“I already told y’all, you’re not getting anything out of me” Kerryon says, his words prompted by the arrival of Jake and Beau, who take a seat at the table opposite him. “You already know that you have the right to remain silent” Beau replies, slapping a manilla folder upon the metal table and revealing the photos inside of it, “but you have the equal right to remain behind bars for upwards of ten years if you have us find what we’re looking for on our own.”
“What is this?” Kerryon asks, pulling the first photo away from the folder and toward his side of the table with the tip of his finger, seeing an image of himself emblazoned on the printed image. “That’s your hoodie on this morning’s news coverage outside the King residence” Jake responds, his posture being different to that of Beau’s, his younger partner hunched over the table whilst he relaxes, leant in his chair with his arms folded.
“More notably, it’s the same jacket my partner and I can identify a trespasser with this same jacket at the King home just a few hours prior” Jake explains, “which only increases your potential time behind bars.” His lip arching on one side, Kerryon tells Jake and Beau that no amount of pressure will prompt him to break. “You can send me behind bars for as long as you want” Kerryon explains, “I’ve got people on the inside… They’ll take care of me.”
“Take care of you?” Beau replies with a questioning tone, “take care of you by incorporating you into the group? Or… take care of you by making sure you can’t open your mouth?” With a laugh, Kerryon looks away from the officers, his confidence shooting through the roof for as long as the detectives will allow it to. “My people know I would never snitch” Kerryon responds, taking the tip of his finger and sliding the photo back to the two men, “they’d never believe you.”
With a smile, Beau folds his hands together on the table, his annoyance with the young man’s arrogance beginning to need a resolution. “We can keep you here on these charges of obstruction of justice for as long as we want” Beau explains, a smile coming over his face, “that’s plenty of time to make a visit to your boys and make some… suggestions.”
“Are you threatening me?” Kerryon inquires, his back still placed against the metal bars of the chair he sits upon, eyes watching Beau’s smile harshly spread from one ear to the other. “Yes, Kerryon” Beau replies, leaning his head forward slightly more than before as his tone drops to a near-whisper, “I’m threatening to put you on a hit list the moment you set your first step behind bars.”
Nostrils flaring, Kerryon’s eyes lower away from Beau and return to the photographs, the smile having been removed from his face all together. “I ain’t saying nothing” Kerryon responds, turning his head away from the pair of officers as the interrogation room’s door opens. “That’s enough” a well-dressed man with a briefcase exclaims, “I’m Kerryon’s attorney and he’s not telling you another word.”
With a disappointed look, Beau pushes his hands against the table and returns to his feet, eyes directed toward the suited gentleman as his response follows. “There’s no need” Beau replies, Jake taking that statement of defeat as his sign to prepare a departure of his own, “we’re done with him for now.”
Closing the door behind himself, Beau tilts his head to the sky and lets out a huff, his back leant against the door as Jake leans against the wall opposite him. “We still don’t have enough to put him at the scene of the crime” Jake explains, Beau’s head dropping to the ground, the point still understood loud and clear, “the only people that we can pin at the scene, at this point, are the Kings.”
“I know” Beau responds with disappointment, his head remaining aimed toward the ground, hope beginning to falter as his head shakes from one side to another. Lifting his arm from his side, Beau rubs the back of his head before quietly returning to his desk, answering when called for by Jake. “I’m gonna look over the tapes and hope they lead us back to Kerryon” Beau replies, rounding the corner and leaving Jake stood there, his experienced eyes staring into the room at their suspect.
= 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 =
Losing himself in the words that appear on his screen with each key his finger presses down upon, the track of time in Avon’s head appears more like a jumbled crossword puzzle than an adequate measure of daylight. Every word being added to the screen ahead of him depleting yet another thought from his mind, the clutter in Avon’s head begins to slowly deplete until he can notice the sounds of his breath once more.
His sense of placement returning to him all at once, the sudden thumping of a headache from within the confines of his skull causes him to quickly roll his chair away from the desk, hands pressing against his eye sockets and his palms cover his pupils. “Fucking hell-” Avon says to himself, leaning forward until his forehead touches his kneecaps, the pain shooting from inside his skull to the tips of his fingers.
