one and I'm struggling with the victimology for the profile. I need those skeletons evaluated as quickly as possible," Laine said, glancing over her shoulder but she was alone in the hall.

"Is Barnes putting in a rush order?"

"No, look, it's not something..." Laine sighed and tried to think of a way to put it. "It's a case I'm working on the side, Barnes isn't in on the details. Please, Erin, I'll owe you big if you can get me that forensics report as soon as possible."

She could practically hear the other woman's interest piqued. Dr Pigeon was a good anthropologist who loved a mystery.

"Oh, on the sly? Curiouser and curiouser... alright, give me a couple of days and I'll have my report and you owe me," Pigeon said, the interest in her voice clear. "I don't know what yet but it'll include some answers."

Laine rubbed the back of her neck and agreed, "I will do my best."

"Alright, talk to you later."

The line went silent and Laine checked the time, her meeting was in ten minutes, no time to finish her sandwich. She took a bite and washed it down with half a bottle of water before heading over to her supervisor’s office.

Supervising Special Agent James Barnes looked up through steel rimmed glasses as Laine entered his office. He was a balding, broad shouldered man who wore neatly tailored dark suits, a genuine air of G-man about him. He smiled at her but Laine could see the tension, how his eyes did not reflect his facial expression.
“Heather, take a seat,” he said, “Nice to see you back, how was the...well, whatever it was that you got up to.”

“Sorry about the conference,” Laine said, feeling a slight irritation at his passive aggressive approach. “I got a call. You know, it’s classified.”

“Of course, classified,” Barnes nodded deeply, then peered at her. “Do you find it odd that an agent would have a classified case kept even from her direct supervisor?”

“There’s a lot of things I don’t find odd anymore,” Laine replied, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. “Your clearance is not something that is my business, sir. I can’t speak about it, you know that.”

Barnes grinned sardonically, then leaned on his desk, “Just so. I can’t have my agent running off when I need her here. Or where I need to send her.”

Laine just looked at him, waiting for whatever shoe he was going to drop. When she did not respond, Barnes sat back, “I’ve given your Academy course to Agent Ngyuen, she’ll be teaching this fall. I can’t have an instructor absent half the time.”

“I understand,” Laine said, though disappointed it was only logical an instructor would need to be present, “She’s a good choice.”

“I’m glad you approve, Doctor,” Barnes said, then looked her over, “We had a request for assistance in New Mexico, they had a few bodies pop up in the desert and local cops are having trouble piecing it together. Scattered over several counties and city jurisdictions so it’s a tangle of information being haphazardly shared.”

He pushed a file at her, “I need you to go out there. You leave next Monday and it could be a week or so, maybe more so pack accordingly.

Laine opened the file and was greeted with a crime scene photo of a murdered young man and then glanced up, “I won’t be able to do this. I am expected back in West Virginia in two weeks.”

“Is that so?” Barnes said, then reached for the file, “Well, by all means, we’ll try to adjust murders around your new schedule. Do you know when you won’t be occupied by your secret agent case?”

There was a bitter tinge to his voice and Laine took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, Mr Barnes, I know you don’t like to be kept in the dark but it’s not my choice. Just know that it’s important enough to pull me away from this and you know I take my work seriously.”

Barnes stayed silent and then rubbed the bridge of his nose under the glasses, “Fine, yes. Work some of the backlog cold cases for now, I’ll send someone else to New Mexico. Dismissed, Agent Laine.”

Laine stood up, leaving the case file on his desk and left the office. She walked back to her desk and picked up her neglected sandwich before plopping into her chair. The curiosity and nosing around her business with UMBRA was unsettling, Dr Pigeon was one thing but her supervisor quite another. There was a distinct dislike of her having access to information he could not and Laine knew Barnes well enough to know the man would gnaw on a bone for a long time. The tenacity made him a good investigator but could also become obsessive and fixated. Laine hoped for his own sake he would forget about it.

*****
>STAFFORD, VA
>HEATHER LAINE RESIDENCE
>11.JUL.2019
>0537...///

The phone chimed in the darkness, stirring Laine from sleep and she groped for it, fumbling until she managed to answer the unknown number.

"Hello?" She murmured, eyes still closed.

"Special Agent Laine?"

"This is she," Laine replied and opened her eyes. "Who is this?"

"It's Mark, Agent Mark Garcia, New York office."

"Oh, hey Mark, it's really early, what's up? Did you find anything more on Carlisle? It could have waited," she said, rolling over onto her back and stretching.

The voice on the other end sounded strained and there was anger there as he spoke, "Yeah I got something new on Carlisle, he's fucking gone. Someone snatched him a few hours ago."

Laine held her breath, so Donnelley had been successful getting to Carlisle.

"I'm sorry to hear that, what happened? Maybe he just got wind of what was going on and split"

"No, this was not him running away. Information must have been leaked, someone wanted him because this was a goddamn mess. We got bodies here, including two local cops," he snapped then sighed heavily. "There was a shootout, whoever took Carlisle, they were professional. And...shit."

Laine was wide awake now. Two cops dead, shot down by Carlisle's kidnappers. Goddamnit, Donnelley.

"That's awful, any leads?"

The silence stretched out before Agent Garcia finally spoke, "I'm working on it, Dr Laine. I gotta ask, why did you want that information on Carlisle."

Laine rubbed her eyes and said, "Because his name came up in a missing persons case. I'm sure that's not a surprise."

It was a white lie, she did want to know more about the modeling agent who procured children for his buyers. The thought made a knot in the pit of her stomach, memories of her own brief foray into modeling when she was younger, at her mother's insistence. At least that was one time Lila Laine listened to her daughter when she begged never to go back.

She shook the memory away and listened as Garcia spoke again, "Of course, it's not surprising. Shit, it's a mess here. The house...just blood everywhere. Carlisle had a few guards and none survived. The family is shaken up, of course. Wife claims to know nothing of what Carlisle was up to or the extra millions in his bank accounts. Anyone that saw these guys is dead, our suspect has vanished. It's a real shit show."

"Sounds like it," Laine said, then fell silent.

"Hey, sorry for waking you up," Garcia said, "I'm just grasping at fucking straws right now. I gotta go, I just heard someone reported a torched car."

The line went dead and she sat in bed, things must have gone bad if Donnelley was forced into a shootout with local cops. At least, she hoped it was something that they could not avoid. How far the Program would go to cover itself was still something that sat uneasy in the back of her mind.

It was too late to go back to sleep so Laine rolled out of bed and looked at the floor. She had assumed the snatching of Carlisle would be something quiet but now the FBI was flocking all over the mansion in Yorktown. At least they would probably try to keep the press out of it as it was embarrassing for the Bureau to have their suspect stolen from under their noses. Dead hired guards for a piece of shit like Carlisle could be forgotten but the dead cops, that would raise interest. Local PD or the families, someone would question and then...?

Laine took a deep breath, running a hand through her short sleep tousled hair. Would more people die because of the Program, the pieces of the bloody puzzle were becoming more intricate and dangerous. It was part of a more important war, she told herself, willing herself to believe that.

She turned her thoughts to Maria Vasquez, how she must have suffered not just in her murder but from the day she was kidnapped. How many children just like her were stolen and sold, passed around to pedophiles and rapists all over the country. How many ended up in shallow graves or tossed in a landfill, used and discarded. People like Carlisle, like the Russians and the Cartels, all of the powerful men that found themselves with money to buy their protection from justice. All of them were the same evil as the Green River Killer or Ted Bundy, they just had the funds and connections to hide their crimes. Sociopaths were drifting murderers as well as CEOs and politicians, abusers and users knew no economic or class boundaries. Evil that resided in humanity, she had always believed that. It was not something that was an outside force.

Whatever Donnelley did to get Carlisle to talk, Laine decided she could live with it even though she knew torture to often be ineffective as the person would say anything to get it to stop. But a man like Carlisle, this modeling agent who made his money exploiting children, he would find a way to slip out of the justice system. Or he would take the fall for those he served, either way, Carlisle was a key to big fish, the sharks that preyed on girls like Maria.

Laine went to take a shower and get ready for work, her mind fogged by memories she had not wanted to think about and thoughts about two dead police officers with families that would receive folded flags and a bagpipe serenade.

Her eyes opened wide and she turned the water from hot to cold, shocking herself to try and clear her mind. She gasped in the emptiness, the tiled walls amplifying her voice. Her phone sat on the sink and it beeped with an alert. Her work email she could see as she wrapped her towel around herself and sat down to see what it was about.

VICAP results found: 1,254 items

Laine stared at the number and then nodded to herself, it was a lot but she could weed it down to the ones most closely related. It would take time and she was alone on this one. Laine set her phone down and went to get dressed for work.

PT 1
Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead

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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...
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RoadRash

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>FAYETTEVILLE, AR
>FREEMAN RESIDENCE
>08.JUL.2019
>1205...///

The sound of Bob Marley and the Wailers drifted through the neat suburban house, the connected bluetooth speakers allowing the music to fill the kitchen and dining room including the corner converted to a makeshift office. Kaliah was working from home today as she had her schedule arranged to give her more time with her son especially while on summer break.

She made sure to keep him busy to avoid him getting into trouble, his father taking him on the weekends. Usually.

Kaliah frowned, it was unlike Dave to just not show up. He was terrible at calling or texting but she could always rely on him to show up early Saturday mornings to fetch Mal. And so did the boy relied on his father's regular presence and when Dave never arrived they both were worried. Mal had been silently upset, his sunny nature clouded with disappointment. Perhaps the basketball camp at the University campus would raise his spirits but she knew better.

She checked her phone again. Nothing. Her texts and calls had gone unanswered, anger and fear knotting up inside her. Kaliah knew his family, they were dangerous and likely had long memories of kin blood feuds like their hillbilly ancestors.

Kaliah noted the time and got up, peeling her bare thighs off the vinyl chair. She dressed in brief pink running shorts and a loose off shoulder t-shirt over her sports bra. Her plan was to work out once the depositions were done but in reality she just relished the comfort of not wearing a suit and heels.

She went to the kitchen to take out the Tupperware of jambalaya she made last night, it always seemed to taste better the next day. Kaliah put it into the microwave to reheat, the scent of saffron rice and spice soon filling the kitchen. It was an old family recipe passed down from her mother's people who claimed Creole ancestry from Louisiana.

Dave looked nervously at his phone. He had parked two blocks away and taken a circuitous route, in the hopes of throwing off any potential tail. He wore another of his full-size combat pistols in a shoulder holster beneath a light jacket, and a compact SBR was tucked behind his seat.

He eyed Kaliah's number in his phone, took a breath, and dialed.

As Kaliah poured sugar in a pitcher of iced tea her phone went off, a chiming that made her turn on the balls of her bare feet and leaned over the counter to snatch it up. Her heart jumped and she tapped it, answering breathlessly, "David Daniel MacCready! Where the hell are you?"

"Two blocks away," he said, his voice low. He got out of the truck and pulled a plain brown ball cap low over his eyes and starting towards Kaliah's house. "I'll be there in a minute. Go to your back door, okay?"

"Why are you talking like that, Dave?" she asked but still walked to the back door.

Bella the pitbull mix saw this and jumped up with a jingle of tags and scrabble of claws on linoleum. Wagging her tail, Bella whined and sat at the door but Kaliah ignored her, still talking, "Are you in trouble?"

"I'll tell you when I get there," he said. "See you soon."

He hung up, looked around, and then broke into a light jog. It was a mid-week afternoon and the streets were empty, so after a half-block he cut a hard right between two houses, hopping a low fence in the process. He reached Kaliah's back yard and climbed that fence as well, then approached the back door, fighting down a sudden case of nerves.

Bella barked and wiggled in excitement, jumping up to scratch the door when Dave approached. Kaliah did not wait for him to knock. She yanked open the door, ready to jump on him but the rush of words halted at the sight of his handsome face discolored by old bruises.

The silence was only a split second before she gasped, "Dave! What happened to your face? Where have you been? You never called this weekend, Mal's been-"

She stopped herself and opened the door wider to let him in, pushing the dog with her foot to give him room. "Come on inside, boy, you just....you been fighting? Am I gonna have to give you legal counsel again?"

Dave entered, taking a quick look around the backyard. Once inside he allowed Bella to jump up on him, absently scratching the ruff of her neck.

"I got… I'm caught up in some stuff," he said. "I'm on the right side. It's just… You got a beer? This is gonna take some explainin'."

Kaliah blinked then nodded, her curls bouncing in the ponytail she wore. "Sit down at the table. You hungry? I'm heating up jambalaya, you know the one you always liked."

She grabbed a bottle of Bud, kept for his weekend visits, and gave it to him.

Kaliah turned with a bounce of her ample rump in the running shorts. "So tell me about it," she said as she served two bowls of the spicy rice dish. "What stuff are you into that you can't call me and you stand up your son."

She placed the dishes on the table and sat across from him, giving him the lawyer look, steady and penetrating.

Dave took the beer, staring at the bottle for almost a full minute as he marshaled his thoughts. Then he took a long pull.

"There's… There's some stuff I can't tell ya," he said. "I'm helpin' the Feds. I know, I know. I ain't happy about it. But that body, the one me an' Mal found? Is part of… Somethin' bigger. Mob. Maybe Cartels. They're… they're killin' people. Girls, mostly. Killin' 'em bad, Kaliah."

He shivered and trailed off for a moment. "The cops, they know all about me. They needed someone with my skills. Someone who can hunt, track… A mountain man, you know? So I went with 'em. Not because I trust 'em, but because these bastards hurt some people here. In my mountains. My mountains, where my son plays, you know?" He clenched a fist tightly, his fierce gaze boring a hole in the table.

"I can't have people dyin' when there's somethin' I can do to help. It ain't right. I hate the goddamn Feds, but this is… It's for the greater good."

Kaliah sat quietly, absorbing what he told her. David MacCready working with the Feds had to mean everything he told her was truth, because no other reason would propel him to work with those he distrusted as much as the government. Only the threat to their son. She took a deep breath and leaned over, reaching out, her fingers brushing the clenched fist.

"Dave...you always been a good man," Kaliah said softly, then gently squeezed.

"You're good, even if you drive me crazy. But goddamnit we were worried sick. Mal thought...he was upset. And I was so worried...I thought it was your family come back, your Daddy," Kaliah said, her big dark eyes peering at him. "Is it over, did they catch the men killing those people?"

Dave shook his head. "Not even close," he said quietly. "We got… There was a fight. Gunfight. Buncha thugs. We killed a handful… But there's still plenty of 'em to wade through. I'm only home for a bit. A break. I'm gonna hafta go back, but I had to see Mal. You too."

"A gunfight? You killed...oh lord, Dave, what are these people doing? Bringing a civilian into something like that you could have been killed ..." She trailed off, if there was any civilian more than capable of taking care of himself it was Dave. Her hands moved to her face and then she took a deep breath. "And I know you will go back until the job is done. Damnit...well, are you alright at least? Your face...did you have to fight one of them?"

Dave gave a rueful chuckle. "I uh… Kinda got shot a little bit. Don't tell Mal, it wasn't nothin' serious."

Kaliah slapped her hands on the table, "You got shot?! David MacCready... I swear if you wasn't already bruised up I'd beat your ass myself. Where'd you get shot?"

"Shoulder," he said sheepishly. He scratched at the table with a fingernail. "And a little in the chest. Vest stopped that one, though, so it don't really count."

Kaliah's eyes widened and she stood up, clapping her hands for emphasis, "You got shot in the chest. They was tryna kill yo cracka ass. Goddamn, Dave..."

She glared, her hands now planting themselves on her wide hips. "You tryna do the right thing but I can't have you going and getting killed, it would destroy our son. And I would...well, you know."

"I know," he said. They left it unspoken. They always did. "But this ain't your decision. It's mine. These people are sick. They're evil. And there ain't exactly a lot of people who can do what I do."

He raised his gaze to hers. The old MacCready obstinance blazed in his blue eyes. "I'm goin' back when they call me. I've got no choice."

Kaliah glared back but then shook her head, neither would budge but he was a man with a conscience and morals and it was something she respected about him. Even when it frightened her. "You always got a choice but I know you will go back because it's the right thing to do. It just scares me." she asked, her tone softening. "You still hurting?"

"A bit," he nodded. "Cracked some ribs, and the hole in my arm ain't healed yet, but I'm on the mend." He gave her a sudden, boyish grin. "Concussion gone away, though."

Kaliah shook her head, trying not to respond to his grin, her full lips pressing together to suppress the smile. "Like you'd notice with that thick skull of yours," she said, her hands slipping from her hips.

She looked away, covering her mouth as she caught the emotional response, her voice muffled, "Crazy ass white boy, what am I gonna do with you?"

"Well," he drawled, leaning back in his chair and cocking an eyebrow.. "I reckon we can start with lunch. Then… well, when's Mal comin' home?"

Kaliah tilted her head slightly, her tongue running along the inside of her cheek and she smiled at him. She chuckled, taking a deep breath as strong feelings rolled through her. "You gettin' ideas, Dave MacCready..."

Kaliah moved over to him, finding a seat on his thigh as he leaned back in his chair. Her hands gently caressed his handsome bruised face and she gave him a light kiss on the cheek, breathing warmly against him, "His basketball camp is over at five, they're having a pizza party."

He sighed and relaxed, leaning into her hand. "Then let's start with lunch."

***

Kaliah checked the time on her phone, she still had depositions to finish but Dave held her as he dozed. Whatever he had been through had not slowed down his sex drive and they had spent most of the afternoon in bed. Her hand brushed over his, the contrast between their skin was always fascinating especially the paler parts of him that weren't regularly touched by the sun.

Her thoughts turned over what he had told her. Murders of girls not much older than their child, dangerous men with guns trying to cover their crimes. Dave was a man who would not stand for that on his mountain or if he could help stop it. All the training his devil of a father had given him to make war in the name of hate, Dave was fighting for love, for justice.

Kaliah sighed and smiled at his handsome bruised face now the tension gone while he slept. She kissed his brow before sliding out of his arms to go wash up and finish her work.

Once it was around 5:30 pm, Kaliah sat on the bed, now dressed in jeans and cream colored camisole stretching across her generous chest. Over it she wore a matching cardigan, giving her a more modest air.

She leaned over gently shaking Dave, and she said in a low voice, "I'm heading out to pick up Mal, you gonna get up and dressed."

Dave jerked awake, his hand reaching for a gun that wasn't there. His eyes were wide, wild, a feral ferocity briefly glinting in them before he mastered himself. He sat up in the bed while he took in his surroundings, his brain slowly assimilating the information.

"Huh?"

Kaliah startled at his reaction, jerking her hand back. "Dave, it's me. Take it easy, you alright."

She shifted so she faced him, her warm dark eyes full of concern, "Were you havin' a nightmare?"

"Dunno," Dave grunted, looking around. "I uh… I'm sorry. 'Bout all that, I mean."

Kaliah put her hand on his arm, giving him a slight squeeze, "Ain't gotta be sorry, you've had a rough couple of weeks, running around getting in gunfights and tryna be a hero... God, Dave. No wonder you are having nightmares and waking up like you're getting attacked. You got that in you for sure, just take care of yourself."

She leaned in and kissed his cheek, whispering, "You've always been our hero."

When she pulled back, Kahlia said, "Now wash up and get dressed, your son is gonna be so excited to see you. I'm gonna keep it a surprise. I'll be back in about twenty minutes."

Dave nodded, managing to grin at the kiss despite the jumbled state of his head. Being jerked into wakefulness left him feeling sluggish, his thoughts jerking and grinding like an old pickup. He watched Kaliah leave the room and then hauled himself from the bed with a groan.

He followed Kaliah's orders, making the bed and then heading to her bathroom for a shower, taking his gun with him from room to room as he washed, dressed, and started a pot of coffee. Bumping around the house felt comfortable, natural. It wasn't unusual for him to spend the night, and he knew his way around their kitchen as easily as he did his own.

As the coffee pot began to bubble he seated himself at the breakfast bar and took out his burner, checking for messages. Seeing none he pocketed the phone and settled in to wait on his son, a smile growing on his battered face.

The Mercedes pulled up into the driveway and Mal was out the door. He called out to his mom, "Can I play Call of Duty?"

Her answer was inaudible but must have been affirmative as Mal dashed across the yard, basketball under one arm and he yanked the door open. Mal was still in the basketball shorts and shirt, the muscles just now starting to be noticeable in his skinny limbs. Bella barked and jumped around him and he gave her a pat before she skittered across the linoleum to the kitchen where Dave waited.

Mal's eyes widened and he shouted, his voice cracking, "Dad!"

His excitement mingled with anger and he paused inside the entrance way. The disappointment and heartache over his dad forgetting him made him pause. Mal stood looking at Dave, fidgeting with the basketball then bounced it once. "So... you're back."

Dave felt a pang in his chest at the subtle accusation in those words. He stood, masking the hurt, and approached his son.

