Season 1 Finale
“Thank you, I’ll be sure to let him know” Penny replies, the voice on the other end of the line thanking her for her time, a gentle tap of the screen ending her call. Mouth agape, Penny turns around to look at Avon, the man sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in his hands, only a smile greeting the woman. “Why is your publisher telling me you’re starting the book from scratch?” Penny asks, her arms crossed as she leans against the wall, looking at her husband. “Because I’m starting over from scratch” Avon responds, the mug gripped well between the palms of his hands, eyes squinting for a moment as he continues, “why, does ‘starting from scratch’ mean something else these days?” With a loud huff, Penny’s arms fall to her side, the woman turning toward the bedroom without another word, the gesture being one that Avon takes interest in. “You seem annoyed” Avon calls out, his playful expression having turned into intrigue, the woman not replying to his conclusions, her attention being given to the room at the end of the hall. “Pen?” Avon calls out, still sat at the table waiting for a response that doesn’t come, a small, yet present paranoia coming over the man, fueling a need to hear her response. “Penny?” Avon calls out once more, his body leaving the chair, carried down the hallway by his legs, which grow tense the longer a response is not offered. “Penny, I-” Avon calls out once more, turning into the couple’s shared bedroom to find the woman removing her shirt, the white tanktop being pulled by her crossed arms over her head. Turning to her husband, Penny looks on without a word, gesturing for a reason for why he followed her into the room. “I just… did” Avon replies, his response being broken into parts, the man not having much of an explanation himself. “Why do you care about the book?” Avon asks, the woman visibly shaking off the awkwardness of the encounter as she responds. “It’s the only thing you’ve been working on since Beth disappeared” Penny replies, tossing the white shirt into a hamper in the back of the room, “I figured you wouldn’t want to let all that work go to waste.” “Oh” Avon responds, tucking his hands into his pockets as his wife looks back at him, her eyelids raised as if she were questioning the short response. “Oh? That’s all? Just… Oh?” Penny replies, narrowing her eyelids at her husband’s sight. “I was just curious about why you found that odd, that’s all” Avon responds, shoulders lifting toward the sides of his neck, nodding toward the woman before departing the room. “Is something going on?” Penny calls out, waiting a few seconds before her husband returns to the room, asking her to repeat the question. “You’ve been really distant from me for the last week or so, focusing on your book and all” Penny replies, unfolding a second shirt in her hand, “is there something going on with you?” Pulling his lips shut, Avon stares off into his train of thought before shaking his head, “no, nothing that I can think of.” Eyelids lifted and mouth slightly ajar, Penny accepts the man’s response, no verbal response leaving her mouth, only a shrug being given from her shoulders. “Is there something that you think is going on?” Avon asks, the back and forth beginning to irk the woman, whose tone gets slightly more condescending, an antagonistic edge prevailing through her words. “You’re throwing away the only thing you’ve focused on all week, so yeah… Something feels off” Penny responds, Avon’s head jerking back. “Am I supposed to just forget about the woman that went missing and go back to being my usual self?” Avon asks, watching the woman throw a tight green shirt over her shoulders, “I don’t understand what you’re asking.” With a sigh, the woman pulls her hair from beneath her collar and looks into the mirror, attempting to throw away the conversation the way her husband intends to do so with the book. “Just forget it, it’s nothing important” Penny replies, reaching into the drawers of the vanity table as the man continues to speak. “No, it sounds like you’re getting at something and I want to know what” Avon responds, slowly walking toward the woman, looking at the reflection of her face in the mirror as she applies eyeliner. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, that’s all I’m getting at” Penny replies, head tilted upwards, “something seems off and I can notice it.” “There’s nothing off, I just want to portray a different side of the story” Avon responds, his tone having changed from confrontive to combative, “why does that have to be so confusing?” The return of the eyeliner brush to the bottle it was pulled from making a popping sound upon its return, Penny explains to the man that she was merely curious, attempting to end the conversation Avon becomes very willing to carry on. “You brought it up like there was something wrong with it and I want to know why” Avon explains, Penny walking away from the vanity with a brown jacket on, a small purse draped over her shoulder. “Can we please end this conversation?” Penny asks, her polite request masked by an aggravated tone, Avon refusing to do so as easily as she does. “No, I want to talk about this!” Avon replies, his voice getting louder as he follows his wife down the hallway, “are you mad at me or something?” “I’m going to get really mad if you keep insisting on having this conversation, Avon… So please, drop it” Penny responds, turning the corner to push her feet into the slip-on shoes left by the door. “Why is this such a big deal?” Avon asks, noting the tension between the two and her question having started the conversation to begin with, “this is escalating really quickly and that’s not happening for no reason.” In a moment, Penny suddenly turns around, a question leaving her lips before her eyes can even stumble upon her husband. “Were you hooking up with Beth?” Penny asks, the man pulling away in shock, the sudden raising of such an out-of-the-blue question catching him by surprise. “What?” Avon asks, his head leant forward, eyes squinted as if he were questioning his wife’s mental stability. “I get grieving, but we knew her for two and a half weeks and the two of you got really close before she vanished” Penny explains, now outright confronting her husband, “were you and Beth having sex?” Mouth wide open, Avon’s hand lifts to the side of his head, visually expressing the shock coming over him. “No, I never had sex with Beth, and I never gave it so much as even a thought” Avon replies, still unable to form his sentences without verbalizing his confusion. “Well Anne seems to think otherwise, and she brings up a few good reasons as to why” Penny responds, only further adding onto the loss for words Avon takes on in the moment. “Then Anne is a fucking idiot, Pen” Avon replies, walking forward before placing his hands on both of his wife’s arms, leaning his face closer to hers. “I would never look at another woman the way that I look at you” Avon explains, his voice soft, welcoming in a way that Penny can’t accommodate in the moment. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna be late” Penny responds, pulling her head away from Avon before her body follows suit, quickly walking through the door, slamming it shut behind her. “Honey!” Avon calls out before the house shakes from the door’s closing, a sigh leaving his mouth as the house suddenly becomes too small to house him. “Remedy Hills, you’re going to be the death of me” Avon mutters beneath his breath, head shaking from one side to another as he walks toward his back door. = Remedy Hills is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = “This guy is the closest thread we have to connect Rico Martinez to the killings, don’t go heating up that head of yours” Jake warns, Beau passing off the suggestion as just that. “I mean it Beau” Jake replies, the younger officer meeting the eyes of his older partner, “no screw ups.” “You’re not gonna get one” Beau responds, his face holding the poise of an officer with his career on the line, legacy dependent on one call he’s now confronted with making. “I know you won’t, partner” Jake replies, flashing the man a smile as his eyes return to the road, the massive hospital building just over the horizon. Their vehicle turning into the hospital parking lot, Jake and Beau emerge from the cruiser with their eyes zipping around the parking area. “Black van, over near the south entrance” Jake exclaims, finger pointed toward the vehicle mentioned in the note, a discovery that fuels Beau’s excitement to finally be pulling at the longest thread thus far. “Detective Beau Donovan radioing in” the sharp officer calls in, “we’ve got confirmation on a wanted fugitive at the Remedy Clinic.” “Plates match” Jake calls out, returning to his partner, hand placed upon his weapon. “Calling in for backup, fugitive is to be considered armed and dangerous” Beau explains, “it’s a heavily-populated area, please keep such status in mind.” With a deep breath, Beau looks to Jake, a smile refusing to hide behind his lips, “you ready?” “I’m ready to get this shit over with, that’s for sure” Jake responds, entering the emergency clinic beside his young partner. “Detective Jake Mansoor, this is my partner Detective Beau Donovan” Jake greets the front desk, “this building needs to be put under lock down as soon as possible, and we’re going to need to be pointed in the direction of Toga Tungovilla’s bed.” Their directions offered, the detectives advance as swiftly as the hospital staff does, their eyes glancing at every sign they walk across, only one set of words subjected to their attention. After a short few seconds, the pair arrive at their destination, staff already starting to conspicuously hurry into lockdown routine, Jake and Beau staring into a sea of open beds disrupted by the sight of one closed curtain. “That’s the one” Jake mutters beneath his breath, both he and Beau pulling their weapons, aim taken at the sectioned-off bed. Silently, Jake lifts one finger into the air, adding a second beside it with a third pending, both officers taking in a final breath before Jake tugs at the thin sheet. “Police, hands where we can see them!” Beau shouts, a man in a black suit once having stood over Tago’s injured body now caught by surprise, jolting back at the detective’s presence. Refusing to be taken into custody, the man reaches into his pocket, fingers failing to reach for a weapon before his jaw shifts the moment Jake’s pistol collides with his face, taking him to the floor, dazed and confused. “Kirk Brunei, you’re under arrest for escaping custody” Jake begins, reading the likely-concussed man his Miranda Rights as Beau watches on, noticing something peculiar about the man’s appearance. “If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you” Jake concludes, his name called for by his partner, who lifts one finger toward the man’s face. “What’s that on his lip?” Beau asks, Jake’s hand violently tugging at Kirk’s head, presenting the corner of his mouth to the younger officer, a dried-blue stain running down his chin. “Drink a bottle of food coloring?” Jake asks, mocking the criminal as he slumps upon his knees, nearly unconscious. “Let’s get this scumbag in the car” Jake calls to Beau, his request for assistance drowning out Kirk’s own muttered breaths, something which Beau notices. “Hold on!” Beau exclaims toward Jake, one hand raised toward the older detective, a question being raised toward the criminal, “what did you say?” His eyes barely opening, Kirk lifts his head toward the younger officer and uses his remaining strength to repeat his previous answer. “Poison” the escaped convict replies, beginning to seize almost on command, his body violently spasming in Jake’s grasp. “We’ve got a victim in here!” Jake shouts, calling for any on-duty medic as Beau’s attention is taken elsewhere, Kirk’s thrashing body being handed to the oncoming doctors. “Do you hear that?” Beau asks, looking toward a breathless Jake, the older officer still on his hands and knees, his deep breaths falling away to allow the faint sound of something beeping. “Where’s that noise coming from?” Beau wonders aloud, every machine registering Tago’s current health having been powered off long ago, no reasonable source of the sounds being immediately afforded to the baffled officers. Rummaging through the machines, Beau tries to locate the ever-quickening beeping sound, coming up short at every turn until Jake begins to speculate. “I think it’s coming from inside the patient” Jake exclaims, looking at Tago’s body as Beau checks for a pulse. “This guy’s dead, Jake” Beau responds, leaning into the body and pressing his ear to the chest, the faint beeping growing louder the closer he gets to the corpse. “Yeah, the beeping’s coming from inside…” Beau begins, stopping himself mid-sentence as he turns away from Jake, looking back at Tago, “...coming from inside the body.” His eyes wide, Beau darts his head back toward Jake, who figures out what’s going on in the same moment as his partner. “Everyone get out of the building!” Beau shouts, he and Jake dashing away from the emergency room, calling for the complete evacuation of the premises. | Fighting off the urge to fall asleep at the wheel, Beth keeps her car driving through the pouring rain, the terrible conditions and dark night sky coming as nothing to her. Despite the struggle to keep her eyes open without forcing them to remain