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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 == “Hey!” Avon shouts, the water continuing to rise, now up to his kneecaps with no reasonable expectation for the water to voluntarily stop pouring into his makeshift grave. Feeling around for something to leverage himself upon, an accidental wave of his hands allows the short, yet noticeable sound of a jingling pair of keys in his pocket to sing to him like a flock of birds in the morning.
Running his thumb over the keyfob, Avon presses the button he knows to be responsible for sounding off his alarm to no use, running water still being the only thing he can hear. Having run out of options, Avon feels around the hole more in hopes of finding something more elevated than the ground he stands upon, a lone rock protruding from the wall behind him offering enough leverage to fit at least one foot atop of. With a grunt, Avon refuses to acknowledge the pain of his injuries in hopes of greater survival, lifting his now-soggy feet from the pool of water beneath him, resting them atop this life-saving stone. Feeling his hands around for something to hold onto, Avon grabs at the smooth edge of yet another protruding rock, this one higher up than the one he clings to hope upon now. As if the dark cavern were illuminated by the lightbulb going off in his head, Avon wears a smile on his face, the pain taking a backseat to the pleasure the man takes in his thoughts. With a few further grunts, Avon climbs atop the second protruding rock, a third and final boulder peering out of the wall a few feet further upwards giving him hope. Reaching up with his free hand, Avon presses his palm against the bottom of the manhole cover in a failed attempt to unearth his own grave. When knowing his injuries to be too severe to make such an easy escape, Avon switches to a second plan, feeling around the manhole cover in an effort to find the water source. Fingers dancing along the limestone bottom, Avon punches at a rubber hose peering through the center of the cover, his hand reaching onto it for dear life as his second hand lifts from his side. With his thumb still on the intended button, Avon aims his keyfob in the direction of his car and angrily shoves the button down, a blaring car horn going off in the near distance. Out of Avon’s sight, the figure just overhead shuffles his feet in the ground, the crunching leaves being thrown through the air as the man frantically fumbles around for a backup plan. Time no longer on his side, the figure remains stopped, affording Avon, sealed within the earth, the opening his survival depends on. Clutching the hose with both hands, Avon lets one foot teeter off the edge of the rock before taking in a deep breath, preparing for yet another hard impact with the ground. In a moment, Avon’s remaining foot leaps from the rock, his hefty body dropping further into the hole’s depths with the hose still clutched between his fingers. With a metallic pop, the hose connected to a larger vehicle frees itself from the water spout, dumping gallons of water all over the forest above. Impact softened by the larger pool of water below, Avon peers his head through the surface of the shoulder-high water with the hose still safely tucked between his fingers. The criminal above cursing with every forbidden word the English language has room for, his audible shouts become the only thing running through the forest quicker than the water. Just above, Avon watches the water trickle in through the hole, knowing his efforts to have, at least, bought him time. After another minute, sirens begin to wail in the distance, and even through the thick fog, the criminal above can see the flashing red and blue lights from afar, serving as his signal to escape. Water still excessively pumping out of his vehicle, the criminal hops into the driver’s seat and drives the massive getaway vehicle through the dense forest. With a smile, Avon allows the trickling water just above him to run over his face, refreshing relief coming over him instantly. = 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 = “How bad is it?” Avon asks, his wife inspecting the wounds he’s suffered through the night, a look of great concern coming over her. “You’ve got some busted ribs and a few pretty bad bruises” Penny replies, “but on the lone bright side, no broken bones or fractures, which is a good sign.” With a nod, Avon lets his breathing calm, answers having been given to the severity of his wounds whilst remaining elusive over those of Beth. “How is she?” Avon asks, his eyes laying over the unconscious woman in the hospital bed beside him. Looking toward the woman, Penny wraps her husband’s cuts in bandages, hesitant to tell the man much other than the basics. “She’s got a few cuts and some swelling, well, everywhere” Penny responds, a partial smile coming over her as she proceeds, “but she’ll be ready to go in a few days.” Nodding, Avon conveys his joy in the news with a smile, silence falling over the pair in the short moment that follows. “Why didn’t you come with her?” Penny asks, her husband not having listened to her question when she first uttered it. Repeating her question, Penny watches her husband’s eyes trail off to the depths of the hospital, his head running with many different thoughts, Penny noticing this quickly. “She has a piece of string tied around her neck with a note on it” Avon replies, the bandage being rolled over her husband’s arm slowing as her body becomes tense. “The person that attacked her left a note for her?” Penny asks, her voice soft and emanating without judgment, though it leaves her lips bustling with concern. “Not for her” Avon responds, head staggering back toward his wife and peering into her eyes, “for me.” Her hands having stopped moving, Penny looks into her husband’s eyes and watches the trauma fill them in real time, his lip quivering as he quickly looks away, trying to hold back tears. Concerned in her own right, Penny rests the unrolled bandages in her husband’s lap and pulls his head toward her chest, holding both hands around his forehead amidst her embrace. “I thought they’d go after you next if I didn’t” Avon says, his wife whistling gently through her lips in hopes of getting her husband to hush down. Tears continue to stream down his face as it puffs with emotion, Avon and his wife discard the sliding emergency room doors at first until the man entering through them walks around their curtain. Pulling apart, both Avon and Penny set their sights upon Beau, his posture carrying a content attitude as of yet unfamiliar to the pair. “Have you come to suspect me of my own attempted murder?” Avon quips, refusing to allow his emotions to overtake his spite for the man before him, refusing to forget what he’s done to welcome him to Remedy. “No, I have not” Beau replies, his jacket held in his hands as he stands a few feet away from the pair, refusing to carry himself as anything other than a concerned spectator. “Jake will be coming down to take your account of the events for, well, rather obvious reasons” Beau explains, watching Avon nod at the suggestion. “Good” Avon says, not wishing to say anything to the man that isn’t necessary, allowing Beau to speak as much as he wishes without feeling the desire to respond. “I figured that while I was in the area, I’d drop by and let you know that we’ve found security footage from the crash” Beau explains, “it’s not much, but it’s enough to clear you.” Pleased, Avon nods further, stopping his response at a simple “thanks”, Beau giving the man a nod before turning to leave. Facing the way he entered, Beau has a change of heart, turning around to own up to his mistakes, much to the couple’s surprise. “I’m sorry” Beau says, Avon looking back at the man, assuming him to have left, “I’m sorry I had blinders on when I shouldn’t have, and I put you and the people you care about at risk. I was wrong for that and I apologize.” Surprised, Avon’s lips part, the words to reply to such an unexpected gesture not coming easily. “I appreciate that” Avon responds, Beau’s head hanging after a subtle nod in return. “Jake and I will hold a conference at the sunrise to officially clear you as a suspect” Beau explains, his jacket drifting to the side in his hand as it moves with each word he speaks, “it may not be much, but I want to make sure you can be safe going back home as soon as possible.” Again failing to find an adequate response to the gesture, Avon parts his lips with little to respond with, a simple nod of approval coming from his sore neck and bruised shoulders. With that departing remark, Beau turns around and exits the way he came, leaving Avon and Penny to tend to their prior conversation. “That was unexpected” Penny remarks, watching the man walk away as Beau stares on in silence, his eyes following the man’s frame until the moment it walks through the doors. | “The announcement went better than I had anticipated” Jake exclaims, shoving his car door shut as an energy-drained Beau emerges from the other side of the vehicle. “Let’s just keep our hopes up for the mob to dissipate” Beau replies, fixing a scarf around his neck as he and Jake fight through the fog toward the scene of the crime. “They’ve been cleared in the eyes of the public now” Jake exclaims, ducking beneath the yellow tape, “if they don’t, it’ll be a bigger problem.” “They’re looking for someone to hold accountable” a third officer calls out from afar, approaching the pair of detectives with a rock in a plastic bag, “why not make the people that walked into this town with a chip on their shoulder play the villain?” “I’m sorry, you are?” Jake inquires, a black gentleman in a raincoat offering a handshake to the officers. “Patrick Carver, everyone I know calls me Pat” the officer responds, continuing to hold the evidence bag in the air, “I’ve been transferred to Remedy from Concord.” With a smile, Jake takes joy in meeting someone new to the city, initiating their conversation with an apology for the weather conditions accompanying him to the town. “Before we sit down and start chatting about last night’s Bruins game, let’s start with that” Beau says, skipping to business with his finger raised toward a bloody rock. “I’m assuming that’s blood and not remnants from someone’s dinner?” Beau inquires, his sarcastic comment agreed upon by Carver. “The rock was left near the victim’s head, tucked away beneath the porch” Carver replies, looking toward Beau, “from the looks of it, the perp didn’t want her dead.” “So it was a message being sent?” Beau asks his partner, the elder