“Yeah, I had some stuff that...Well...I’ll explain it all, okay? Durin’ dinner.” He hesitated and then held out his arms. “Got a hug for me?”

Mal hesitated, his dark eyes dropping, a mingling of hurt and relief in his expression. The boy dropped the ball, then threw his arms around Dave's neck. "I thought you forgot about me, I thought something happened," he muttered, hugging his Dad with none of the teenage awkwardness. "Mom was scared."

“I’d never forget about you, bubba,” Dave said, squeezing him tightly. “I love you too damn much. But this thing I was doin’, I couldn’t… I couldn’t talk about it, okay? I’m gonna tell you, I already told your mom. But you gotta keep it to yourselves.”

There was relief and affection in the squeeze, the boy gripping his dad tight. The childish fear of abandonment had weighed on him, especially when some of his friends found out and made jokes about Dave going out for dip and not coming back. Mal straightened up, taking a step back to meet his father's eyes. He saw the bruises now, fading but still colorful and the tired circles under the steel gaze.

"Yes, sir," Mal said, his curiosity now intense, "I won't tell anyone, Dad. I swear. What were you doing?"

“Whoever killed that person on our mountain, he killed some other folks too,” Dave said. He’d resolved to keep things short; there was no sense scaring the boy. “I been out East, helpin’ the feds track him down. Normally I wouldn’t have shit to say to a fed, but...These are young women bein’ hurt. I don’t think God would want me turnin’ away from that, you know? Not when I’m the kinda man who can do somethin’ about it.”

Mal swallowed hard, the memory of what had ended up being on the mountain had plagued his dreams, he had picked up a human bone of someone murdered. It was kinda cool but mostly it scared him. He wiped his hand instinctively against his basketball shorts recalling that day. Monsters had prowled his dreams but it was men that killed and no one was more of a man than his Dad. His dad could take the mountain back, with the Feds or not.

"The dead body," he asked, "Did you find who killed her? Did you k...."

He stopped, remembering when Dave had got after him about asking that question. "Did you get in a fight?"

“Just a little,” Dave said lightly. “Wasn’t nothin’ serious.”

He squeezed his son’s shoulder. “I’ll tell ya more at dinner, okay?”

"Yeah, okay," Mal replied, rubbing a hand over his tight curls, "I better shower before Mom yells at me, I'm glad you're back. Maybe we can go camping, I miss it."

He missed his Dad, too. Getting away from the house, his chores, as much as he loved his mother it was nice to have a break and just be with Dave and talk about things she couldn't understand. He fetched up the ball just as Kaliah walked in.

"Gonna take a shower but I'm not hungry, they got us pizza," he announced then tossed the basketball at Dave. "Can we shoot some hoops after dinner?"

Dave caught the ball and nodded. “I think we can manage that. Long as your mama don’t mind me stayin’ a little late?” He looked at Kaliah, quirking an eyebrow.

Kaliah winked at him playfully over Mal's shoulder and said, "You're welcome to stay overnight, no need to drive so far after dark. Not after such a long trip back."

"Cool!" Mal grinned, the same bright handsome smile as his father often wore. "Alright, I'm gonna wash up, I'll be right back."

Kaliah watched the boy rush to the bathroom and then she looked at Dave, "How much are you going to tell him?"

“Just a bit,” Dave said, watching him go. He felt his voice catch and he swallowed hard. “Just enough, you know? He don’t need the details. It’s dark shit.”

Kaliah nodded, moving into the kitchen to start dinner, "He had nightmares when y'all came back. Spent the first three nights sleeping with the light on and his TV, said it helped because he kept seeing and hearing things in the dark."

She glanced over her shoulder as she took out two steaks to allow them to come to room temperature. "He ain't done that since he was a little boy. Remember? Watching scary movies and games when he wasn't supposed to."

Kaliah stepped over to Dave, her hands moving to his shoulders and she massaged him absently as she spoke. "I wish we could keep him protected a little bit longer, that body shook him up. You doing what you're doing, it's admirable but it's still frightening for us to be waiting to see if you come back."

“I know,” he said quietly. He leaned against her hands. “But I gotta. What I told Mal was true. God wouldn’t want me steppin’ away from this. There’s people out there dyin’ because they’re beyond whatever law our government’s made. They’re out there in the dark, where the cops can’t get ‘em. But I can. So I will.”

She kissed the top of his head and hugged him against her chest, "I know you'll fight the good fight, that's something I've known since I met you. One of the reasons I love you, you've always been a good man and the best father. And I know you'll come back to us."

Kaliah slid back and gave him a massage on the back of his neck, "And if you don't, if something happens...they'll have me to answer to."

Dave snorted. “Lord knows I’d rather fight another buncha goons than you.”

She smiled, walking around him to go to the stove, "You right about that."

Kaliah steamed broccoli and whipped up mashed potatoes to go with the steaks she picked up while getting Mal. The boy chattered happily, telling Dave about basketball camp and his latest Call of Duty match.

She set the rare T-bone in front of him with a mound of mashed potatoes beside it. Her own steak was medium, as undercooked as she dared go but an improvement from the time she used to make it well done.

"Then I blasted their camping sniper," Mal said, picking at the broccoli his mother put in front of him since all he had for dinner was pepperoni pizza.

"I don't like that game," Kaliah said, picking up her knife. "Too much violence, guns aren't toys."

It was an old argument that stalemated and she said no more only glancing at Dave as he ate. Mal left it, the less said on the matter the better.

"Hey Dad, when can I go to the cabin?"

“I think in a while,” Dave said, looking up from his steak. He’d let the gun comment go; his recent experiences had only reinforced his views regarding firearms, but he didn’t want a fight. Not now. “Maybe next time I’m home, okay bubba? I wanna run that mountain a bit on my own. Make sure everythin’ is okay.”

Mal sighed but nodded, "Yeah, okay. But when's that gonna be? Before I gotta go back to school? I'm trying out for basketball this year, did Mom tell you?"

Kaliah flickered her gaze to Mal, but let the boy ask his questions.

“She didn’t say you were tryin’ for the team,” Dave said. He latched onto the distraction; he knew Mal wanted to be out on the mountain with him, but he couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not until he was sure it was safe. “What position you goin’ for?”

"Point guard," Mal said, grinning,"I wanna run things on the court, it's kinda like you gotta know where everyone is and where they're gonna be. Plus...well, I ain't that tall."

He smiled sheepishly and took a few bites of broccoli, "I'm only gonna be a freshman so it won't be varsity but you'll come to my games? I mean, if I make it."

“Wouldn’t miss ‘em,” Dave said seriously. “This business’ll probably be wrapped up by then. If it ain’t, I’ll come to every game I’m in town for. Promise.”

Mal nodded, a smile on his youthful face that he was once again back to his sunny nature, that his Dad was still his Dad and not like the stupid jokes of black kids without a father. He still stung with abandoned son memes thrown his way once he had expressed his anxiety about Dave not returning after the first weekend. It was a roast by friends but the fear of the fourteen year old had only increased as each day passed without word. Now his father was at the dinner table and he was even giving his mom those looks. The long looks he figured both of them still thought Mal didn't understand but it made him happy. It meant more time to hangout with his Dad.

Kaliah was eyeing Dave, hoping he would prove true as he always had. He wasn't the parent that had to pick up the pieces.

"I'm done," Mal announced, the serving of vegetables gone.

"Well if your mother feels like excusin' you, I'll join ya when I'm finished and we'll play some ball," Dave said. He raised an eyebrow at the boy, a reminder to watch his manners.

Kaliah gave Mal a quick nod, "Go on, just put the bowl in the dishwasher."

"Thanks," he replied, doing as he was told before scooping up the basketball to head outside.

Dave watched him go before looking over at Kaliah.

"So uh… I'd love to see him some. But I don't wanna take him back to the mountain for a while. Not yet." He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "You… think I could stay here, just a couple days?"

Kaliah hesitated then nodded, "You're always welcome here."

She stood up and collected her plate and Mal's dish, scraping and putting them in the dishwasher. She moved over to where he sat and put a hand on his shoulder, tracing the taut muscle beneath his t-shirt. "You want me to make up the couch or do you want to sleep with me?"

Kaliah's warm dark eyes met his gaze, it wasn't like he never slept over but it had been sometime since he stayed more than just the night. He might need the closeness not just with Mal but her own comfort after hunting killers in the mountains far from home.

"Hell, if the offer is there…" He gave her an open grin. "You know what I'm gonna say."

She laughed, shaking her head with a sway of dark curls. "You know I can't ever say no to that smile. At least when you ain't pissing me off. We'll just need to explain to Mal...you know, so he doesn't get his hopes up about..."

Kaliah rolled her eyes and brushed her hair back, "That it's just temporary, you know how kids are."

Dave sighed. "Yeah. I'll talk to him." He stood and picked up his plate. "I'll pitch in with dishes real quick, then go play some ball. Thanks for all this."

Kaliah waved him off, then took the plate from him, "I got it, go spend time with your son."

She looked at him then leaned up, kissing his cheek and said, "We're always here for you, just like you are for us. Now go."

Dave smiled and gave her hip an affectionate squeeze. Then he headed for the door, a new spring to his step as he went to join his son.

>BOONE COUNTY, AR
>MACREADY RESIDENCE
>14.JUL.2019
>1915

Dave looked up from his basement workbench and rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the weariness. And the boredom.

His days since the visit with Mal and Kaliah had been spent in his mountains, hiking the trails that only he knew with his behemoth dog and a rifle in his hands. Eventually he became restless and had returned to the house, turning his attention to his impressive arsenal. He'd cleaned every gun in the collection, an activity that usually brought him a measure of peace. Now, however, he found himself unable to focus. His nights were plagued by half- remembered nightmares, his days by a strange blend of boredom and anxiety that he couldn't find a way to quell.

He sighed and slid the bolt carrier group back into the RPD that lay before him, snapping the top cover closed. He stood, studied the weapon for a moment, and then picked up a loaded drum and shoved it into place before hefting the gun and making his way upstairs, detouring to snag a six-pack from the fridge.

He carried both gun and refreshments outside and sat on one of the old porch chairs, leaning the machine gun against the wall within reach and then cracking open one of the beers. After a few moments of restless silence he pulled his burner from his pocket as he had a hundred times over the past week.

"God damn, where are y'all?" He muttered at the empty inbox. He clicked through the contacts, watching the names of his teammates scroll past one by one. He paused when he got to Ava, smiling a little. On impulse he hit the dial key and raised the phone to his ear, his eyes scanning the treeline as it began to ring.

The phone rang barely once before it answered and Ava's gentle, if slightly distracted sounding voice drifted through, “This is Analyst Moore.”

"Hey, sugar," Dave drawled, grinning at the serious timbre of the small voice on the other end of the phone. "Them Feds keepin' you busy?"

“Dave?” Ava asked, her tone surprised as there was a small pause. “Oh! Hi Dave! I didn't even look at my phone when I answered.” She said with a light chuckle. “How have you been?” She asked her voice warming with familiarity for the mountain man.

"Been alright, I s'pose," he said. He paused and took a sip of his beer, frowning. "Ain't sleepin' great, but I guess that's normal. How about you? How's your friend, Mrs. Grier right?"

“Yes and she's good.” She answered, a concerned note in her speech. “I'm sorry you're having trouble sleeping, I have too. Are you having nightmares?”

"Yeah, most nights." He sighed. While it made him feel a little better to know that he wasn't the only one of the gang having a rough time, he hated the idea of Ava having trouble. "You havin' nightmares too then?"

“Uh, sorta.” She said, the soft sound of a chair creaking coming through the phone. “I've always had issues sleeping, off and on since I was a kid, so I'm kinda used to it...Do you want to talk about it? Your nightmares?”

"It's nothin' I can really remember." He shrugged, then smirked at the gesture, remembering she couldn't see him. "I think it's the shootout. The bodies… That… You know. That thing on the mountain…" He trailed off. "Just dark shit. How's your belly healin' up?"

“It's feeling better, it's not as sore.” She answered, the frown clear in her voice. “I'm sorry, I know I said that already, but I really am. I can't imagine what you went through and I wish I could make it better so you can sleep easy.” She said, her soft voice filled with sympathy even though she seemed at a loss of what to say.

Dave chuckled. "I appreciate that. Really." There was a pregnant pause. "I want you to know you can talk to me, too. I'm here for ya anytime you need."

“Thank you Dave.” Ava said, the smile clear in her voice. “My offer still stands too, I'm not good at advice but I'm a good listener.” There was the sound of shifting and a chair creaked as she grew comfortable. “What else have you been up to? Did your son like his present?”

"Heh, yeah, he liked it," Dave said, the smile evident in his voice. "Went and hung out with him and his mama. I'm er… not sure he'd wanna be on the mountain. Not right now, anyway."

“I can imagine.” Ava said her voice growing soft empathetically, but then it perked up again. “But that’s good, you spent time with them, that kind of quality time can help a lot. Is there anything else you like doing when you want to relax? Favorite movie or show or a sport?”

“I don’t actually have a TV,” Dave said. “I’m kinda in the boonies. I’m lucky I get cell service, an’ even that’s kinda hit-or-miss. Usually I’m workin’ on one project or another.” He glanced over at his empty garage and smiled ruefully. “Ain’t been around to get any work though, so I’m lucky the Feds are footin’ my bill right now. I figure one of these times I’ll come back and find a broke down truck on my lawn. That’s usually how it works. My neighbors know I sometimes take off into the mountains for a few days at a time, so they just drop off stuff that needs fixed.”

There was a quiet beat on the other end before Ava spoke, “I’m sorry, my brain got stuck on the idea of not having a TV. How many neighbors do you have? What kind of cars do you end up working on? Like beaters or a few hidden gems from back in the day?”

“I got neighbors all over the mountain, really. And there’s a little town near here, they’re usually who I work for.” A rhythmic clicking drew Dave’s attention and he reached for his gun, looking over to see the large form of Rufus approaching from the end of the patio, his nails clacking against the wood. Rufus was a mammoth of a dog, his mastiff heritage strong, and he walked over and sat beside Dave’s chair, then leaned heavily against his leg in the manner of mastiffs throughout history. Dave smiled and rested a hand on the dog’s large, blocky head, scratching at his ear.

“I get some good stuff sometimes,” he said. “Mostly it’s old pickups and tractors. Got a guy who collects old motorcycles, so I’ve worked on a few cool things for him. My last project was rebuildin’ a ‘56 flatbed Ford for a guy down the mountain.”

“You got to work on a ‘56 Ford?” Ava asked with a gasp and a smile in her voice. “Oh you’re so lucky! I love those trucks! What did you guys do? Were you able to keep the original engine mostly intact?”

“Wait, back up,” Dave said, sitting straighter in his chair. “You know shit about trucks?”

“I do!” Ava laughed, the sound almost musical with it’s jovial lilt. “My grandpa used to be a mechanic and he made sure I would know how to fix my own car.” She said with a chuckle. “And he kind of passed down an appreciation for the engineering behind those engines along with teaching me to turn a wrench.”

Dave laughed in turn, shaking his head and giving Rufus’s neck a good scratch. “I’ll be damned, never figured you for a grease-monkey,” he said. “We saved the engine, mostly it was the carb we were havin’ trouble with. Rebuilt that, and then all new seals and stuff of course. Runs like a dream, now. He did all the cosmetic stuff, but didn’t quite know what to do once he got into the guts.”

“Those old engines can be tricky to get working, glad you were able to keep the original intact.” There was the sound of shifting and then the rapid clicking of fingers on a keyboard. “Have you had the chance to work on an Indian Scout yet? I’m not super big on motorcycles, but I love the Scout, don’t really know why.”

“Guy down the mountain has an old school Scout, he had me get it runnin’ for him when the tranny was shittin’ the bed a few years back,” Dave said. “Never messed with one of the Polaris ones, though. Supposed to be pretty nice.”

“You just have all the fun over there don’t you?” Ava asked with a grin in her voice. “Working on some of my favorite classics out in the boondocks.”

“Yeah, well, gets excitin’ up on the mountain,” Dave said lightly. He drained his beer, grabbed another, and twisted the cap. “You know sugar, you sound like you’re holdin’ up pretty good. I’m glad. I was worryin’ about ya.”

“Oh, thank you, I’m sorry I made you worry.” She said, her voice growing soft again. “I think I’m okay now, thanks to everyone on the team being so great and supportive. Plus,” She cleared her throat as her tone brightened, “I got my payback for those bastards shooting me and my friends.”

“Oh yeah?” He sat up a little straighter. “What kinda payback we talkin’?”

“I can’t really talk about it over the phone, just to be safe.” Ava answered. “But, remember how you said I was a ‘scary gal’ back at the cabin? Basically, that.”

“Oh, shit,” Dave said. There was a note of respect in his voice, as well as a good smattering of humor. “Well, sounds like at least one of us has been doin’ somethin’ useful. All I been doin’ is drinkin’ beer and pettin’ my dog.”

“Petting dogs is always very important.” Ava said, an overly serious note to her voice. A moment later her voice warmed again, “And, you’ve been taking care of yourself. That’s extremely important.”

“Yeah, fair enough, sugar,” Dave chuckled. “I’m doin’ my best at that. You make sure you’re doin’ the same, okay?”

“I will, promise.” She said, the smile clear in her softly spoken manner. “Hey, have you tried melatonin for sleeping before? I have a tea with some in it and it helps me get to sleep, the VA even has my Gramps using it. Might be something that could help you.”

“I’m not even real sure what melatonin is, but I’ll look into it?” Dave said, sounding both amused and perplexed. “I don’t mind some tea now and then. But hey, I’ma let you go, alright sugar? I’ve got some stuf I gotta take care of ‘round here. I’ll see ya real soon.”

“Uuh,” Ava let out a soft huff of a laugh. “Okay Dave, take care. It was nice hearing from you.”

“You too. Take care.” Dave hung up the phone and sighed, setting it on his knee. He leaned down and gave Rufus a vigorous scratch, then cracked open a fresh beer and sat back in his chair, a smile on his face.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead

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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."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by KuroTenshi
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KuroTenshi

Member Seen 2 yrs ago

>LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
>THE PROGRAM HEADQUARTERS,
>CIA HEADQUARTERS
>2019.13.JULY
>0930...///


The elevator doors slid open and Ava stepped off, an empty box in her arms and her laptop bag over her shoulder. She was dressed in her usual work attire, a pleated brown skirt, a peach colored cable sweater with a little shirt white collar peeking out and her mass of curly hair wrestled back into a braided bun.

The past week had been a welcome break from the events of Blackriver. She talked to her grandparents at least once a day and spent time with Mrs. Grier, mostly getting her vegetable garden ready for the autumn planting.

It had helped her settle down, finding relaxation in the normalcy of the routine. Even her sleep had improved a little, she still had a fitful rest or two but she at least got enough sleep to remain clear headed and sharp.

So when she arrived back at Headquarters, she was fully ready to throw herself into her work. After she finished packing up her old office.

Ava opened the door to her office and wasn't surprised to see that the computer equipment was already gone, as was her filing cabinet. Someone must have already moved both items to her new office, which she was grateful for. Everything else that was either personal or decorative remained.

With a deep breath and a slightly heavy heart over the closing of this chapter of her life, she set down her box and started packing things up.

A knock on the doorframe announced someone’s presence. Turning around revealed it to be SSA Stark, a soft smile in the doorway and two cups of coffee, “How are you?”

Ava glanced back and smiled over at the familiar face of Agent Stark. “I’m alright, all things considered.” She answered, tucking a hedgehog shaped pot containing a fake succulent inside of the box. She walked over to him and accepted one of the cups of coffee. “Thank you.” She said before taking a sip of the warm brew. “Working Groups are...definitely different.”

“You’re right about that. My old Working Group was both the most fulfilling and terrifying time of my life.” Stark chuckled. He looked Ava up and down, “I hope nothing was too exciting your first week.”

“Uuh,” Ava cleared her throat and took another drink of her coffee as she turned around to go back to packing her desk. “Exciting is one way to put it.” She said, setting down the coffee mug to pack up some pictures. “I was actually hoping you might be able to help me with something relating to the case?” She asked to change the subject.

“Sure,” Stark nodded, “Whatever you need.”

“We came across a name or a title and I wanted to do a deep dive in the database for it, in case we have anything already on file.” She turned back around to face him with an inquisitive arch to her eyebrows. “Something called The Sleeper.”

“You need me to put in a request? You and your team might have to travel, what’s your timeframe here?” Stark frowned, his face playing on curiosity.

“We’ll be hitting the field again in about a week,” Ava answered with a thoughtful frown. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be there, it depends on a few variables.” She returned his curious look with one of her own. “Where would we need to travel too?” She asked.

“The BLACKBOX.” Stark sipped his coffee and continued when he saw no sign of recognition from Ava, “Alaska.”