apart, Beth’s focus remains largely awake, her eyes periodically glancing back at the set of headlights in her rear-view mirror. Shaking her head with her bottom lip held between her teeth, Beth refuses to stop, continuing to press her foot to the pedal, using the acceleration of her vehicle to keep herself in the moment. Each time her car would speed up, the vehicle behind her would do the same, the pace between the traveling souls behind their respective wheels remaining equally balanced. Dissatisfied, Beth takes the gesture a notch further, pressing further upon the gas pedal, veering across lanes without care upon the empty, soaked roadways. A grin on her face, Beth stares into the rear-view mirror with her eyes stolen by the headlights, flickering twice directly behind her. Without care over the rain, the life flooding through Beth’s veins begins to feel grander than it has since her attack, finger pressing the button allowing the windows to open, her interior becoming soaked. Throwing care into the wind, Beth presses further down upon the gas pedal, her middle finger raised into the rain as she challenges death to a staring contest, refusing to let her eyelids reconnect for another second. Wheels spitting water upon the vehicle behind her, Beth continues onwards, pressing her foot to the pedal until it hits the floor, rubber screeching upon the wet grounds, the headlights behind her now exclusively flickering on and off, trying to capture her attention. With a smile, Beth feels her body press against the cushions of her driver’s seat, the exceeding speed of the vehicle, now passing one hundred and ten miles per hour, forcing her into its cushioned embrace. Spinning the steering wheel when necessary, Beth continues to zip through each lane with reckless abandon, the following vehicle falling further behind with each glance she takes at the rear-view mirror. Everything else being dulled down, Beth’s eyes widen as her eyes remain fixated on the road ahead, only the sound of her own breaths registering with her brain. Feeling less restrained than she ever has before, not an inkling of fear surrounds her, all reasons she’s ever held to feel weighed down in life lifting with each tick higher on the odometer. With a smile, Beth continues to rest her foot upon the gas pedal, the steering wheel becoming noticeably harder to control. Instinctively, Beth removes her foot from the gas, placing it upon the floor as her eyes latch onto the steering device gripped tightly within her palms, fear beginning to creep back in as the odds swing drastically within the grim reaper’s favor. Rain still sneaking in through the open slot in her door, Beth loses all control of her vehicle, the speed declining substantially as her wheels scream across the ground. Spinning in the opposite direction, the metal husk surrounding the woman now rips through the air directly toward a concrete barrier, the acceptance of her impending crash bringing a haunting relief over the woman. With a deep breath, time begins to slow, and every move Beth makes begins to feel like an eternity, her eyes closing tightly as she grabs at whatever she can, bracing for impact as her vehicle slams into the wall, mangling itself and destroying the stone structure. Catching up to the shredded corpse of Beth’s car, the following vehicle screeches to a halt, sliding across the wet ground before parking in the middle of the road. Exiting his vehicle, Harlington races up to the side of the mangled husk, climbing atop anything solid enough to stand upon and looking into whatever remains inside. “Beth!” Harlington shouts, continuing to call the woman’s name without success, the emergency system programmed into the car calling for help amidst his pleas. With a grunt, Harlington returns to his car and pops the hood, removing a crowbar from beneath a blanket and returning to the car. Stealing the two license plates first, Harlington begins to take the tool to the bludgeoned metal, ripping away at the vehicle’s exterior before stumbling upon a hand, the bruised knuckles flopping out of the unrecognizable window like a dead fish. Continuing to pry at the husk, Harlington creates an opening big enough to rip a heavily-injured Beth from the driver’s seat, a pulse present in her body, giving the man hope. “Why the hell couldn’t you slow down, Beth!?” Harlington asks the woman’s unconscious body, trying to figure out a backup plan until sirens arise from the near-distance. “Okay, sorry for the invasion of privacy, Beth” Harlington exclaims, pulling the woman up by the waist and carrying her into his car. Glancing at each end of the highway, Harlington finds the source of the faint, flashing police lights and returns to his car, Beth’s body tossed carelessly into his backseat. “Why can’t you make things easier on the two of us?” Harlington asks the woman, still obtaining no response. Clearing in an instant, the rain ceases, and a heavy fog comes over the highway before the police cruisers can come into view, the display putting an instant smile upon the man’s face. “Thanks for looking over us, Remedy” Harlington exclaims, putting the vehicle in drive and driving on, cautiously advancing forward as his headlights pierce the dense sight-obscurer. | “And you just left?” Anne asks, Penny throwing her arms out by her side without an argument for otherwise. “What else was I supposed to do?” Penny shouts back, fighting with the music to ensure her voice prevails, “I opened a can of worms that I couldn’t close back up, there was nothing I could do other than walk away!” Shaking her head, Anne takes another sip of her drink before quietly glancing back toward the woman, her eyebrows furrowed with curiosity. “So do you believe him?” Anne asks, Penny looking back at her, strangely not having expected that question, “I mean, what do you think?” Looking away, Penny scratches at the back of her neck, unable to maintain eye contact as she considers the options afforded to her. “I don’t believe he would be having an affair” Penny replies, feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, returning her eyes to those of her friend’s, “I know who he is, and I know he wouldn’t do that.” Nodding, Anne accepts the woman’s answer, lifting her glass into the air as she waits for Penny to do the same. “To trusting Avon” Anne exclaims, a gesture which puts a smile on Penny’s face, the woman tapping her glass upon her friend’s. “Two ladies sitting alone at a bar?” a man randomly exclaims, he and his friend taking seats beside each woman, “it must be a good sign for us.” Shaking his head, a second man, this one sat beside Penny, apologizes for his friend’s introduction. “I think he’s had enough to drink to be comfortable, but not enough to warrant being kicked out” the friendlier man explains, his hand being extended toward Penny, “I’m Poe, that’s Ryan.” Appreciative of Poe’s kind redemption of his friend’s sloppy greeting, Penny reciprocates the hand shake, Anne doing the same for the muscular physique of his buzzed friend. “The two of you live in Remedy, or are you coming in from out of town?” Poe inquires, starting the conversation off light. “I’ve lived here since I was born, but went to medical school in Chicago” Anne responds, her eyes turning toward Penny, “my friend here moved in recently.” “Oh, you’re the new girl?” Poe asks, a question which brings upon a shy demeanor from Penny, the woman beginning to fear being covered in the booze of an angry resident. “I don’t mean to treat you like that, I hate what they’re doing to you guys up there” Poe explains, a still-reluctant Penny smiling at the man’s understanding response, voicing her appreciation. “So you already know that I’m married, right?” Penny clarifies, the man assuring her that he isn’t intending on making an advance. “It seems like they’re getting along pretty well” Poe says, he and Penny watching the flirtatious banter between Anne and Ryan, “I’m just looking to make conversation with a much less drunk friend.” “Well, I guess you have your less drunk fri-” Penny replies, stopped the moment a thunderous crash resonates from beyond the bar’s walls, the music having been completely overtaken by the sounds of terrified screaming. The entire complex shaking, the intermingling foursome hold onto whatever they can find, cautiously emerging from the embrace of their surroundings once the ground settles down. “The sky is on fire!” a voice shouts from the entrance, the doors open to release the inhabitants of the bar onto the streets beyond, a crowd emerging onto the sidewalks. “Excuse me!” Beth shouts, pulling Anne through the crowd as Ryan and Poe follow alongside, helping to part the crowd until they emerge at the front of it. Over the treeline, the sky glows a brilliant orange as a massive fireball encompasses the distance, car alarms blaring as shattered glass litters the streets. From their purses, Penny and Anne remove their beepers, their presence being called for by a single pair of words that bring horror over their faces. “Code green, all presence needed” the pagers read, Penny and Anne staring at each other with their eyes wide, hesitating for a moment before running off to their vehicles. | Sliding his back door open, Avon emerges onto his porch, leaning over his railing with his eyes placed upon the treeline, a massive plume of orange-highlighted smoke billowing into the air. No expression on his face, Avon stares coldly at the billowing sight of destruction, eyelids pulling closer together as his eyes drop lower. With a huff, Avon approaches his staircase, stepping onto the soft grass with his bare feet before switching on the spotlights. Nodding to himself, Avon looks out at the one figure standing at the point where the woodlands end and his backyard begins. Not taking another step, Avon stares down the criminal, refusing to make the first move, instead leaning against the side of his porch. Silent, Avon stares out at the man, not moving another muscle as his eyes continue refusing to stray. From the distance, the lone wanderer steps forward calmly, both hands held by his side, refusing to move them. Taking this as the gesture he was looking for, Avon gives in, stepping away from his porch with the intent of meeting the man halfway. The grass slipping between his toes, Avon’s impending encounter mirrors nothing of the scene surrounding him, a luscious embrace of nature challenged by the breaching of chaos and anonymity. Taking his final step, Avon allows the figure to come to him, a gesture which the mysterious man beneath the mask doesn’t take liking to, but obliges to in sincerity. “Am I going to get an answer to my question now? Am I going to be executed? Am I going to find out who you are?” Avon asks, the figure waiting to reply out of respect for the man’s cooperation, “what is this, and why are you choosing to do it under these circumstances?” Raising one hand, the figure slowly slips the second into his long trench coat, removing a disc from within, a few pieces of paper taped to the cover of the case. “I’ve heard you’re intending to write a different side of the story” the figure responds, its voice soft and empathetic in comparison to what Avon had been expecting, not an ounce of evil carried behind it, “we’d suggest you look into this before you get to work.” “What is it?” Avon replies, his eyes looking toward the case before returning to the figure, the cloaked man stood directly beneath the distant sight of the billowing flames. “In two words...” the figure responds, taking two steps forward before removing his mask, his identity being offered to Avon, and Avon exclusively, “...the truth.” Slipping the mask over his face once more, the figure turns away from the subject of his visit and returns to the place in which his flock would normally occupy, leaving a confused Avon standing in the center of his lawn with the group’s version of a deranged goodie bag. Returning to the woodlands, the figure leaves Avon behind, the man’s eyes glancing back toward the fire for a moment before vanishing into the night. In a moment intended to be sincere, the figure nods toward Avon, turning away for the final time before reuniting with the darkness, Avon’s head tilting down to his newly-uncovered writing material. Walking back to his home, Avon turns back toward the woodlands with the spotlights powered off, taken away once more by the sight of the billowing smoke before sliding the door shut. Turning back to his laptop, Avon takes a seat at his table and stares into the screen, pages upon pages documented before his eyes. Turning back toward the notes and video collection, Avon takes a deep breath and highlights every word he’s typed since entering town, a light blue glow looming over every character. With one swipe, Avon presses two keys, one in the bottom left corner, and the other in the top right corner, wiping them from the screen and reuniting himself with a blank canvas. == Remedy Hills ==
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Brakes squealing, Beth emerges from her vehicle in the parking lot of a diner, the spaces mostly open aside from a select view, most of which occupy the vehicles of diner employee’s. Entering the building, Beth stares out at the dining room to find the tables mostly unoccupied, early-50’s music drifting through the building, the only thing on her mind continuing to be the food-depraved stomach growling for her attention.