detective looking toward him with a smile. “I’d argue it was a literal message being sent” Carver responds, approaching another bag of evidence left on the curb, a broken piece of string stained with dirt. “If I was a guessing man, I’d say that string came with a note” Carver explains, pointing the pair’s attention to a small piece of loose paper. “And you said Avon King was the one that called the attack in?” Beau inquires, his head turning toward Jake the moment Carver’s head nods in agreement. “Will you excuse us, thank you?” Beau gestures to his precinct’s newest addition, head ducking down with his voice lowered. “I know keep bringing up Avon, innocent or otherwise, but there’s something he’s not telling us” Beau explains, Jake pulling his head back with amusement at the suggestion. “I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t trust the cops that tried to pin a murder on him for nearly a week” Jake sarcastically quips, Beau’s expression becoming no more light-hearted than it was prior. “I’m serious, there’s gotta be something more to all of this” Beau explains, his eyes returning to the Ovorre residence with curiosity, “what if I should have been looking at Avon as the victim this whole time rather than the suspect?” Pulling away once more, this time without a humorous reason behind it, Jake looks toward Beau with intrigue. “Are you trying to say Avon was the target for all of this?” Jake inquires, Beau shaking his head slowly, correcting the man’s thought. “What if the first crash was intended for Avon and didn’t get the job done?” Beau asks, raising the alarm bells in his partner’s mind, “they attack Beth, leave him a note, and try to correct their mistake at the scene of the crime.” “It would make sense, sure… But that leaves us with more questions than we have room for” Jake replies, his mind returning to their only other suspect, “Kerryon’s locked up, who else would we be looking for?” Head shaking, Beau looks back toward Jake, pressing his hand against his own hip, suggesting they owe Kerryon another visit. | Losing himself in his own mind again, Avon stares blanky at the white-washed wall beside him, only paying the smallest attention to the ticking analog clock in the corner of the room. “He’s been like this since he came in?” Anne asks, her eyes peering around a curtain across the room from the man, Penny admitting that it’s been off and on. “If you can get his attention, he’ll interact with you” Penny explains, lifting a plastic cup of water to her mouth, “other than that, he blanks.” “Is it medical?” Anne asks, her head turning back toward Penny, the woman shrugging without a definitive answer. “He just stops communicating at some point… Like he’s the only person in the world at that moment” Penny responds, “it’s not like he’s frozen in time or anything, he’s just drowned everything around him out.” Nodding, Anne switches the conversation, intrigued by what she knows about the situation. “What did the officers say?” Anne inquires, Penny shaking her head out of exhaustion, taking a seat in an empty waiting room chair. “That they pulled him out of a well after someone tried to kill him” Penny replies, her hand lifting to her face, rubbing her temples as recalling the situation brings on a headache, “they didn’t want to tell me anything more than that without investigating.” Eyes wide, Anne takes in a big puff of air before letting it escape her lungs all at once as she takes the seat beside her coworker. “How exactly did that come to happen?” Anne inquires, Penny’s shoulders lifting up before dropping down, no reasonable explanation coming to her mind. “I think he walked into the wrong side of town and someone tried to make him pay for it” Penny responds, Anne purposefully left out of the loop, vagueness the only response being offered. “You’re still here?” Clark asks, rounding the corner to find Anne and Penny seated in the lobby, apologies being offered by Penny for being seated on the job. “Don’t apologize! Dear god, don’t apologize!” Clark exclaims, placing his clipboard beneath his arm, “We’ll work short one doctor for the rest of the night, you go home with your husband and get some rest.” Refusing the offer, Penny finds her rejection to be discarded, Clark’s words insisting the woman take the rest of her shift off. “I’m not gonna make you work after the night you’ve had, seriously, go home” Clark persists, gently lifting the woman’s cup from her hand and setting it on the table, “come back in tonight after you’ve gotten a few hours for everything to settle down.” Her efforts of refusal not serving to be effective, Penny gives into the kind gesture, voicing her appreciation for the man’s care for her. With a smile, Clark walks off with the woman’s clipboard in his hand, Anne covering a smile from the pair as Clark vanishes around the corner. “What are you all giggles about?” Penny asks, playfully swatting Anne’s hand away from her mouth, taking her cup back into her hands and beginning to return to her husband’s side. “At least you have a backup plan in case Avon doesn’t work out, if you know what I mean?” Anne replies, her joke bringing about equal amusement as it does embarrassment over Penny. “Anne, I swear you are no good sometimes” Penny responds, refusing to look too far into the comment, returning the playful banter to the woman as she shakes Avon back out of his lost existence, ready to return home to a familiar environment. | Buzzing with a jarring screech, the reinforced doors of the inner prison area release from their locked positions, allowing a crew of security guards to escort Kerryon through the doorway. “No, I don’t wanna talk to these people!” Kerryon shouts, his cooperation vanishing into thin air immediately, his arms struggling to fight for freedom, legs trying to push the weight of his body back the way he came. “No one will know we’re here as long as you sit down with us!” Jake blurts out, Kerryon immediately refusing to believe a word that leaves either officer’s mouth. “Why is he so stubborn today?” Beau quips, Jake confused as to what he means, reminding him of the struggle put up when they originally took him into custody. “No, that was a struggle… This is desperation” Beau remarks, leaving his chair and approaching Kerryon, his hands grabbing at the jumpsuit. Concerned, Beau pops the buttons on the upper body free, revealing the bare torse of the undershirt-less man, burns scattered throughout his chest and stomach. “Jesus Christ!” Jake shouts, his hand slamming against the table in the center of the room as he leaps to his feet, standing beside Beau, watching Kerryon plead for his life. “They’re gonna kill me because of you!” Kerryon shouts, his feet flailing in the air as the young man tries to squirm out of the guard’s reach. “What have they done to this kid in here!?” Jake shouts, the guards admitting that they haven’t seen any inmate-delivered punishment since Kerryon was booked. “Clearly, someone has been up to something!” Jake shouts, his hands extending toward the man’s scarred body, “either the inmates did it or it was one of you! Either way, we’ve got a kid who’s barely just turned eighteen with cigarette marks as far as the eye can see!” “I don’t know what to tell you, detective” the foremost security replies, grunting as he continues trying to hold the kid’s arms back. “Start by telling me who the hell did this!” Jake shouts back, Beau stood silently by his side, angrily staring at the burn marks on the wounded kid’s body. Continuing to argue with the guards, Jake keeps the conversation moving as Beau takes matters into his own hands, eyes drifting away from the kid and onto the open door behind him. Seeing red, Beau leaves Jake’s side and walks around the guards, squeezing through the opening between their bodies before venturing down the reinforced corridors toward the innards of the jail. “Sir, you can’t go down there!” one of the security guards shout, Beau refusing to ease on his pace, knowing those with higher authority won’t hold it against him for advancing further than he’s allowed. “I wouldn’t suggest trying to stop me” Beau calls back blankly, reaching for the unlocked entrance to the common room and pulling in the heavily barred-gateway. Approaching the guard rail, Beau glances down at the sea of prisoners, all glancing back up at him, intrigued by the appearance of a common detective. “The law’s comin’ to get us!” one of the inmates shouts, earning Beau’s attention for a moment before another section captivates him. As if his eyes were raindrops targeted solely on one spot, Beau stares toward one table, glaring at those sat around the circular base with disdain. Head turning to the side, Beau walks off to the side a short distance before descending the staircase, Jake trailing just behind him. “You got a death wish, pig?” one of the targeted inmates calls out, Beau angrily walking toward the man, who lifts himself from his seat and stares into the eyes of the younger officer. “Detective, please back away from the hispanic scum right now!” Jake calls out to his partner, wrapping his hand around the ball of Beau’s inner elbow in an effort to restrain him. Pulling away, Beau brings his arm back to his side as he initiates the conversation, refusing to give up ground to the longtime inmate. “I know who you are, I know what you did, I know what you know” Beau says, inching his face ever so closer to the inmates, “play nice or I’ll stomp you out.” With a chuckle, the inmate points to the number scrawled over his jumpsuit, running his finger from the first digit to the last. “In here, I’m 129845… But to you, I’m someone to look out for” the man remarks, challenging Beau to put his money where his mouth is, “I’m in here for life already, and I will do what I want. So either take your Barbie-doll looking ass out of here or I’m going to give you problems.” Snickering at the man, Beau closes the distance between their faces even further, teeth peering through his parted lips. Making an attempt to speak, Beau is pulled back by Jake, the elder partner calling the man’s name once more, ending the conversation before it truly gets the chance to begin. “Detective, back away this instant” Jake exclaims, Beau’s face frowning toward his direction as Inmate 129845 laughs in the officer’s face. “Do what daddy says now, Ken-doll” the inmate beckons, watching the angry face of Beau pull away from his own, both officers returning to the flight of stairs leading to the second level. Amidst a chorus of prisoners cheering the display of their fellow inmate’s actions, Jake scolds Beau for having put them in that position. “Settle