After a few seconds pass, the pain begins to quickly wear off, the price for his concentration on his work being a rigorous, at times tortuous sacrifice deemed necessary to create his art. Now able to look at his surroundings without a pinching sensation crushing his every movement, Avon’s eyes instinctively drift to the clock at the corner of the room, the time being fifteen minutes past nine in the evening.
In the room on his own, Avon leans back into his seat and lets his arms fall onto the armrests, his eyes gliding over each side of the room, the warm orange hue of the light in the corner of the room making him feel welcomed. “I’ve been writing for three hours?” Avon asks himself, looking to the floor with his head shaking from one side to the other, his head falling back until it becomes draped over the back of the seat.
Exhausted, Avon takes a minute to relax, trying to return to the moment in full, not wishing to be absent minded the moment he leaves the desk. Almost on instinct, Avon looks to the coffee table beside his chair and takes the now-cold cup of coffee into his hand, lifting it to his lips with a lackluster response. “Cold coffee is not for me” Avon says to himself, downing the small swig and leaving his seat with his eyes on the kitchen.
As if a random thought in the back of his mind called for his attention to return elsewhere, Avon suddenly stops in the middle of the living room, his head turning to the sight of his seat where his eyes return to the table. Beside a ring the cup in his hand left behind where it was left for many hours, a second mug, this one empty, remains beside it. Eyes squinted, Avon looks to his own cup before walking back toward the second, his eyes falling upon the chair next to his desk-ready seat.
Placing his mug where he lifted it from, Avon turns back toward the narrow hallway at the end of the home, flicking on a light switch to bathe it in a tense white-light. “Beth?” Avon calls out into the empty corridor, his eyes falling upon a half-open bedroom door he knows the woman refers to call her own. Approaching the room, Avon gently pushes the frail wooden door in with a single finger before flicking on the light, illuminating the room and revealing an empty bed.
Turning away, Avon stares down at the rest of the corridor, calling out Beth’s name for a second time. Without an answer yet again, Avon takes it upon himself to quickly look into every room of the home, bathing it in light before finding it vacant, just like the rooms that came before it. Now worried, Avon returns to the front of the home, his eyes gazing upon the empty living room, head directing itself to the entrance of the home, the woman’s sandals having yet to return to their place.
Driven by a mixture of concern, curiosity and fear, Avon’s following decisions come without hesitation, his hand pulling the front door open as his other pushes the glass door outward. Upon the front steps of his temporary home, Avon looks into an empty residential street, ending a few homes ahead at the cul-de-sac, Beth’s home the third-to-last house on the left.
Looking down both ends of the street, Avon’s sights fall upon the home directly opposite him, most of the lights in the home dark aside from a small few, its interior presenting the least life on the street. On a mission, Avon descends the staircase and approaches the home on the opposite side of the road, his feet taking him up the front steps and allowing his fist to tap against the screen door.
With a chime, the home’s security system greets Avon the moment the door is pulled in, an elderly man assisted by a walker greeting the concerned gentleman. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you” Avon begins, feeling both nervous and apologetic for his interruption of the man’s night, “does Beth come over to give you meds every evening?”
Confused, the elderly gentleman confirms the legitimacy behind Avon’s statements, following his answer with an inquiry as to its importance. “She hasn’t come home yet, I’m just worried is all” Avon responds, hiding his inner fears until the moment the elderly gentleman looks at him with surprise. “She left about two and a half hours ago, son” the older man replies, his eyebrows furrowed as Avon’s face begins to show the wear of worry on his expression.
The concern growing to a point where Avon can no longer hide it, the young man cuts the conversation short by thanking the man for his time, turning around to return to the Ovorre residence. Making it to the final step, Avon feels a sudden block at the tip of his shoe, one that refuses to budge with his leg’s weight, prompting his upper body to carry him to the ground, dropping the man to the rough asphalt below.