Taking a seat at the back of the restaurant, Beth pulls a menu away from a setup near the side of the table and allows her eyes to fall over the various items available for purchase. Aside from an old man and a middle-aged woman, both of which being the length of the diner away from her, the restaurant is empty, the few workers performing their duties easily outnumbering the number of patrons. Pressing her finger to her lips, Beth hears the kitchen door swing open, footsteps tapping along the linoleum floor, each new tap bringing the person closer toward her. “Welcome, are you ready to order?” the waitress inquires, a pot of coffee already having been brought out from the back, a mug half-filled before Beth can even remove her eyes from the menu. “Sure, I’ll have the french toast to start” Beth replies, watching the coffee continue to run from the pot, “and a water, please?” “Certainly!” the waitress responds, hurrying to the back with the coffee pot in hand, Beth’s eyes following the woman as her hand guides the menu back to its original placement. Instinctively, both the woman’s eyes and hands return to the coffee mug, placing her fingers around the smooth sides of the cup as she stares into the flavorless brew. Looking toward the kitchen, Beth waits for the waitress to return through the doors before quickly scurrying to the bathroom. Inside, Beth tosses the coffee down the sink and hurries back to her table, returning to her seat with the empty cup placed back upon the ceramic plate. Fixing her hair, Beth stares off at the restaurant window, her eyes having fallen over the sight by accident, her attention quickly being stolen away by the familiar face staring back at her, no expression coming along with it, just semi-wide eyes and a weird posture. “Here’s your water” the waitress exclaims, placing the cup down as she glances back toward the mug, “would you like more coffee, dear?” Looking away from the window, Beth eyes the waitress apologetically, politely refusing her offer, the waitress returning to the kitchen as Beth looks back toward the window. Fingers creeping up her arm, Beth picks at the elastic band around her wrist, pulling it back and releasing it, allowing the rubber to smack her inner wrist with a small sting. “This isn’t a dream” Beth mutters to herself, hands lifting to her face and pulling at her skin, the tension in her facial muscles being relieved as the window-figure makes his first steps toward the front door. “You’re not going crazy, just settle down and let’s see where this goes” Beth continues to whisper to herself, trying to shake the feeling that she’s on something resembling a hallucinogenic trip as the man walks through the door, the bells overhead ringing as he enters. “Is this seat taken?” the man asks, an anxious Beth keeping her true fears well-hidden, treating the interaction as if it were an everyday occurrence. “By all means, make yourself at home” Beth replies, her hand held toward the empty seat, an amused younger man voicing his appreciation for her hospitality. “Are you gonna tell me why you’re following me?” Beth asks, reaching for her cup before the man stops her, taking the hard plastic shell into his own hand before taking a swig. “No, I’m not” the man says with a smile, the water running down his throat as Beth looks on, the expression on her face coming across annoyed. “Why are you here then, Mr…?” Beth asks, stumbling over the man’s name, waiting for him to repeat it graciously. “Harlington… Harlington Spears” the man responds, Beth’s recitement of his name preceding the repetition of her original question. “I’m here because I’m stalking you” Harlington replies, not concealing his intentions for a mere moment, refusing to be anything but honest. “More specifically, I’m here because I’m being paid to stalk you” the man clarifies, clearing his throat as he retrieves a bundle of papers all clipped together, gently placing them in the center of the table facing his younger subject. “I’ve been following you since you left Remedy Hills” Harlington explains, ruffling through the multiple photographs. “Who’s paying you to stalk me, Harlington?” Beth inquires, a sadistic grin coming over the man on the opposite side of the table. “You know I’m not going to tell you that” Harlington responds, watching the woman’s head nod at the refusal to answer her question, “but I will tell you that it’s the same people that want you back in Remedy Hills the most… They just wanna keep up with your little… ventures… beyond the borders.” “I”m happy to hear that I’m in such high demand” the woman replies, feigning the same laughter as Harlington, who looks toward her with delight. “So you’ve got pictures of me leaving Remedy, pictures of me out of Remedy, so on and so forth” Beth explains, pulling away from the table to lean in her seat, eyes not leaving Harlington for a split second, “why come up to me in a diner and tell me all of that rather than keep yourself on the down-low?” Taking another swig from the cup of water, Harlington soothes his throat before revealing the woman’s true feelings of the interaction to be of his conscious thought. “You’re scared of all of this… You’re scared I’m going to hurt you” Harlington responds, watching the woman’s face sour, “I knew it the moment you jolted your hand away from the cup once I took it… I give you props for doing so well in concealing it… But you didn’t do well enough.” Picking at his teeth, Harlington pulls the photograph of the woman staring at the music box from the night before, his fingertip placed near her wide eyes. “No one wakes up in the middle of the night unless they have a reason to not be too fast-asleep” Harlington explains, “so either you’re kicking a caffeine bug, you had a nightmare, or perhaps both… Either way, it all brings on the same thing.” “Which is?” Beth replies under her breath, voice getting raspy as she cuts the man off, his smile beginning to anger her. “Which is… They both lead you back to Remedy Hills” Harlington responds, leaning forward to give the woman a wink, “after all… That’s how this story always ends… The flock always flies back home.” Not liking the tone of the conversation, Beth pulls herself away from the table, staring down the man as she throws a new bag over her shoulder and walks away. “Don’t go too far now, Ms. Ovorre!” Harlington calls back, his departing words being offered to the woman as she leaves the restaurant with a head of steam, the waitress just now bringing out her breakfast. “Did she leave?” the waitress asks, her eyes falling upon the polite man, photos returned to his bag, clipped and all. “She most certainly did, my dear” Harlington replies, removing his wallet from his back pocket as Beth’s car audibly drives off, “check, please.” = Remedy Hills is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = “He’s pretending she didn’t exist” Penny responds, Anne looking toward her with one eyebrow raised, the notion unable to be anything other than odd to her. “I’m sorry, he’s what?” Anne replies, concerned and lost in translation, prompting Penny to clarify. “He’s worried and concerned, but there’s nothing he can do about any of this” Penny responds, a thin sheet being folded on top of itself in her hands, “he’s just trying to move on before it brings him to a much darker place.” “A much darker place?” Anne proceeds to recite, watching the unamused woman turn to her with a frown, Anne apologizing for her repetition habit. “A ‘much darker place’ suggests he’s already in a dark place to begin with” Anne replies, leant against the accumulation of lockers beside her, watching over Penny like a parent watching their children do their chores, “how bad is it?” Tossing the folded sheet into a bin with countless others, Penny plants her hands upon her hips and stares at a wall, her head shaking before offering an answer. “It’s not that good” Penny responds, her head turning toward her apologetic coworker, “when he’s stressed, or angry, he’ll just bury himself in his writing… This isn’t the first time he’s done it.” “How do you cope with it then?” Anne asks, Penny confused by the question, “I mean, if he buries himself in his writing, what do you bury yourself in?” Puckering her lips, Penny looks around the room, leaning over to pick up the folded sheet, holding it before the woman. “I show up at work and do my job” Penny replies, flashing a half-hearted smile as a knock originates from the other side of the door. Opening the door, Clark enters the room with a smile, greeting both women before looking toward Penny, a clipboard in his hand. “I probably should have paged you, but I figured I’d do it in person on the way back to my office” Clark explains, handing the board off to the woman, “there’s a patient, recovering from a stab wound in the E.R, he said he explicitly wanted you to work on him.” “Thanks for letting me know” Penny responds, taking the clipboard into her hands and reading over the report, Clark looking back to Anne, who stares at him with a wide smile. “How’s it going, Mr. Dashing?” Anne asks, her flirting coming off as playful as usual, Clark playing along with the joke. “Are you sure he’s asking for me?” Penny asks, looking away from the clipboard and back to Clark, puzzled. “He asked for Penny King” Clark replies, offering as much information as he was given, “didn’t say why, but he’s definitely asking for you, Penny King.” Shrugging, Penny tosses the sheet in her opposite hand into the basket, leaving the room to Anne and Clark, her feet taking her toward the larger facilities. “Tago Tungovilla?” Penny calls out, looking into the crowded room to find no answer awaiting her, a small cluster of doctors huddled at the back of the room paying her no mind. “Excuse me?” Penny calls out to the doctors, one of which pulling away to answer her inquiry, “I’m sorry, I was asked for by Tago Tungovilla?” Silently, the doctor points the woman toward a curtained-off bed, an appreciative Penny nodding in her direction as she steps toward the restricted scene. Without a worry, Penny grabs at the sheet dividing her from the patient and pulls it in, the metal tracks riding along the bar above with each inch, almost sounding like ripping paper. “Tago?” Penny calls out, the man slowly turning his head toward the woman, his body beaten and bruised, multiple stab wounds sported on his chest and abdomen. “I’m here, doc” Tago responds, his words faint, muttered beneath his breath as the woman enters the premises, laying the clipboard upon the nightstand beside the patient’s head. “I was told that you asked for me” Penny explains, standing beside the man with her hands by her hips, “what can I help you with?” Sniffling, Tago looks away from the woman, his hand adjusting the wires around his neck to make it easier to speak. “Look under the bed” Tago whispers, each word becoming more difficult to speak the more he does. “You want me to-” Penny repeats, confused until she looks down, her hand placed against the mattress to support her weight, eyes peering beneath the bed to find a yellow legal pad and marker awaiting her. “Pick them up” Tago whimpers, the woman glancing back at him for a moment before doing as told, returning to her prior stance with the pad and paper in hand. “Close the curtains” Tago requests, the woman beginning to follow her instructions the moment they’re made, having begun to feel like this request has nothing to do with medical needs. “I need you to write something down for me… and for you” Tago explains, still struggling to speak, “and then you need to get the hell out of here.” Eyes leaving the paper, Penny stares at the man, his expression holding an apologetic look, the plea in his eyes for her to cooperate serving as the only emotion he can show. Nodding to herself, Penny looks around the room before biting the marker cap off, placing it on the back of the writing stick, and preparing to take notes. | Breath billowing from his mouth, a well-disguised Avon, covered beneath what seems like mountains of winter layers, travels the streets of Remedy Hills, only one destination on his mind. One foot in front of the other, the rubber soles of the man’s boots kick the rocksalt along the paved sidestreets, every end to one side of the walkway leading to another corner to turn. Finally stumbling upon a more familiar spot, Avon’s pace slows, one foot pausing for a moment as the other slowly takes the proceeding step, his head turned toward the complex his heart had been set upon. Continuing to walk, slowly but surely, Avon turns away from the continuous walkway and faces Remedy Hills’ library, his head turning from one side to another, knowing himself to be out of anyone else’s sight. With a nod, Avon proceeds forward, hand reaching toward the library handle and pulling in, the bells above chiming the moment the door parts far enough, remains of the interior scattered throughout. “They sure did a number on your place, Beth” Avon mutters to himself, looking at the messy insides before turning back to the door, the lipstick wording still sported on the front door. “Gone” Avon mutters to himself, reading the word despite its mirrored appearance, eyes returning to the empty interior, a once warm home away from home now feeling colder than anything outside. Switching on a light, Avon illuminates the interior before setting his coat upon a rack just beside the door, his sleeves being rolled up as he prepares to get to work. Collecting one book after another into a basket, Avon sorts the novels in alphabetical order, returning them to the condition they were left in, doing his act to restore similarity. “Shoplifting?” an older man inquires, his voice startling Avon in the moment, the much younger man, still armed with a basket full of books, easing the sudden surprise with a laugh. “Not exactly” Avon replies, glancing back at the book-filled basket, “just restoring the place to the way it used to be.” With a nod, the man takes Avon’s polite response as a sign that he is of no harm, walking further into the building from a back room, eyes squinted. “You’re Avon King?” the man asks, the statement sounding like a question, one which prompts the author, younger-by-comparison, to flash a smile. “I am, yes” the man responds, watching the elderly, yet nimble man extend his hand, greeting the successful writer. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. King” the man replies, the wrinkles on his hands telling the story of a man who’s seen his fair share of grief, “I’m Donald McArthur.” With a nod, Avon assures the man that the pleasure is all his, prompting the inquiry to the man’s presence. “I own the property” Donald responds, a statement that surprises the younger gentleman, “Beth’s father left the property in my name and the rights to the library in Beth’s… He wanted to make sure no one would screw her over.” “I find it difficult to think they’d find much luck to begin with” Avon replies, both men smiling at the warm-hearted nature of the conversation. “May I ask what it is that you’re doing here?” Donald proceeds, leaving the man to glance down at his basket of books again. “Beth kept all of her books in alphabetical order” Avon responds, his smile having fallen from one of pleasantry to one of sorrow, “I wanted to put them back where they belong now that the place has been cleared.” Puckering his lips, Donald nods to himself, hands folded behind his back as he walks further into the building, head tilted toward the ground as Avon watches him. “What you’re doing is very kind, and it is very appreciated” Donald replies, his feet carrying him to the empty seat behind Beth’s desk, “but I’m afraid my worst fears would lead me to believe it is a gesture that bears no matter.” His own head hung, Avon nods to himself, watching the older man take Beth’s vacant seat with his hands placed firmly upon the desktop, his saddened eyes glancing over the scattered belongings. “Were the two of you close?” Donald calls out, an embarrassed Avon scratching the back of his head as he answers. “As close as you can get to someone in two and a half weeks” Avon responds, a smirk coming on his face as an amused Donald turns back toward him. “She liked you a lot more than the town, huh?” Donald asks, Avon not needing to answer the question for the truth to be understood. “She’s just such a better person than I would expect anyone to be” Avon replies, his eyes taken by the books once more, his head shaking from one side to another, “it meant a lot then, and it still means a lot now… It’s mostly missed now, but it still means as much as it did.” “Connections happen quickly” Donald says with a deep breath, turning his chair toward the desk once more, seeing the way it was left and refusing to touch a thing. “Most people that claim to be good people, obviously aren’t good people, and it’s easy to see that rather quickly” Donald explains, a hurt smile coming over his face as a tear rolls down his cheek, “but the real good people are the ones you don’t question… There’s just something inside you that says ‘they are who they say they are’.” Nodding in agreement, Avon steps away from the bookshelves and takes the seat beside Beth’s desk, resting the basket upon the floor. “The people that did this… That I assume did this… Did this because of me” Avon admits, watching Donald’s face turn toward confusion, the older man refusing to interrupt the accomplished writer, “They’ve been trying to run my wife and I out of town since we drove in. They hadn’t really struck any nerve until, well, until this.” His head shaking, Donald refuses, “no they didn’t” the man says, watching Avon quiet himself down, listening to every word Donald has to offer. “The people that did this did it because they’re evil… They’re the opposite of Beth” Donald explains, “I don’t care what the motivations behind it are… The people that did this did it because that’s who they are. No one, not you or anyone else, deserves to be responsible for that weight except for the people responsible.” His head shaking, Avon continues to refuse the notion, Donald doubling down his statement the moment he watches Avon’s head swing. “I know you’re a writer, and I can tell you write from a place of pain, believe you me, I understand that completely” Donald explains, one hand removing itself from the desk, finding a place on Avon’s shoulder, “but this is one pain that you don’t get the right to carry.” His own hands folded in his lap, Avon looks back up toward the older man with his head shaking, refusing to remove the responsibility from his shoulder. “I told her I would be there for her… A way she didn’t have since her father died” Avon explains, a tear beginning to form in his eye, though refusing to leave the cusp of his eyelid, “and when it came to keeping my word, I couldn’t.” With an amused smile, Donald shakes his head in refusal once more, not allowing the blame to remain on Avon’s shoulders for any longer than he’s known him. “If you could have, you would have… And you know that, even if you don’t want to give yourself credit for it” Donald responds, telling Avon to look him in the eyes when he speaks, “don’t hold what you can’t control against yourself… That’s where that pain stops being earned, and instead, becomes self-inflicted.” With a deep breath, Avon looks away from Donald, his eyes peering toward the still-graffitied door before turning back to the older man, accepting the truth, the bitter pill that it is, with a nod. “Okay” Donald says, patting Avon on the shoulder before leaving the desk, his body turning back to the office in the rear of the building, “it seems like you’ve got a lot of organizing to do, Mr. King.” With a smile, Avon wipes the still-cusped tear from his eye with a nod, picking his basket up and returning to the piles of novels, only one pain on his heart for the moment. | “You good in there?” Jake asks, his fist tapping against the door as water drips from Beau’s face, one hand reaching for the knob on the faucet whilst the other pulls a few sheets of paper towels. “I’m good” Beau replies, emerging from the bathroom to take a seat at his desk, Jake following after him with concern. “It really doesn’t seem like you are” Jake responds, taking his own seat as he speaks, “this case is not going to solve itself overnight.” “Okay, let’s get this straight… It’s not been one night, it’s been two and a half weeks” Beau replies, staring harshly at his partner, “and second off… I don’t think we’re even investigating the same case we started two and a half weeks ago anymore, so what the hell are we even doing?” “We’re trying to figure out who’s antagonizing the King’s, in case you haven't gotten that yet” Jake responds, matching Beau’s tone with an equally-harsh one of his own. “You’re getting really testy now, and I’ll be honest, it’s starting to get on my nerves” Jake explains, Beau’s hands pulling at his face, falling back to the table at Jake’s warning. “There hasn’t been a case like this since the murders thirteen years ago, Jake” Beau replies, “of course I’m testy, this is a big deal.” “We both know how big of a deal this is, that doesn’t need to be disputed” Jake responds, “but the fact that you keep pulling every loose thread to a place it doesn’t fit is one that concerns me.” With laughter, Beau leans back into his seat, both arms placed at the sides of his chair as his face dawns an amused smirk. “I’m concerning you?” Beau replies, his words being phrased as a question, “I’m the only one actually pulling the right thread from time to time, and I’m concerning you?” “Yeah, you are” Jake responds, Beau shaking his head, eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, a sudden moment allowing Beau to stand from his seat. “What are you doing?” Jake asks, his tone coming off tired, watching Beau walk toward the interrogation rooms with his finger curling, gesturing for his older partner to follow him into the depths of the building. With a sigh, Jake does as suggested, the younger detective leading him into a room and shutting off every mic, his first move being to take a seat for himself. “We’ve got theories, we’ve got suspects, and we’re doing nothing with them” Beau explains, his hands waving through the air to illustrate his point, “I don’t care how this case progresses as long as it does, I care that we have everything we need to start doing actual work on this case, and we’re doing nothing with it.” “We have people! Names, if anything, and none of those connect anywhere” Jake explains, watching Beau’s head sink once more, “until we have the line that pulls them together, we have nothing more than dead bodies and targets.” Rolling his eyes, Beau points his hand toward the barricaded window, reminding Jake of the people walking the streets as of this moment. “Steyson and Kerryon, what do they have in common? They both were held at the same prison as Rico Martinez… They both escaped from the same prison as Rico Martinez!” Beau explains, “are you looking for a line? Because, if so, that line you’re looking for is Rico Martinez.” With a deep breath, Jake looks away from Beau, his eyes traveling to the corner of the room, no feasible response coming to mind in the moment. “I can tell you know it, too” Beau chirps, watching Jake’s eyes dart back toward him, the answer still failing to come to mind, nothing more than a nod of agreement coming from the older detective. “Until we can link something concrete between the sides, it’s still circumstantial” Jake replies, shrugging at his partner, “there’s nothing I can do.” With a sigh, Beau looks up and shakes his head, hands folded in his lap until he leaps from his chair, hurrying for the door. “Donovan!” Jake shouts, calling out to the younger officer as he storms back into the inner precinct, watching Beau come to a stop the moment he emerges from the hallway. “What are you do-” Jake begins to question, his focus leaving Beau the moment he notices Penny stood at their collective desks, a legal pad in her hand. “Is there reward money for leading you to the right person?” Penny asks, watching a hopeful Beau slowly walk toward his desk, hands folded as he prays for something of value. “I’m sure our chief can get you a lollipop if you ask nicely, Mrs. King” Jake humors, following Beau to the woman, who smiles in their direction. Not wasting another moment, Penny lays the legal pad upon the desk, watching Beau and Jake’s faces light up as they read the writing atop it. “She might buy you dinner now, while you’re at it!” Jake says with a smile, Beau looking back at his partner with a nod. “Is that the line you were talking about?” Beau asks, watching Jake’s smile refuse to be restrained by his lips. “That’s a good enough line for me” Jake responds, patting Beau on the shoulder before preparing himself for a visit to the local prison. | Taking the first exit off the highway, Beth stares into her rear-view mirror, eyes unable to stop looking back at the same car that had been following her for miles. Shaking her head, Beth continues to drive through the various streets, none of which concealing much from the view of drivers, her intentions not to lose the man, but rather, to find somewhere populated. Stumbling across a busy restaurant, her stomach still growling from the morning, Beth pulls into the parking lot and waits in her car for the following vehicle to occupy the spot beside her. With a sigh, Beth powers her engine down and emerges from her car, hands falling into her pockets as Harlington is soon to follow her lead. “You could make an effort to be less-noticeable” Beth calls out, the frustration in her voice more noticeable than the stalker’s presence was. “There’s no fun in all of that” Harlington replies, spinning his keys on his finger, taking in the sweet smells of freshly-made burgers. “I’m not a danger to you, rather, I’m just a nuisance” Harlington explains, tucking his camera away in a bag by his side, removing the wallet from his back pocket. “No thanks, I’m good” Beth responds, taking her place in line, the eccentric man following closely behind. “Seriously, it’s the least I can do after all of this” Harlington replies, taken aback by the woman’s response, his eyes leaving his wallet as she quickly chirps back. “Don’t stand here and pretend to be some stand-up citizen” Beth orders, reaching into her bag for her own wallet, “you know damn well what you’re doing, and you know it’s wrong… You don’t get to make amends for it.” Squinting, Harlington assures the woman that he’s not trying to be a stand-up anything, his wallet still tightly-clutched between his fingers. “I’m not going to do a morally bountiful thing, no… You’re correct in that regard” Harlington explains, standing directly beside the woman as the line grows shorter, “that said, there’s a good chance you’d never return to Remedy Hills without me, so what I’m doing- as harsh as it is- is necessary.” Annoyed, Beth turns toward the man and swings her hand through the air, her stalker quick to duck the failed attempt at a physical assault, refusing to lift a finger in her direction. “Why do you want me to go back to Remedy Hills so desperately?” Beth asks, the good question having evaded her up to this point, “what’s so important about that to you? I’ve never even met you before!” With a nod, Harlington assures the woman that she is correct, only to make it a point that she recalls why she never left. “You’ve always considered it your home… I don’t need to know you personally to see that” Harlington explains, “what Remedy Hills is… It’s so much more than you could ever think.” Concerned, the woman looks toward her stalker with worried eyes, a strange feeling beginning to consume her. “What do you mean by that?” Beth asks, Harlington keeping his eyes away from her, wishing to make the conversation appear as if it were nothing abnormal. “I mean… Remedy Hills is alive” Harlington responds, partially turning his face toward the woman with a smile, “and you, Beth, are part of what keeps its heart beating.” Lips parting, Beth has no intention of speaking, staring at the man as if he were delusional, Harlington’s focus being redirected to the dissipating line ahead of them. “We’re next in line” Harlington mutters, gently brushing his elbow against Beth’s arm, grinning from one ear to another as he approaches the counter. “What can I get for you today?” the cashier asks, Harlington leading the conversation, Beth simply watching him without anything to say. == Remedy Hills == Staring blankly into his computer screen, Avon loses track of time, his mind wandering into dark places, fingers typing out a few pointless words on his screen, only to be erased moments later, time after time again. Pushing the front door in, Penny looks off into the depths of her home, finding her husband still sat where she left him earlier in the day, the dark sky having overcome the backyard just beyond him.