your hot head down the next time you wanna throw a few days worth of work down the toilet” Jake orders, returning to the corridor they entered. | “Hello?” Avon answers the ringing phone, leaning in the chair he sits upon his hand over his eyes, the open computer screen splashing his face in an luminous white. “Hello, Avon King… This is Dr. Clark Kitts, I work with your wife” Clark responds, sharing a brief, but pleasant greeting with the man. “I was just calling to let you know that Beth Ovorre is signing herself out of care and needs someone to take her home” Clark explains, “she’s specifically asked for that person to be you.” Pleased, Avon lets Clark know that he’ll be departing his home within the next two minutes to pick Beth up, a response that ends the conversation. Glancing at his screen, Avon reads over the latest six lines of his writing and shakes his head with disapproval, highlighting the text and wiping it from the face of the screen. Folding the laptop shut, Avon pushes his chair out and looks toward the backdoor, a paranoia beginning to settle in now that he’s seen how the town has welcomed him. Playing with his car keys, Avon writes Penny a note and leaves it on the kitchen table for her to find, the woman still fast asleep in bed. Climbing into his vehicle, Avon fumbles with the keys before turning them in the ignition, his dashboard lighting up with a warm orange glow. Remedy Hills still draped in fog, Avon buckles himself in and places his hands upon the wheel and gearshift, neither hand moving either object in the moment following, Avon’s eyes falling on something else. Left on the console for him, just in front of his odometer, a folded piece of paper sits in front of his eyes, prompting his hands to leave their original place, frantically reaching for the note. In a moment of overwhelming anxiety, Avon peers into the backseat to find nothing, his entire car empty other than the presence of himself and the note. Turning the overhead light on, Avon pulls open the folds of the paper, reading the brief statement left behind for his eyes only. Frustrated, Avon tosses the note onto the floor of the passenger’s seat, remaining sat behind the wheel with his eyes placed upon the clock. In a brief moment, Avon adjusts from being sat in silence to hurriedly pulling his vehicle out of the driveway, beginning the drive toward his original destination. Walking through the sliding doors, Avon walks toward Beth’s bed, trying his best to calm his breathing the closer he grows to the curtain. Reaching out, Avon slides the curtain on the hangers above, his eyes stumbling upon a surprising sight. Looking back, Beau and Jake find an equally-surprised Avon staring back at them, Beth climbing off the bed between them, wrapping her arms around Avon for a hug. “Is something wrong?” Avon asks the officers, both Jake and a still-cautious Beau brushing off such a suggestion. “We hadn’t gotten to talk with her since she’s been out and needed to take account of her story” Jake explains, the pen in his right hand tapping against the notepad in the other. “Thank you for coming” Beth whispers into the man’s chest, a tear forming in the corner of her eye, both Beau and Jake feeling awkward, as if they stumbled into a moment they’re not meant to be in. “We’ll be taking off now” Jake replies first, nodding to Beau as he walks for the door, the younger officer nodding to the man he’s gotten off to a rocky start with as he passes him. Following Jake, Beau feels a need to interject as he had earlier in the day, turning back toward Avon and presenting his hand. “Jake and I think the people that caused the crash are targeting you” Beau exclaims, Jake turning around at the sound of this revelation, Avon’s eyes firmly upon the young cop. “Wh… What?” Avon says, confused, Jake walking up to the emotion-filled Beau, who continues to explain further. “The incident from last night, we think it was a way of cleaning up their mess” Beau clarifies, his partner standing by his side, refusing to interrupt, “we think the crash was meant to be you and they were trying to take you out last night.” Surprised, Avon becomes suddenly overwhelmed with relief, answers to puzzles he didn’t know he was trying to solve all fitting neatly into place. Looking back to Beth, Avon watches the woman pull away from him, looking into his eyes with confusion. “What happened last night?” Beth inquires, Avon promising the woman that he’ll tell her on the ride home, his attention being returned to the pair of officers. “So, you think they’re targeting me and the trucker guy they, I don’t even know, was supposed to be me?” Avon responds, Beau looking to Jake, who nods back. “They’ve failed twice now, I can’t see why they wouldn’t aim for a third shot” Beau responds, hands folded by his lap, “if you see anything out of the ordinary… Please, let us know.” “I know we haven’t gotten off to the best start, that much is clear” Jake adds on, “but if something’s going on, anything at all, tell us so we can nip it in the bud.” Staring blankly into thin air, Avon looks back to the officers after a moment of thought, head nodding in agreement silently, ending the discussion. Having done what they could, Jake and Beau turn back and walk for the exits, Avon left holding onto a still-frightened Beth, his mind elsewhere. “Wait!” Avon calls out, Jake and Beau both turning around with hope, Avon stood where they last saw him, an internal struggle going on inside his head. “Yes?” Jake replies, he and Beau remaining stood in place, their eyes falling upon Avon with the hopes that something more will come of this interjection. “You want to nip something in the bud right?” Avon inquires, both Jake and Beau replying in kind, returning to the man. “Good” Avon responds, holding off the end of his statement until the detectives are within a few feet of him once more, the tension rising as a concerned Avon looks back to the pair. “I have a few things to tell the two of you” Avon remarks, lips closing as the nerves come over, both Beau and Jake silently leaving the floor open once more. == Remedy Hills == “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 == “You’re awake early” Beth whispers from the end of the hallway, her hand held over one side of her face, refusing to allow her skin to be soaked in the light of the television screen. “Yeah, I should have warned you that I do that often” Avon replies, pouring a second cup of coffee for the woman, who now enters the kitchen, only a silky robe dawns over her shirtless chest and pajama pant-clad legs.
“It’s fine, I just didn’t expect it” Beth responds, graciously accepting the drink before leaning her back against the countertop, standing beside Avon, who stares toward the television monitor. Displayed on the screen, a local news reporter stands outside the King residence, a mob of people calling for the inhabitants to be locked away for the crimes they are innocent of. “It’s nothing to worry about” Beth mutters, the man having nearly ignored her statement of reassurance, eyes tumbling away from the television and onto Beth. “They’ll stop after a few days, and things will go back to normal” Beth continues, Avon shaking his head in denial, approaching the television set. “What normal are we talking about exactly?” Avon replies, placing his mug against the surface of a glass coffee table. “From my perspective, normal means everyone in the town silently hating me for being a writer and living in Remedy” Avon responds, eyes looking back to the television for a moment, “it’ll just be less upfront than this.” Head tilting to the side, Beth places her cup atop the counter, walking up to the man before telling him to look at her. “You’ll take your lumps just like everyone else does in this town” Beth remarks, “once you find your footing, things will start to change, regardless of how they started.” With a sigh, Avon nods, taking a seat in the reclining chair beside the table and looking toward the television once more, those in the streets beginning to break out into a cheer. “Get out of Remedy!” the people shout, as if their unified voices weren’t audible enough, the cheer is clarified by the reporter on the ground. “I have a hard time seeing the future when my present consists of this” Avon replies, arms resting against the sides of the seat as Beth takes a spot on the open couch. “Well for every instance of that” Beth says, sporting a wide smile with her finger pointed toward herself, “you’ll have an instance of this.” With a nod, Avon gives Beth the credit where it is due, his eyes returning to the television set in front of him, his eyes going from nonchalant onlooker to intrigued viewer. His eyelids narrowing, Avon gradually leans forward in his chair as his eyes fall upon the picture of the crowd, the corner of his screen sporting an icon very similar to one Avon’s become haunted by. “You know everyone in town, right?” Avon asks Beth suddenly, the woman becoming confused and concerned, answering in kind. “Some better than others, but yeah I do” Beth responds, watching Avon’s hand leave the side of the chair and extend outwards, a single finger raised toward the screen. “Who does the guy in the corner look like? The guy in the black sweatshirt?” Avon asks, Beth leaning forward herself to get a more focused view. “I don’t know, I can’t see his face” Beth replies, continuing to keep her eyes pressed upon the television, Avon remaining sat in his chair with his fingers crossed. “Please put the camera on him” Avon repeats to himself beneath his breath, Beth continuing to stare directly toward the corner of the screen, a sigh of frustration coming over her the moment the man falls out of view. Slamming his hand against the edge of the chair, Avon sinks into his seat in defeat, head shaking as Beth glances back at him, inquiring about what he saw. “The dude in the black sweatshirt had a smiley face logo on his back” Avon responds, leaving Beth still confused as to the importance of the man’s identity. “It’s- It’s nothing” Avon replies, lifting his hand to his face, wiping the exhaustion from his eyes, “just some stupid lead i was hoping to get.” Each question offering her fewer answers and more questions to ask, Beth gives in, sinking back into her seat without much to go off of. Trying to look back toward the television, her efforts come up fruitless, eyes trailing back to the man in her recliner, his face adorned with disappointment as his eyes refuse to leave the television. = 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 onto the side of the late-morning street beneath a sky filled with gray clouds, Jake