Ava’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open slightly. “We’re going to need to go to Alaska?” She shut her mouth and smiled sheepishly at her reaction. “Well, at least we’ll be going somewhere pretty.” She said with an awkward chuckle. Though the location sounded more than a little ominous.

She flashed him a more natural and grateful smile. “Thank you Agent Stark, I really appreciate this.” Ava pretended to glance around to make sure they were alone. “If you ever need my help on something, let me know and I’ll try to find time between missions.” She said with a grin.

“Of course,” Stark smiled, raising his cup to Ava, “I’ll let you get back to work, I’ve got things to do. Good luck out there, Ava.”

She picked up her mug and raised it to him in return. “Thank you Agent Stark, for everything.” She said before taking a sip of the cooling coffee, watching as he left the room.

BLACKBOX, huh. She thought with a frown as she set the mug down and continued packing up her personal items and decorative knick knacks that brightened up the dull grey office.

Once everything was packed up, she picked up the box and only felt the slightest twinge in her side from lifting it. She stopped in the doorway, looking back at the empty office for a few moments, before she flicked off the lights and shut the door.




Ava set down the sleepy little ceramic hedgehog pot with the fake succulent on her new desk and folded up the now empty box she used to carry everything. Her new office wasn’t too dissimilar to her old one, though it seemed a little smaller, it was still a dreary gray cube with no window and harsh fluorescent lighting. She was already contemplating putting up a few more decorations to help brighten the room up, especially given the nature of her new work.

But, that could wait until later.

She sat herself down in front of the dual monitors and turned on her system before getting out her laptop from the bag slung over the back of her chair. She set up her laptop on the desk as well, hooking it up to the tower tucked under her desk and went about copying files over from her laptop to the computer’s harddrive.

After going through a general system check up to make sure everything was still working after her absence and the move, she pulled her headphones out of her laptop bag. “Alright Mr. Mitterick.” She said, placing the headphones on her head and turning on the music on her phone sitting on a holder that looked like a happy stretching cat. She selected a slow and steady instrumental song that was a mixture of gentle electronic rhythms and acoustic instruments.

As the low beats drifted into her ears, she cracked her knuckles and set her hands on the keyboard. “Where are you hiding?”




>1934...///

Ava scrolled through her contacts as she leant back into her cushioned desk chair, a moment of well earned satisfaction washing through her. Half of the fluorescent lights above her were turned off, allowing the orange tinted light of her computer screens to bathe her in it’s warm glow.

She glanced at the time on her phone before selecting ‘Agent Donnelley’ in her contacts. She had not intended to stay as late as she did, but one promising lead had turned into a veritable treasure trove of information. At least she had plenty of food to reheat when she got home, thanks to Mrs. Grier and Thor had his automatic feeder to put food in his bowl. As soon as she made this last call, she would go home and celebrate.

She tapped the call function and held the phone to her ear as it rang, peeking up over her monitors to make sure that her office door was closed.

“J. Donnelley.” Came from the receiver, professional, but a kindness under the words for his friend and teammate.

Ava perked up hearing him answer and sat back down. “Donnelley! It’s Ava! I have good news about my research into Jay.”

“That’s great!” Donnelley’s voice perked up from the other end, “Are you able to discuss it over the phone? I can be in town sometime soon. Been a bit busy, but I should be free.”

“I think you might want to go over this in person.” Ava said with a wide grin. “I might have found a residence and I’ve definitely hacked into Jay’s ‘work’ email, so there’s a lot of information to go over. I’ve already let Foster know too, but he can’t make it to town so I have to make him cliff notes.”

“Well, uh,” Donnelley’s smile was in his words as he spoke, “Just give me some time to doll myself up and I’ll be over. Where we meetin’?”

“Uuh,” She frowned and glanced around her office. “My office at Langley? Unless you need me to pick you up from the airport or something?”

“I need to be there anyway. Meet in the parkin’ lot?” Donnelley asked.

Ava nodded, then realized a moment later he couldn’t see it. “Sure, how soon will you be able to make it to town?” She asked.

“Few hours. See ya then.” Donnelley said, ending the call.

“Wait, to-” She frowned as the call ended and she set down her phone. “Guess I’m working even later than I thought.”




>CIA HEADQUARTERS
>LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
>JUL.14.2019
>0100...///


Donnelley had not been here for a long time. His dual citizenship with the Agency and the Program making that an oddity. He walked the nearly empty halls of Langley until he got to an office that had not seen him in a long, long time. It was like returning home, even moreso than when he visited his old house in Seattle. He placed his hand on the door and looked down both ends of the dimly lit hallway, whatever night owls that were staying overtime in the Agency’s Directorate of Operations didn’t bother lighting hallways they wouldn’t walk down for a few hours yet.

He twisted the knob and pushed the door aside to reveal a little office that seemed like a memory torn from his head. It had not been touched for years. The same D.R.I poster on the wall, old computer and monitor, a coffee cup still dirty sitting precariously on a corner of his desk. He breathed in the air, smelling of dust. Pursing his lips, he made his way to his desk to make the call. The dial tone on the other end going for a bit until, “Smitty Larsson, Operations.”

“How’s Viktor?” Donnelley asked, “He talk?”

“Oh, shit, Donnelley. What’s up?” Smitty perked up, “Honestly? Not much. Shits been south for a bit since those HUMINT assets were purged. Fuckin’ DIA, man. Anyways, we managed to squeeze some names and places out of him. You know how it is though, we can talk about it when you get here.”

“Sure thing. See ya, partner.” Donnelley smiled.

“Yup.” Smitty hung up, and Donnelley set his phone back on its station.

He looked at the time on his phone and sighed, about time he met up with Ava. He kept up a good pace as he walked back out towards the parking lot and got to his rental, a red Ford Focus ST that he picked out for shits and giggles, racing stripes and all. He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and waited for the familiar puff of fiery red hair to grace his eyes once more.

Ava glanced nervously around the dark parking lot, her phone in hand just in case she needed to make an emergency call. She didn’t particularly like walking out alone at night, even if the area was as closely monitored as the parking lot of Langley. While it was dark, it was mostly empty, so it was easy to watch her surroundings and even easier to find Donnelley.

The strong smell of cigarette smoke drifting on the wind also helped lead her in his direction. She hurried her walking a little when she saw him standing beside a red Ford Focus.

“Hey,” She greeted with a relieved smile and a wave as she approached. She nodded her head to the car, brushing one of the curls that had escaped her tightly braided bun away from her face. “Fine taste in cars I see.”

Donnelley smirked, his cigarette still smoldering from the end between his lips as he rapped his knuckles on the door of his Focus, “The finest.” He blew out a puff of smoke, “Where we headed?”

“My office,” She said, pointing over her shoulder back to the building. “When you finish your cigarette.” She added, looking around the parking lot. “So, how has your time off been?” She asked, looking back up at him.

Donnelley rolled his eyes good-naturedly, “Just came back out.” He groaned, “My time off? Hasn’t been much of one, honestly. Anyway, come on, let’s go discuss important shit.”

He took a few quick puffs of his cigarette before flicking it away and pushing himself off of his car, siding up with Ava as they began the arduous journey back to her office in the Program Headquarters. “How ‘bout you?” He asked, “What you been keepin’ yourself busy with?”

“I took a few days to, um, heal.” She said, glancing away evasively and waving her hand at her right side. “Today was actually my first day back and it certainly made up for that time off.” She looked out of the corner of her eye at his leg. “How’s your leg feeling?”

“Better,” He chuckled and made a show of walking not-so-lame, “Don’t feel like a lame horse anymore, don’t have to take me out back and put me out my misery.”

“That’s good.” She said, her face brightening as they entered back inside the half lit hallways of the building and lead him down one. “I’ll try to make this quick so we don’t have to stay here until the sun rises.” She promised.

Donnelley nodded, smirking, “If there’s one thing I want to do with my life is spend more of it at work and not gettin’ paid.”

She just grinned at the comment and continued leading him down the half lit halls until they reached her office. She pushed open the door and flicked on the other half of the lights, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the new brightness.

“Okay!” She said, making her way over to her desk and sitting down in her chair. “So I did a general search for Jay on the regular web and only turned up your basic information. Arrest records, a possible residential address and some activity on Stormfront.” She said while turning her computer back on and waiting for it to boot up. “Then I ran a search through the Deep Web and found some activity from him on another forum where he linked an email.”

She looked up at Donnelley with an excited grin. “And I cracked it and found out that this is how he’s been communicating with his contacts. They’re all using this one email account to communicate with each other without sending or receiving anything.” She motioned to her screen as it turned on. “It’s all here.”

“Holy shit...” Donnelley looked up from his crinkling bag of chips he’d gotten from one of the vending machines, “That’s… pretty fuckin’ genius. Can’t track emails if they ain’t goin’ anywhere. Where’s the residence?”

“It’s in Benwood West Virginia.” Ava pulled open a desk drawer and took out a manilla folder. “Here you go.” She slid the folder over to thim. “Those are the coordinates as well as the inventory for a number of dead drop sites he has scattered around Blackriver. Lot of unmarked weapons and ordinances.” She said, turning back to her computer, but paused as she eyed his bag of chips hungrily. “May I have a few, please?”

“Hot damn, some slick new CommBloc weapons with no serial numbers?” He offered the opened bag to Ava at her request, a smirk on his lips, “You earned it, girl. ‘Sides, got two. We’re both hungry, I’ll take us to dinner. My treat.”

Her eyes lit up at the prospect of food as she took a few chips from the bag. “That’d be great, I could eat a horse.” She popped one in her mouth and crunched down on it before continuing, covering her mouth with her free hand. “I think I also got the coordinates for that shed you learned about. It seems like their main meeting place so I assume it’s the shed.”

She ate the rest of the chips and waved him over to her computer screen. “Here, I mapped out everything.” She said as she pulled up a map of Blackriver county with a number of different colored dots on it. “The red dots are the dead drop sites. The blues are areas of interest. The mines, the area Maria’s body was found, the O’Dhoule estate and the old mental hospital.” She pointed to the lone white dot on the map. “And that’s the hot spot for their meetups.”

Donnelley had a mischievous grin on his face, that old bearing of fangs as he nodded slow and offered his hand for a high-five, “Good. Damn. Work.” Donnelley chuckled, “We’ll smoke these boys out and chop ‘em up. Buddy of mine got info on that Russian that’s leadin’ ‘em out in the hills, Nikolai Gorochev.”

Ava beamed as she clapped her hand against his, eyes brightening at the mention of new information. “That’s great! Do you want me to run a search on him?” She felt her stomach growl and added, “Tomorrow, maybe?” She chuckled and waved her hand at her computer. “There are a couple more things I learned from the emails that might be helpful and then we can leave and get food.”

“Mm-mm, no. My guy already has Nikolai covered, but I’ll ask you if there’s somethin’ else I need on Nikolai.” Donnelley said, smiling, “You always think about givin’ yourself extra work?”

He stood and stretched, put his hands on his hips and gestured to the computer and the maps, “What else do you need to tell me about the email? After that, we can get the hell outta here and stuff our faces.”

Ava shrugged her slender shoulders awkwardly with a slight smile. “What can I say? I like my work.” The smile slipped from her face, replaced with a thoughtful frown as she took a moment to organize her thoughts.

“The National Park Service in Blackriver is definitely in the pocket of the Russians and Aryan Brotherhood. Interestingly enough there was no mention of the Sheriff. They talked about something to do with London quite a bit. They mention us a lot, they really don’t like us and they also mention someone named Renko. They seem to hate him as much as us so he could be a potential asset or ally? And they really want that man Carlisle dead.”

She leant back into her desk chair, gently nudging the ground with her foot to idly twist it back and forth. “The Cartels aren’t involved, the Russians seem to have a tight grip on the human trafficking in West Virginia and all along the East Coast. Likely because of the use of someone...or something they call ‘The Hound’ that they sicc on their enemies.” She met his eyes with a concerned crease between her brows. “Logically, I want to believe that’s just the name of some kind of hitman.”

Donnelley had a look about him then, the one that Holly always said made him look like he knew something, and awful guilty of it to boot. “Yeah, well,” Donnelley quivered with the memory of the smell, that night in New York… “You been with the Program long enough that logic sometimes ain’t a good place to reach for an answer.” Donnelley swallowed, “Tell you what.”

“I’ll tell my guy about Renko, you can search around for him if you’d like.” An angry growl from his stomach made him place a hand over it as if to calm it, “I know what I’d like right about now. A big ass steak. Rare.” He smiled over at Ava, “What ‘bout you, eh? My treat, anythin’. We’ll celebrate a big break in the case.”

Her brow furrowed in both surprise and worry noticing how shaken Donnelley appeared at the mention of ‘The Hound’. For someone as seasoned as he was, that was a concerning sign. “I won’t say no to a steak, I know a place that’s good.” She glanced at the map she had made. She wanted to ask for the coordinates for the attacks, likely by this ‘Hound’, that took place in the woods, but closed the program instead. It could wait another time.

She started shutting everything down and packing up her things in her laptop bag. “Do you want to follow me or I can drive us in my car?” She looked at him with a small grin. “It’s a Ford Focus too, though it doesn’t have any fancy stripes on it.”

“Nah, I’ll drive myself. I kinda like that thing, gonna get my money’s worth. That thing is fast as all hell, tell you what.” He chuckled, “What’s the place, I’ll meet y’there.”

“Roadside Steakhouse.” She answered, pulling the strap of her laptop bag over her chest. “Look for a place with a giant wooden grizzly bear statue outfront, can’t miss it.”




It was well past the usual dinner rush hour at the Roadside Steakhouse. While it was by no means crowded there were still a fair amount of people despite the late hour, either eating dinner at the tables or lingering at the bar off to the side with drinks in hand.

The interior was warm and welcoming as people stepped inside, a casual rustic dive bar appearance with a few modern accents. The walls of warm red brick complimenting the hard wood floors, with bare lightbulbs hanging low from the exposed rafters of the ceiling and casting a subdued yellow light throughout the room.

There was no hostess waiting at the entrance, instead just a wooden sign hanging by the door inviting customers to seat themselves. Ava stood up on the tips of her toes to survey the room before spying an open booth by the bar. “There’s a seat.” She said to Donnelley, nodding her head in the direction before making her way towards it.

Donnelley took his seat opposite Ava, eyes instinctually scanning the crowds and searching for exits, drafting up contingencies and escape plans. He shook his head with a smile as he sat down with Ava, an attentive but hurried waitress setting down menus and going off on her way with a smile. “Never took you for a steak kinda gal.” Donnelley smiled, “Question is now, how d’you take it? Well done?”

Ava wrinkled her straight, button nose at the mere suggestion. “It’s medium rare or nothing.” She answered with a small grin, not looking down at her menu as she folded her hands on top of it.

She squinted her eyes at him for a moment. “It’s taking me longer than it should to get used to seeing you with red hair instead of black.” She admitted.

“Yeah,” he began, running his fingers through his shorter hair, “It’s taken a bit of getting used to it.”

“Acceptable answer, by the way, gotta have some red and blood in it. Reminds you you’re eatin’ somethin’ used to be livin’.” He frowned appreciatively, nodding, “Knew I liked you. You born here in Virginia?”

“No, I just moved here for work two years back.” She answered, very aware of the possibility of people eavesdropping. She frowned and unfolded her hands to lightly pat her fingers against the table. “Technically I was probably born in West Virginia, but when I was two I was adopted by my mom and dad in Rhode Island so I grew up there.”

She gave him a curious look. “You sound like you’re from...Texas? Is that right?”

“And proud,” He sat back with a self-assured smile and his arms crossed, nodding, “Yeah, I was born in Dallard County, lil’ bit south of Dalhart. Moved to Seattle for a bit and, uh, I’ve taken every chance at a business trip my company offers for the past near-decade.”

“What can I get y’all to drink!” The waitress asked with a smile upon her return.

“I’ll have one of these, uh, Hardywood Parks.” He gave a charming smirk to the blonde, wide-hipped waitress.

“Oh, that’s a local favorite. How ‘bout you, sweetness?” She turned to Ava.

Ava gave her a polite smile. “Can I have a Shirley Temple please?” She asked.

“Of course, dear! I’ll be right back you two.” Her eyes lingered on Donnelley and her smile twitched up a notch before she turned and left. Goddamn, he loved young waitresses looking for tips.

“So, you n’ Laine get along well on your lil’ trip home?” He asked, “Dave’s a good guy, ain’t like his kin at all.”

“We did.” Ava smiled, thinking back to her drive with the FBI psychologist. “We stopped at the deceptively named Waffle House along the way.” She rolled her eyes. “Just four types of waffles and they didn’t even taste that good. I’m still miffed about it.” She said with a mock frown on her face. “Laine thought it was funny though when I called it a House of Lies. Which it is.”

The mention of Dave made a warm smile split across her face. “Dave is a good man, I hope he’s doing alright. Next time I see him hopefully he’s not so bruised up, the poor guy.” She waved her hand slightly toward him. “So I take that to mean he caught a ride with you instead of the GreyHound?”

Donnelley chuckled, nodding and smiling at reminiscing with the man. He’d grown to like him the past few days and he found himself excited thinking about seeing him again, “Yep. Gas, grass, or ass,” he counted the options on his fingers, then shrugged, “I settled for some of his beers. He lives in a pretty nice place.”

His smile turned something mischievous as he teased in a sly little tone, “That was a pretty wistful smile when I brought up Dave.”

Ava blinked and gave him a genuinely confused look. “How do you mean?” She asked, reaching up to touch one of her freckle covered cheeks.

“I-...” his joking tone dropped as he shrugged, “Ah, never mind. You two get along well, I’m glad. Team needs to be able to bond.”

Their drinks clacked down on their tablecloth and Donnelley smiled up at the waitress, “Thank ya kindly, Miss.”

He watched her go, quite intently, and turned back to Ava, “She’s cool though, ain’t she?” He said, “Laine.”

He caught himself smiling mighty wistful himself into his beer before he caught himself, “Good agent all around. Y’all’re good at what y’all do.”

Ava smiled at that, picking one of the cherries out of her drink. “Thanks, I think I’m getting the hang of things now.” She said, plucking the candied cherry off the stem and popping it in her mouth. “Laine and I had a talk about the nature of the job during our drive so I think that helped too.” She picked out the other cherry and offered it to him. “Want one?”

“Thank you,” He nodded, taking the cherry and plopping it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, “So, how’d you find work,” Donnelley cleared his throat, “With the company? You’re pretty darn young for this, usually it’s dudes in their thirties.”

“Well,” She frowned, idly stirring her straw in her drink to mix in the grenadine a little better. “I was 18 and fresh out of college when Booz-Allen approached me with a job. They basically offered me a lot of money to do what I loved so I accepted. I worked in their offices for a few years then got hired out on a contract for our, uh, parent company.” She shrugged, hoping it was clear she meant the CIA and very studiously stared at her drink as she continued, “Then two years ago I was recruited following an...incident.” She picked up her glass and drank a good bit of it.

“Yeah,” Donnelley frowned and looked off to the side, “Those darn incidents. We all got ‘em. Well, we’ll take care of this here incident in no damn time at all. Have a big ol’ party ‘bout it and be on our merry way.” Until next incident, he thought, a bit bitterly, but he smiled through it, “Any ideas? Group vacation to the Caribbean?”

She grinned at the suggestion, the joke helping to chase away the tightening in her chest from thinking back to that day. “We’re both Gingers and Laine is the most goth woman I’ve ever met, why would you want to go to our version of Hell?” She asked him with a faux disappointed shaking of her head. “I’d be as red as my hair the moment I set foot off the plane.”

She took another sip of her drink, the mirth slowly draining from her face. “Foster mentioned to me that you and Laine had incidents. Up until then I had no idea anyone else had something like that happen to them.” She glanced down as she fiddled with the cuff of her peach colored sweater. “It’s...really nice to know I wasn’t the only one.”

Donnelley frowned slightly, before his lips turned up in that old smile he’d give little Tilly when she was sad. “Hey,” He said, “You might be one of a kind in what you can do with that computer of yours. But in having incidents? You’ll never face it down alone long as we’re ‘round.”

“Promise.” He nodded, “And when I make a promise, be damn sure it’s kept.”

Ava looked back up at him, a small but warm smile finding its way back to her lips and her eyes brightening. “I believe you.” She said with a little nod of her own. “Thank you.” She thought back to his shaken expression back in her office and added, “The same goes for you too.”

She noticed their waitress coming back with order pad in hand and fell quiet so she didn't overhear them.

He smirked and nodded, “Got each other’s backs.”

“Alright!” The waitress sauntered up to their table and clicked her pen open, smiling between the two of them at the table, “Y’all hungry?”




>VIENNA, VIRGINIA
>AVALINE MOORE RESIDENCE
>0300...///


The restaurant was good, the night held important developments for the case, and his team in Iraq was making good progress, even without him there. All in all, it was a good night. He knew he’d probably have to get a motel room somewhere, preferably close by in case Ava’s probing into the Russians’ online presence brought a damper on the night.