“Avon, it’s been a week” Penny says aloud, Avon’s posture remaining unchanged, the woman’s coat falling from her shoulders as she calls for his attention once more. “I heard you the first time” Avon replies, his gaze unwavering, eyes still pressed upon the screen as further words leave his lips. “She got up and left in the middle of the night and hasn’t been heard since” Avon explains, pushing himself away from the table and slamming his laptop shut, “we know what happened.” Leaning against the wall, Penny watches her husband walk into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee, the concern she holds only outmatched by curiosity toward what’s becoming of her husband. “We don’t know anything for sure” Penny responds, Avon stopping his progress in the kitchen, the glass pot held in his hand as a mug dangles from the other, head hung toward the ground at the sound of his wife’s refusal. “They spray painted the word ‘gone’ at the library for the whole town to see” Avon replies, his eyes turning over his shoulder to look back at the woman, “they came back to finish the job with me… And now they did the same with her.” Starting the brew, Avon leaves the kitchen, his feet taking him to the depths of their home just as Penny’s phone begins to buzz, her eyes lowering to the screen. “I’m heading out again, I’ll see you soon” Penny calls out, throwing her jacket back on as her dismissive husband tells her to have fun, the front door slamming shut angrily as she walks out of it. Car screeching to a halt outside the local tavern, Penny emerges from her vehicle with her eyes set on one woman sat at the door, a smile being offered the moment eyes connect. “I’m glad you could make it!” Anne calls out with a smile, her arms held open, awaiting an embrace. “I’m glad I had a spare dress in the car” Penny responds, feigning her delight, a gesture which Anne notices immediately. “Let’s get a drink” Anne replies, disguising her curiosity with a need for inebriation. Two shots running down their throats, Anne and Penny get comfortable, the night beginning to feel young, it’s one leg in the grave returning to ground-level. “What’s going on, Pen?” Anne asks, breaking the ice with the vaguest question she can think of, already knowing the answer she’ll receive. “Coming down from a long day of work, what about you?” Penny responds, the vagueness of her response intentional. “Trying to treat a friend who’s clearly got something on her mind to drink and a night on the town” Anne replies, her head resting against her hand, “did you and the hubby get into a fight?” Beginning to flash a playful smile, Penny’s expression suddenly falls into a less enthused face, head shaking as the music continues to blare throughout the building, dulling their voices. “Avon’s not handling it any better than he was last week” Penny responds, Anne nodding at the reply, almost as if she expected such a result. “I don’t know what you were expecting, Pen” Anne replies, lifting a third drink to her lips with a shrug, “they got along really quickly.” Squinting, Penny looks toward the woman with confusion, requesting she clarify what she’s trying to get across. “Don’t get me wrong, I think men can be friends with women, but…” Anne begins, stopping herself mid-sentence, trying to find a gingerly way to phrase her point, “...but not like that.” Lost in translation, Penny reminds Anne that she’s not being any less vague now than she was before, a statement that allows Anne the freedom to remove the training wheels from her point. “I find it really odd that he befriended her so quickly” Anne responds, both hands lifting into the air, a show of surrender, “I’m not trying to ruin your marriage or anything, just pointing out some really strange stuff.” Looking away, Penny shakes her head, unable to find adequate words to respond to Anne’s statement with, feeling herself going to battle with her inner thoughts. “Alright, I’ll keep my mouth shut about it from here on out” Anne exclaims, waving her hands in the air with an understanding of where their conversation is leading, not wanting to prod at the issue too heavily. “Just know, that I’m genuinely trying to look out for you” Anne continues, one hand laid against Penny’s arm, fingers the last to pull away as Anne’s hand returns to her drink. Looking away from the woman, Penny thinks to herself, thoughts bundling up within her head until her lip is sucked into the corner of her mouth, head slowly turning back toward Anne. “No, continue” Penny replies, flashing the woman a mostly-hidden smile, the expression on her face telling Anne that she wants to hear more. = Remedy Hills is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = Pulling into a nearby gas station along the eastern coast, Beth emerges from her vehicle beneath broad daylight, hand instinctively reaching for the card in her wallet. Lifting the flimsy piece of plastic toward the machine, Beth pauses, her eyes travelling to her card with caution before returning it to her purse, a wad of cash being removed from the bag instead. “Evading the law?” a voice calls out from nearby, the woman turning around with confusion to find a man staring toward her with a smile. “What?” Beth asks again, offering the man a cold greeting, which he returns with warmth, gladly repeating the question. “Are you evading the law?” the man asks with a laugh, “y’know… ‘Cause you’re paying with cash instead of your card?” Looking back to her purse, the woman nods at the man’s joke, offering him the smallest amount of satisfaction. “I don’t like using my card for anything other than withdrawals” Beth responds, returning to her task, the conversation ending as quickly as it had started. “Pretty reasonable” the man quips, accepting the dialogue to be over, simply taking his efforts in the small-talk away in favor of placing it toward filling his car. Seconds pass as silence fills the station, Beth glancing into the curtained-window of the store to keep her eye on the man behind her, just going about his day as a normal individual. Feeling bad for the cold shoulder-routine, Beth strikes up the small talk once more, inquiring of the state she currently resides in. “Rhode Island” the man replies, his breath wafting through the cold air, the shoreline not doing enough to make the temperature much higher. “What’s your name, again?” Beth asks, turning toward the man, her eyes leaving the window for the first time since they found it, “I don’t remember if you told me or not.” The pump suddenly jolting in his hands, the man returns the nozzle to the machine as he introduces himself. “Harlington” the man responds, giving the woman as warming of a greeting as the cold temperatures will allow him, “Harlington Spears, more specifically.” The pump in her hand now jolting all the same, Beth concludes her efforts and returns to the front seat of her car, giving the man a nod. “It was nice to meet you, Harlington Spears” Beth replies, ending their short conversation before she closes the door behind her, “you take care now, Harlington.” “Will do” the man mutters beneath his breath, nodding to himself as Beth’s car kicks up dirt on its way through Rhode Island, “I will certainly try to, at least.” | “Stop it” Jake says aloud, Beau’s fidgeting hand calming, letting the pen pressed between his fingers dangle over an open folder. “Stop what?” Beau asks, Jake looking away from crime scene photos to allow his eyes to set on the pen in Beau’s hand. “You keep tapping that damn thing on the desk and it’s annoying” Jake responds, watching Beau lean back in his chair, an apology being offered by the younger officer. “I’ll stop tapping my pen on the desk” Beau promises, Jake thanking him sarcastically before glancing back down. “Sure thing” Beau replies, leaning forward to stare toward the open folder once more, quickly returning to his annoyance of Jake, tapping his pen upon the side of his computer monitor. “Alright, Beau… What the hell?” Jake responds, Beau’s pen immediately being tossed onto his desk, the officer leaning back in his seat with his eyes upon his partner. “We find a dead kid stuffed in the woods knowing damn well who did it, and we’re stuck here on desk duty” Beau replies, Jake’s head leaning forward, unapologetically confronting his fellow officer. “You’re the one who outright said ‘we know who did it, let’s go in and take him’ to the goddamn chief of police” Jake responds, “I’d be less angry at you and more angry about all of this if you would’ve kept your fucking mouth shut.” “We know who did it” Beau replies, his head leaning equally as forward as his partner’s does, “if getting tunnel vision on Avon was uncalled for, getting tunnel vision over these fucks is mandatory.” With a sigh, Jake hands his head, fingers pressing against his temples as he considers where to lead the conversation. “I agree with you and you know that” Jake responds, eyes returning to his partner, “but you can’t, under these circumstances, show bias without proof.” “Enough with the ‘hotshot cop with a cluttered mind’ fiasco, you know exactly what this is” Beau replies, Jake’s face falling, his mind already predicting which way this conversation is going to go. “They don’t want you interacting with Rico Martinez again, I know” Jake responds, the sides of his hands pressing against his own desk, “but there’s a good reason for them to not want you putting your name on that man’s hitlist.” “Yeah, there is… Not having the balls to put me before a trial by wolves” Beau replies, “but unfortunately, the only way we’re ever going to get enough dirt to touch this guy is if someone here grows a pair of balls.” Slamming his hands against the desk, Jake stands from his seat and directs Beau further into the station, their journey carrying them all the way to the interrogation room. “Can you think straight, even just for one moment?” Jake asks, slamming the door shut behind him, turning off the microphones, “you’re talking about using yourself for human bait… Why can’t you hear how ridiculous you sound?” “Because I’m too busy focusing on the reason for why I’m doing it!” Beau responds, arms extended, his voice now lifting into a yell, “I’m too busy focusing on how we let two people die, two more people stand around like ducks, and we just sit on our asses while it happens!” Annoyed, Jake pulls two chairs away from the table, taking a seat opposite Beau before leaning in, setting up a less-tense scene. “Until we find a body, what we’ve really done is let one kid die, one woman go missing, and two people stay at home as per their choice” Jake explains, watching the disappointment come over Beau’s body, back arching forward as his head slumps forward. “You know I have nothing against Pat, but I can’t stand the fact that he’s taking on this case on his own” Beau replies, “I don’t care about what the King’s wanted, they’re the targets for a group of thugs with a mafia complex.” Leaning back in his chair, Jake looks toward the distraught Beau, knowing his greatest desire in the moment being to return to the case on active duty. “Okay, we’re gonna do something about it then” Jake responds, pulling himself out of his chair and returning to the door, Beau left sat in his seat for a moment before deciding to follow along. “Chief, we’d like to talk to you” Jake asks as he pushes his superior’s door open without warning, the woman sat behind the desk asking if he’d ever learned his manners. “I have, but clearly, I’m partnered with someone that makes it difficult to hold onto them” Jake replies, giving Beau the side-eye, “despite that, I’m gonna need to demand we be returned to the case immediately.” Rolling her eyes, the police chief asks Jake if this is supposed to be a joke or not, Beau doubling down on the demand himself. “No, Chief of Police Whitehead, it is not” Beau remarks, the woman pulling her head back jokingly upon her name being recited. “Please refer to me as ‘Dana’ the next time you wish to use my title... it sounds better” Dana responds, “it also sounds a lot better than giving into this request knowing how ‘hothead’ over there has dealt with his benching. “Chief, please” Jake replies, the woman’s focus returning onto the veteran officer, his request being much more difficult to turn down than Beau’s. “We’ve opened up a whole can of worms with this case and it’s only going to get messier” Jake explains, refusing to sugarcoat their findings, “at least let us see it from start to finish.” Glancing off to the side, Dana stares at her mantle of trophies and accomplishments, recalling the effort and chances, spent and taken, in order to obtain them. “If either of you make me regret this decision, I’ll make sure you never uncover yourself from paperwork, Officer Mansoor” Dana explains, her eyes moving away from Jake and returning to Beau, “and I’ll make sure you, personally, place your badge in my hands, Officer Donovan.” “Yes, ma’am” Beau responds, Jake’s head turning toward him with a half-smile, Beau’s appreciation made clear. “Thank you” Beau responds, watching Dana’s lips do their best to hold back a smirk, her head nodding forward, accompanied by silence, both men departing her office. | Sat at his laptop, Avon lets his fingers dance along the keyboard as his front door opens, Penny stumbling into the main foyer as a taxicab drives off. “Are you drunk?” Avon asks, half of his face hidden behind the computer screen, only his