and Beau emerge from their cruiser, talking to themselves about how strange it feels to be driving in the direction those leaving Remedy would be driving toward. “I’ve been in this town for twenty-three years, Beau” Jake explains, “I can count on one hand how many times I’ve driven on roads that lead out of Remedy.” With a smile, the charming hothead turns to his elder partner and humors him. “Any of those times you’ve thought about not turning onto the roads that bring you back in?” Beau inquires, he and his partner walking alongside one another up a carefully-laid concrete path. “Nope” Jake responds, turning to the younger man with a smirk, “Remedy isn’t a place for anyone other than the people that want to stay in Remedy.” With a shrug, Beau lets the conversation end where it does, taking a few steps up toward a front door, pressing his hand against the metal railing and knocking upon the shell of a screen door. After a few seconds, the metal door just beyond opens slowly, an elderly woman and her younger son looking out at the pair of officers beyond the view of the screens. “May I help you officers?” the woman on the other end asks, returning the same unthreatening look of innocence to the officers as they offer her. “Are you Mrs. Schultz?” Jake asks with kindness, Beau’s attention being directed elsewhere. “Please, call me Veronica” the woman replies, Jake giving the woman a nod as she welcomes the pair inside, both officers shaking her hand and nodding toward her with appreciation as they enter the home. “I’m Detective Donovan” Beau says, his hand held toward the young-adult son standing in the middle of the room, the young man cautious to return the gesture. “I’m not gonna profile you” Beau explains, understanding the hesitation of a young black man toward a white officer, offering comfort as best as he can, “being black doesn’t make you any less human than my partner or I.” Allowing his caution to ease ever so slightly, Kerryon returns the handshake to Beau before doing the same to Jake, the conversation beginning with inquiries into the day of the crime. “Our station tells us you were the first call put in to report on the crash” Jake explains, hands tucking into his coat pockets, “can you tell us what made you put the call in?” Her hand motioning toward the couch, Veronica offers the cops a seat as she has one herself, Jake appreciate taking the offer. “I appreciate the offer, but I need to get the blood circulating in my legs again” Beau says with his own personal charm, “sitting in a car for long enough will have that effect on you.” “Suit yourself” Veronica responds, sinking into the cushions beneath her as her son stands at the back of the room, leaning against the wall between his bedroom and the kitchen. “Well it was earlier in the morning and I was sat in my chair, watching the news” Veronica begins, her finger aimed toward the chair that faces the television, “all of a sudden, I hear this big crash on the next street over.” “And it sounded like a car crash?” Jake clarifies, the answer he expected not being the one that he received. “No, it sounded like a car being slammed into by something heavy” Veronica replies, “and then I heard two more crashes before it all stopped.” With a nod, Beau asks the elderly woman what she initially thought of the noises. “Oh, I knew someone had run off the road” Veronica responds, “I just didn’t know how bad it was, or really anything other than that.” “So you just knew you should call the police and report it?” Jake wonders aloud, the woman agreeing to such a statement. “Between hearing the sound and calling in your report, did you stop to do anything else?” Beau questions, the woman cleaning her glasses in her lap as the question is asked. “Of course! I walked over to the window to figure out if I could see what had happened” Veronica replies, “but I couldn’t see anything other than a pair of headlights.” Confused, Beau walks over to the window Veronica had said she glanced out of, seeing a full view of the scene of the crash from the vantage point. “How could you have not seen anything?” Beau inquires, the woman admitting to the man what he once thought was too coincidental to be true. “There was so much fog, I couldn’t see anything but a heavy gray mist” Veronica explains, prompting Beau to glance back toward Jake, a satisfied look coming over the older man’s face. “Was the fog gone by the time you ended your call?” Beau asks, his eyes returning to the corner of his face, the woman assuring him of the truth behind his statement. With a smile, Beau gives a nod to the woman, voicing his appreciation for her time before gesturing for Jake to join him outside. Before he can place his first step outside of the door, Beau stops and looks back, pointing toward Kerryon at the back of the room with a smile. “What school do you go to?” Beau asks whilst Kerryon is hesitant to answer at first, only doing so when Veronica looks into his direction. “Peter Ashville High School” Kerryone responds, an answer that puts a smile on Beau’s face. “I thought I’ve seen you somewhere before! You go to school with my daughter!” Beau replies with a friendly smile, a response that puts a puzzled look upon Jake’s face. “Keep your grades up! I wanna see the entire class walking down for their diplomas on graduation day!” Beau calls back, Kerryon uncomfortably responding in kind. “I will” the young man responds, eagerly awaiting the departure of the officers from the home, watching Beau and Jake descend the front steps, closing the door behind themselves. Continuing to walk to the car, Beau leaves Jake in the dust, his partner remaining a good distance behind him, still confused. “You don’t have a daughter” Jake calls out to Beau, the younger detective turning around with his arms held outwards. “If we’re looking for people other than Avon, I’m keeping my eyes open” Beau replies, his finger aimed at the home, “there’s something in that room Kerryon doesn’t want us to see!” Glancing back, Jake glances back at the home, looking around it’s exterior before noticing something peculiar out of the corner of his eye. Off at the side of the home, a curtain noticeably falls into place as if it had just recently been parted, “Did you see that?” Jake calls out, Beau having been stood with his back leaning against the cruiser, a slight smile coming over his face the moment Jake calls out his name. “Call in for a warrant” Beau exclaims, pulling the cruiser door open and sinking into his seat, “right now, we’ve got more to see.” | “I’m a doctor, I don’t take days off because people storm my house” Penny responds, lifting a sandwich to her mouth and taking a bite out of it. “I’m not saying you should have called out, but I am surprised you’re not more thrown off by this” Anne replies, Penny brushing off the angry mob as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. “They wanna run my husband and I out of Remedy and have nothing to go off of” Penny responds, “I’m not going to re-uproot my life because they’ve got the wrong idea.” Placing her fork against the inside of the salad bowl before her, Anne tells Penny that she wishes she would have told her the truth about Avon’s profession. “I see why you did it, but I wish I could have known the new writer in town was sharing the same home with you” Anne explains, “I would have tried to offer advice or something like that… I don’t know, words of encouragement?” Laughing through the clump of bread in her mouth, Penny acknowledges her appreciation for Anne’s help, assuring her that the rocky road ahead is one she is ready to take on. Walking into the breakroom, Clark passively greets his fellow co-workers on his way to the refrigerator, apologizing to Penny for the ongoing situation at home. “It’s fine, my husband and I are staying at a friend’s house for a few days while all of this blows over” Penny assures, Clark giving the woman a pat on the back as he retrieves a plastic box with steamed rice and exits the way he came. “Already making friends in Remedy?” Penny asks, “impressive” the woman admits through the crunching lettuce between her teeth. “Well, it’s really Avon that made the friend” Penny admits, “the woman with the library further into town.” Her chewing slowly coming to a halt, Anne’s eyes dawn upon Penny, who returns to her lunch without a pause. “He’s made friends with Beth?” Anne asks, Penny nodding toward Anne’s inquiry, “she’s pretty cool for a librarian.” Not thinking much of it, Penny continues to eat her lunch as Anne tries to redirect Penny’s mind elsewhere, hoping to find a few things straightened out as the conversation advances. “You don’t see a problem with your husband making friends with the pretty librarian?” Anne asks, Penny’s eyes looking up toward the woman without concern, “your writer husband and the pretty, young town librarian? That doesn’t seem concerning to you?” Her chewing slowing to an equal halt as Anne’s, Penny’s eyes glance to the corner of the room as her head begins to slowly shake. “No?” Penny replies, her answer coming off sounding like more of a question, confused at the potential reasoning for why she should be. Shrugging her shoulders, Anne refuses to raise flags any further than Penny wishes for them to be, responding with a subtle “okay” before returning to her lunch. “We’re married, Anne” Penny explains, the sandwich gliding through the air in Penny’s hands, “we’ve been married for four years and he only just met her… I’ve got more trust in him than that.” Shrugging again, Anne repeats her previous response, “okay” only seeming to make Penny more frustrated than anything else. “Okay, I’ll bite” Penny responds, “why should I be concerned?” With a chuckle, Anne reminds the woman ahead of her where she’s currently staying. “You’re rooming with the pretty librarian after he’s only known her for a few days” Anne explains, Penny clarifying the reason for why. “She came to the house with the offer, Avon didn’t ask out of the blue” Penny replies, only further intriguing Anne. “Wait, she knew where you lived?” Anne inquires, Penny now responding in brief, one-word answers, waiting to see where the conversation leads. “Yeah” Penny responds, Anne continuing to push the direction of the dialogue down the path she intends for it to take. “So, naturally, your husband would have had to tell her where the two of you lived, right?” Anne asks, Penny believing otherwise. “I’m sure my husband didn’t give out our address to the mob of people protesting at our empty front door” Penny replies, “so I’m sure there are other reasonable explanations for where she got her information.” Placing