He depressed the brakes as Ava turned into her driveway and he parked alongside the sidewalk in front of her house. He looked around, the stillness of the night adding that bit more of a quaintness to the neighborhood that Ava lived in. Definitely a step up from the place Donnelley lived in Washington. He looked at Ava as she knocked on his driver window and waved. He rolled it down, offering her a smile, “I had a good night.” He said, “Good work, again.”

Ava smiled, adjusting the strap of her laptop bag on her shoulder. “Thanks, I had a fun time too.” She said while pulling out her phone from a pouch in her bag. “Where are you going now?” She asked, taping at her phone and then a moment later the lights came on through the windows of her house. It was a single story craftsman style home with a small covered front porch, painted a deep thunder blue gray with white trims. A pair of flower boxes hung below the two front windows, one a bay window that overlooked the well kept lawn, surrounded by a perimeter of small flowering plants and one thin young tree.

He quirked a brow as he glanced at the lights coming on in her home without warning, “I, uh…” he looked back at her and regained his small smile, “I was gonna get a motel close by. Just a place to crash for the night. You gonna be alright?”

She frowned as she tucked her phone away and started digging out her house keys. “I think so, but if you want you can crash here.” She offered, pulling out her keychain with a jingle. She knitted her eyebrows together. “I dragged you out here in the middle of the night, the least I can do is offer you my couch. Uh, it pulls out, so it's a lot more comfortable than it sounds.” She shrugged with an awkward smile. “Up to you of course.”

He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, his brow quirking, “You got booze?”

Ava blinked before grinning and laughing. “I do, I have some beer and liquor stashed away. And I won't even charge you a minibar fee.” She said with a chuckle.

Donnelley nodded again, clucking his tongue, “You have won me over.” He produced a cigarette and tucked it in his lips, “I’ll finish this and get inside.”

Ava nodded, still smiling. “Alright.” She took a step and then stopped. “Oh, are you allergic to cat fur?” She asked with a mildly concerned frown.

“Nah, he’ll love me.” Donnelley grinned.




“What can I say except you’re welcome?” Donnelley hummed the rest of what he assumed were the lyrics to the one song he knew from the movie Ava said she was putting on. He only knew the infamous title lyrics as the song they’d use to torture Maui when THUNDER would get together before or after a mission.

He was busy mixing the perfect whiskey and Dr. Pepper just before he returned to Ava’s living room. She had gone to her room to change into pajamas or somesuch and he was left alone with nothing to do except look at pictures of Ava and her family, or with Thor, or with both. He smiled at the picturesque scenes of a happy family stilled in time by the camera. His eyes scrolled along the picture wall until they snagged on one. Again, that feeling of recognition took hold as he looked at a photo of a smiling teenage Ava.

He got the same feeling as if he had caught sight of an old friend in a crowd before they could see him looking. He figured the nice and approachable Ava had that effect on people and he chuckled. She had always looked like someone who would make a good friend, the wild red curls, freckles, and large doe eyes airing innocence to all the world to gaze on. It didn’t take a lot of figuring out to see why Dave had taken such a liking to her. He smiled, plopping himself down in the couch and waiting for Ava to come back from her room.

Ava came walking out of the hallway with a pillow and a knitted grey and white afghan in her arms. She had changed into a pair of blue plaid pajama pants and a large grey t shirt with a picture of a stylized and tired looking owl above the words ‘not a morning person’ on the front.

“Here you go.” She said setting down the bedding on the back of the couch. She took two steps away before Thor jumped up on the bedding and promptly laid himself down on them. Ava rolled her eyes at the cat and shook her head, making her loose curls bounce around.

“You sure you want to watch Moana?” She asked Donnelley with a slightly self conscious frown as she sat down on the love seat. “We don't have to.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t wanna,” he said, thoughts of annoying Maui next time he saw the huge Polynesian SEAL making him smirk mischievously, “Let’s do it.”

Ava gave him a curious look, but nodded. “Alright.” She pressed play on the remote and settled into her chair, pulling her legs up and tucking them under her. As the credits began to roll she looked back over to him. “I have to say, I didn’t peg you for a Disney kind of guy.” She said, pulling one of the throw pillows on the sofa to her lap.

“Yeah, what can I say,” Donnelley smirked over at Ava and took a long sip of his drink, “I’m full of surprises.”

She smiled back at him and settled further into her spot to watch the movie as the opening narration started.

Half way through the movie, Ava felt her eyes start to grow heavy. Occasionally they'd fall shut only for her to snap herself back awake with a jerk of her head. Towards the end of the film, she lost her fight with sleep and nodded off, her head resting against the cushion of the small couch.

“You think-“ Donnelley looked over to Ava and cut himself short when he saw Ava softly snoring on the couch. He took his moment to take her in and a fatherly smile crossed his lips as he watched her in the shifting light of the screen. He silently rose from his chair and grabbed up the blanket she’d gotten for him, carefully shaking it loose and draping it over her and gingerly removing her glasses before taking his seat again.

One last look in her direction and he smiled again. Ava was a good person. Perhaps one of the only ones he’d known in a long time. A touch of innocence set upon like a leaf in the wind of a world so steeped in quiet chaos and creeping darkness. He laid back and stretched, finishing his drink and continuing the movie until his eyes closed on their own.




>1012...///

Ava stirred and blinked open her eyes as the gentle sound of scraping pans and sizzling bacon reached her ears. Next came the scent of that bacon mingled with the familiar roast of coffee. It took her a moment to realize she was curled up on her loveseat in the den rather than in her bedroom. She frowned in groggy confusion as she registered the soft blanket on top of her and pushed herself up; peaking over the top of the couch to the kitchen.

Her glasses were MIA but even through her blurry vision she recognized the short red hair and the distinct build of Donnelley in her kitchen. Her mind quickly put the pieces of the puzzle together as it sluggishly remembered the events of last night. Or early morning rather.

She yawned and sat up fully, taking a moment to stretch her arms after being curled up on the small couch all night. Despite the cramped sleeping arrangements, she realized she had actually gotten a decent night's sleep. For the first time since Blackriver she didn't recall any bad dreams or waking up from tossing and turning.

She just slept. Peacefully.

Smiling with the realization she looked around until she found her glasses. Fixing them on her face she hauled herself up to her feet, fought another yawn and headed for the kitchen.

“Good morning.” She greeted with a bright if still slightly sleepy smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Mornin’.” Donnelley smiled at Ava, placing his hands contentedly on his hips and surveying the cooking breakfast items like a king and his kingdom. Doing this reminded him of all those times he’d wake before Holly and Tilly when he was on leave.

If it was the little things that you had to enjoy, then he was ecstatic. The hardness of his eyes had receded and there was some semblance of the father he used to be. “I made coffee.” He said, offering out a cat mug to Ava, “I slept fine. How ‘bout you?”

“I slept great.” She answered, eyes brightening as she accepted the mug shaped like a content orange tabby. She was surprised to notice a change in Donnelley's demeanor. The usual edge that she had started to become accustomed to seeing, the tension he carried himself with and readiness for things to go wrong at a moments notice, wasn't present.

He looked genuinely happy and relaxed, a warmth radiating from him she hadn't seen before. After seeing him so shaken the night before, clearly haunted by something she didn't yet know, it made her happy as well.

She smiled a little brighter before shuffling over to the fridge to get some creamer. “Thanks for making breakfast, you didn't have to though; you are the guest.” She opened the fridge and poked her head out from behind the door. “Unless this is some form of Texan hospitality I'm unaware of, then far be it from me to mess with tradition.” She said with a grin.

“Nah, I just felt like returnin’ the favor. Lettin’ me stay over and all.” Donnelley smiled at her before flipping the bacon and sliding an egg off of the pan to a plate to accompany the bacon already there, “Order up.”

He chuckled, “And it ain’t no trouble at all, really. I like doin’ this. Makes me feel, uh,” he let go a sheepish grin, “I don’t know, normal. I like pretendin’ for a bit.”

Ava shut the refrigerator door with the creamer in hand, mulling over his words with a thoughtful expression. Her mind went to last night, how he mentioned working away from home for a full decade. Had he been working for the Program that entire time? Even regular CIA work was gruesome, especially since Donnelley seemed like he’d always been a man on the frontlines. Spending all that time in darkness and blood, it had to take a toll on a person.

She had only been on one UMBRA mission and she already treasured that little return to normalcy she had during her short break. No wonder Donnelley seemed like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Realizing it had been a few seconds of her staring into space, she offered him another smile. “Everyone deserves a break and you’re welcome to use my kitchen anytime.” She said, adding the creamer to her coffee while opening a drawer to grab a couple of forks.

“And I’m not just saying that because I don’t like cooking.” She grinned, setting a fork on the waiting plate of food before taking it in hand and carrying it over to the breakfast nook.

“Well, if you didn’t, you’re in luck. I do.” He winked, tossing a morsel of bacon Thor’s way, his chirp punctuating his purring, “I think he likes me.”

Ava watched the large, fluffy cat brush up against Donnelley’s legs, hearing him purr even from the other end of the kitchen. “I think you’re right, can’t imagine why though.” She chuckled with a small grin as she sat down on the padded bench of the little dining nook, but waited for Donnelley to join her before eating.

She cradled the warm mug in her hands and took a sip of her coffee, glancing idly through the large bay windows that curved along the nook to her street outside. The sky was a pure blue with not a hint of clouds in sight, promising another warm summer day. A car drove sedately down her sleepy little street and while she watched it go by, she wasn’t struck with the sense of tension and worry she had grown accustomed to feeling the past few days. A good night's sleep really did wonders.

Peeling her bright blue eyes from the window, she looked back over to her guest. “So, how long are you going to be staying in Virginia?” She asked curiously.

“Just a bit longer,” Donnelley set down his plate and sat beside Ava, giving her a smile before forking some eggs into his mouth. He chewed a bit and swallowed, plucking a strip of bacon from his plate as Thor jumped onto his lap, meowing at him pleadingly, “Just curious?”

“Thor, bad kitty.” Ava frowned at the cat and waved at him to get him to jump down. “You have better manners than that, get down.” She nudged the cat and he reluctantly hopped down with a rumbling ‘mrow’ and settled for laying down by the table; staring up with his tail flicking back and forth.

She looked back up at Donnelley with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that, he’s a brat sometimes.” She said with an awkward chuckle, picking up her fork. “And yeah, just wondering in case I find anything that’s important between now and when we meet back up in West Virginia.” She said before eating a little bit of her breakfast.

Recollection clicked behind her eyes as she quickly swallowed her food. “Oh! Or we have to go to Alaska!” She said, setting down her fork. “I asked my old Program supervising Agent to help with a deep dive in the Program Database for anything on the Sleeper and he said he’d put in a request for us to visit someplace called the BLACKBOX.” She frowned up at him curiously. “Do you know what that is?”

“That’s…” Donnelley frowned, quirking an eyebrow, “That’s a pretty damn tight place. And a bit out of our Area of Operations. I’m good to go, some nice landscapes, at least.”

He shook his head, “Never been, only heard about it once or twice.”

“Funny, that’s what I said, at least we’ll be going somewhere pretty.” She said with a small smile. “I hope the request is accepted, we can learn more about what we’re up against.” She looked down at her food and nudged her eggs with her fork.

“Hey, so, can I get your thoughts on something?” She asked slowly, glancing back up at him.

“Yeah.” He smiled, “What’s up?”

“Its small.” She frowned. “Just, when I first heard the term ‘the Sleeper’ I felt...weird. Like, I had heard it before or like I should know it. The best I can describe it is like Deja Vu, but...it didn’t feel right.” She rolled her slender shoulders in a small, awkward shrug. “I don’t know, it could be nothing, but you know how strange things can be.” She met his eyes with crease in her brow. “Have you heard about anything like that before? Or felt that way yourself?”

His brows furrowed and he rested the prongs of his fork gently on the plate, chewing thoughtfully before he swallowed and shook his head. “Not like that,” he said, releasing some of the tension in his brows as he looked back to her, “I get memories, sometimes. I can’t sleep some nights, but I never got any sorta deja vu at anything I don’t remember.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you, but I can say that you’re doin’ pretty alright.” He smiled, hoping to take some of the weight of the conversation off. He nodded outside, pointing with his fork, smiling, “‘Nother sunrise out there.”

Ava glanced outside with his pointing and her lips curled up into her own small smile. “Yeah,” She agreed, looking back to him. “Thanks anyway.” She picked up her coffee while saying, “It’s probably nothing. Just my brain processing information weird, like Laine said.”

She took a sip and set the mug down, quickly changing the topic, “So, did you like the movie?” She smiled sheepishly as she scooped up another forkful of egg, using a piece of bacon to keep the eggs from spilling off. “I’m sorry about falling asleep and swiping your blanket.”

He chuckled, shrugging, “Yeah, well, I let you have it.” He smiled, “Movie was alright, last thing I remember, that big dude, Maui? They were fightin’ some huge singin’ crab. Songs are damn catchy, tell you what.”

Ava smiled at his description as she chewed. “They really are.” She said after swallowing. “Shame you don’t remember the end fight with Teka, it’s great. We could finish it sometime, if you want?” She asked, eyes bright and eager though they held a hint of questioning uncertainty.

He met Ava’s trepid expression with a warm smile, “Anytime.”
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>FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA
>JUL.14.2019
>2200?

Cold, feathery breezes washed through the night air and carried off another stream of smoke. Somewhere on the side of the road, a lone cherry like a firefly in the shadows smoldered, growing brighter with the occasional draws of its owner. Every so often, headlights would fade in and Donnelley would track them with sharp eyes as they would fade out again when their drivers continued on with their lives uncaring of the aging punk on the side of the road.

He looked up to the night, watched a plane drift by ever so slowly like a wandering star. Signs of life, expectant of another sunrise as if it were owed. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he took his eyes from the plane and put them on the name on his screen. Queen. He let it ring once, twice more, and then answered.

“Howdy.”

“Pardner,” his voice on the other end had a giddy tinge, “Hold onto your boots, I got something for ya. Fresh off Interpol.”

Donnelley cracked a grin and took another draw off his cigarette and chasing it with a nip off his flask, “You gon’ tell me or am I gonna have to come up there?”

“Alright, alright, I don’t know if you’re busy or balls deep in someone,” Queen replied, unable to keep the boyish excitement down. “Looks like FSB has been keeping an eye on the guy your contact told you about. Nikolai Gorochev, he’s a confirmed high ranking officer in Tadjbegskye Bratva. Those are some bad dudes, even among the Russian mafia in Miami they’re not to be fucked with. Miami bratvas are mostly fraud, extortion, and shit, Tadjbegskye traffiks women, girls mostly from old Eastern bloc countries and sells them all over the world, including here. Anyhoo, he’s an army and KGB vet, listed here that he fought in the Afghanistan war for the Soviets. He’s supposed to be fifty eight years old but...hold on.”

A pause then a picture popped up in a text message, the image of a younger man, perhaps in his mid thirties, with cold blue eyes and hard Slavic features looking over his shoulder in a candid shot taken with a telephoto lens. A visible tattoo on his neck emerged from the collar of his suit, an Orthodox style cross.

“They must have some fucking magicians as plastic surgeons in Moscow,” Queen said after sending the picture. “That’s a recent picture, only a year old. He was last seen in March, 2018 in France but when they raided his chateau, he was gone. Poofed. In April there are reports of him in New York and you can guess who he likely met with. His name has been orbiting around missing persons cases in Europe for years, mostly girls. According to some statistics I looked up, his arrival in New York corresponded with a rise in reported missing teenage girls from the New York/New Jersey area. It might be coincidence, but I kinda doubt it, this is their trade.”

He paused then said, “Well, he drops off the radar now but there was a little tidbit that I find very juicy. His daughter Natalya has recently come to the US for a visit. Seeing NYC? Hollywood? Miami Beach? Not this jet setting lady, she’s vacationing in West fucking Viriginia with her husband, Viktor Ivanov.”

A flick of a lighter could be heard on his end and the sound of inhaling and blowing of smoke then Queen said, “That’s the quick version of what I got, I thought I’d tell you first.”

Donnelley whistled, flicking ash and taking another hit of his cigarette, “I love it when you work your magic, Queen.” Donnelley chuckled, “I’ll try to find Natalya and Viktor. Hopefully they stay put and don’t pull a Houdini like daddy. Anythin’ else?”

"You know I got you, Big Tex," Queen crowed, "I got my contacts, worldwide."

He sniffed and then said, "Nah, unfortunately, even my reach is limited. This guy takes great pains in covering his tracks...not exactly records of his flights, if you know what I'm saying. Private jets, prolly."

Queen hissed a breath in then coughed, turning away from the phone, "You should mosey on down to Miami, beaches are wall to wall suntanned skin this time of year. I'm taking a break, checked in with home base and hit up some friends, got some good shit."

Donnelley smiled, kicked slightly at the gravel as he chuckled, “Shoo’, you know I’d love to show Miami what a real fuckin’ party is like them old days, me an’ you.” Donnelley’s chuckle guttered out, thinking on old times, hazier and simpler. More honest, in some ways, “It was good seein’ you ‘gain.”

A faint smile hung around the edges of his lips, “I got plans tonight, but I’ll let you know next time I’m free to come ‘round. Party like we used to.”

"Hell yeah," Queen replied, "I'm gonna hold you to that. I miss those days, bro. THUNDER ain't the same without you. When you done babysitting, we'll hit the best club with the best illegal substances the DEA can provide."

“One thing the Federal Government’s good for is puttin’ guns and drugs in us hoodlums’ pockets.” Donnelley clucked his tongue, “See you ‘round, Queen. Don’t fry your brain without me.”

"I'll save that pleasure for ya. Deuces," Queen said before ending the call.

Donnelley took the phone from his ear and let his arm down, taking another drag from his cigarette and another swig from his flask. He didn’t have plans, but when did he ever like safety? He looked back at his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found Laine’s number. His thumb hovered over the call button and froze in place. Had she heard about what happened in New York? What would she say?

He swallowed, making to put his phone back and then swore on the night air, looking at his phone again and mashing his thumb against the call button, putting it to his ear and listening to it ring...

Laine was on her knees, laying out papers on the carpet in the empty spare bedroom she used as an office. Each page had a smiling girl, a missing child from the Seattle area, New York, and the Southwest border area. Dozens of faces, all girls between twelve and seventeen, mostly Hispanic some Asian or Native, even a few light skinned black girls. None were white or dark skinned, the theme seemed to be olive hued girls with dark hair and eyes.

She sat back, her pale thighs framed by the black jogging shorts and knee high soccer socks she wore. The faces looked back at her, Maria Vasquez in the center. Her phone suddenly buzzed and chimed and she leaned over to pick it up.

Donnelley.

Laine paused, after Agent Garcia's information about the situation in New York she not called or texted him, making the excuse she was busy. In fact she was, but he might have news she needed to know. On the fourth ring, she finally slid it to answer and said, "Donnelley?"

“Hey,” he began, a tepid note to his voice, though he tried to force some cheer in there, “Um, what are you doing? You busy?”

As if he needed to explain himself, he went further in his reasoning for the call, “I been makin’ the rounds. Ava and I compared some notes. How are you?”

Laine sank back on her heels, taking a moment to listen to his tone. "It's eleven at night, what do you think?"

She waited a beat then said in a lighter voice, "I'm working actually, just trying to get a sense of the scope and connections. Falling down a rabbit hole to be honest. VICAP had quite a few hits but nothing that matched the signature of the Vasquez case exactly. You've been busy for being on a break."

There was a long pause on the line, the soft sound of a cigarette being drawn on and the sigh. He didn’t put any effort in masking the tone of it. Deflating. “I’m…” Donnelley began, sighing again, “Am I bothering you? Because I have a direction to take things.”

"You're not bothering me," she replied, standing up and started to walk to the kitchen. "I'm actually taking a break, so..."

Laine went down the stairs, continuing, "What direction do you want to take things?"

She almost added to clarify she meant the case then stopped herself. Of course he meant the case, Laine reasoned.

“Listen,” Donnelley began, always a good start to any line of reasoning, “I’m sure by now you know that I got Carlisle. He’s been in contact with a Russian syndicate named Tadjbegskye Bratva.”

“It’s a stretch, I know, but with the Russians and AB bein’ active in Blackriver…” Donnelley grunted, sizing up his next words, “Everything about this fits their MO. Carlisle sees the Russians as better business and more secure than the Sinaloa.”

“I can’t risk putting all of this out on the air on a phone on the side of the road,” the sound of a passing car lending proof to his location, “We don’t have to discuss the case if you don’t want to. Sounds like you’re busy for bein’ on a break.”

He dipped his toe and tried at a chuckle, “You hungry or anythin’?”