judgmental eyes visible from Penny’s position. “No, of course not” Penny replies, Avon continuing to remain seated, unwilling to move until his wife gives him the reason he suspects she will. “Anne is a great influence on me” Penny says, her words slurred heavily, hand pressed against the wall to keep herself upright. “That’s my cue” Avon mutters to himself, leaving his seat and walking up to his wife, one hand over his neck as he leads her through the home, their bedroom appearing to her as the most sought-after prize. “Your head is gonna hurt in the morning” Avon mutters, a still-woozy Penny laughing as his words are said. “You’re so good to me” Penny drunkenly quips, Avon’s laughing at her response as he tucks her into bed, shoes being removed from her feet and dropped to the floor. “I’m your husband… That’s my job” Avon responds, pulling the comforter up to the woman’s neck, the smile on her face the only thing he wishes to see in the moment. “Thank y-” Penny replies, unable to finish her reply before falling asleep, Avon left leaning toward her, giving her a peck on the forehead before turning out the light. Returning to the living room, Avon steps up to his place at the dinner table with his hand on the laptop, feet stopping the moment his eyes stumble across something in his backyard. Pressing his free hand to his back pocket, Avon slowly closes his laptop and approaches the backdoor, gently sliding it open to expose himself to the harsh winter air. “I thought I got rid of you” Avon mutters to himself, finding a man in dark clothes and a smiley face mask standing in the middle of his yard. Descending the staircase, Avon looks toward the figure with concern, his hand turning on a newly-installed light, illuminating most of his backyard in a single moment. As the light floods through his yard, it stops just at the start of the treeline, another curious sight befalling him. “There’s more of you” Avon mutters once more, the start of the forest hosting a frontline of men dressed in the same way to the lone figure in the backyard, all watching the encounter from afar. “I see how it is” Avon calls out, arms held outwards as if he were daring them to take their shot, his feet carefully leading him forward, focus placed on the lone figure. “So you fail to take me out three times, and walk around here thinking ‘the fourth time’s the charm’ huh?” Avon calls out, eyes now permanently placed upon the single figure, which stands stoically, “what makes you think it’s going to work out for you this time around?” Each step pressing grass further beneath his shoes, Avon carries himself forward, his hand placed against his back pocket in anticipation, the figures near the woods watching carefully. “Go ahead, tough guy” Avon challenges, now stood just a few feet away from his trespasser, breathing heavily, “try again.” Unmoved, the figure continues to stare blankly at Avon, leaving the homeowner confused, his eyes looking back to the empty porch to find nothing. “Did you hear me?” Avon asks, looking back to the solid figure, stepping off to the man’s side as he continues to gode his would-be killer into making the first move, only to stumble upon a curious result. Despite now being to the figure’s right, Avon is unable to get the man to look at him, his body still positioned toward the home. Eyebrow lifted, Avon looks around confused, reaching for a rock on the ground before tossing it at the figure, the stone simply bouncing off the top of it’s head to no response. Considering this to be a strange tactic, Avon removes a pocket knife from his back pocket, releasing the blade before cautiously marching toward the figure. Within seconds, Avon stops himself once more, the crowd of figures in the distance watching on at the curious sight, uncertainty looming over everyone. Eyes falling upon the figure’s hand, Avon notices the body to be stiff, almost as if it weren’t alive at all. Skin pale, fingers unmoving and veins lacking color, Avon begins to put the pieces where they belong, his knife still held by his side, blade pointed toward the body. Now confident, Avon descends within inches of the body, his free hand reaching out to the mask, fingers slipping beneath the hard-shell plastic before pulling upwards. Velcro undone, Avon watches the straps of the mask undo, allowing the shell to fall to the ground, accompanied by Avon himself once the sight hidden away is revealed to the world. “What the fuck!?” Avon shouts at the top of his lungs, Steyson’s corpse looking off at the distance before him, the horrified expression of a man knowing he’s about to die remaining plastered beneath his skin. “And they just vanished?” Beau asks, a few minutes having passed between the encounter and the police’s arrival, Avon cooperating as best as he can. “That was it” Avon responds, stood on his patio, both Jake and Beau gathered around him, “they were there, I pulled the mask off, and they were gone before I could look at them again.” Taking in a deep breath, Jake looks out at the backyard, Steyson’s body used as a human scarecrow only allowing him to see the occurrence from yet another perspective. “I know we didn’t tell you yet, but we found Steyson’s fingerprints in that water tanker” Jake exclaims, prompting Avon to look toward him in confusion, “the person that tried to drown you is now set up as a decoration in your back yard.” His head shaking, Avon pulls his head away from both officers, redirecting his view into the starry, night sky above. “Unbelievable” Avon mutters beneath his breath, mouth agape as his suspicions are finally confirmed, “so I’ve got a group of guys, not just one, coming after me.” Shrugging his shoulders, Jake allows Beau to take control of the theories, already pressing one of his own inside his head. “So a group of criminals are trying to target you, for god only knows what reason, and they’re killing their own people for getting caught” Beau exclaims, Jake challenging the theory, a factor Beau is quickly intrigued by. “Maybe it’s not all that simple” Jake replies, looking back out toward the professional display presented to the group tonight, “what if they were extra mad at our scarecrow for trying to put the dagger in your heart?” “Wait, are you saying they don’t want him dead?” Beau asks, Jake letting out a confused sigh, hand held out toward the display. “He tried to kill you, and they killed him… Then they presented him to you on the closest thing they can get to a silver platter” Jake explains, “does this grandeur really feel like something a killer would do if they wanted their victim dead?” “So, one way or another, we’ve just got a big group of people trying to make my life a living hell?” Avon questions, his head turning toward both officers, neither holding a reassuring answer. “Beau, Jake!” Pat shouts from the yard, looking up onto the patio where both officers reside, his hand lifting into the air with a piece of paper held high, simple writing on the note extended toward the trio’s eyes. “We’ve definitely found something” Pat exclaims, handing the paper off to the younger of the two officers, prompting Jake and Avon to huddle around Beau, reading the note aloud. “It’s alive” Beau mutters, the two words being the only communication left behind from the culprits, only leaving more questions than answers. | Head resting against the pillow, Beth remains covered in her bed with the comforter held tightly within her hand, trying desperately to fall asleep in the dark motel room. Despite feeling like she’s asleep, Beth remains conscious enough to trick herself into hearing things that aren’t there, her efforts being made to lull her into a false sense of security, sleep being otherwise impossible without it. Her father’s comforting words being played on a loop no longer working, Beth thinks of some of the most soothing sounds she can remember, waves crashing into the shore and the bells of her library immediately coming to mind. Seconds quickly gather up to become minutes, Beth remains as conscious as she was before, her efforts falling short until gold is struck upon. A smile coming across her face, Beth plays the music of a music box for herself, the soft tones of the chirping mechanics allowing her to feel at home, the ease of paranoia becoming a thing of the past. Her breathing easing up, Beth continues to play the music to herself until it stops, her mind still racing with thoughts, thought, unable to return the soothing tones. Opening her eyes, Beth sits up in bed and looks around the room, feeling reality suddenly blend with what isn’t real, unable to comprehend whether she truly is where she believes herself to be. What feels like hours worth of confusion only lasts a few seconds, the woman's sudden loss for her surroundings now turning into outright certainty, the music from her mind suddenly restarting again from just beyond her front door. Though topless and without a pair of shoes on, Beth grabs the kitchen knife from her nightstand and wanders toward the door, refusing to waste a moment in consideration as she swings it open, finding what she expected to just beyond. Placed at her feet, the music box continues to play its soft tune even after she leans down to capture it within her hands, her eyes staring a it’s wooden exterior with intrigue. In a moment, Beth takes the box and hurls it into the parking lot, grabbing her keys from inside and returning to her car, driving away from the motel, still topless and shoeless. Driving into town, Beth parks at a gas station and emerges from her vehicle, hand placed upon the gas pump, unable to remove it from the nozzle. “You have to grease it” Harlington calls out, prompting the barely-clothed woman to turn around in confusion. “Greasing it, that’s the remedy” Harlington calls out again, the woman taking interest in the final portion of his statement. “What did you-” Beth begins, her eyes drifting off into the distance, a storefront’s flashing signage on the window practically taunting her. “Remedy” the flashing sign says, Harlington’s words being spoken once more, the same word being forced upon her like a brick house atop a concrete foundation. Confused, Beth turns back to the gas pump, her fingers wrapped around the air, the handle she once had disappearing into thin air along with the pump itself. “What the fuck is going on?” Beth calls back, her eyes finding every direction to be covered in desert, thick sand everywhere her eyes can find. In the distance, the chimes of the music box guide her toward the unknown, a direction she takes no hesitation in following after, each step taken as if she were walking along a path made for her. Sands pressed between her toes, the welcoming sensation suddenly dies away the moment the music fades, her eyes falling upon a sign staked into the sands. Expression becoming one of anger, Beth listens to the music box begin once more, her attention remaining fixated on the sign reading “Remedy” placed before her. Overwhelmed with anger, Beth charges at the sign as if it were a sign of life, lunging toward it with her arms open, diving back down to earth. Lunging out of her bed, Beth is returned to her motel, looking around the silent room, wiping the crust from her eyes as she tries hurriedly to regain her composure. Unable to keep from laughing at herself, Beth brushes off the strange nightmare as homesickness, refusing to spend another night of sleep in a town that never does. Closing her eyes, Beth rests her head against the pillow, pulling a breath into her lungs before letting it flow away, a smile on her face. Once more, the music box plays from outside the woman’s motel room, her eyelids parting immediately, face overcome with an expression of rage. Throwing the covers off of her fully-clothed body, Beth opens the door and swipes at the air with her knife, not a soul around to take on the pain of such a blow. Leaning forward, Beth picks up the music box and inspects it, the box being nothing like the one seen in her dream. In the distance, a faint flash of light appears through the trees, catching Beth’s attention like a cough at a funeral. Staring toward the direction, Beth waits for something to follow, a few seconds passing before a second flash of light prompts her immediate actions. Without a care in the world, the knife-armed woman returns to her room and gathers her few belongings, tossing them into her car and driving off, the room’s door being left wide-open. Pulling away, Beth’s car kicks rocks up the moment it shifts into drive, the open road serving as her home for the moment, not a second of sleep to be had. A third flash of light following the car emerging from the same spot, the figure in possession of the camera allows it to fall to its lap. Playing once more, the music box allows a faint chime to emerge from the motel, the shadow-covered figure leaving its spot and returning to its own car, the poorest of intentions accompanying it. == Remedy Hills == “You’re anxious” Beth says aloud, slouched in the passenger’s seat to avoid detection, her eyes resting upon the restless squirming Avon’s fingers do along the rubber rim of the steering wheel. “This trip doesn’t do much to inspire confidence, Beth” Avon replies, leaning closer toward the wheel, doing his best to navigate his vehicle through the dense fog. “Does this happen often?” Avon asks, the woman confused as to what the man is referring to.