her fork down, Anne places her hands in front of her, explaining that she doesn’t want to sew seeds of descension into her new colleague’s marriage. “I just want you to see how fishy all of this seems from a surface level” Anne explains, “I’ve had married friends put on blinders when something doesn’t look right, I just wanna make sure the same can’t happen to you.” Looking toward the woman with a blank expression, Penny eventually gives into the woman’s claim and nods her head, thanking her for taking interest. “I appreciate you having my back, needless or otherwise” Penny responds, Anne’s hands falling back to her lap before one lifts to return the fork to her fingers, Penny thinking to herself with each bite into her sandwich. | “Do you just sit there and write all day?” Beth inquires, Avon failing to hear her the first time she asks the question, his eyes peeling away from the screen a short moment later once the question is repeated. “What? Oh! Yeah, it’s my hobby as much as it is my job” Avon replies, his fingers leaving the keyboard for the first time in hours, wrapping amongst themselves to form a folded hand. “Do you do much else?” Beth asks, extending a hand with a freshly-poured cup of coffee toward the man, Avon graciously turning down the offer. “Other than talk to the only other person in Remedy that I know? Not really” Avon responds, watching Beth press the mug to her lips. “Do you do drink anything other than coffee all day?” Avon asks, Beth very quickly refusing. “Nope, and eventually, you’ll live in Remedy long enough to experience the same vice” Beth replies, yet again, another swig of coffee being taken from the mug and sliding down her throat. “Why is that?” Avon asks, the new functionality of a rolling desk chair sliding away from his makeshift workspace as his hands fold in his lap, “is there some stranglehold coffee has on Remedy?” “Yes” Beth responds, the single-worded response surprising Avon, who waits an additional few seconds for context that never comes. “Just ‘yes’?” Avon clarifies, watching Beth’s head enthusiastically bounce up and down. “Okay, now I’ll ask… Why?” Avon inquires, watching the woman set her cup down before pulling a chair before Avon. “Because Remedy is the city that, unlike Las Vegas, literally never sleeps.” Beth replies, “we haven’t in years, and we won’t start now.” “Years? Does the exact number of years happen to be thirteen?” Avon asks, putting the pieces together himself, allowing Beth’s answers to act as the glue to keep the pieces together. “Indeed they do” Beth responds, offering the man a smile as his satisfied nod proceeds, “ever since the day Remedy changed for obvious reasons, those that called it home simply didn’t feel comfortable going to sleep.” “So no one in this community sleeps?” Avon asks, the woman shrugging at the question, admitting the answer to be complicated. “Everyone sleeps at some point, but we’ve spent so long going a few days without sleep that it doesn’t phase us much anymore” Beth replies, “I don’t think there’s been a day since then where the majority of the town has been asleep on any one night.” Intrigued, Avon squints at Beth before letting out a deep breath, politely picking up the still-full mug of coffee intended for him before pressing it to his lips. “I suppose that means I should start getting used to it” Avon remarks with a smile, watching Beth shrug at the gesture. “One way or another, you’ll be spending a lot of time awake at night… It’s just part of this town’s DNA” Beth responds, “here’s to hoping you’ll be doing so from the comfort of your own home sooner rather than later.” “Are my wife and I not the ideal roommates?” Avon jokes, Beth shrugging off such a notion. “I just don’t want it to get to a point where I could reasonably request you pay rent” Beth responds, her head lowering after the words leave her lips. Eyes still drawn over the woman, Avon notices the change in her expression, watching her face turn back toward the man, expression having returned to the pleasant appearance it had taken on moments before. “You miss your dad, huh?” Avon asks, watching the woman’s expression return to the prior disappointment, his heart having understood the reason behind the change the moment it happened. Fingers wrapping around the outside of the mug to feel warmth, Beth swipes the hair from infront of her eyes while she stares into the dark liquid inside the mug. “It just gets lonely sometimes” Beth replies, lips puckering to the side as she speaks to the beverage, her words, though, still aimed at Avon, “no amount of days can pass without it still… feeling like there should be someone else here.” Leaning back in his seat, Avon watches the woman as she looks into the beverage for comfort, unable to make eye contact without feeling like emotions will outweigh composure. Understanding this, Avon refuses to pressure the woman into looking at him, spectating from afar and listening to every word. “For a long time, someone always was” Beth explains, lip falling between the tips of her teeth, jaw pressing slowly against her lips, keeping them where they lay until she speaks once more. “Now that everything is empty, it feels… too empty” Beth continues, “like I’m as alone as I always thought I’d end up being.” With a deep breath, Avon leans forward, the palm of his hand resting against the woman’s knee, his words leaving his mouth in a soothing tone. “No one is ever alone” Avon responds, watching Beth slowly allow her eyes to leave the mug and fall over the man ahead of her, “no matter how empty something feels, there is always something, even if it’s your own thoughts, always there to keep you company.” Her eyes falling back to the beverage, Beth nods to the man’s words, her hair falling over her face once again. With the quiet comfort in the air falling away at the sound of a grandfather clock in the corner, Beth downs the rest of her drink before standing up from her seat and fixing her hair. “Time to give the old man across the street his pills” Beth says in a joking manner, the woman walking over to a spot on the floor and tucking her feet into the sandals left there. “I mean it” Avon calls out, the woman having taken a bottle of medication into her hand and placed her fingers upon the doorknob as Avon’s words find her ears. “I know you do” Beth replies, giving the man a half-hearted, partially pain-filled smile before walking through the door. With a sigh, Avon looks toward the door for an additional few seconds before turning toward his laptop, staring into the bright screen with a look of dissatisfaction. With a huff, Avon places his mug upon the coffee table and returns his fingers to the keyboard beside him. Biting his lip, Avon reads the first line of his latest writing, allowing his eyes to keep glancing over from one side to the other before they close completely. With a swift click, Avon highlights every sentence since the first line in a light blue and wipes them off the face of the page, banishing them to literary purgatory. | Slamming the door shut, Beau and Jake emerge from their vehicle, Beau’s eyes resting upon the hill such a truck supposedly drove off whilst Jake’s lay on the still-broken guard rail. “When we get down there, I’m gonna want you and I side by-” Jake begins, turning toward Beau at the last moment, watching his younger partner ascend the hilltop alone, “-side.” Leaves crunching beneath his boots, Beau climbs to the top of the incline before looking around, hearing the world begin to erupt in angry-sounding thunder. “Find anything, Sherlock?” Jake inquires, Beau’s feet dragging along the already-damp ground as his eyes venture in any and all directions. “No, but I’m not exactly looking for anything in particular” Beau responds, continuing to march forward before stopping in a seemingly random spot. “Why are we suddenly hiking, Beau?” Jake asks in confusion, knowing the reason to be good, though admitting it to be too out of place to be easily understood. “I saw this hilltop from the Schultz’ window” Beau replies, turning his back toward the home and his focus in Jake’s direction, “it seemed like the highest point one could possibly access to overlook the scene.” When his eyes leave Jake, Beau glances toward the street below, a smile suddenly forming over the man’s face. “Look at what we have here!” Beau says with enthusiasm, pointing toward the street to prompt Jake to look in the same direction, the broken barrier in the direct-center of Beau’s sights, a long slope downwards suggesting a new theory. “We still didn’t find any tire tracks anywhere near here” Jake responds, his hands motioning around the woodlands aimlessly, “we need proof a truck was even parked up here, let alone descended with enough speed to take out a vehicle below!” A look of dissatisfaction coming over Beau for a mere moment, quickly the tides begin to change, Beau calling out for Jake with a newfound smile. “You called in that warrant, right?” Beau inquires, Jake having confirmed Beau’s suspicions, immediately asking for a reason for the stellar expression. “What would a newly-removed security camera set up look like?” Beau asks, “y’know, what’s left behind after you take down a bunch of security cameras around the outside of your home?” “There’d be some little platforms screwed into the outside, why?” Jake replies, walking forward at Beau’s gesture to do so. Finally catching up to the man, Jake looks out at where Beau’s finger is pointed, his eyes finding the Schultz home, curious black boxes left around random sections of the home. “Would they look similar to that?” Beau asks with glee, watching Jake turn toward him with a smile. Pulling up to the Schultz household, Beau and Jake emerge from their vehicles with three additional cruisers for support. Walking up the pathway, Beau does the honors of knocking upon the door, Victoria answering the officer’s call for entry. “Mrs Schultz, we have obtained a warrant to search your property” Beau explains, the woman pulling the door open for the officers, cooperating with authorities as they enter her home. “Detectives!” an officer shouts from outside, Beau and Jake immediately racing into action, demanding the other three officers continue their search inside. “What’s going on out here!?” Beau shouts, his hand on the grip of his firearm as Jake follows him around the side of the home. Upon first sight, Beau finds Kerryon dressed in a black jacket with a smiley face logo emblazoned on the back, a box of electronics and belongings spilled along the ground beside him. “This is racial discrimination!” Kerryon shouts, refusing to ease his struggle