Grimacing at the roadburn on the palm of his hands from having cushioned his fall, Avon pushes himself onto his back and attempts to find what he tripped over. Without much sleuthing, Avon finds the sole of a shoe presented toward him, the sandal resting on its side a few inches off of the bottom step. Eyes widened, Avon forgets about the scrapes on his hands and pushes himself to his feet, running up to the bush where the sandal-clad foot is associated with the body it belongs to.
Hidden in the bushes just beside the lderly man’s home, Beth lays unconscious- her face bloody from a heavy wound over the top of her eye. Without thinking, Avon removes his phone from his pocket and dials for emergency services, waiting for the voice on the other end to respond as his sights become set over a string tied around the woman’s neck, a note attached to it.
“911, what is the nature of your call?” the operator on the other end of the line asks, Avon replying in kind as his hands reach for the note. Reading off the address to the woman responding to his call on the other end of the line, Avon gently tugs at the string around Beth’s neck until it breaks. Pressing on Beth’s neck, Avon feels for a pulse, the faint response of the woman’s body fighting to live before offering him relief just as the sirens begin to blare in the distance.
His mind still wandering toward the note, Avon takes the folded paper between his fingers and unfolds the sheet, a brief statement written in black sharpie marker by the perpetrator. “You’re playing a deadly game with what you don’t know” the first half of the note reads, Avon hanging up the phone in his hand before reading the second half of the note to himself, “the scene of the crime, follow the lights.”
“Anything?” Jake asks, approaching his younger partner’s desk with intrigue, his fellow detective struggling to keep himself awake as the night continues to age. “As a matter of fact, we’ve got a lot” Beau responds, cupping his mouth with his hand and yawning into his palm, “it may not seem like it, but I’m rather excited about what I have to show you.”
With a laugh, Jake takes the empty seat beside Beau and looks into the recovered footage, the video rewound to the day prior to the fatal car crash. “I want you to keep an eye on the lip of the hill for the next few seconds” Beau explains, pointing to a specific spot on the monitor before pressing “play.” Patiently waiting for the big payoff, Jake watches the video continue, the aforementioned seconds of nothing passing before a world of possibilities is presented to the pair.
Over the lip of the grassy hill, the second, crash-causing truck appears in frame, adjusted into the intended position the driver wishes for it to be left in. In a moment, the lights on the vehicle power off, the truck parked facing the road below, driver’s side door gliding open before revealing a familiar figure. “That’s our smiley-face jacket” Beau exclaims, turning to Jake with a smile on his face.
After minutes have passed, Beau and Jake return to the interrogation room, a laptop carried in the amused arms of Beau, who fights away the exhaustion in favor of sporting a pleased expression. “I’ve already told you, my client will not be answering any more of your questions” the attorney explains, Jake quick to explain to him that such a failure to communicate will only hurt Kerryon more than the truth.
Facing the screen toward their suspect, Beau and Jake tell the man and his attorney to watch the proceeding video, a delightful press of the spacebar button from Beau’s fingers beginning to process. “Okay, you have my client climbing out of the vehicle in question… That’s not a crime” the attorney explains, Beau quickly argues otherwise. “The vehicle was reported stolen that same day” Beau explains, Jake quick to finish his partner’s sentence, “that puts him in possession of a stolen vehicle.”
“I didn’t-” Kerryon begins, capturing the attention of the detectives instantly before his attorney cuts him off, demanding he remain silent on the matter. “Your client is currently racking up charges like they’re tickets at an arcade” Jake cuts in, his words directed toward the well-dressed lawyer, “if he wants to cash out before he gets himself into water that’s too hot… Now would be a good place to start doing that.”
Looking at the screen anxiously, Kerryon remains quiet, Beau sliding the laptop a few inches to the side to allow Kerryon a good look at his face, voice returning to the tone of a whisper. “You’re too young to be throwing your life away before it can even get the chance to start” Beau explains, genuine concern for the kid shown in droves, “do yourself a favor and give yourself a fighting chance by telling us why you’re shown, on camera, setting a stolen car up in that position.”