“The fog… It was just like this when I was driving into Remedy” Avon responds, the high-beams in his lights doing little to help. “We’re near the Appalachians, it’s not rare” Beth explains, the following addition to her statement doing little to ease Avon’s nerves, “though… I’ve never seen any fog like this before.” Letting out a sigh, Avon’s fingers steady, pulling the wheel firmly within their grip, his foot calm upon the gas pedal, eyes slowly fixating on one position, the nerves unable to greatly overcome his anticipation. His mind emptying of all thoughts, Avon keeps his focus on the road, every word spoken by the navigator being followed to completion until a sudden rush of light comes barreling in through the haze. Foot removing itself from the gas, Avon puts the car in an immediate park, Beth slumping further into her seat before an eye can be placed upon her. Through the fog, a figure in a smiley face mask stands in front of his truck, the cutouts in front of his eyes allowing the intense stare from the man hidden beneath its cover to run over the man. A cold coming down the back of his spine, Avon whispers to Beth to remain hidden at all times, his hand placing itself upon the handle of his door. Stepping out of his vehicle, Avon stares down the mysterious figure before him, posture remaining reserved, stood with his side facing the man responsible from bringing him out here. “You coming to finish the job?” Avon asks, feet firmly placed upon the ground, hands balled into a fist to keep themselves from shaking, the mysterious figure remaining stood without movement. “Oh, come on… What you’re trying to accomplish is obvious” Avon exclaims, his eyes refusing to leave the figure for a moment, watching him remain stoic. “If you’re trying to get rid of me, do your thing… It will have taken you long enough, but I guess the third time’s the try!” Avon exclaims, growing restless at the anonymity, eager for answers. Turning toward the man, Avon can see the breath leaving his mouth, but fixates on the lack of emotion, its resemblance uncanny to that of a statue. “I’m getting tired of hearing my own voice, dude” Avon exclaims, taking three steps forward before facing down his would-be killer, “let’s hear your side of the story.” Tilting his head to the side, the statue-like man lets a pop echo out from his neck, a naturally-occurring ring in the distance only helping keep this scene tense, as rigid as a week-old corpse. “There’s no story to tell” the man beneath the mask replies, his declaration being cut there, leaving Avon to fill the air. “Is that all you’re going to give me?” Avon responds, his mind begging him to keep his distance while his heart races with anger, the answers he’s been after standing a mere few feet away from him. “I asked you a question” Avon continues, anger boiling over the edge of what he can take before his feet carry him forward, “I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!” His voice lifting into an outright yell, Avon marches closer toward the statue, intending for the altercation to become physical until the man finally breaks his stance. Pulling out his coat, the man beneath the mask removes a gun from within, taking immediate aim at Avon, who stops in place with his arms raised in surrender. “I told you, there’s no story to tell” the man replies, watching Avon’s throat move with the gulp of air he takes in. Moving his finger from the grip of the weapon to its trigger, the man prepares to take his ultimate shot at Avon until a blaring sound from afar captures his attention. In a miraculous turn of events, the fog over Remedy lifts the moment a flurry of sirens begin to blare, the flashing lights inching closer toward the pair prompting the mysterious man to take action. With a deep breath, the man takes the gun from his side and places it against his head, eyelids closing as his finger hits the trigger, a bullet firing off into the depths of the woods. Tackled as he was pulling the trigger, the man is forced into defense, an anger-fueled Avon raining down one shot after another upon the cause of days worth of grief. “Give me the story!” Avon shouts, his fingers popping the plastic mask off the man’s head, allowing it to slide down the hill below. Knelt there, Avon looks on in confusion, a face he’s unfamiliar with looking back at him with his eyes wide, a moment of uncertainty coming over both men. In a desperate attempt for his freedom, the man lays a hefty shot into the side of Avon’s head, his skull inside rattled at the brute force of the figure’s fist. Pushing himself to his feet, the man grabs his gun from off the ground before placing it beneath his chin, a lone shot firing into the distance to bring the confrontation to a close. Taken back, the man falls backwards and drops over the guard rail, sliding down to the forest below as the gun from his hand falls to the ground. In shock, Avon looks away from the fallen gun, his eyes turning toward the now-parked cruisers as officers hurry from their vehicles, one cop still stood confidently within the crowd. The gun lowering to his side, Beau watches his fellow officers hurry ahead of him, the barrel of his weapon smoking. “He’s alive!” one of the younger officers shouts, his gaze having glanced over the guard rail, a man desperately trying to drag himself away from custody rendered to being nothing other than a sitting duck. Relief coming over him, Beau hangs his head in joy, a nod coming over him as Jake pats him on the back, the younger officer glancing back toward Avon with a smile. Differences quickly being put aside, Avon swallows his pride and offers the man a nod, pleased at the outcome. = Remedy Hills is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = “You made a big mistake!” the man responsible for Avon’s grief shouts toward him from across the station, guided toward the interrogation room as Beau and Avon look on in pleasure. “Do you know him?” Beau asks, Avon’s back leaning against the filing cabinets as he shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him in my life” Avon responds, continuing to keep his stare on the man until he vanishes beyond the doorway, at which point Avon’s eyes fall to the ground. “Did you make any enemies before you came here? Anyone that would want to do this?” Beau inquires, Avon’s gaze finally turning toward the man, Beau’s hands lifting up in surrender. “I’m just looking for any strings to pull at other than the typical ones” Beau replies, “that guy doesn’t live in Remedy, so whatever connects you to him, I’m gonna try to find it.” Nodding back to Beau in an understanding, Avon places the styrofoam rim of his cup to his lips, a call of his name from across the station captivating him the moment it’s uttered. “What the hell happened?” Penny calls out, wrapping her arms around her husband, who returns the embrace. “I’ll leave the two of you to it” Beau says aloud, walking off to the interrogation room as Avon assures his wife of his own safety. “I’m fine, just what’ll end up being a black eye tomorrow morning” Avon explains, his wife still uncertain to the events that led to everything. “I found a note in the car when I went to pick up Beth from the hospital, it gave me a time and location… It’s all just a lot to explain” Avon proceeds, giving up halfway through as his wife pulls him into a seat. “The officers took Beth back home, they’ve got the guy in questioning and they want me to recount my story as a part of the process” Avon explains, dwindling the events down to its conclusion, “at the end of the day, we’re all alright.” With a sigh, Penny nods, her husband taking a peck on the cheek before being pulled back into her arms, his stiff hands reaching around her back and holding her tight. | “You’ve been quite the busy boy tonight” Beau explains, taking a seat beside Jake with a folder slammed against the top of the table, eyes falling over the lawyer-less man. “Steyson Garza, twenty-six, five charges in the past including murder” Beau calls out, reading the man’s history as if it were a shopping list, “one thing of interest is that you were held for your sentence at the same place as Rico Martinez… We’ve had a, let’s say ‘encounter’ with him.” With a chuckle, Steyson refutes the man’s claims, the only response he takes amusement in giving being one that holds Beau to a lower light than he’d like. “You’ve had no such ‘encounters’ with Rico” Steyson explains, leaning forward, ensuring his head remains beneath the glow of the single light above, “you wouldn’t be breathing if you had some ‘encounter’.” A smile sprouting across the man’s face, Steyson leans back into his seat with the cuffs still restraining him to the table, Jake taking over the dialogue on behalf of his annoyed partner. “You seem to know a lot about Rico’s history for someone that says he’s acting alone” Jake responds, “how’d you get such up-to-date information without being in his inner circle?” “People have a price, and people pay a price all the same” Steyson replies, purposefully keeping his answers vague, “the question you have to ask yourself is ‘how much does this person cost’ if you really wanna get in the mindset of someone like me.” Squinting, Jake folds his hands upon the table, keeping his eyes cemented upon Steyson, playing into his game of twisted morality. “How much does someone like me cost?” Jake responds, an amused Steyson looking on at the elder man, paying a cold shoulder to Beau, intentionally leaving him out of the conversation. “You’d go for very little… Too cultivated by a different age of law enforcement” Steyson replies, his eyes sliding to the corner of his eyelids the moment Beau’s voice returns, his own value being inquired over. “You? You’d be damn-near priceless” Steyson responds, watching Beau’s expression shift, quietly gesturing for the reason Steyson holds for such value. “I can tell you wanna know why” Steyson says, breaking the odd silence as Jake listens in, watching Steyson’s chin press against his neckline, eyes remaining firmly upon Beau. “You come from a different breed of cop… Modern” Steyson explains, “you’re corruptible.” Unable to keep his composure, Beau breaks out in laughter, Jake taking amusement in the words Steyson visually doubles down on, confidently leaning back in his seat. “You think I’m corruptible?” Beau asks, watching Steyson shrug his shoulders forward, Jake keeping himself in the background, allowing Beau to keep the conversation rolling. “Why do you think I’m corruptible?” Beau inquires, leaning back in his seat with his arms folded, interested in what Steyson has to say. “You’re a hot head” Steyson responds, smirking at the officers and willing to be patient, “I’ll let you laugh it up now, but I’ll take that laughter right back when you prove me right someday.” Shaking his head, Beau tells Steyson that he has no idea what kind of man Beau is, a gesture which Steyson agrees with. “I don’t need to know you in order to know what you’ll be one day” Steyson replies, “but don’t trick yourself into thinking you’re the only cop like you in this country… You’ve all got a price.” With a nod, Beau puts a smile on his face the moment he hears the interrogation door swing open, pushing himself out of his seat before the lawyer can utter a word. “We weren’t going to get anything out of him anyway” Beau exclaims, walking for the door without even needing to look at Steyson’s attorney. | Hands tucked in his pockets, only his thumbs protruding to drape themselves over the lip of the denim cutout, Avon stares at Steyson as he is led away by police, bound for whatever prison they wish to hold him in. “Avon?” Beau whispers the man’s name, failing to earn a response before he glances at Steyson, waiting for the man to be led away completely before attempting to regain Avon’s attention. “You’ve both messed up” Steyson calls out, lending the pair his departing words, pushed through the front doors, both Avon and Beau watching him disappear around the corner. “Avon” Beau calls back, Avon silently turning toward him with his eyebrow raised, still lost in translation, suddenly jerking out of his subconscious paralysis to verbally answer. “He can’t fuck with you anymore, we’re making sure of that” Beau responds, the man at his desk shaking his head in exhaustion. “I wish I could say that’s true, but there’s still a town full of people that hate me” Avon replies, glancing back to Beau, watching the younger officer hang his head in disappointment. “I should have been more open minded” Beau says beneath his breath, still baring the weight of Avon’s cold welcome to town on his conscience. “Yeah, you should have” Avon responds with a sigh, his head shaking immediately thereafter, “but you’re not the one that’s been keeping me up at night.” Despite it not being a forgiveness of guilt, Beau thanks Avon for his response, quickly returning the conversation to the story. “That’s pretty much all I’ve got” Avon replies, folding his arms as he looks back through his memories, eyes dashing from one side of his head to another as if he were reading pages of a book. Feeling out of place, Beau places his pen back to his desk, spinning his chair toward Avon and keeping the conversation genuine. “I don’t wanna spend the next hour taking notes on you… Feed me whatever comes to mind” Beau explains, the sudden gesture surprising Avon. “Feed you whatever comes to mind?” Avon responds, offering an inquiry as to Beau’s meaning. “I work best when I can draw lines between two things, I just feel more productive” Beau replies, crossing one leg over another and getting comfortable, “tell me everything that seems out of place to you.” Still uncertain of what the man is looking for, Avon gives in to the officer’s request and begins scavenging through his brain for something to offer, any recollection he can think of leaving his lips the moment it comes into his