as Beau walks over to the box of belongings, pulling it onto its bottom and looking into its contents. Quickly, Beau and Jake notice the newly-removed security cameras and associated equipment, a smile coming over their face the moment they realize where the break in their case lies. “It’s actually nothing close to racial discrimination, Kerryon” Jake responds, cuffing Kerryon’s hands behind his back, “it’s an arrest on charges of ‘obstruction of justice’.” As Jake reads Kerryon his Miranda Rights, Beau takes a second glance into the contents of the box, a reflection of the dying daylight through the clouds reflection off the flimsy, plastic shell beneath the rubble of the electronics. Reaching inside, Beau takes the plastic content into his fingers and drags it to the surface, the wires from the discarded security equipment falling back into the box the higher the object is pulled away. “What is this?” Beau asks Kerryon the moment Jake concludes his reading of Kerryon’s rights, a flimsy, smiley face mask being held in the clutches of Beau’s fingers. “I’m not telling you anything!” Kerryon replies, continuing to refuse Beau and Jake anything to work with, a gesture that annoys Beau. “Fine” Beau responds, picking the young adult up by the neck and leading him to the cruiser, “we’ll just get you to speak up back at the station.” Loading Kerryon into the back of the car, Beau calls for the officers to continue their search, climbing into the driver’s seat with a smile on his face as he stares back at Kerryon in the rear-view mirror. == Remedy Hills == Angrily tossing the comforter off of his body, Avon rolls out from under the blanket and guides himself out of the bedroom, his body refusing to tire out, keeping him from falling into a badly-needed slumber. Toes pressing against the cold wooden floorboards, Avon’s mind only directs his body toward one thing, the clutter of overturned furniture and scattered belongings throughout the home taking a backseat to the need for a cup of coffee.
Through the darkness, Avon stretches his hand toward whatever remotely resembles a coffee pot, hoping his fingers would eventually stumble across what he looks for. In a moment of surprise, Avon’s knuckles brush up against something smooth, the reaction of whatever was grazed being to ring with an almost clattering-like sound. Pulling his hand back, Avon presses his knuckles to the fabric of his shirt, staring in the direction of what made the sound, unable to see it. Taking a single step back, Avon continues to peer into the darkness, almost inviting whatever it is concealed behind the vail of uncertainty to present itself. Now in a standoff, Avon takes a step to the side, pressing his hip against the counter with his head slightly leant to the side, the window just before his face allowing the moonlight peering through blinds to cover his face. Holding his breath, Avon pulls his hand to his chest and presents it forward, his arm gradually stretching further out into the unknown. With his knuckles pressing against the source of the sound, the clattering begins once more, this time, striking much less fear into Avon’s heart than it had the first time. Now unphased, Avon reaches through the thin uncertainty and wraps his fingers around what he takes into his hand, a simple ceramic plate being held in the light before his face. Rolling his eyes, Avon reaches back into the darkness and fumbles around for a short moment, finally pulling a coffee pot and accompanying mug into his hands. His finger pressing down onto the button, Avon leans over the counter, patiently waiting for the machine to warm up, using his mug to fill the contraption with water. Filter loaded with grounds, Avon starts the brew, patiently passing the time by looking out into the quiet street just ahead. Anxious, Avon’s paranoia returns, his breathing getting heavy as he recalls the sights of the van speeding off into the night, the imagery remaining plastered in the base of his skull. Looking to the palm of his right hand, Avon presses the tips of his fingers toward the base, dragging them along his skin to create a rubbery-sound. Closing his eyes, Avon listens to the coffee begin to drip into the pot, his mind recalling what the touch of the rubbery garden hose felt like in his hand. As coffee continues to dribble into the pot, every new drip takes on a different sound, the thud-like pitters no longer resonate from within, now replaced with a splashing drop. Recalling the sounds of the water splashing over the stairway and asphalt-covered drive, Avon continues to dive further into the memories he would otherwise wish to forget about. With a soft grunt, Avon pulls his eyes open and stares at the lip of the sink, its porcelain finish illuminated by the moonlight, time being rendered nothing of importance on the man’s mind. Letting the air leave his lungs, Avon lets out an almost whistle-like hum while the machine beside him audibly spurts out the final droplets. With a nod, Avon takes the pot off its place on the machine and pours himself the cup, taking the beverage without any sweeteners or flavors. Leant against the counter, Avon presses his hands against the mug, feeling the warmth flood his upper body as the smooth drink runs down his throat. Feeling himself calming with every breath that leaves his lungs, Avon stares off at the dark interior of the house and flips on a light, bathing the living room and kitchen in a sudden yellow glow. With a nod, the man places his drink on the counter and begins walking around the adjacent rooms, returning everything to their original positions. Cushions being returned to the couches and chairs being stood upright once more, Avon glances toward the end of the table he typically prefers to write at, the empty space ahead of his chair caused by the seizing of his laptop as evidence. Reminded of the situation he remains in, Avon loses the motivation to return the house to its normal state, allowing a few loose papers in his hands to fall to the floor, spreading out upon impact like a sad supernova. Shaking his head, Avon returns to the kitchen with a few candy wrappers in his hand, stepping on the pedal of the garbage can before dropping the trash in. Returning to the living room with his cup of coffee only inches away, Avon suddenly has an epiphany, his head slowly staring back at the can he had just emptied his trash into before his eyes widen. Disarming the alarm system, Avon exits the home through the front door and hurries down the small staircase to the stone pathway below, feet carrying him to the corner of his driveway nearest the two-car garage. As if he were in the desert and the trash can held the only source of water for miles, Avon reaches for the lid and throws it open, allowing the hard plastic cover to slam against the iron garage door exterior. Looking in, Avon finds a perfectly clean, yet-to-be-used garbage bin looking back at him, not a bag of trash, nor an amputated finger in sight. His eyes darting back and forth, each end of his neighborhood street coming into view, Avon runs back into the home, closing the door behind himself and flipping the lights off. Hands spread against the back of the door, Avon fights to regain control of both his composure and his breath, head instinctively darting to the calendar on his fridge. His eyes throwing their attention toward any random spot with writing on it, Avon eventually comes to find relief when his unorganized scramblings hobble toward one day in particular. “Trash day” Avon reads aloud with relief, a sigh escaping his lips as his wife staggers into the kitchen. “What are you doing!?” Penny asks in a gravelly-tone, the man having slid against the fridge to the floor, now sitting in the middle of the kitchen with a smile on his face. “I couldn’t sleep” Avon responds, still unable to wipe the smile away from his face, still breathing happily, “figured I’d come in here and put everything back the way it was.” Flipping the lights on, Penny reminds the man that not a single light is on in the home, a statement Avon takes no concern in. Shaking her head, Penny takes a seat beside her husband on the kitchen floor, Avon wrapping his arm over her shoulder and giving her a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll be okay” Avon says aloud, holding his wife’s head close as she closes her eyes, hoping to fall asleep with her husband’s arm as the pillow. “I know” Penny replies, the man looking toward the moonlight just beyond the kitchen window with a smile. = 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 = Frustrated, Beau takes a stack of folders in his hands and slams it against the surface of his desk, his partner remaining unphased just ahead of him, continuing to read through reports as if nothing had even happened. “You should get control of your anger” Jake quips, Beau’s eyes trailing toward the man, his posture speaking to that of a man annoyed with his current predicament. “Keep your eyes on your own work” Beau quips, pulling a folder from the unorganized stack and reading the contents contained within. Shaking his head with a smile, Jake does as instructed, continuing to search throughout the various pieces of loose documents in hopes of finding something of value. Resting his elbow atop the desk, Beau continues to cycle through the hill of evidence without any luck. “Those papers aren’t a woman, Beau… You can’t just look at ‘em and leave” Jake jokes, Beau letting the one paper already between his fingers fall back to the pile, hands pressing against his face. “We already have the guy, I don’t see why we can’t call him into the station and grill him” Beau explains, Jake stating the case already previously stated multiple times before. “We have nothing to question him about other than that his story doesn’t line up” Jake explains, “unless we can say for certain that he had done what he’s accused of, we've got nothing of value.” Hands leaving his face, Beau presses his fingers together and lets the side of his hands slam into the desk, his eyes firmly resting upon his partner. “He said a truck caused the crash, the air was foggy and the crime was over before he even hit the bottom” Beau explains, “how can any reasonable man not, at the very least, find that irrevocably suspicious?” Shaking his head, Jake admits that he doesn’t know, but still refuses to pin anything on the man. “There was a truck found at the scene, it could have been foggy and this killer may work fast” Jake explains, “there are still open holes that we haven’t filled yet.” Returning his hands together atop the mountain of documents in front of him, Beau