Laine stayed silent, he brought up Carlisle, assuming she knew. If she knew about Carlisle she knew about the shootout but that part was left out. The sound of wind and a passing car obscured his voice for a moment then quieted.

"I've been working," she said evenly, "And yes, I know you got Carlisle. And I know it didn't go smoothly. I already had dinner...but I could use a drink."

“I can help with that.” He said, a smile in his voice, “Know a place?”

Laine replied, "The Rec Room, it's near downtown Fredericksburg. I'll text you the address. I need to change and I'll meet you there."

The bar sat on the edge of downtown Fredericksburg, small with graffiti art covering the brick walls and clusters of college aged kids with dyed hair smoking just outside. The windows had been painted over, but the red tinged light poured out of the open door along with the crash of drums and strangled guitar riffs. An overly muscled bald man stood at the door, watching with a bored expression as he collected cover charges and checked IDs.

Laine pulled up in her black Volkswagen Golf, parking near the only lamppost in the small parking lot. She checked her makeup in the mirror, her deep burgundy lipstick almost black in the low light. Laine had changed into large hole fishnet tights and a short black bondage skirt paired with her tall Doc Martens that laced nearly to the knee. Her top was a sleeveless Minor Threat t-shirt slashed across the back, the fine lines of her tattoo peeking between the ribbons of fabric.

Laine looked nothing like an FBI agent but she still felt a twinge of self consciousness at her age, she had a decade or more on most of the girls at the bar. Laine started towards the entrance, keeping an eye out for Donnelley.

Once inside, she could pick him out of the crowd past the thrashing crowd, nodding his head along to what sounded like a live cover of GG Allin’s Abuse Myself. The black in his hair and beard was gone, cut down to the red and shorter. He stood with his Thrasher cap perched atop his head, a Leftover Crack tank made from a tee, the sleeves cut off. His frayed black jeans complementing his dull, black Doc Martens. He rose his bottle of beer to her with a small smile, beckoning her over with a nod.

Laine sauntered through the crowd, slipping through knots of people yelling in each other's ears to be heard above the thrashing guitar. She slid up to the bar and leaned in, half shouting her order to a bartender with pink liberty spikes. The bottle of Smirnoff Black Ice and paid, dropping a dollar in the tip jar that had a sticker slapped on the side Fuck you, pay me.

She took a sip and glanced over the crowd, her eyes skimming the young faces until she spotted the familiar features under the cap she recalled he wore at Baughman's apartment. Laine pushed off the bar and skirted the crowd, eyes following her progress but were no spying Russians only drunk boys with an appreciation for fishnets.

She raised her slightly when she made eye contact with Donnelley and headed in his direction. Laine leaned in, speaking up so he could hear, "You found the place fast. What do you think?"

It was a cramped space, the pool tables being used right now as makeshift benches as the club was packed to see Miserable Viscera, a punk band from Baltimore.

He leaned back and raised his beer away from a couple passing them a little close and smiled at Laine, “S’great.” He took a swig from his beer, and looked her over appreciatively, a twinkle of hunger in his eyes not unlike the boys ogling her on her way over, “You clean up nice.”

Laine nodded and took a sip of the malt beverage, shifting her eyes at him to dare Donnelley to say something about her drink of choice. Lifting her brows she shrugged, "Dress for the occasion, but thanks. I feel like an ancient crone around these kids."

She caught sight of a pair of teen girls in short skirts and Converse sneakers, long skinny legs and too much make up. Laine smiled slightly, a reminder of her own youth. She looked over at Donnelley, catching the expression in his eyes, "Digging the hair. Ginger suits you," she said, leaning towards him again so she didn't have to shout. Her gaze held his, the deep green of her eyes almost black in the dim smoky lighting of the club, "How are you doing?"

To his credit, the grin kept up with the question, even growing into a smile, “I’m good,” he chuckled, running his hands through his short hair, “Yeah, I ditched the two-tone. Figure it makes me look weird. What about you? Had a damn crazy week we got out the other end of.”

"Yeah a little weird for a backwoods place like that especially," Laine replied, raising her voice before taking a drink. The noise of the band and the crowd buffeted them, and the mention of his crazy week got her attention on more important things. Laine leaned in and said in his ear, her warm breath against his skin, "Follow me, I know a place to talk without screaming at each other."

She stepped away, catching his eyes before turning to walk towards the back of the club, around the stage until she came to a door. Laine pushed the bar and it opened onto a back deck, some heavily graffitied picnic tables and a couple of people smoking and chatting but most everyone was inside to see the band.

Laine lead him to a bench against the railing of the deck and sat down, crossing her legs as she absently tugged the short skirt down along her thighs. "Now we can hear ourselves think."

“I usually don’t like that.” He chuckled as he followed Laine, chugging down his beer and chucking it hard into the back parking lot and reveling in the twinkling shards and sharp sound of breaking glass, “Down to business?” He said, hushed as he shoved a cigarette between his lips.

Laine took a sip from her bottle and leaned an elbow on the back of the bench, turning her body so she could face Donnelley. She looked at him for a long moment, then said, "I can imagine that's true. I heard about the cops, something must have gone wrong."

She stayed quiet and fished out her Djarums almost out of habit seeing him get a cigarette. She held the black package and waited.

His jaw flexed for a moment, “You want to ask if me if I enjoyed it?”

Laine shook her head a little, running her thumb across the mouth of the bottle. "I know you must have been forced into that choice by circumstances and no, I don't think you enjoyed it. You told me that and I believe you. I just...I'm just wondering what happened."

Donnelley sighed, shaking his head at the mood damper. “We got our guy, shit went south quick. Real south. Cops pulled up and I had to do what I did.” Donnelley lit his cigarette and looked back at Laine, “I don’t know what else there is to say.”

“These weren’t Blackriver deputies. Them I could give a shit about.” He pursed his lips, “I’d rather not have, but I did.”

Laine took a drink then nodded, saying nothing. Her gaze held his and she sighed, looking at the near empty bottle of Smirnoff. "I figured as much. I'm sorry that went so bad. For you and them."

She knocked back the rest of her drink and held the empty bottle. Laine looked at it then at him, a slight sad smile touching her dark painted lips. "Sorry to bring it up but it's been on my mind. The shit we're in."

Laine followed his example, chucking her bottle hard so it smashed farther than his did. She took out one of her clove cigarettes and held it between her fingers. "Wanna get drunk?"

“Is that even a damn question?” His mischievous grin returning at her question. He looked at her the way he did in the motel, a hunger buried shallow in his gaze, “Party at your place or are we ruinin’ some cleaner’s mornin’?”

Laine bit her lip when she felt herself grinning in response, meeting the look in his eyes. Her heart skipped and she felt warmth in her face. Taking Donnelley back to her place or a motel, either one was dangerous and exciting, something that they both could tell themselves was just for safety, to keep from driving drunk. They could say that.

Laine held her cigarette out for a light, "Do you have a room?"

“It’s in town.” He said, the insinuation that he’d already gotten one in advance for this very moment bringing him a little warmth. In reality, it was a bed to sleep in. But he knew why else. Her canine digging into her plump bottom lip made him stir inside, the hunger roiling like restless waves at her eyes peering into his. “Pick up a bottle, go there.”

Laine stood up, brushing her hand over the back of her skirt to keep it from riding up. It would be safer, maybe, to take him home but there was a part of her that balked at the idea. Or maybe a strange motel room was just the thing to forget herself.

"What's your poison? There is a liquor store down the street," she offered, her cigarette still unlit between her fingers.

“Whiskey.” He said through his smirk, “‘Less you’re lookin’ for somethin’ else?”

"Whiskey is good," she said, tucking a lock of short hair behind her ear, "Vodka, rum, tequila...but not gin."

Laine started to walk towards the parking lot, glancing at Donnelley. "You got something else?"

“I got a bottle already in my room, but you want vodka, we’ll have to go shoppin’.” He took a drag and almost listed fuck it as an option, a part of him wanting to spend time alone with Laine and forget the world outside of his motel room. Like when he made eggs and bacon for Ava, draping a blanket over her as she fell asleep on her couch.

But this, it was more primal. Like his foray with Queen and Ghost had unlocked a side of him he hadn’t let loose in some time, the thought of Laine all to himself after their stay in the Goldstar was irresistible. “Your call.”

Laine smiled slightly, a wistful turning up of her full lips. "Whiskey will do, reminds me of your flask."

She recalled that night when he calmed her down, giving her his hoodie after the terror of Mrs Baughman's walking dead corpse. "Yeah let's just head over, I need something stronger than anything in a twelve ounce bottle."

Laine walked towards her car, retrieving her keys before she changed her mind. "Coming with me or am I following you?"

“I should probably ride shotgun. We been drinkin’ a little.” Donnelley smirked around his cigarette. The cherry lit up and two streams from his nostrils plumed from him. He flicked the cigarette away, “Then again, I got a ride for myself and I like to go fast. Beat you here, beat you to the motel?”

"You only beat me because I had to do this," Laine said, moving her hand up and down to indicate her face and body. "Besides whatever rental POS you have isn't going to out run my VDub."

She clicked her key fob, the black VW Golf with black rims flicked the lights and honked, "Hop in, boss. I'll chauffeur you."

He touched a hand to his chest and smiled, “And my heart is touched that you went through such trouble.” He chuckled, biting his lip for a moment and pausing before he fell in step with Laine, “If you insist.”

Laine drove, the music playing in the background as she followed his directions. It happened to be on the same route as she would take home and the decision not to just hang out at her place began to gnaw at her. She liked Donnelley, it wasn't as if any of her neighbors knew he was her boss, and Foster was nowhere around. Laine told herself it was because of privacy but deep down, a strange motel room released her from a certain responsibility. Her hand flexed against the wheel and she asked, "Is this a nice room or Goldstar quality?"

She shot a glance at him, feeling the need to give some explanation, "Your hotel is closer than my place anyway."

“I deserve the finer things in life, as you know,” Donnelley looked at her from watching the scenery move past, “It’s a little nicer, I guess. Better be for what I’m payin’.”

"Everything is pricey around here, government workers getting those fat stacks," Laine remarked. "At least it's not LA."

She pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, a decent looking place on the outskirts of Fredericksburg. Laine sat for a moment, "I feel...fuck it. Let's drain that bottle. We deserve it."

She got out, looking over at the well maintained landscaping and clear blue pool, all well lit. Laine stepped inside once he unlocked it, feeling a sudden surge of guilt and pushed it aside. The room was a few steps up from the Goldstar, a single king-sized bed and flat screen TV mounted on the wall, a minifridge and furnishings that at least looked like they were from this century.

Laine stood aside, looking around, "Not bad."

Donnelley stepped up beside her, “Like I said,” he nudged her softly, “Finer things.”

He took up the bottle on the nightstand by the neck, pouring two shots into the hotel provided glasses and offering one to Laine, “What should we toast to?” He looked at her from behind the glass. That simmer in him born again seeing her in the light of the lamps. His eyes ran over her curves, her lips, imagining in the back of his mind what she felt like to the touch, “Two people coming together for a good night?”

Laine set her purse on the nightstand and accepted the glass, holding it close to his, "A good night and another sunrise."

Her eyes were on his as she clicked the glass, the secrets they held and the way he looked at her. Laine smiled at him, bringing the cup to her lips and swallowed the whiskey, shivering slightly as the heat coursed through her chest.

Donnelley puffed out his cheeks in a breath as the whiskey went down, shaking his head as he sat on the edge of the bed, pouring another shot. “Still hangin’ onto that, huh?” He offered a smile, remembering trying to keep her calm after seeing her so shaken. Trying to keep her calm after him being so shaken, almost seeing her die on their first assignment together, because he wouldn’t steer her away just a bit harder. He realized he’d lost his smile a bit and brought it back, “Little flattered.” He offered the bottle out for another shot.

Laine ran her fingers through her hair and grinned sheepishly, "Yeah, I guess I am. It's just one of the few things that makes sense to me in this whole... Program situation."

She held out her glass then sat beside him, leaving a bit of a gap between their bodies. Laine stretched out her legs, pale skin showing through the diamond pattern fishnets, her polished tall boots laced almost to her knees.

"I guess I'm slower on the uptake, I've always been a little methodical when it comes to working out problems so being asked to accept so much...weird and...well lawful ambiguity it is an adjustment in thinking and rationalizing. But that, another sunrise? I can make sense of that, I understand that," Laine said, turning to look at him. "You're a good team leader, I told Foster as much when he asked what I thought of you."

She made a small gesture with her hands, "Not to kiss your ass or anything."

“I think I deserve a few pecks, thank you very much.” Donnelley smirked, and then looked at Laine appreciatively. Not with a hunger, though that was still there, but some genuine gratitude. He nodded, “Thank you though.”

He looked away, chuckling but slightly worried, “You think he knows?” He pointed at the both of them, gestured to the motel, “What, uh… we got?”

Laine knocked back some whiskey, hissing between her teeth and raised an eyebrow. A coy smile toyed at her lips at his question. She tilted her head slightly, "What do we have that would make him object in any kind of way. We're just having a drink, colleagues...of a sort."

Her gaze met his, feeling the warmth of both whiskey and her own physical response. "Do you think we're that obvious?"

His mind flashed with his first meeting with Bakker, and then the tense moments in Annie’s Diner between him and Jason. “Shit, I hope not.” He chuckled, “I keep it under wraps pretty well. Agency man and all, I can keep a secret.” He winked.

He knocked back his shot and smirked, “Just bondin’, after all. Nothin’ horrible.”

He was starting to feel the telltale looseness of his limbs and tongue, his inhibitions melting away. Far from him to let himself lose control though, “I gotta ask…” he clucked his tongue, “Is it my music taste, my winnin’ smile, boyish charm?”

Laine chuckled, tucking her hair behind her ear. She turned her body so she could face him and shrugged, running a hand down her upper arm, briefly covering the black inked tattoos there. "You do have those qualities, but..."

She bit her lower lip and then chuckled, "You're bold. A lotta guys are like intimidated by me? I don't know, I've been told before. But you're not and you still treat me like I'm not just a nice face. It's cool."

The whiskey was gone from her cup and the SoCal now making an appearance in her speech. "Plus you know, you got that vibe."

She helped herself to another glass and muttered as she took a sip of the straight whiskey, "I'm talking too much."

Donnelley chuckled, being bashful and flattered was not something he was used to. He felt like a boy again, first date with his crush on prom night. Or some such other shit, he thought. “You ain’t.” He said, turning to look at her, “I mean, you do have a nice face. Pretty, like…” he snorted at what his next words were, that country bumpkin with punk flair not knowing much outside his hometown, “Like one of them actresses you never think you’ll ever see off that screen. Intimidatin’.”

He chuckled, “But, I like that. You’re different. Sounds cheesy as all hell, I know, but… I like you.”

He rubbed his neck, fingers brushing the faded scar as he looked into his glass, “I’m gettin’ pretty up there.” With a shrug, he poured another shot for himself and threw it back, wiping the corner of his lip on his forearm. “Damn country ass punk kid and big city pretty girl.”

He chuckled, looking at Laine as he laid back on the bed and stretched his legs, “Fuck, are we a stereotype?”

Laine laughed and rolled her eyes, "Thanks, I'm glad to know I'm still intimidating to a big bad spook."

She leaned back on one hand, watching him stretch out, her gaze flickering across his flat stomach and up to his face. With a wry grin, she said, "Yeah, maybe we're like a total trope. But at least this city girl isn't shopping on Rodeo Drive. I don't have a trust fund."

Laine took another sip, feeling the tingling numbness in her lips and face. She giggled at the ticklish sensation when she bit her lip, testing the sensation. "Now it's my turn," Laine looked at him, her expression shifting from giddy to something more serious. "Other than what I look like, why do you like me?"

“You got a real nice face with them purdy city girl lips and your eyes’re like the water in the creek at summertime.” He drawled out in a cartoonish Texan, slack-jawed drawl and laughed before he turned a bit serious. “Nah, but… You’re intelligent. Always workin’ at somethin’ in that mind. Everything I don’t have, you do, and that makes you a good Special Agent.”

“You got some sense of right and wrong, and a lot of the people I know or knew either have too much or none at all.” He shook his head, looking up at the ceiling, “It takes a special type of person to keep one foot one side and the other on the other.”

“I look at you and see somebody who knows full well what they are, or at least what they want to be. Ain’t gonna let anybody change ‘em ‘less you let ‘em.” He smirked and nodded, “I like it. The way you do everything you do. I know I get under your skin, but goddamn you can return the favor.”

“Some reason, I like it a hell of a lot. I get called a fuckin’ prick, an asshole. Real sonofabitch.” He laughed, “But anybody who can take that and toss it right back is somebody I wanna keep around.”

He looked at her, that same smirk as he snaked a hand under his head to prop it up and get a better view, “Keeps me interested.”

Laine looked down at her hands and then back at him, her green eyes sparkling. "That was ... that was pretty fucking good."

Then she laughed, pulling her leg on the bed, folding it under so she sat almost sideways to look directly at him. "I hope you remember that next time we piss each other off and I say something mean to you, because it'll probably happen. I'm usually pretty even tempered but you do have your way about you, Mister Donnelley."

She purposefully dragged out the word, knowing he didn't care for being called that but the sly grin and twinkle in her eyes revealed the mischievous humor.

He chuckled, grinning and edging closer to her, the hunger rising up again and begging him to reach out and caress her fishnet adorned thigh, “Thank you, but I prefer to be addressed as ‘sir.’

Laine's brows ticked up, the smile turning impish as she said, "Oh do you? Well...yes, sir. I'll remember that."

She licked her lips lightly, then pressed them together, shifting a little closer. Her glass was empty she realized so Laine leaned in taking the whiskey from the nightstand and poured a glass. She looked at Donnelley, tipping her glass to him, "Thank you for the whiskey, sir."

Laine knocked it back then set the glass on the nightstand beside the bottle, "I can be a hell of a smartass when I'm drinking, sir."

“Mm…” Donnelley bit his lip in turn, reaching under and hiking up his shirt to scratch at his chest, “Are you patronizing me, Doctor? I don’t know if I can take this grave insubordination.”

He chuckled, his stomach still exposed as he reached over to rest his arm dangerously close to the small of her back, “Whatever will I do with you, I wonder.”

Laine tossed her short hair and gave him a half smile, her eyes flashing with the same desire she had at the Goldstar Motel. "I'm sure you'll think of something , that's why you're the boss. What do you do when your team member acts up?"

Her gaze ran over the muscle on his stomach, tracking the twin lines that lead down and disappeared under his jeans. The headiness of the whiskey and the intense feelings that roiled through her made her bold, made her forget the possible consequences.

“Probably been thinkin’ about what to do with you for a bit,” he shifted to his hands and knees, placing Laine on her back under him. He paused, letting his eyes roam over her in this new light. They’d been sitting, or standing, front to front. Always fully clothed. An electrifying distance between them and now, the rise and fall of her chest, the feeling of her under him, his voice came in a purr, “Have you?”

She watched him get up, her eyes never leaving his face despite her heart thumping in her chest. Laine shifted when he moved to her, letting him press her back against the bed. His hands were calloused but warm on her wrists and she gazed up at him, her lips parted slightly.

"Yeah, I have," she admitted, her cheeks now flushed from whiskey and the warm desire building inside her, "More than I should have."

He felt her breath coming soft and warm on his cheeks, his eyes searching hers, roaming over her face and her plump lips, the intoxicating sound of her admittance and the way her lips moved around the words. They’d waited and been interrupted by everything short of the hand of God. Not tonight. He leaned in close, finally touching his lips to hers, the tenderness sending shivers of relief, yet the wanting for more only grew.

Laine closed her eyes when he closed the small distance, sensing his intent. She returned his kiss, the sparks of sensation tingling through her body as she arched up slightly to meet him. As her lips parted against his and the kiss grew deeper, she sighed softly.

The night had become a wordless expedition of each other’s bodies, heavy breaths of pleasure punctuating the silence, swears and curses tickling at ears and begging for more. A longing in each other, for each other, finally answered in such sweet and satisfying melodies and harmonizing breathy moans and groans.

Laine sat up, still on her knees between his legs,"That was some interesting quid pro quo, sir."

She smiled and leaned forward, seeking to kiss him. He placed his hand along her jaw and drew her into a deep, passionate kiss, seemingly unheeding what he’d done just a moment ago as their tongues tickled and caressed each other, “Stick with me, there’ll be more.” He chuckled. He got to the end of the bed, grasping up his jeans with a reaching hand and withdrawing his pack of cigarettes. “You want yours, or one of mine?”

Laine watched him, enjoying the sight of his sinewy muscles when he moved. Her purse was over on the table near the door so she shrugged, "I'll just take one of yours."

She moved so she was sitting up in bed, the pillows behind her against the headboard. Laine took the cigarette, waiting for him to settle in next to her if he would. Her body was still humming with whiskey and sexual release and she gave Donnelley a crooked grin, "This is only going to make it harder to hide."