mind. “The night he left the finger, I saw a big van parked on the sidewalk outside my door” Avon explains, words belonging to the same sentences being broken into parts, “there was a guy waiting for me to open the door before he sped off.” Immediately taking interest in the van, Beau raises a decent question, feeling like he has something to stumble onto. “Was the guy that waited for you driving?” Beau asks, Avon quickly realizing the opposite. “No, the guy was still closing the door when the van started picking up speed” Avon responds, a vital piece of information now bouncing from one side of Beau’s brain to another. “Multiple culprits means there are probably more people to this that we haven’t found yet” Beau replies, fingers pressed against his chin, face aimed toward the depths of the building. “Are you suggesting there are more people out there gunning for me?” Avon asks, Beau’s eyes casually drifting back onto him, his index finger moving away from his lips. “Yes, I am” Beau responds, glancing down at his notepad until Avon offers a second suspicion. “What are the chances this is the doing of the entire town?” Avon wonders aloud, a smile coming over Beau’s face, the officer wanting to brush the suggestion off as laughable, knowing it to be possible in his heart. “I won’t rule it out, but I find it highly unlikely that the entire town could be in on this” Beau replies, amusingly turning back to his notepad until Avon corrects his suggestion. “I’m not saying all of Remedy is involved in this, but there’s room for a group to have gotten together” Avon responds, a possibility Beau takes more interest in. “This town hates writers coming in for more than a cup of coffee, why would they want one moving in?” Avon wonders aloud, Beau becoming interested. Pressing his fingers to the paper-filled booklet, Beau slides the pad toward Avon, the pen rested atop. “Write down everyone you’ve encountered that didn’t greet you pleasantly” Beau replies, placing his fingers over the pen with a warning to accommodate him, “and list people other than me.” With a smirk, Avon agrees to the stipulation before graciously taking the pen, scribbling down details of different people and making a passing comment that soon captivates Beau. “First they write me letters to scare me off, now I’m writing letters to put them away” Avon quips, Beau’s head darting back to Avon, repeating the one word that swept him off his feet. “Letters?” Beau says aloud, Avon’s eyes drifting back to the man with confusion, “they wrote you letters?” With a nod, Avon approves Beau’s line of thought, a range of different questions now offered to the young officer. “Any chance you still have any of them?” Beau questions, a smile adorned with his mind running into speculation. | Beckoned for by the eager tapping on a pair of knuckles at her door, Beth cautiously approaches the front step and glances through the window. Relieved, Beth tugs at the doorknob and greets Penny, who stands in her doorway with a puffy jacket draped over her shoulders. “I just wanted to check in on you” Penny explains, taking a seat when Beth gestures for her to do so, “I wanted to make sure you were settling in better than us.” “I appreciate that” Beth responds, remaining upright, not wanting to get too comfortable in her own home, “it’s a lot more difficult than I thought it would be.” Silent, Penny inspects Beth, the posture of the woman coming off restrained, not wanting to let her guard down. “You seem really on edge” Penny explains, Beth shaking her head in refusal, admitting that she’s just coming down from the drugs wearing off. “Yeah, okay” Penny replies, knowing the woman’s statement to be false, but unwilling to confront her in the moment. “I don’t mean to be all reserved or anything” Beth explains, a slight paranoia coming over her, every time her head moves away from Penny, it pulls toward the nearest window, all of which have been covered by couch pillows. “This is the first time anything like this has ever happened” Beth explains, eyes red and puffy from crying, hands trembling as she fails to stand still. “You don’t need to explain if you don’t want to” Penny responds, Beth giving the woman a nod before her head hangs, Penny left sat awkwardly at her kitchen table. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” Penny asks, a further awkward silence being split by her words, the offer being made as an olive branch toward Beth, the young woman shaking her head, refusing the offer she takes appreciation in. “I’m just rattled, nothing more” Beth replies, her arms folding over her chest as if she were cold, “it’s been a while since I’ve felt this way, so I’m getting used to it all over again.” Nodding, Penny tells Beth that she doesn’t have to be alone if she wishes not to be, Beth shaking her head in disagreement. “I should be alone tonight” Beth responds, her anxious gesture suggesting her refusal to be one of believed necessity rather than what she truly wishes for. “The quicker I get back to normal, the quicker I’ll be myself again” Beth explains, her flawed logic leaving her no room for coping. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay over?” Penny clarifies, extending her offer once more, wishing for Beth to take it now that it has been given for a second time. Disappointment ensuing, Penny accepts Beth’s refusal the second time it is offered, noticing the woman’s hesitation to answer compared to the first time around. “Would you like me to go?” Penny asks, Beth’s answer failing to come immediately, the woman considering the suggestion for a longer moment than before, ultimately answering as expected. “That would probably be for the best” Beth replies, watching Penny nod in acceptance, not wishing to be confrontational, giving into Beth’s requests when they’re made. Standing from her seat, Penny walks up to the door and places her hand on the doorknob, stopping in a moment whilst still facing the outside, feeling Beth’s eyes press on her. Knowing Beth to be staring at her, Penny feels the tension in the woman as if it were fallen over her own shoulders, a third offer being made in hopes of a better result. “Would you like to stay with Avon and I?” Penny inquires, looking back toward the woman, who visibly struggles to respond. “It doesn’t have to be any longer than just for the night” Penny clarifies, doing her best to accommodate the obvious weight on the woman’s heart, “look at it as us returning the favor for you taking us in.” Swallowing the build up of spit in her mouth, Beth graciously refuses the offer for a third and final time, watching the hopeful expression on Penny’s face die with the answer. Accepting the woman’s wishes, Penny departs as promised, slowly pulling the door shut on her way onto the front step, leaving as much time for the woman to change her mind as she can offer. Finally, the sands in the hourglass fall completely to the bottom, the latch on the door closing into place, Penny depressingly turning her back to the entrance and returning to her car. As seconds pass, Beth instinctively hurries to the door and locks the deadbolt shut, leaning her back against the door and slowly sliding to the floor, her head tilted toward the heavens as tears stream down her face. Unable to keep herself from crying, Beth curls herself up into a ball and allows her emotions to take control, sat at the door with her legs pulled into her chest, arms wrapped around both shins, holding them in place. Having eventually made her way into bed, Beth stares at the ceiling with her head pressed against the pillow, every light in her home other than the one in her bedroom left on. Arms folded over her chest, Beth continues to lay awake in the middle of the night, eyes only blinking when they have to. Unable to turn her mind off, Beth’s restless mind continues racing around within the confines of her head, sleep having been something she’d given up a long time ago. Throwing the covers from off of her, Beth steps onto the cold wooden floors without concern, her feet taking her out of the dark bedroom interior and into the well-lit hallway. Soft, cotton pajama pants dangling above her bare feet, Beth marches into the kitchen and powers on her coffee maker, the bright red button turning green in due time. Filling the machine with water, Beth presses the top down upon the machine and lets her finger hover over the button, tip pressing against the plastic. Mouth agape, Beth loses herself in the coffee pot, looking into her reflection to see the face of a woman forever changed, an image that haunts her the moment she sees it. Closing her lips, which quiver the moment they press together, Beth begins to feel another tear falling from her eye, the image prompting her hand to lower itself from the machine, her still-stretched finger falling to her side. “I’m broken” Beth whispers to herself, trying to look away from the reflective pot, each time failing to stop herself from looking back. With a huff, Beth pulls her hand up once more and unplugs the machine, the bright green light turning off completely as the cord rests in the palm of her hands, pressed against her smooth skin. Taking the entire machine into her arms, Beth dumps the contraption in the sink and leaves it where it lies, marching back into her main foyer with a purpose. Her feet pushing into her shoes, Beth takes her keys and throws on a jacket, every light in the house being turned off as she shuts the door behind her, locking the metal entrance on her way out. Getting into her car, Beth turns the keys in the ignition and pulls out of her driveway, eventually parking beside her library storefront. Unlocking the front door, Beth removes a tube of lipstick from her purse and removes the ‘open/close’ sign from the glass door, writing something of her own in its place. Returning to her vehicle, Beth continues to drive, wheels rolling over the asphalt of a small bridge just overlooking the meeting point between a river and the ocean as her car comes to a stop. Exiting her car on the empty road, Beth approaches the edge and looks down, rushing waters crashing into the shore in the most symbolic display of chaotic bliss. A smile forming in the corner of her mouth, Beth continues to stare out at the sea, her hands placing themselves against the top of the banister dividing the passageway and the drop-off. With a nod, Beth looks away from the seas below and stares at the end of the road, a look of determination coming over her. Returning to her vehicle, Beth drives past the starting point of the bridge, her vehicle continuing to drive without any intention of stopping, passing the “Welcome to Remedy Hills” sign on it’s way out. | “It should be right around here somewhere” Avon explains, watching Beau eagerly stroll around his front yard, eyes on the flower bed beside the home until they peer open in amusement. “Fuck yes!” Beau shouts, reaching into the dirt and removing a small post-it note, holding it toward Avon for confirmation. “That’s the note” Avon responds as Beau’s phone buzzes off, the officer answering the individual on the other end. “Beau, it’s Mansoor” Jake says on the other end, great disappointment in the words he first speaks to Beau. “We’ve got a body” Jake exclaims, Beau looking toward Avon with a look of concern, dread in his soul as he fears what he’s begun to expect. “I’ll be right down” Beau replies, hanging up the call without looking, hanging his head in frustration. “Can I punch this brick wall?” Beau asks Avon, the homeowner giving him a confused approval. Turning to the red stones, Beau lays a direct shot into the side of the home, his fist scraped badly as blood begins to quickly rush from his knuckles. “Pray that you’ll never have to do this job someday, Avon” Beau says as he passes him, a pat on the back being offered to his once-enemy as he steps into his car, a headache coming on. “Where is he?” Beau calls out, parking his car along the side of the flashing light-filled road, Jake calling out for the man from afar. Walking toward Jake, Beau’s feet move slower as he approaches the crime, looking down in disgust. “How did this happen?” Beau inquires, Jake explaining the outrageous events that led to the discovery. “On-duty patrolmen were duped by some local inmates, failed to notice a fleet of escapees” Jake responds, Beau’s head hung in shame. Tapping his bloody fist against the door, Beau and Jake wait for an answer from within, watching the lights in the home they’ve approached gradually turn on as the inhabitant approaches to answer. “May I help you?” the elderly Victoria asks as she answers, halting herself as Jake takes over. “Ms Schultz, we have some unfortunate news to share with you” Jake explains, Beau’s head shaking as he stares off into the distance. “Kerryon’s body was just found a few miles away from the prison he escaped from earlier this morning” Jake explains, the older woman stricken with grief, a sight Beau wishes not to see. Looking away, Beau’s eyes eventually discover something within the home that takes his attention for itself. “I’m sorry” Beau says aloud, walking past the older woman as Jake attempts to comfort her, trespassing his way toward the back of the home, where a framed photo of Kerryon resides. Holding the post-it note to the frame, Beau compares the self-written note beside the younger man’s picture to the writing on the post-it. “What’s going on, Detective?” Jake inquires, still trying to calm the woman as Beau lets the note fall to his side, the revelation disappointing him. Shaking his head, Beau keeps his eyes placed upon the identical writing as he calls back, the sound of grave disapproval carried in his voice. “We were too late” Beau calls back, returning to his partner. == Remedy Hills == |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
December 2023
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