asks his question once more, arguing it to be potentially case-changing. “Why can’t we bring him in and ask him the questions ourselves?” Beau recites, “we’ve got holes in the case- let him fill them up for us!” A piece of paper already resting between his thumb and index finger, Jake relents, allowing the document to fall back to the surface of the desk, giving Beau what he wished for. “Let’s bring him in then, kid” Jake responds, leaving his seat and picking his jacket up off the back of his chair, an enthusiastic Beau following the man shortly thereafter. | “I’ll be back shortly” Penny says to her husband, leaving the man’s side in the middle of the psta section of the grocery store, Avon left behind the end of the shopping trolley. With a shrug, Avon glances back toward his list, eyes trailing down the long receipt, fingers pressed against the paper to extend the length of it, allowing for every listed item to fall before the man’s eyes. Heavily focused on planning his route around the store, a looming fear comes over the man in an instant, the hairs on the back of his neck rising while his hands slowly lower to the handles for which the cart is steered from. Not wanting to turn his head, Avon continues to keep his face forward, eyes planted firmly on the end of the hallway until his pupils dart to each corner of his eyes. One hand removing itself from the lengthy sheet of paper, Avon begins to return his palm to the handles atop the trolley, turning his head slowly to look back at whatever is prompting this unnerving reaction. Confused when he turns around, Avon lifts his eyebrow, eyes finding a stranger standing in the middle of the aisle, a trolly of his own before him, simply staring at Avon with a disgusted look. “May I help you, sir?” Avon asks, refusing to show fright, however, also refusing to back away from his ground. “You’ve got a lot of balls coming to Remedy Hills with a pen in your hand” the stranger replies, his eyes widened, spread to an almost ghostly-extent. “It’s actually a grocery list” Avon responds, playing equally dumb as he does sarcastic, watching the look of disgust on the stranger’s face grow more sour. “Do you think you’re funny?” the stranger asks, finally changing his stance, slowly moving his cart forward as Avon grows more defensive, ready to throw hands at a moment’s notice. “I think I’m rather amusing at times, sure” Avon replies, watching a feigned smile come over the stranger’s face, “more importantly, I think I’m rather able to lay you out where you stand if you keep getting too close for comfort.” With that statement, the stranger stops his progression, the front of his cart practically right next to the back of Avon’s in terms of proximity. “You and your wife don’t belong in Remedy” the stranger explains, Avon’s smile lighting up the store as he shrugs off the suggestion, assuring the man of his false assumptions. “I’m only making myself more comfortable here every day” Avon explains, “so if that threatens you, my suggestion is that you back away slowly before I make you regret it.” “Is that what you told that truck driver on the road a few days ago?” the stranger asks, Avon’s eyes narrowing as yet another smile breaks through his lips, the stranger refusing to show the fear in his body. “No, that’s not, because I didn’t kill him” Avon responds, “but the problem for you isn’t that I’m innocent of such a crime… It’s that the police in your town’s own department think that I’m capable of it.” Getting more comfortable with every second the conversation carries on, Avon begins to get enthusiastic about the debate, having found his opponent to be without the skills capable of standing a chance. Moving one foot in front of the other, Avon slowly approaches the stranger, who backs away until he no longer can, pressing against the shelves of the store’s aisle until Avon’s nose can nearly touch his own. “If I were you, I’d be very afraid of making an enemy out of me” Avon explains, “if you make me feel like I need to take matters into my own hands, I’ll be a suspect in a murder I will very much deserve to be a suspect in.” Lip quivering, the stranger continues to pull away, his feet pressing against the bottom-most shelf as his hands try to push him further up the structure to something resembling safety. Turning his head to the side, the stranger watches two men stand by the pair with their hands in their pockets, his hope having been restored. “Mr. King, we’d like to ask you and your wife some questions back at the station” Jake explains, Avon’s face turning toward the pair of officers standing in the aisle, hands releasing the collar of the stranger’s jacket, allowing him to run off. “How much of that did you hear?” Avon asks, his confidence turning to defense, Jake promising the man that they heard every bit. Looking back to Beau, Avon watches the man’s face turn sour with disappointment, having disliked the accidental confession of innocence. Seeing this reaction from the younger cop, Avon’s enthusiastic smile comes back over just as Penny returns to the aisle, inquiring of any issues. “We just need to answer some questions back at their hub” Avon replies, giving Jake a nod, the older officer looking back to Beau, who turns around with his head shaking, the exit of the store being the first sight taken by his eyes. | “Can you behave yourself?” Jake asks, he and Beau standing outside of a pair of interrogation rooms, Beau promising to go in with as level-headed of a mind as he can. “I’m serious here, Beau” Jake responds, Beau adjusting his posture to appear more professional, “we’ve already got the guy thinking we want him behind bars, there’s no reason to make him feel like the system is rigged for him to lose.” Hands held out, Beau promises to remain professional, reminding Jake that he wouldn’t have been let on the force otherwise. “I don’t think the person that assigned you to this department expected a case like the old one to pop back up” Jake replies, “I know you’re close to it, which is why we’ve kept it under the radar, and I want to make sure you will keep it that way.” “For the third time, I promise to remain professional” Beau responds, a nod of approval coming from Jake, who turns to enter the room with Penny in it. Watching Jake close the door behind himself, Beau’s eyes travel back to Avon, seeing the man sitting at the opposite end of the table, awaiting the first sight of an on-duty detective. His composure kept in check, Beau pushes the door to the interrogation room in and stares at Avon before anything else. “You gonna put the smoking gun on me now, or is that gonna happen after I leave the station?” Avon asks, leaning forward with a smile, “y’know… As a free man.” Understanding himself to be subject of an attempted lure, Beau calmly steps up to the table and has the seat opposite Avon. “Why were you coming in so early in the day?” Beau asks, hands folded atop the table, watching Avon get settled into his chair, attitude dropping to one more cooperative. “I like to wake up early in the morning” Avon replies, keeping his answers as impossibly rearrangeable as he can, “it was preferable to travel during the early sunrise than it was just after the prior sunset.” His head nodding, Beau opens a folder beside him and pulls out a collection of notes, Avon peering away instinctively, intriguing Beau. “What’s with that?” Beau asks, Avon looking to him out of the corner of his eye, gesturing for the man to specify his question. “What’s with the head tilt?” Beau asks, Avon shrugging his shoulders at the recitement of the question, left arm placed atop the back of his chair. “I don’t want to give you any reason to think I’ve planned some sort of answers out to make myself look innocent” Avon responds, his answer surprising Beau, “my story may sound crazy- but it’s true.” His jaw opened, Beau points his tongue to the corner of his mouth, just beyond his K-9 teeth as he reads what’s been written on the paper. With a nod, Beau returns the paper to the folder and approaches the door, tossing the folder onto the table just overlooking his room before returning empty handed. “Not a big note guy?” Avon jokes, having turned his head to find the man’s empty hands, Beau returning to his seat, expression unchanged. “You can face me now” Beau replies, Avon looking back at the man with his smile fading, an apologetic expression coming over him. “You can use the notes, I didn’t mean to make you feel like-” Avon begins, cut off by the man conducting the interview, Beau assuring the man opposite him that the decision was made purposefully. “If you don’t need a cheat sheet, neither do I” Beau responds, hands unballing from a loose fist and being placed firmly atop the empty table. “First question… Tell me your story again” Beau replies, Avon feeling like he and the officer are on a similar page for the first time since their unpleasant introduction. “And that was where your involvement ends?” Jake continues, Penny assuring the man of the accuracy in her story. “Avon went down, looked at everything and then told me not to follow” Penny responds, blonde-highlighted hair falling over her shoulders and ending somewhere beneath the surface of the table top, “so I called police and he climbed up the hill as I did so.” “And all of this happened in the fog?” Jake asks, his pen tapping against the cold table’s surface, allowing the clicking sound of plastic tapping to run through the room. “No, the fog started lifting pretty quickly once Avon reached the break in the barrier” Penny clarifies, “before that, he was just walking into the fog without really knowing where he was going.” With a sigh, Jake places his head in his hand, elbow propped up on the table as he runs the cap of his pen over numerous lines of dialogue transcribed onto the paper before him. “Has he told you anything about that day since then?” Jake inquires, lifting the cap of his pen from the table, pressing it against the tip of his thumb, “preferably what he saw down there?” Her lips puckering into one direction, Penny shakes her head in declination. “All he said was that it was something he wouldn’t want me to know about” Penny replies, watching Jake’s head nod, “if it’s as bad as you’ve led me to believe it is, then he’s probably right.” With a deep breath, Jake nods one more, using the cap of his pen to tip the folder shut, allowing the light manilla cover to return to covering the papers. “Where did it lead?” Beau asks, Avon’s face lowering the moment the question is asked, his hands having been laid-flat against the table much like Beau’s has. “I don’t know” Avon responds, Beau’s