Donnelley’s grin grew across his lips as he chuckled, crawling to Laine on all fours and offering her a cigarette as he sided up with her, “Yeah, well,” he shrugged, knowing he’d gotten practice hiding secrets from Foster, and even his own teammates, “What’s life without risk?”

He lit his cigarette with his black lighter, offering it out to her, white writing glancing at her as he handed it over.

"Pretty boring, for sure," she replied, taking his lighter. Once she lit her cigarette she read the writing then smiled, handing it back to him.

"Does that work for you?"

He smiled back, giving a single nod, and looking at the little novelty lighter he’d found at a local store, ‘If you wanna f*ck, smile when you give me the lighter back.’ He drew in a long breath of nicotine and let it out upwards towards the ceiling, “I hope you know I’m not done. Just a break.” He smirked. “You are good.

Laine smiled as she brought the cigarette to her lips, taking a drag of the sharp tasting tobacco. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."

The smoke drifted up and Laine leaned back, not bothering to cover her nakedness, "You are... damn, you left me melting."

Donnelley’s eyes roamed over her in the soft light of the lamps, feeling his arousal return to him again quicker and quicker the longer he stared, “I been thinkin’ ‘bout this since the Goldstar.” His fingers strayed to her thigh, stroking and softly caressing dangerously close to what he wanted further up, “I hope the next Safehouse is good enough. I don’t know about you, but pushin’ the limits is always fun. ‘Course, we could just go out and rent a motel if that don’t arouse suspicion.”

He put the cigarette to his smirking lips, looking sidelong at Laine, “Unless, of course, I’m only a late night encounter…”

Laine put her cigarette between her fingers and looked at him, feeling his wandering hand and her own internal twinge of response, "You think I'm going to deny myself?"

She leaned over, nipping him on the shoulder playfully, "As long as we're having fun and we're not like making it weird for our team, what's the harm?"

“What they don’t know,” He leaned over and kissed her forehead, taking her chin with a finger and wrapping his lips in hers, “Won’t hurt ‘em.”

He leaned back, sighing. He thought to bring up the fact she’d touched his scar and accepted him as he was, but decided against it. Some part of him didn’t want sentimentality to crack the thick air of arousal between them. It was something he’d wanted there for the longest time, perhaps longer than Laine even knew. From the phone call in Seattle at the very first days of them knowing each other to now. They hadn’t even spent an hour at the bar before deciding on this.

It had been some time since he’d felt that wanted, and beyond the feeling of being a big, masculine man, it made him feel like that young punk with the world ahead of him again. And no need for any help he didn’t ask for in taking it on. “One more shot and then we go again in a bit?” He asked, an eager little smirk on his lips.




>15.JUL.2019
>1130...///

Laine was dressed in the same skirt and t-shirt, minus fishnet thigh highs that somehow had been torn in the night's activities. She brushed her hair, still slightly damp from the shower then applied a light bit of make up. Eyeliner and lipstick would at least make her feel human.

The night before had been intense and wonderful, and Laine caught herself smiling at nothing as she continued to get ready. She had hardly thought of the case and it had been a nice break but today was a new day and there was work to do.

As she laced her boot, Laine glanced over at Donnelley, "We should go pick up your car and get something to eat. What's your itinerary look like?"

“I- agh…” The boot slipped on finally and he went to work lacing it and tying it. Still sans shirt, he slipped it over his head and stood, “I’m pretty free today. At some point soon, I’m goin’ to have to go back out-of-country to see what Iraq looks like. Developments.”

He screwed his eyes shut as he threw his head to one side, then the other, each movement accompanied by rattling pops and he sighed with satisfaction. “Somethin’ to eat sounds like a great idea.” He clucked his tongue, “I hope nobody broke into my rental. Clothes and guns are in that thing.”

"I'm on my weekend," she said, standing up and smoothing her skirt down. "But I'm expecting a call from CJIS anytime about the bones. I'd also like to get a hold of Duwant and talk to him about a man he arrested for a couple of murders that share some similarities to our killer's signature. You know, I forget you have a day job too. I hope it's nothing too bad out there."

Laine watched him pop his neck and winced, then said, "Let's go find out, I probably should have just let you drive I was...I don't know. I just wanted you close, I guess."

She ducked her head, hiding a sheepish smile before heading to the door.

Donnelley’s face was beaming with a smile as he chuckled, “A worthy sacrifice then.” He shrugged, he followed her out the door and his smile vanished as the sun stabbed at his eyes, his hand as a visor as he waited for Laine to unlock her car. “The sun can fuck off…” he muttered.

"I agree," she said, squinting as she pushed unlock on the key fob. The doors unlocked and she tossed her purse on the backseat and slid into the driver's side.

Once they were buckled in, Laine glanced at him and said, "I had a really good time last night."

Donnelley smiled over at her, looking away bashful and nodded, “Yeah,” he breathed a little chuckle, “I had a really good time too.”

Laine turned then leaned over to kiss his cheek swiftly before pulling back to start the car. Her face was flushed and she almost laughed at herself, after everything they had done in the motel during the night she felt shy about kissing him now, "Well, uh, after we pick up your car, I need to go to my place. I can make some lunch or we can grab something on the way."

The rental car was intact where they left it and Donnelley followed her. Laine decided it was better to use some of the groceries she bought and the prospect of West Virginia and eating fast food every day made her long for her kitchen.

They drove to Stafford and to the apartment complex, parking in front of the French blue townhome. Laine got out of the car and waited for Donnelley to find a visitor's spot. When he approached, she pointed out her front door, "I figured we might as well eat the groceries I bought, how do you feel about tacos?"

“The same way I feel about whiskey,” He smirked at her, “Passionately.”

She led him in, the living room furniture all in black leather and the art on the walls charcoal sketches of vague faces, a framed poster of a movie scene in grayscale that Donnelley would likely recognize from A Clockwork Orange. The place was neat but spare and devoid of most color, and there were only a few personal photos on the wall in the dining area.

Donnelley looked around at his surroundings as he closed the door behind himself, nodding appreciatively. Her place was nice, sophisticated and sleek black. He followed her through the apartment and set the groceries he helped carry on the kitchen counter, going to sit at the dining table. Like Ava’s house, Laine had hung snippets of her life on the walls and his eyes flitted across them. Younger Laines, what she assumed were her family, and more. There was a particular photo that caught his eye and his lips slowly grew into a smile. A little Laine with her father’s hand in one of hers and her mother’s in the other. One look at her father gave him the answer to where she got those damn cheekbones from. There were more of her playing with another child, the resemblance in their faces told him it was her brother.

“Cute.” He said, “Can't imagine you before the goth thing.”

He squinted and leaned a bit closer, his smile growing, “And here I was, thinking black was your natural hair.”

Laine was pulling out a Tupperware of marinating meat and glanced over at him looking at the photos. She sighed dramatically, "My secret is out."

She pulled a chef's knife from the drawer and brought it to the cutting board. "That's another thing that stays between us."

“Cross my heart.” Donnelley grinned, walking over from the dining room to lean against the refrigerator and watch her at work, “‘Sides, you’re the one with a knife. Deeply inclined to do whatever you’d like me to.”

He winked and clucked his tongue, “Need me to help with anythin’?”

Laine flashed a wicked grin, pulling the raw beef from the container, "I'll remember that. And sure, I'm going to make carne asada, do you like cilantro and onions? They need to be chopped fine."

“I can do that.” He smiled, “Growin’ up in Texas, kinda weird I didn’t taste Mexican food ‘til I was a teenager.”

He drew a knife from the block and grabbed an onion, rolling it over and catching it on the cutting board, “Half? All of it?”

"Really? Well, in LA taquerias are on every corner, southern Mexican, northern Mexican, you name it," Laine replied as she sliced. "And just half the onion."

She heated a little bit of oil in the cast iron pan and tossed in the meat, it cooked quickly, the fragrance of pepper and garlic filling the kitchen. Laine looked over at Donnelley, "I thought Tex-Mex was a big thing."

Laine put the meat in a plate and took a piece, blowing on it and went over to him, holding it up, "Try this."

He leaned over, stopping his dicing and taking the morsel into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, nodding, “Damn, that is good.” He smirked, chewing with his mouth closed as he went back to dicing up the onion. He was maybe surprisingly competent at food preparation, his hands taking to the task with ease, “Yeah, it is, just my dad kept us from, uh… experiencin’ the world. I snuck out to the big cities when I was a teenager and that’s when I had my first taste of somethin’ that wasn’t canned or boiled sausages.”

He sighed, “I learned to cook from-“ he paused, about to bring Holly up and then wondering how Laine would react. Bringing a past love up wasn’t something they’d ever done with each other. They were both adults though, the fact they had pasts that happened before either of them knew each other shouldn’t sting. “My ex-wife. I didn’t even know how to cook without a microwave when I met her.”

He chuckled, “I could make a damn good ham and cheese quesadilla on the pan though, tell you what.” He winked at her and then went back to his quick work, “That your own marinade?”

Laine raised her brow slightly at the mention of his father and ex wife in the same breath. Dozens of questions came to mind but she held off the barrage. "That's a hell of a diet, it must have been a revelation when you got to eat something other than sausage. And it's a good thing she trained you."

She walked past him, giving him a playful swat on the butt and glanced over her shoulder as she untied the bag of corn tortillas. "I enjoy cooking and it's more fun to share the preparation. I hope the next safehouse has some sort of kitchen."

Laine tossed the thin disks of masa onto the hot griddle. "It is my own marinade, it's mostly lime juice, red and black pepper, onion, garlic and a certain secret ingredient."

She looked over at him and handed him a bunch of cilantro, "What did you like to cook together, you and your ex?"

“Anythin’, really.” He chuckled, eyeing her own behind as she passed him after swatting his. He went back to the cutting board, the knife gliding through the stalks of cilantro, “Either one of us would look up recipes every other night. After Tilly was old enough to pick, we’d let her. It was usually just mac n’ cheese and chicken strips, though.” He smiled a bit wistfully remembering those times.

“My specialty was shrimp tacos with tomatillo salsa.” He kissed his fingers with a ‘mwah’, “Like that. Best shrimp tacos that side of the Rio Grande.”

"Tilly is your daughter," Laine said, flipping the small tortillas. Her thoughts flickered to her own ex, Dr Bakker and his desire for a family. And her own resistance to it. She took a deep breath and added, "Cute name. Better than Heather."

Laine grinned sardonically, then brought over the tortilla basket and the plates to assemble the tacos. "I definitely to try those, sounds delicious. With some dressed Coronas on the side. I'm afraid the best I can do is Coke Zero or ginger ale."

As she cut a lime in two, she glanced at him, "It sounds like you enjoyed your family. Do you see your kid between all your traveling and work?"

He kept chopping the cilantro for a while even after her question. He only stopped when he finished with the entirety of it, setting down the knife now that he had no escape from answering the question. His wistful smile shriveled to something almost akin to grieving before he cleared his throat and tried at his good-natured smirk again, “I, uh…” he turned to face Laine and leaned back against the kitchen counter, rubbing his jaw, “I was recently discharged from the Army around the time she…”

He rolled his jaw, shaking his head, “I don’t see ‘em anymore. I haven’t been around since Foster hooked me into the Agency and the Program soon after.” He sighed, clearing his throat of nothing again, eyes avoiding Laine, staring off into memory, “She remarried, I left the country for as long as I could with every overseas assignment with high Op Tempo. This, right here,” he circled his finger around at Laine’s apartment, “Right now? First assignment with UMBRA in West Virginia’s the first time I’ve stayed in the states for more than a couple days at a time for a damn decade.”

He folded his arms, shrugged and finally looked back at Laine, a lopsided smile, “Came back to find you, I guess.” Trying at some cheerful sentiment, silver lining. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to spill my guts.” He breathed a mirthless chuckle.

Laine set down the knife as she looked at Donnelley. She shook her head, moving over to be closer to him as she spoke, “You don’t need to apologize for opening up, I want to know you, Joseph Donnelley. I asked, you answered. I appreciate your candor.”

Leaning her hip against the counter, she continued, “Relationships are tough and adding in the stress of your line of work and whatever else was going on...I don’t judge you on how your marriage ended, that’s between you and your ex. I’m the worst at keeping contact with family, so I will not lecture you but...you know, maybe you should stay around the states more often.”

She gazed at him, a slight smile on her full lips, “And...I like that you stayed to see me, makes me feel...special.”

It was her turn to feel suddenly awkward and exposed, spots of rose rising on her cheeks as she turned away, going to assemble the mini street tacos, “We should eat before this gets cold. Do you take lime juice on them?”

He opened up again at her cheeks reddening, giving her a more genuine smile, “Yeah, I do.” He said looking at her for a moment before putting a hand to her cheek and kissing the other, pushing off the counter and making his way to the kitchen table, “Let’s eat us some tacos.”

The tacos were good and Laine watched Donnelley devour several, a smile playing on her lips. "So big city girl can cook?"

She chuckled and finished her food, leaning back. "I can give you the big tour when you are done, it's not much as I don't spend a lot of time at home. At least that was supposed to change this fall, I was going to teach a behavioral psychology course at the Academy."

Laine shrugged, sipping her drink, "Supervising Agent Barnes decided I was absent too much with my new 'secret missions' to be a reliable teacher."

She snorted slightly, "I mean, he's not wrong he was just an ass about it. Territorial I think, doesn't like his agents being taken without being in the loop. Have you ever had that issue?"

“All the time.” Donnelley shook his head, “These are damn good.”

He smiled, regarding Laine with a grin and then sighing, “My clashes were usually early on in my career with the Program. When I was working with GRANTOR and THUNDER we’d sometimes even have to postpone operations. I took a break after Chechnya, got transferred to THUNDER.”

“Couldn’t really hide healing burns. I threw my Station Chief at the time a bone at Foster’s advice, told them I was operating with a counter-terrorist task force.” He shrugged, “Foster runs a lot of interference for his Working Group’s people when he can. After I healed up some I got put in Turkey by the Agency. Been there ever since, now we’re in Iraq.”

"Hopefully Barnes will get over being butthurt, I had to decline an assignment in Albuquerque because I'm going back to West Virginia," she commented, "They'll send someone else but...it's a balancing act, as you know. I don't think I would be as focused as I should be anyway. I'd be thinking about Blackriver."

Laine tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, then looked up at him, "Chasing ISIS in Iraq, assisting the Kurds?"

She waved her hand slightly, "Sorry, I know you spooks like your secrets."

A flicker of a grin touched her lips. "I'm the inquisitive type though."

“You bein’ insubordinate again?” Donnelley purred, eyes gleaming from beneath his brow as he looked at her, hungry smirk.

Laine bit her lip slightly then rose from her chair, "And if I am, sir?"

Her eyes twinkled with humor and the same want, an impertinent smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He clucked his tongue, shaking his head and smirking as he too rose, brushing his fingers slowly across his belt and hooking a thumb into it, a glimpse of his Adonis belt peeking out at her, “Might have to take my belt off.”

Laine put her hand on her hip, raising her eyebrows, "I'll call you sir, I don't call you Daddy."

She made to move past him in a swaying haughty stride, the same playful twinkle in her eyes as she glanced at him.

“Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?” Donnelley’s brow quirked, eyes stuck to Laine’s swaying hips and her behind as she walked past him. “You are testin’ my patience.”

Laine sauntered into the living room, barefoot now, her boots sitting by the door. She dragged her fingers along the arm of the black leather couch and said, "And what are you going to do, sir?"

He moved his hands to his buckle and they deftly pulled the leather thing free from its loops. Slow steps over to face Laine and he leaned in close, closer, closing his eyes and spoke as his lips brushed against her earlobe, “How ‘bout I show you.”

A playfully rough hand turned her from him and bent her at the waist, hiking up the bottom of her skirt with a growl and raising his belt just as a ringtone sounded through the house. He sighed with some disappointment, feeling for his phone and finding it silent in his pocket. He thought to keep going, but decided against it. “I think it’s yours.”

Laine shivered at his warm breath and insinuating promise, feeling his strength against her resistance as he bent her over the arm of the sofa. She tensed, expecting the crack of his belt on her bare bottom, the anticipation sending a thrill of excitement through her. Then the familiar chime of her phone went off and she sighed, sagging against the couch.

"That it is," Laine stood up, pulling her skirt back down. If she wasn't expecting a call she would have ignored it. Moving quickly to where she left her cell phone, Laine snatched it up and answered when she saw it was CJIS.

"Dr Laine speaking," she said then smiled triumphantly, "Excellent, thank you Dr Pigeon."

She paused and her brow furrowed slightly, "Really."

Laine checked the time and did some mental calculations, "Alright, no don't send the report, I'm coming up there. I owe you one. Thanks again."

Ending the call, she looked at Donnelley, "Looks like I'm going to head to West Virginia early. Clarksburg at least. The forensic anthropologist has her report but she said she found some oddities that the labs picked up. Things she said have raised questions and I don't think the Program would want more people looking into it."

A sudden thought occurred to her and Laine asked, "Do you still have the shard?"

Donnelley pursed his lips as he went through the process of looping his belt back into his jeans, “I think Foster turned it in. It’s not somethin’ I’d really roadtrip with.” He redid his buckle, looking back up at her, “We need it for somethin’?”

Laine shook her head, "I just remembered, I wanted to get it tested, we have a forensic geology department. But, I suppose that's something the Program won't allow out of their hands which only makes me more curious."

She leaned over to him, pressing her body against him and gave him a brief kiss on the lips. "Which you know, I am not easily put off from. I should get dressed, do you want to come along?"

Donnelley returned the kiss and chewed over the thought of accompanying Laine. He shrugged, nodded, “Yeah, I’ll come along. Special Agent John Davidson again.” He smiled at her, leaning forward and kissing her forehead, “I’ll go get my clothes.”




It was late afternoon when they arrived at the CJIS complex, the heat of the day disturbed by a slight breeze that ruffled the deep green leaves of the surrounding trees. Laine was dressed in black slacks and white blouse, the tailored charcoal gray blazer over it with her FBI badge clipped to the pocket. Donnelley walked with her, Agent Davidson she reminded herself to call him and not to look at him in a personal manner. She was Dr Laine, BAU now and shifted into the mentality of investigating professional.

Dr Pigeon’s office was next to the large forensics lab and offices scattered down the hall belonging to other archeologists and anthropologists. Laine knocked even though she could see Erin Pigeon hunched over her desk, her long black hair in a single braid over her shoulder. The woman had a smooth round face that was olive skinned and a plump but shapely figure under her white lab coat. Laine knocked again and she looked up, blinking bright black eyes at the pair behind a fringe of bangs.

“Dr Laine! Howdy, y’all come on in,” she waved them forward, standing from her chair but it hardly changed her short stature. She looked at Donnelley, a swift up and down sweep of her inquisitive gaze. “Dr. Erin Pigeon, who might you be?”

Donnelley stepped forward, leaning past Laine and offering his hand out to shake. The smile on his face was easy to keep up from the past night’s mischievous, carnal activities putting him in a high mood. “Special Agent John Davidson.” Donnelley nodded, perfect and indeterminate American accent, “Nice to meet you.”

Pigeon shook his hand, nodding and said, “Well, glad you made it up. You must be the investigating agent. I tell you, it was quite a graveyard the State Police left us but you know, funny enough, Doc Laine was the first to call and ask about them.”

“The State Police handled the crime scene, but it’s our case,” Laine assured her and glanced at the window that showed the lab, a connecting door beside a bookcase full of textbooks. “What do you have for us?”

“Quite a bit,” Pigeon replied, “For a rush job, especially one that you’re playing so close to your chest, Laine.”

Her fist was on her ample hip before her expression changed from suspicious to excited again, like a cloud passing over the sun. “Well, come on. Might as well see the girls while I explain.”

She lead them into the anthropology forensic lab, a large white space full of tables and tools of the trade. Regular microscopes, bone saws, picks and brushes, sample kits for gathering of material found on the bones, DNA extraction kits and a monitor hooked up to an electron microscope.

“Here, put these one,” Pigeon handed them both a pair of blue nitrile gloves. “Can’t have your oils destroying evidence.”

Laine snapped the gloves on in a practiced movement and peered over Pigeon’s shoulder at the skeletons laid out. Some of the bones were broken but they seemed to be intact.

“Now, we have them labeled from the oldest to the youngest, not actual age wise but from the time they were buried,” Pigeon indicated the long table where some of the remains sat. “We sent the dental records for identification but even I can’t rush that, it just takes time, especially if they’re older. They are all female, ages range between midteens to mid twenties. The seven we have fully intact we can probably get IDed by DNA if we have to, they may have enough material.”

“Site A held the first remains and this is Jane Doe A-1, she was found at the deepest layer,” Pigeon began, “It is not very clear how she died, no major trauma. We do find some interesting marks, very small...here.”