His eyes closing tightly, Kerryon battles with his inner thoughts silently, leaving the detectives on the other side of the table to patiently await a following response. “Mr. Schultz, we can get you off with probation if you stay quiet” the attorney explains, trying to keep his client from spilling more information than he already has, “any evidence they have pinning you to something bigger is merely circumstantial at best.”
“It would be hard to get less than a few good years for possession of a stolen vehicle, obstruction of justice, stalking, and participation in an act of public disturbance all wrapped in one” Beau explains, “especially in a town so hungry for answers such as Remedy.” His eyes opening, Kerryon places his sights upon Beau, who looks at him with worry, pleading with the young man to give them something to work with.
“Don’t get spooked, Mr. Schultz” the attorney exclaims, “they’re trying to scare you into giving them something to work with because they have nothing of use on you… Don’t give it to them.” Angry, Beau slams the surface of his hand against the table with his eyes darting back to the attorney, his frustration having reached a true high. “Don’t you ever shut up, jackass?” Beau proclaims in a question toward the attorney, “I’m trying to help this kid and you’re killing his future!”
Hand held out, Jake pins Beau back into his seat, the show of restraint serving as a sign for Beau to regain his composure. “Kerryon, please tell us whatever you can” Jake says with a calm tone, his eyes setting back upon the younger man, the attorney remaining quiet in hopes of keeping Beau from bursting with anger once more. Looking back to the monitor, Kerryon stares at the picture portrayed on the screen before looking back to Beau, who looks right back at him.
“I’m not saying anything” Kerryon replies, partially in defiance whilst showing an apologetic tone, Beau’s head falling toward the ground in disappointment. “Okay” Jake says as his lips pucker, hand finding the soft spot of Beau’s back before patting it. Opening the door, Jake waits for Beau to leave his seat, watching the young man depart in defeat before returning to the hallway.
“We’ve got a woman, mid-20’s, trauma to the head and found unconscious” an EMT calls out into the depths of the hospital, Penny being the first to answer the call for assistance with Clark soon to follow. “Do we have a name?” Penny asks, having thought to look to the face for identifying features. “Beth Ovorre, she’s the town’s librarian” the EMT responds, Penny’s face going cold as it looks back toward him.
“Beth?” Penny repeats, looking back toward the bloody face of the woman before continuing to hurry the stretcher to the nearest bed. “Anne, can you call Avon and let him know? His number is in my cell!” Penny calls out, the EMT soon to inform her of yet-to-be stated insight. “Ma’am, your husband was the one that called it in” the man explains, leaving Penny confused, “he wasn’t with her on the ride over.”
Allowing the new information to take a backseat to the needs of her friend-turned-patient, Penny descends upon the emergency room with only one thing on her mind, the situation remaining as tense as it was when the woman was stretchered in.
Lights blinking as the doors on his vehicle are locked, a raincoat-clad Avon departs from the car he leaves on the side of the road before staring down at the night-covered scene of the crash. With a deep breath, Avon watches the colder air float through the air as it leaves his runny-red nose, a sudden cold filling the air. “I’m here” Avon calls out, his best hope being for someone to emerge from the shadows with a movie villain-like mystique to them.
“Hello!?” Avon calls out, his eyes wandering around the roadside, the broken barrier directly before him, feet planted firmly on the ground to give himself leverage against any unwanted assault. “I take it you were the ones responsible for what happened to Beth tonight” Avon calls out, his arms hanging loosely by his sides, hands balled into a fist, ready to fight, “pretty low of you to attack a woman from behind like that.”
As he continues to taunt the individual responsible for the chaotic unfolding of how the evening has fared, Avon’s eyes return to the bottom of the hill, taking in the deep drop that he’d have to descend in order to return to the thick woodland. Beneath the heavy darkness of the night, a sudden burst of light below becomes instantly recognizable, a trail of small lightbulbs illuminating below catching Avon’s eye, the trail leading into the depths of the woodlands’ unknown.
“I’m not going down there” Avon shouts, refusing to play along with the people he holds accountable for Beth’s attack, making that sentiment known to those that may be listening in. Almost on cue, the lights proceed to go out, the trail disappearing into the night upon Avon’s refusal, leaving the man confused. “What is this game!?” Avon calls out, his anger beginning to build as he imagines Beth’s bloodied face in his mind, wanting to hold the person accountable.