She pointed with as gloved finger at tiny scratches on the skull and down on metacarpals on the left wrist. “I found these same types of marks on JD A-2 and A-3, I took a look at them through the electron microscope and look here.”

Pigeon offered the black and white photo of the close up which looked like a slice with smooth edges on the pale bone. “Clean and sharp, not an animal. A very good knife.”

“A skinner’s knife?” Laine asked.

“Probably, it looks like the nicks I’ve seen before on deer bones. My family back in Oklahoma were big on hunting and curing their own hides into leather. Which by the way, stinks very much but you know, tryna keep the old practices alive,” Pigeon said, then moved on to the skull, “I did find some possible trauma to the head, like a blow but it’s hard to tell if it was a post mortem or not. No healing has occurred so we know it happened right around her death.”

She looked at them both, “Any questions yet?”

“Maybe his methods were refined.” Donnelley pursed his lips and looked between Laine and Pigeon, “Maria Vasquez didn’t have any of those. Killer didn’t touch her bones.”

Laine nodded, “He also did more damage, remember the X ray? Her pelvis and that...how she died, by foreign object to the heart.”

Pigeon looked between them again, holding up her finger, “Pelvis you say? Well, check this out.”

She walked down the row of bones and stopped, holding out her hand to show them the pelvis of one of the victims, or rather pieces of it. “This is Jane Doe A-5, massive pelvic trauma. A-4 has a fractured pelvis, and other fractures in her bones. A jump from almost no damage from A-1 to A-3. Refining his skinning game maybe but whoever your boy is he’s got a lot of anger.”

Laine took a deep breath, looking at the broken pelvis that seemed familiar, the cracks and dislocation of the hip and elbow was similar to the trauma on Maria. “That is a big change, if we assume he killed them all he moved from something like strangulation to this...are there other injuries?”

The short woman nodded and began pointing out places marked with labels with numbers and letters on them, “Other than the pelvic trauma, there are spiral fractures on her left arm, the ulna. Those are usually caused by twisting, as in someone grabbing and twisting the arm. We see it often in child abuse cases. There are some that seem to be caused by blunt force, like her pelvis and some that indicate she was being restrained.”

Laine rolled over the information and said, “If we’re going to assume it’s one man, he’s stepping up his game. He’s getting more violent but more skilled, no knife marks?”

“None that we were able to find,” Pigeon said, “You think they were all skinned?”

“I have one recent victim that was completely skinned head to toe,” Laine replied, taking out the folder she had tucked under her arm. “Here, if you want to check the photos and autopsy report.”

Dr Pigeon eagerly took it and flipped through the information and stared intently at the images. She whistled low under her breath, “Hell of a job, definitely is a practiced hand at skinning. It’s tough not to cut into the muscles and from the pictures...”

She held one up, peering at it and shook her head, “Nothing.”

“Bakker said there wasn’t any cuts in her muscles or tendons,” Laine commented.

“Well, that’s a fine job, I mean as far as skinning goes otherwise this guy is a monster,” Pigeon replied, then looked at the report, “Busted pelvis I see... eyes removed, tongue and larynx. Holy hell, he mutilated her, too. Interesting pieces to take though.”

“I agree,” Laine said, “Not a butcher’s cut.”

“Nope, but very telling.”

“Her...self. Her voice, her eyes, her face,” Laine said, frowning slightly. “He took who she was and left the meat.”

Donnelley folded his arms tight, frowning and shaking his head, “I don’t like it.” He said, “Look at them and look at Maria. Learning curve is…” Donnelley whistled sharp as he thrust his finger straight up, “We’re either dealing with a better guy or he’s getting tutored.”

"We're missing some victims," Laine said, "I think there might be more, we know that Bethany Miller is one."

"Got her records?" Pigeon asked, her interest piqued.

"Uh, no, unfortunately I haven't been able to get them," Laine replied.

The anthropologist frowned, "Why not?"

Laine glanced at Donnelley, "It's in the process."

"Well, when you get em, send them over," Pigeon said. "Sounds like a white lady, Bethany Miller."

"Probably, she was a tourist hiking in the mountains," Laine replied, "Why?"

Pigeon picked up the skull belonging to the older victims, Jane Doe A-3 and said, "By their skulls, I figured them to be Caucasian though some have distinctly wide, high cheekbones which are more like..."

With one hand she pointed to her own face which despite the soft roundness had the distinct Native American cheekbones. "Now, Laine here has the Nordic cheekbones, not as broad as my peeps. But what also tells me most of these have some Native blood are the teeth. A dead give away, look."

Gently, she turned the skull over to show the backs of the incisors which revealed definitive scooped hollows. "That is a trait shared by Siberian and Native Americans, no other races. So these ladies, at least a majority have at least some amount of Native blood. And I'm fairly certain a healthy dose of Caucasian. We'll know for sure once we get the IDs."

"So they could be Latin American like Maria," Laine said.

"Yep, it's a good chance," she replied, setting down the skull.

Laine stayed silent for a moment then said, "He's certainly accelerating and improving in the brutality and sophistication of the murder. Serial killers usually don't change their MO but it's not unheard of for them to experiment or just get better at killing. Or increase the violence, simply killing isn't enough for them to get off, there needs to be torture. A method killer will do this. He'll keep a person alive for torture, a sexual sadism which might include the act of rape or not. Though judging by the condition of the pelvises of the last four victims he was using a foreign object and very brutally. He wanted their pain and to control every aspect of them. The previous cases could have been bound based on the number of fractures and possible dislocation but Maria was drugged but still kept conscious. So it doesn't seem BDSM plays a big role, they like the process of binding. Our guy just needs them immobilized but conscious."

Continuing her train of thought, Laine said, "He needs complete control and power, absolute power. He wants power over the victim in life, death and after death. He's stripped her of her identity, if we can assume he kept her skin and body parts, he possessed her even after death. I don't think there was cannibalism but there was definitely an element of product killing if he's keeping body parts. He's highly organized, intelligent and efficient. He also craves attention, why else leave the body in plain view to be found but why now?"

Laine looked at Donnelley, "We know he killed Maria in another location and dumped her body in a place he had left other bodies. His graveyard. This tells me he probably lives in the area, since they're clustered. But what bothers me is why leave Maria out and...well draw attention to her, the others were buried. Unless he did leave them out before and no one found them or someone buried them."

Pigeon cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing, glancing at the man she knew as Agent Davidson.

Where’s all the skin?, Kingsley had asked back in Iraq. This was too close to home, but it was only tangential evidence that these two cases were connected. Until Donnelley could get a close look at one of the Yezidi bodies in Iraq then there was nothing but a skinning connecting the two. He shook his head, letting go a troubled sigh with furrowed brows.

“Thank you.” He said, looking at Dr. Pigeon, “This at least gives us a history.”

He looked to Laine, “Anything else we need?”

Laine gazed at the bones, there were so many questions still unanswered and she shook her head slowly. "This gives me a lot to work with, unfortunately it can't tell us about soft tissue damage or where the skin and parts missing went to."

She sighed, her thoughts suddenly turning to the books she had read at the Goldstar Motel and she looked at Pigeon. "He probably kept the skin as a trophy, maybe he has a history in taxidermy but I'm starting to question that. I don't think he's an Ed Gein, there seems like too much ritual in the process of killing. So what's he using those skins for?"

Pigeon pursed her lips and then said, "That's not my field but I've known hunters, a good hide is used for something, it's definitely a product."

"Do you know much about the Natives in this area?"

"Only that they're gone. Why?"

"I uh...well I read a book about Native stories of the Appalachians, about Skinwalkers," Laine said, suddenly feeling silly. She was about to change her mind and tell Pigeon to forget when she saw the woman's expression. Fear and something else, something masked in the deep dark eyes.

"Skinwalkers? Well...they usually take wolf skins and New Mexico, never heard of them in other places," Pigeon said quickly, not looking at either of them. "Anything else? I need to put these specimens away."

Laine raised her brow then replied, "No, that's fine. We'll be in town for the night, call me if the identifications come through."

"You bet," Pigeon replied, still seemingly distracted. 'Nice meetin' you, Agent Davidson."

Laine nodded and looked at Donnelley before heading out the door.

Once outside the lab she looked down at the folder of the forensic reports and said, "I probably shouldn't have mentioned that."

Donnelley shrugged as he lit up his cigarette, blowing out the first puff with his words, “No harm in it. Worst thing that could happen is that weird look she gave you.” He said, still masking his Texan, “Where to now?”

Laine looked at the thick folder in her hand and then at Donnelley. "I brought my laptop, I'm going to set up and do some work. Maybe we can grab some coffee, there is a Starbucks down the road."




Donnelley sipped at his coffee as he watched Laine work. When she worked, she really did work. No words, but there were a couple smirking glances between each other. He looked around at the place, the chain coffee shop dressed up like a quaint hipster coffee house. There were suits in here, probably Feds if not businessmen gearing up for the workday following their breaks.

He took another glance at Laine unnoticed as her eyes drifted across her laptop screen. With a content smile, he got up and headed for the bathroom, finding it was thankfully a private one. The constant sound of the fan going on would help mask the call he was about to make. He pressed the phone to his ear, looking at himself in the mirror and his eyes showing he hadn’t had much sleep the other night. Or any of the other nights since New York. He pulled down his collar and snorted at the hickey just below his neckline. The other line picked up, “Donnelley?”

“Kingsley. How you doin’ man?” Donnelley asked, his Texan leaking back into his voice with the privacy.

“I’m good. Me and Smitty have been working Viktor over for a bit. Can’t really discuss that too loosely, where are you at?” Kingsley asked.

“Can’t really discuss that too loosely.” Donnelley smirked, “I need you to do me a favor, man.”

“Yeah?”

“Have anybody working with the police or the Iraqi military there in Baghdad give you an early warnin’ next time Anzor rolls through a village.” Donnelley asked, his voice low in the din of the bathroom fan, “You get there before they start shovelin’ ‘em away in a mass grave, you need to secure a body from ‘em. Check to see if they’re missin’ their tongues and eyes and shit. Can you do that?”

“Uh,” Kingsley muttered, “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Can’t discuss that too loosely.” Donnelley said, his tone a bit more serious. “Call me with any news at all, Viktor, Anzor, anything.”

“Of course, man.” Kingsley smiled on the other end of the line.

“Alright. See you when I get back.” Donnelley hung up the call and sighed. This case, everything. He’d gotten close to Laine, and if Foster ever found that out he’d have hell to pay. Laine would be reshuffled somewhere else, her career even more in jeopardy, and his.

“What the hell are you doin’, man?” Donnelley muttered to himself in the mirror. He shook his head, it was complicated, but it was fun. Very fun. As fun as his old days in THUNDER were, and he was never caught then. He wouldn’t be caught now. He hoped, shaking his head and sighing.

He exited the bathroom and made his way back over to Laine, sitting down and taking another sip of his coffee, “Anything interesting?”

When Donnelley returned, Laine flashed a smile at him then ticked her eyebrows up. "I just received a list of identification for our Jane Does. I haven't gone over them yet, I was just going to open it."

Like a kid at Christmas she beamed with excitement, a real break to figure out who the women were and where they had come from.

"The oldest skeleton, JD A-1 is...oh wow, she was born in 1940, Luisa Fernandez Martinez in Laredo Texas, last known address was in El Paso with two arrests made for prostitution and theft. Reported missing by her sister in 1958 and nothing done about it, apparently. No reports on record after the initial one. Then there is A-2 Diamante Maria Cuellar Hernandez, no birth record found but an arrest record for prostitution in 1968 in San Antonio, Texas and listed her age as 20. Nothing after that, no one reported her missing or the cops didn't bother to file a report. A-3 was Juanita Lopez, an eighteen years old coed attending the University of Texas in El Paso, born in Ciudad Juarez and brought to the US when she was three years old. Parents and school officials both file missing persons reports in 1981 but nothing was ever found, no trace of her."

Laine took a deep breath, then continued, "A-4 was another Mexican woman from Texas. Leticia Moreno Sanchez, seventeen year old that has a juvenile record of drug possession, can soliciting and dropped out of school. Apparently listed as a runaway by the Corpus Christi police, no other missing person case made."

"That covers the first four, all out of Texas and all Mexican immigrants or children of such," Laine said, "That's very close to Maria in type. I'm just surprised how far these go back."

She took a sip of coffee as she continued to read. Laine paused, "Now this is interesting, an Interpol report of the identity of Jane Doe A-6 is from Russia. Anka Vasilov. And the most recent was from Britain, Yasmin Jamali, age nineteen and reported missing after a night out with friends at a club in London.”

Laine sat back and looked at him, “Sounds like he was picking mostly convenient targets, sex workers for example. First Mexican and now Russian trafficking. But how is our guy getting these girls, is he traveling to more urban areas to get them, are they getting picked up off the street or is someone helping since these Russians are hanging around. I still feel he’s in the area, whether a permanent resident or maybe a murder vacation home. Either way, he’s very comfortable and he’s much older than I first imagined. The earliest victim was killed in 1958 or 59. That’s sixty years ago, no wonder he had to get a drug to keep them still. He’s old as hell, even a teenage girl could probably get away if he was relying on just strength. If he's the same man that has killed them all then he'll be the oldest active serial killer. Or there has been more than one, maybe. Someone taking over from the older killer."

Laine blew a puff of breath, her lower lip pouting slightly, "There has to be more bodies, he probably has other dump sites.'

Her green eyes flickered up to Donnelley, "I need to find out if there is any record of Bethany Miller's murder, if she had the same mutilation injuries as Maria, she would be the closest murder time wise to Maria as well. Blackriver Sheriff's office probably has something, they took the fabric Frank said he saw off Maria. How can we get to them?"

“Do what we were going to before I got stabbed in the damn leg.” Donnelley shrugged, “I go in there and get it.”

He shook his head, “I want to know why they took it without telling anyone. Tampering with a crime scene.”

Laine gave him a look of concern, "If you get caught... you'll be in their house. Is there any chance of getting into their computer files from the outside at least? I'm pretty sure they are not just tampering with evidence or being lazy slobs, it seems like they're actively covering up."

“That’s what I’m saying. They’re deliberately working slow or not at all to help us with this case, fucking around and scrambling to keep us from something. The fucking Sheriff is a MacOnie himself and I’m starting to think they feel pretty damn threatened by us being there.” Donnelley shrugged, “And maybe Ava’s got something, I’ll have to ask her when we rendezvous in a few days.”

Donnelley shook his head, “You said it yourself. Dulane belongs in an institution, not a cell. They wanted him forgotten.” Donnelley frowned. “Makes me wonder if this killer is a wildcard. Bringing too much attention to Blackriver. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Sheriff is in the Russians’ pocket.”

He leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Only more reason for us to get to this guy first before he gets buried.”

Laine took a drink of her coffee, thinking over his words then nodded, "What Frank told us, he was beckoned over to find Maria. That 'shimmer' he saw, the voice he heard. I need don't know what it was, but it exposed the crime and drew attention where it wasn't wanted. If... let's say somehow that was the killer's intention to show off because he wasn't getting enough attention, it wouldn't be the first time. Serial killers often try to insert themselves into investigations or taunt the police because they crave attention and power. If this guy becomes a liability, a wild card as you say, then he might also draw the ire of those that want everything to remain secret. Finding him is the tough part."

She leaned forward, her arms resting on the table, "He's comfortable in the forest and the area, he knows this place. His crimes have been covered up for a long time. My gut says he's locally tied, Blackriver is too insular to for this to be some transient vacationer bringing his fucked up hobby to their neck of the woods. Oh, also my VICAP search found at least six reported missing children cases from Blackriver over the years, all from tourist families and none solved."

Laine looked directly at Donnelley, "This guy is local, hell he might even be a MacOnie. Let's start looking back at where it started, at the park. We know the head ranger there, he's covering up and protecting someone even at the expense of his own rangers. Definitely in the pocket of the sheriff and if the sheriff's in the pocket of the Russians it leads back to them. We know they're in the hills, we know they're up to no good but why here? What on Earth is the attraction of a poor ass Appalachian county to a Russian gang?"

“It’s a good place to stage shit.” Donnelley offered, shrugging his shoulders, “Operation JAWBREAKER, we sent CIA Officers into Afghanistan. We staged the mission in some bumfuck place and hopped them over the border in Russian helicopters.”

“Dead drops for supplies and intel are hidden in alleyways and stuff.” Donnelley pursed his lips, “The CIA didn’t train the Nicaraguan Contras in Nicaragua.”

“Blackriver is a place no one goes and no one leaves. Nobody’s going to suspect shit until somebody puts them on the map.” Donnelley furrowed his brow, leaning in and whispering conspiratorially, “Carlisle was working for the Russians in the end. He double-crossed the Sinaloa. Those Chechens I fought years ago that gave me this,” he thrust a finger at his burn scar, “They were trafficking people and antiquities to finance their shit.”

“What if these girls are being kidnapped by the Russians or the Sinaloa or someshit and being held somewhere in Blackriver before they get shipped off somewhere else?” Donnelley hissed, “It’s an ample pool for this guy. Snatch one every few months, fuck it, who cares? Leave one out to bake in the sun and attract the authorities?” Donnelley whistled, shaking his head and leaning back again.

His eyes slid back to Laine, “And why the fuck did Clyde Baughman go there and not finish the fucking job?” He shook his head. “I need access to that asshole’s case files.”

Donnelley squinted, “The other town in Blackriver, Mercy. I want to go there next time we’re in Blackriver. We’ve been focusing too much on White Tree.” He said, “And if everyone works in the mines for Vera Corp, I want someone to go there and interview the supervisor staff, tell us about Dulane.”

“Maybe he wasn’t always crazy, maybe he had some friends who can tell us about the types he hung around.” Donnelley shrugged.

Laine nodded, pausing at his explanation, "A staging ground, I never thought about that but it seems to fit. A few girls missing is small payment for secrecy. Then why did the killer finally draw attention. Most of what I know about men like this is they want acknowledgment that they've lacked all their lives."

Her gaze met his when he mentioned Baughman and Laine crossed her arms, leaning forward to speak in a hushed tone, "What if he wasn't up here to stop anything. His wife...those things we found. Something he wanted more than anything and he was willing to make a deal with the Devil. Or whatever you want to call it. Lord of the Woods, the Sleeper. Same as Dulane, making promises but what was he supposed to get in return. I never got that answer. If you go to Mercy and talk to Vera Corp, I'm going with you. I need more information on Dulane, I'm still waiting on the psych records."

“I’m almost inclined to take those with a grain of salt.” Donnelley pursed his lips, “Those records were made after he made contact with his thing. His friends could either confirm the records or tell us who he used to be.”

"It very well could be, there is enough reason to think Dulane is getting railroaded but places like this often don't want to put a murderer into a mental hospital and will overlook obvious evidence to lock him in prison. Justice they call it. Either way it'll give me an insight to Dulane and the system that put him away," Laine said, before finishing off her now tepid coffee. "And certainly I'm interested in him before he blew up the mines."

“So, we’ve got a couple directions to take this now.” He nodded. “Well, we’ve got the day ahead of us still, what’s to do? I’m kind of just following you around.”

Laine typed a few notes then closed down her laptop. "Nothing can up as foreign matter on the body, by the way. Nothing that didn't belong to the area she was found so we still don't know anything about where she was killed."

She rubbed her face then tucked her hair behind her ears. "Honestly, I could use walk or something. There is so much going on in this case that is strange I feel like I'm grasping in the dark and things are just slipping out of reach."

Laine took a deep breath then said, "I should talk to Duwant. About Wayne and about these missing children cases, maybe that'll help. Right now I'm going to get a chocolate croissant."

She stood up from the table, brushing her hand along his shoulder as she went to the counter. Laine ordered two and waited, glancing over her shoulder at Donnelley, a small smile turning her lips up at the corners. The night before had been something she had imagined but the real thing was so much better. And was it a real thing, she asked herself. Laine liked him, despite everything or maybe because of it, he was very real. And so was the risk to not just their careers but to their team, she had seen it before when it was another colleague she had dated. Whispers and jealousy, and that was not even someone in charge. Laine could keep a secret, though and they would have to.

"That'll be $5.50," the barista said in a bored drawl.

Laine gave her cash and took the pastry back to the table and put one in front of him. "We can get back to my place before it's too late, if you want to ...sleep over."

She met his gaze as she sat down, pulling a piece of the croissant apart. Donnelley’s gaze slid over to her, a mischievous grin forming on his lips as he eyed her side-on. A coy breath, “I might be willing. I believe we did have some unfinished business before we left.”

"That we did," Laine agreed, a sly smile appearing as she bit into the pastry.

Once they finished, Laine took her laptop and lead the way to the parking lot. As they approached her Golf, she glanced at Donnelley, a mischievous twinkle once again in her green eyes.

"Can you drive stick?"

Donnelley looked her up and down, a playful smile and a curious quirk of his brow, “Yeah,” He said, “Why?”

Laine tossed him the keys, a jingle of metal when it hit his hands. The VW key and lock fob was joined with a few other keys and a keychain of a pair of bright cherries made to look like human skulls.

She didn't answer other than a quick, "It'll be more fun."

Laine put her things away in the back, removing her blazer to toss over her purse, and slid into the passenger seat. She kept a sly smile on her face as he got into the driver's seat. It was a long ride home and the case weighed on her so having him alone was a pleasant distraction.

Donnelley jiggled the stick-shift habitually, making sure it was in neutral before pressing in the clutch and turning on the car, the engine whirring to life with his grin, “I’m startin’ to think you got a purpose for me.”

He shifted into reverse and got them out of the parking space and onto the road, punching the gas. Once they got onto the freeway, he glanced sidelong at Laine with a mischievous grin.

Laine leaned back, watching the countryside as Clarksburg vanished in the rear view mirror. Her hand slipped to her seatbelt and she toyed with it. "I might have something I've been thinking about, boss. You know me, my mind is always working."

The seat belt slipped off and she leaned over, kissing his neck just above the collar, her hand sliding over his thigh. She stroked her fingers closer to his groin and whispered warmly in his ear, "How good is your concentration?"

He shivered in delight at the feeling of Laine’s soft lips on his neck. As he felt her fingers on his thigh, softly kneading, his excitement only grew and stirred something below his belt. The soft whispering in his ear only wound him up more, “I’d like to think it’s pretty good.” He bit his lip, “Test me.”

Laine’s idea of testing his concentration was something Donnelley fully agreed with. A few points knocked off for the few times he’d almost drifted into the other lanes, but thankfully morning traffic was all but non-existent at this hour. The both of them exploring each other’s bodies with the danger of the police or other cars seeing them or plowing into them only fueled their escapade until Donnelley could take it no longer…

"How was that, sir?"

A breathy chuckle left on the air as Donnelley worked at regaining himself. He looked down at her resting there, her chin shiny with drool, and smiled. “Goddamn, Laine.”

She grinned and slowly sat up, pulling her blouse closed. "No road trip is complete without road head," Laine teased, wiping her chin. "I'm impressed with your powers of concentration."

Laine buckled back up as they crossed the state line back into Virginia. “The best in this country,” Donnelley smirked across at Laine, “I should hang out with you more often.”

She laughed, glancing sidelong at Donnelley, "I hope it's for more than my navigator skills."

Digging out a pack of Djarums, she lit one and took a deep drag, the familiar krek-krek crackling of the cloves. "I wouldn't mind you hanging around more, I enjoy your company."

He smiled, a genuine thing and a twinkle in his eye at that, “In all seriousness, I do too.”




>STAFFORD, VIRGINIA
>HEATHER LAINE RESIDENCE
>2200...///

It was late by the time they finally pulled into the Drycreek Townhome apartments, parking in front of the French blue house. Laine lead him inside, turning to Donnelley as soon as the door closed and she locked it.

"Are you hungry?" She asked, a hint of mischief still in her eyes. "Or would you like the tour I never gave you?"

A mischievous grin returned as he placed his hands on his hips, looking Laine up and down as he turned up his chin, “Little bit of both, I think.”

She backed away towards the kitchen, her eyes on him, "What're you in the mood for?"

Laine felt the excitement rise inside her, the tension still there from the ride home that needed a release but first she had to be a good hostess.

Donnelley stepped up close to Laine, holding her gaze all the way until he was inches from her, looking down into her eyes. He took his hand and brushed aside a lock of hair behind her ear and leaned in close, “I’ll take that tour.”

Laine blushed slightly at his touch and smiled in a manner that gave a glimpse of the shy teen she once was. "You've seen the kitchen and the living room, that door right there is there is the half bath. Let's go upstairs."

“Okay.” Donnelley took her hand as she led him upstairs, eyes on her rump and thighs as they ascended each stair. When they finally got to the top of the stairs, Donnelley leaned on the doorway next to her bedroom. “Going to show me everything?”

She passed the second, smaller bedroom but left the door closed, mentioning it only as her office. Laine had left the pictures of missing girls and murder victims arranged on the floor, sticky notes tabbed on each pile. Right now she wanted a break, to put the case away as it weighed on her, the feeling of climbing towards the revelation only to keep slipping backward. With Donnelley, she could vent that frustration in a pleasurable way, she could talk to him and not veil everything in half-truths to protect the Program.

When they got to her bedroom, the door was open revealing a similar theme of black and gray only there was more gothic aesthetic, the black headboard carved with skulls and roses, patterns of spiderwebs visible through the dark lacquer finish. Her bedcover was black silk, ruffled in places and the furniture and mirror frame all had the same decor theme. Unlit candles in glass and metal holders lined the dresser and nightstand and the lamps gave a soft glow when lit. The only modern item was the flat screen TV mounted in the corner.

Laine smiled slightly at his request, leading him inside. "I'll show you what you want," she replied, "I'm not sure if that's everything, though."

Her gaze met his as she waited, her hand resting on one of the black polished posts of the bed. Donnelley leaned his weight on his right leg, hooking a thumb in his belt as he returned Laine’s smile, stepping up to her. His eyes went about the room, appreciating the aesthetics until his gaze fell back on her just as they again were so close to each other, his small smile growing to a grin, “Show me then.” He purred.

Laine bit her lip slightly then began to remove her clothes, her blouse slipping off pale skin marked with black tattoos. Swirling clouds around a full moon on one upper arm and the moth and bat pair above her breasts detailed with fine vines and roses and belladonna blooms that curled over the points of her shoulders. Her slacks slid down and she kicked them away, still in her heels and black hose, the old fashioned kind with a line up the back and attached to garters.

Reaching back she unclasped her bra, watching his face as she took it off, tossing it onto a chair. Her breasts still had some marks from the night before, reddened places his eager mouth had left on her creamy skin. Her fingers slipped down to the clasps of the garter belt, and she toyed with one. Her green eyes met his gaze as she undid the clasps before sliding down the black satin panties, exposing the smooth plump mound of her sex, leaving her thigh highs and heels in place.

"What do you think, sir?" She asked with a sly smile, "Should I take these off, too?"

Donnelley bit his lip watching her undress in front of him, laying herself bare, stark naked. He felt a growing in his loins that soon strained against the fabric of his slacks, reaching down to rub at himself in unadulterated lust for her. The way the light fell over her, the curves of her body, everything. He breathed a shuddering sigh at the sight of her, and he knew he could not hold himself back.

Without an answer he rushed to her, taking her face in one hand and locking his lips in hers. Laine returned his kiss, parting her lips to taste him as she pressed her naked body against his clothed one, feeling the lean muscle and obvious arousal.

He broke the kiss, hands busying themselves with removing his shirt and the undershirt beneath it. Three buttons down and he threw the tedium to the wind and simply pulled the buttons open in a series of pops before throwing the garment carelessly to the side. He gave Laine one passionate kiss before leading her onto her back on the bed, removing his shoes, socks and slacks in almost record time. If this would be the only chance for them to be lustful and intimate with each other without caution and consideration for the others, he would take full advantage of it...

With a soft sigh she whispered, "Goddamn..."

Donnelley lay on top of her, eyes closed and softly panting, enjoying the smell of her perfume as he lay there. A soft smile curled his lips and he planted a soft kiss on Laine’s neck, then her lips, propping himself over her as he looked down at her, “Goddamn...” he breathed.

She laughed softly and looked up at him, then sighed, her arms slipping around his torso to hold him. "I hope you didn't pay for another night in the hotel, you could sleep here," Laine said after a few moments of catching their breath.

“You don’t have a problem with that?” He shrugged, looking at her almost sheepishly, “Didn’t want my presence remindin’ you of…”

He snorted, shaking his head and looking away, softly slipping away from her to lay next to her. There was always that reminder that they were not only coworkers, but he was her supervisor hanging over him after these little forays ended. His arm beneath his head and his other arm touching hers, wanting to be close to her still, “Ah, never mind.” He smiled.

Laine rolled onto her side, looking up at him."Reminding me of...?"

She laughed, her breasts jiggling as they pressed together. Laine put a hand on his chest, "It's our secret, just us. I don't expect you to treat me any different. Our lives our own outside of UMBRA."

Laine fell silent, it wasn't entirely true, the trouble of fraternizing was it followed them everywhere. "At least we can act normal around Foster, he doesn't need to know. And as long as we're successful, we're working then he has no reason to pry."

She kissed him then rolled away, going to the bathroom to clean herself. “Yeah,” Donnelley said, watching her bare rear as she walked to the bathroom, smiling at the sight of her in the moonlight, “Goddamn, I love the sight of you.”

Laine smiled to herself at his admission, glancing over her shoulder at the man stretched out on her bed before closing the bathroom door for privacy.

Once she returned, she slid over onto the bed and curled up beside Donnelley, tucking the pillow under her head. She looked at him, at the scars and wear of years of war left. And those eyes.

Laine reached out and laid her hand on his chest, "I have tomorrow off, we should do something."

He looked down at Laine’s hand on his chest, she no doubt felt the beat of his heart. The odd thing was, it was beating fast as it would on the way to a gunfight with no reason, but as he looked back at her and into those green eyes it dawned on him why. She always had that way about her since they met, made him feel like some kid on a date night with his first girlfriend. He smiled at her, “We should.”

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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.”
Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by spicykvnt
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>DR CHAKWAS’ OFFICE
>SEATTLE
>20.07.19

”I’m gonna miss you Peebs,” came the soft voice of the pink-haired girl sat upon the table, cross legged as she helped herself to the chips from the bag. The grim and deathly photos spread out across the desk of little interest to her.

“We don’t get a lot of visitors here, not us anyway,” she sighed wistfully. Dipping the chip into sauce.

Pari’s gaze was on the photographs - staring at the clawed hands pictured, at the sharp teeth along the jaw. The lack of life in the yellow eyes. The bag of chips of little interest to her.

“You are?” She asked, looking up to meet the bright gaze of her colleague.

“Yeah,” the girl nodded, biting down on the potato. “I mean, look’t what I’ve gotta deal with—“ Her hand motioned to the two men in the other office. One of whom was tearing through his own bag of chips with a voracious hunger - curry sauce spilling from his chin to the polo shirt. His hair scruffy chestnut, eyes blue as ice. The girl groaned with disgust and rolled her eyes.

But Pari was drawn to the neater gentleman, the one who was leaning back in his chair, a hand running through his long dark hair, and then through his beard as he yawned.

“He likes you, you know.” The girl added with a coy smile. “Really likes you.”

Caught out in the act, Pari tore her eyes from him and looked back at the girl. “Yumi… Are you stirring the pot again?” She asked playfully, finally folding the images back into the envelope.

“Nah,” Yumi responded with a laugh. “Like I said, we don’t get many visitors and I reckon you made an impression on him,” she smiled. Smug.

Pari shook her head and tutted, it wasn’t just a pane of glass between them… As much as she felt something of an attraction to him too — they both had wounds. Deep wounds. She took a chip and dunked it. “And you like James, and he likes you…” she toyed, biting her own chip with raised brows.

Yumi gave a glare, but there was no malice behind it, and she soon started into a laugh. “Maybe he does, but I like to treat him mean,” she shrugged and laughed again. “He’s too crude, anyway.

“You and Evan are kindred spirits, since he lost his wife and that—“ she added, before realising she’d said too much.

Pari’s head tilted curiously and she placed her chip back into the sauce slowly. “What do you mean?” She asked, the heat in her voice rising.

Yumi grimaced and shrugged her shoulders again. “I… Did a bit of research on you, saw a few things, read things… You know, just a bit’a recon.” She bit her lip and scrunched her nose, running a hand across her chest as her breath held.

“Are you mad at me?” Yumi asked, her nose remained scrunched but it was clear in the rest of her body language that she wasn’t too apologetic.

She had to think about that, and decided after a pregnant pause that she wasn’t. She exhaled the breath she’d been holding on to. “No, I’m not mad. You were curious about a strange consultant on your team, nothing to be angry about,” she smiled warmly, finishing her chip. Truthfully, it felt liberating to know that Yumi knew about her past and hadn’t been deterred or had her opinion changed, hell, it was nice the she thought so highly of her in the first place.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Yumi said, her voice low and her eyes pointed at the table.

Pari nodded, poking around at the last of the chips for the crispy ones, “Sure.”

“What does it feel like to die?” The girl uttered, taking the chance to ask in her stride, she meant no disrespect in the question — that much was true, and for the first time in forever, Pari felt not recoil or anxiety about talking about it…

“It feels like…”


“Miss Bhatt, are you alright?”

Pari’s eyes shot open, rich mahogany eyes with flecks of gold sat around the pupil. “Yes, sorry. I was just thinking…”

“About your trip?”

“Yes, that and other things…” Pari said slowly, sinking back into the chair, letting the tension ease out of her shoulders as she picked up a cushion and held it to her stomach.

“You told me it was a vacation with your mother, a medical conference?” the therapist asked. An older woman, her hair was spun with grey and her glasses were on a golden chain, tipping off the bridge of her nose as she looked across the room to Pari. She was warm, and comforting. Even the office was, everything was round and soft and colourful… It set Pari at ease and she smiled across at the woman.

“And how are you and your mother now? I understand you’ve had a tense relationship since your overdose?” she asked, her head tilted while her fingers played with the pen in her hand.

“Tense…. I think so, yes,” Pari answered truthfully, even if it was a bitter truth. “She has a habit of looking for drugs and alcohol in my home when she thinks I’m not looking.”

“Mothers can be like that, we want the best for our children. Even if this makes us look overbearing.”

Pari sighed again, frowning, “but this lack of trust… It’s a giant wall between us. I’m a failure to her. I couldn’t be a doctor… I was an addict… I stole from her…” The last part came out softer, ashamed. They’d talked about it before and it seemed to sting every time. “Then to top it all off, I missed her conference.”

The therapist sat calm, lowering her pen and simply allowed Pari the time she needed to clarify on the event.

“My work… They knew I was in London and they asked me to consult on a project there last minute.” Pari paused and looked the therapist in the eye, her expression had hardened but her eyes held water in the corners. Through a clenched jaw she continued, “a really important event that meant a lot to my mother -- and I missed it.”

“What is going on? Why can’t you be there tonight Parinaaz? Can’t you see this is important for me -- this is why we’re here!” Dayita said, strain evidenced on her face - thunder etched across her brow. “You don’t just get to dump something on me like this and pretend it’s nothing, I’m your mother.” She stepped towards Pari, placing a hand over her daughter’s wrist.

“I’m really sorry, but I don’t have time for this,” Pari began, refusing to meet her mother’s eyes with her own, nudging out of her touch.

“I’m tired of “I don’t have time” or that I “wouldn’t understand” - I’m your mother, I want you to make time to make me understand, I brought you here to support me -- not to disappoint me... Again!”

“It’s like you think I planned this?” Pari said, exasperation evident in her expression and in her husky tone. They’d had this fight before. “Do you have any idea…” She sighed, placing her hands flat on the dresser and leaning into it. “I want to be at your conference, I do.” Pari said near silently, desperately.

“But do you know how dangerous my job is? And how lonely?” She choked, feeling the emotion well in her throat at her own confession. “I would love to be at your conference, I would love to be at more family dinners, God I’d love to just do nothing… But I can’t.”

It was clear in the way that her mother marched to the door, purse in hand, that the argument was about to end. That they would reach no conclusion, no agreement. That they would be stuck at the same impasse that they always brought themselves too.

“Oh just do what you want, like always— to think I thought you would do something for me!” Dayita eventually scalded, clucking her tongue, the fury leaving her own expression as she made her way towards the door -- leaving behind only the ghost of her perfume after the slam of the door.

Pari slid down to the floor, a tear running across her cheek. It wouldn’t be the last time they would have this fight. The circle would begin again, a vortex they would surely drown in before they escaped it.


“Take your time,” the therapist said, pushing a box of tissues across the table towards her client. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the woman as she took several long, shuddering breaths - holding the tension in her jaw the whole time. “Just let it out,” she said encouragingly.

Pari shook her head, “I’m okay,” she lied, breaking eye contact to stare at a vase of flowers. Peonies.

“I just, I don’t know how to reconcile everything…” she whispered, dabbing at her eye with the back of her thumb. “Be good at my job, get my work done. Be a good friend, be a good Hindu… Be a good person, don’t disrupt people’s space, be kind, help people grow, nurture them. Be a strong woman....

“Be a good daughter.”

That did it, the weight that left her chest in that breath was like the finger that had been in the dam for too long. It was instant relief and instant agony all at once. She leaned forward in the seat, placing her head into her hands to sob.

The therapist once again observed, jotting down her thoughts onto paper. Only the nib of the pen scratching the paper made noise in the room. “You try to do too much,” she said after a pause. Allowing her words the room needed to hang in the air until Pari lifted her head, ready to receive them.

“You try to fix everything and everyone around you, to avoid fixing yourself. You project the image that you have all of your ducks in a row, don’t you? So nobody asks if you actually do” she explained, running her gaze over Pari’s outfit. Her thin lips spoke the truth that Pari had been burying, and as the therapist caught her watery eyes she could see the truth ticking over. The woman’s blotchy face was in stark contrast to the rest of her. Immaculate, not a smudge or crease anywhere across the tailored trousers - the colourful shirt crisp. Even her hair was perfect, not a stray strand to be seen.

“Maybe,” Pari breathed. Her fingers nipped at the satin again, working the fabric, as if she was wringing her confession from them.

“I keep myself occupied.” She shrugged nonchalantly, taking a shuddered breath as her eyes glazed over and stared out into the middle distance. “If I don’t keep myself occupied I’ll get bored, or think too much about…” She pulled her smile to the side and chuckled caustically. “I think I just used to have a real fire, you know? Now it’s just… Artificial.”

The therapist nodded in agreement, or in understanding - the line between the two was so blurred as they dug deep. “You’ve locked yourself in a bit of a shell of routine, and what you’re trying to be contradicts that. You want to be a supportive friend but you hold people at arm's length. You want to be better with your family but you’re hanging on to guilt about what you did in the past - using work as your shield to escape that. This Divine Mission of yours? To save the world?” the therapist sighed and placed her notebook to the side, placing her hands into her lap. “You focus so much on that, that you miss everything else around you. Tunnel vision, Miss Bhatt.”

She could see Big Ben from the window. His peak in the distance. She heard him ring out, three loud bongs until silence. The echo of a smile tugged her painted lips. “You don’t get to sit quiet, you need to watch for more like this one,” she explained - carrying authority on her tongue and severity in the deep wells of her eyes. They were deep and dark, shadows haunted her stare. “We have to keep going, tomorrow it starts aga—“

“Pari for once,” Evan sighed, closing his eyes and pinching his fingers into the air with disapproval, “you don’t have to have the last word every time, yeah? Just shut up and let’s celebrate this. We won today.”

She looked at him, glowering right back at her - and even though he had admonished her, she couldn’t help but smile, and still she found herself drowning in that piercing emerald glare. The only eyes that could have cut her down from her pedestal. “Alright, alright-” she conceded, finding that it didn’t pain her to do so. There was no sting from admitting defeat. She raised her hands. “Let’s celebrate then…”

From the corner of the room, Yumi looked up from her phone screen - a large pink bubble popped against her lips. “Shopping trip,” she suggested, “and we’ll take the big red bus around. Sightseeing. I’m not letting you go without us just hanging.”

“We can do that,” Pari replied without breaking eye contact with Evan. The shadows had drifted along and away.


“My advice, or, at least my challenge for you Pari is to do more things that scare you.”

“What do you mean? I confront fear a lot,” Pari replied, almost defensively.

“That’s what I mean. You have an answer and a reason for everything, don’t you? For goodness sakes, send your mother some damn flowers. Call her once in a while… Throw her a line and you might find she loosens the collar on your neck...” The therapist said, and as Pari listened, it all felt to her like the most obvious thing in the world. So blindingly obvious that of course she’d missed it.

“I do sometimes miss the forest for the trees…” Pari said with a sigh, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Tunnel vision,” she chuckled sardonically, raising a finger up beside her to punctuate her realisation.

“You still have that fire in you, Miss Bhatt. It never, ever left. I look at you?” The therapist shuffled forwards in her seat, taking her glasses off as if she was about to unload a great secret, or deliver a wisdom. Pari found herself leaning forward too, her hands interlaced. “For everything that you’ve survived and gone through, it hasn’t made you mean or cold. You’re too good, and you’ve worked too hard to get to where you are. Take it one day at a time. Scare yourself. Try something new. Nurture your own fire for a while, okay?”

“I’ll…” Pari stopped herself, realising she was about to tell the therapist she would try, but she knew even by herself that she needed more certainty going forward. A promise to herself that she would.

“I can do that.”
Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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>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.”
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