After a few seconds pass following his demand for answers, the trail of lights return to their illuminated form, silently calling for Avon to follow the trail to wherever it leads. With a sigh, Avon looks back to his vehicle, considering his options for a moment before glancing back toward the never-ending line of lights. Shaking his head, Avon bites the bullet, taking a seat on the ground before dragging himself down the steep slope of dirt until he reaches the bottom.
Dusting himself off, Avon looks down at the lights, noticing the pointed bulbs at the end of the wires to appear similar to those of Christmas lights. Continuing forward, Avon makes steady progress, his back arched forward to allow him to hunch closer to the ground, a defensive position accompanying a similar stance, one that leaves his arms bent by his side.
Each new step crunching a leaf beneath his heavy boot, Avon keeps his eyes aimed forward, every new inch of the trail being uncovered offering another five inches of trail left to be followed. Seconds turn into minutes, Avon’s journey continues as the slope he climbed down to follow the trail grows too far to be reliably seen upon a first glance. “I’m not gonna follow this nonsense forever!” Avon shouts, his arms extended as if he were portraying himself as a symbol of triumph.
Stood in the middle of the forest without an answer, Avon removes his phone from his pocket, the screen lighting up the immediate area as he begins to text his wife. After writing the first few words, Avon’s phone suddenly dies, the screen turning to black as the only thing illuminating the area becomes, once again, the lights. Letting out a sigh of frustration, Avon looks around himself to notice something odd, a sight that strikes fear into his very core.
Having failed to notice this moments before, Avon looks around himself in every direction, every tree apart from a mere few covered in a thick layer of fog, only a brief stretch of the trail of lights remaining visible. Refusing to believe that any confrontation going forward would be worth the trouble of having to fight blindly, Avon turns back toward the way he came and begins to march forward.
As if it could notice the fear and refusal to cooperate, the trail of lights dies the moment Avon begins to walk in the opposite direction, leaving the man amidst a thick layer of fog beneath the near-midnight sky. Now completely lost, Avon turns his stroll into an outright sprint, his feet carrying him toward the direction he had just faced, hoping to lead himself where he wishes to be.
Exhausted, Avon cuts his run short, placing his hands against his knees as he hunches forward, hoping to catch his breath before the ground beneath him gives in, dropping the man into a cavernous pit. With a brutal thud, Avon collides with the ground as it returns to being beneath him, a long stretch of stone bordering the hole he’s now found himself taking refuge in.
With groans, Avon tends to his wounds, cuts on his head from the fall and overall soreness coming over him, the dark, yet noticeable night sky farther above his head than it previously was. Trapped, Avon calls out for help, looking toward the heavens with his arms gripping at his sides, ribs busted and other bones likely broken from the fall, hoping for mercy from anyone that could happen to be within ear’s reach of him.
Answering his call for help in the opposite way Avon had intended, a mysterious figure slides a heavy manhole cover over the top of the hole, the dark sky above gradually vanishing from sight. “Hey!” Avon shouts, wincing in pain as each shout brings a piercing pain over his chest, the dirt from the cover being slid overhead falling over his face and head. “What are you doing!?” Avon calls out, receiving no answer as the sky vanishes completely.
Left in the dark, Avon realizes what he’s gotten himself into, his cries for help falling away in favor of retaining as much energy as he can muster. Before long, a second situation comes over Avon, the feeling of water splashing over the top of his head immediately forcing him to pull himself to his feet. “What the fuck are you doing!?” Avon shouts, now forcing himself to lean against the walls of the hole as the water below begins to accumulate, every step he takes sloshing the liquid around.
Still confused, Avon looks to the very little he can see of the pool of water at his feet, suddenly coming to a realization. “Are you trying to drown me!?” Avon calls out, the figure above returning the man no answer, leaving Avon to come to his own conclusions. Now pulling his hands away from his sides, Avon prepares for his true challenge, the water building up quickly, a fight-or-die scenario now being the only lifeline given to the man, his fate being left to his own hands.
Alone in the precinct, Beau watches replays of the security footage, looking at video evidence of a clear day just minutes prior to the car crash. With thin tape, Beau outlines the spot of where Avon’s car will have parked, where the crash occurred and where the truck remains. Prepared for a lackluster account of the accident, Beau rests his chin on his hand, a cup of coffee lifting to his lips before something peculiar occurs.
Just under two minutes ahead of the time of the crash, Beau watches a thick layer of fog quickly roll in unnaturally, appearing like steam rising from the ground more than fog coming in from any one direction. Staring at the screen with his eyes squinted, Beau replays the footage, a second viewing providing no different perspective than that of the first he had.
Lost for words, Beau leans back in his seat and watches the rest of the video play out, eyes widened when he finally sees a set of headlights. Not fifteen seconds after the fog rolls in, the designated spot for Avon’s car is filled by the sparse outline of his vehicle, Beau beginning to see the curious circumstances of Avon’s story become more clear in the matter of seconds.
In complete surprise, Beau lets the footage roll, a set of headlights coming in opposite the King’s vehicle as expected, a curious sight appearing immediately thereafter. In the forefront of the video, a pair of red tail lights emerge from within the fog, staring back at the security camera as if to taunt a future-viewing Beau. Within moments, the taillights quickly fade into the clouded-abyss, followed by the vanishing of the oncoming truck’s own headlights seconds later.
His jaw dropped, Beau finds Avon’s story to completely check out, his eyes remaining on the designated crash point, waiting to see what is left in the viewfinder once the fog lifts. “Please be there, Avon… Please be there, Avon” Beau mutters to himself, waiting for the final few seconds to pass before a smile emerges from his face. As the fog lifts, Beau watches Avon’s figure emerge from the natural cloak, a visibly terrified Penny cautiously trailing right behind him.
Satisfied, Beau removes his phone from the drawer of his desk, his fingers dashing across the screen before finding his text message conversation with Jake. Allowing his thumbs to swipe across the on-screen keyboard, Beau types in a simple sentence, the heavy light covering his face.
“Avon and Penny are innocent- video confirms it- 100% not responsible” the message reads, the blinders being removed from Beau’s investigation, his primary suspect no longer in the conversation. With a nod, Beau smiles at his screen until his phone powers off, the battery dying suddenly as the man’s face is consumed by the precinct’s dark interior. Confused, Beau looks around the large, empty room with confusion, his head shaking, not bothering to get worked up over it.
His job done and night over, Beau leaves his seat and throws his jacket over his shoulders, eyes glancing at the window for a split second before becoming unable to leave it. Taken aback, Beau looks out at the fog-covered town of Remedy Hills, the building only a few feet away from his window being completely covered by the naturally-occurring phenomena. Squinting at the sight, Beau’s head tilts to the side, unable to look away from the dense covering over the town.
“It doesn’t seem like Remedy likes that much” Jake texts back, Beau’s phone having suddenly returned to life, his partner’s text coming through immediately. “Why do you say that?” Beau types back, watching the bubbles appear on his screen, Beau becoming anxious to see the reply. “It’s nothing, a bunch of fog just came over my neighborhood once your text came though” Jake replies, immediately surprising Beau, who glances back to the thick layer outside his window.
“But you’re fifteen minutes away on the other side of town” Beau responds, his text being read and not responded to. As seconds pass, Beau’s phone begins to buzz with a video call intended for him, Jake looking at him with confusion. “What do you mean ‘you’re fifteen minutes away?’” Jake asks, Beau instinctively flipping the phone around to show the fog outside his precinct window.
“Well that’s unusual” Jake remarks, Beau returning his face to the camera, a look of concern coming over him. “I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come” Beau quips, a confused chuckle resonating from Jake, who attempts to make light of the situation. “It’s Remedy Hills, Beau...” Jake remarks, watching Beau’s face return to his picture, a glass of wine being raised into the air in Jake’s hand, “...it’s most certainly a sign of things to come”
== Remedy Hills ==