face showing the expression of frustration, a gesture which Avon had come to expect. “I’m not kidding” Avon remarks, Beau’s face lowering into one of intrigue the more Avon speaks, “I know it led away from the truck and into the woods… Deep into the woods.” “You didn’t look for where it led?” Beau asks, “you didn’t think there was a chance this guy was still alive and needed help?” His head lifting from the table, Avon looks Beau in the eyes, both men beginning to understand exactly what Avon follows up by putting into words. “We both know there was too much blood running down there for that guy to have lived” Avon replies, holding back the grimace of horror that threatens to loom over his face, “I didn’t want to look.” Nostrils flaring, Beau struggles to find other routes to lead the conversation toward, looking Avon in the eyes, and finding nothing but genuinity in them. “Was it difficult to go back to unpacking like nothing had ever happened?” Beau inquires, Avon’s head shaking in refusal. “Why not?” Beau asks, watching the unamused smile coming over Avon’s face, his obvious efforts to keep his sadness from coming over his expression remaining obvious. “I didn’t see where that blood trail led” Avon responds, looking off into the corner of the room with his head still shaking, “no matter what I saw at the scene, I kept reminding myself that I didn’t have to see wherever that trail led to.” Eyes lowering to his own hands, Beau becomes the first of the two to remove his palm from the table, returning them to his side before picking himself up from his seat. “You’re free to go” Beau says, not giving Avon another look as he leaves the room. | “He’s literally the only person we can pit at the crime scene” Beau explains, Jake’s confused response bringing need for clarification. “I thought you just said your opinion was changing?” Jake asks, Beau assuring the man his opinion has shifted. “I’m not certain he did it anymore, that much is clear!” Beau replies, leaning back in his seat as his hands dance through the air with his every word, “but there’s only one guy we can put on that ground at that time, and guess who that is!” Head hung in disappointment, Jake nods to himself, considering his options as Beau reminds the man that there’s only one way to shift any blame. “If neither of the King’s are the ones responsible, we need to find a second person to shift the blame onto” Beau explains, “until we can prove something like that, Beau is still guilty in my eyes… I don’t know how or why he could have- or would have- done it… But he’s the only person that could have.” “We have to go back” Jake responds, lifting his head from being directed at the ground to being directed toward his partner, shoulders shrugging apologetically. Beau’s expression shifting, the younger man finally accepts the awaiting truth before giving Jake a nod of approval. In silent agreement, Jake pats the top of Beau’s desk before taking his jacket from the back of the chair, throwing it over his shoulders and calling it a night for himself. | Beckoned for by a knock at the door, Avon takes himself from one side of the house to the other, his thumb pressing against the latch on the doorknob to answer who stands on the other side. “Greetings” Beth exclaims, her presence at his door surprising Avon, “I heard you guys were taken down to the station earlier today… If everything alright?” With a nod, Avon explains that it was nothing more than routine questioning. “I figured as such” Beth replies, “I have to be honest, I was really worried when they came into the library asking where you were the whole day.” With a nod, Avon brushes off the reasoning and simply offers his appreciation for the woman’s help. “What masked guy were they talking about?” Beth asks, her following question surprising Avon and confusing Penny. His mouth opening without offering up a response, Avon stands in the doorway silently, Penny looking toward her husband as Beth watches on, both concerned and confused. Calling her husband's name, Penny inquires about the masked man Beth is referring to, Avon being forced into refusal. “The officers said they found someone watching over the property and he ran off when they called for him… Officer Donovan- of course- thought the man was me” Avon responds, answering poorly. “There was a man stalking our house?” Penny asks, her eyes widened, body stricken with concern as Beth begins to worry her concern to only be bound to rise. “That’s what the detectives think, and they’re monitoring it” Avon replies, trying his best to brush off the instance as nothing more than a nuisance. “I’m sorry, are you suggesting that I should have faith in the same people trying to frame you for whatever you saw on that first night?” Penny asks, now concerning Beth. “Was there something more than a car crash out there?” Beth asks, her eyes trailing toward Avon, the same being the case for Penny, both women now looking to Avon for answers. “Yeah, there was more to that crash… A bit more” Avon responds, watching Beth’s eyes roll with concern, her words demanding the couple get a small bag of clothes ready. “The town is hearing about your encounter quickly” Beth explains, “pretty soon, you’ll have a town full of stalkers, and not just a weird kid in a mask.” “We’re not letting the locals run us out of town, Beth” Avon explains, suggesting the couple can handle any amount of people that come their way. “Don’t be stupid, I’m bringing the two of you back to my place” Beth explains, snapping her fingers in front of Avon’s face to gather his undivided attention. “Furthermore, this wouldn’t be a little group arguing with you in your front yard” Beth explains, “that story you’re writing? Yeah- it would be a whole town deciding to make you the killer.” His head shaking, Avon eventually comes to his senses, recalling all of the names thrown into the hat of multiple murders throughout the years, all still associated with such cases for better or for worse to this day. With a sigh, Avon turns to his wife and gives her the nod of approval, small suitcases being loaded with clothes as Beth leaves to make room in her car. Approaching his computer, Avon unplugs the cords from the wall and loads his equipment into a carrying bag, his eyes catching the confusing sights a few feet away, just beyond the sliding glass patio door. Alone in the living room, Avon steps onto his porch with confusion, eyes widening the moment he crouches down to lift a present left for him below. Wrapped in a bow with a note attached, Avon looks at the severed finger laid on its side now placed in his own hand. Unfolding the note, Avon reads what has been left for him with horror, his eyes returning to the treeline, where a glowing smiley-face mask disappears into the depths of the woods, taunting him in his worst hour thus far. “Be more careful with discarding your presents” the note reads, eliciting dread from Avon, “it could make all the difference, new guy.” Standing upright, Avon stares out into the forest as Penny rounds the corner, looking out at the patio where her husband looks off into the night sky. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Penny asks, Avon continuing to look toward the forest unphased as his wife utters the question, Beth just walking through the door as Avon turns around, confident in his posture. “We’re being watched” Avon replies, his wife nearly dropping the handle to the suitcase as Beth lets out a fearful breath. == Remedy Hills == Hunched over in his kitchen chair, Avon stares blankly into the computer screen with his fingers lingering over the keyboard, not a single key falling to the tip of his finger. The sun just rising over the treeline in his backyard, Avon remains hidden by a cold emptiness, one devoid of sunlight or warmth. His eyes remaining wide open, Avon continues to stare into the screen, the only light coming over him resonating from the harsh white tones from the screen before him.
In his head, the prior night’s events continue to play on a never-ending loop, haunting his every thought by bleeding itself into each positive vibe he throws his own way. The thud from atop his doorstep the night prior, the screeching tires of the van speeding off into the error of evening, the featherlight finger left for him as a welcoming gift to the town all flashing before him. “I’m off” Penny calls out, tossing a case of makeup into her bag whilst stopped in the middle of the living room, the front door only a mere few feet away from being within the palm of her hand. Looking back toward her husband, Penny finds him still fixated on the computer screen, her call for his attention never having been processed by his brain. “Avon?” Penny calls out to yet another failure to respond, his stare remaining unchanged, prompting her to walk over. “Avon?” Penny calls out again, leaning forward as if she couldn’t get a better view otherwise, her hand placing itself atop the screen, shaking the picture just enough to get the man’s attention. “Avon!” Penny calls out for a third time, watching the man jolt out of his prior position and shake off the exhaustion, brushing the instance aside as nothing more than sleep depravity. “Are you alright?” Penny asks, watching her husband pull the bottom of his hands to his eyes and rub the crust from beneath his lids. “Yeah, I’m fine honey” Avon responds, clearing his throat as he pushes himself out of his chair, continuing to act as if everything were normal. “Have a lovely first day” Avon continues, his arms wrapping themselves around his wife’s shoulders, hands rubbing the middle of her back as Penny reluctantly returns the gesture. With a peck on the cheek, Avon allows Penny to pull away, walking her to the door as they continue their conversation as if the confusing event had never taken place. “I’ll be back around six, alright?” Penny concludes, offering her husband a peck on the lips before walking through the front door, the heavy metal divider between the inside and out slowly closes behind her, Avon’s hands gently guiding the door back to its space within its frame. With a deep breath, Avon puffs his chest out, allowing it to settle back to its original position as the air within his lungs empties, returning to the space he had taken it from. Head aimed toward the ground, Avon picks his chin up and returns to his seat, arms placed on the rests to each of his sides before he looks into the picture that returns to him, puzzled at what he finds awaiting. Confused, Avon assumes himself to be staring at the wrong page, clicking around with his mouse to find his original word document to no avail. Eyes squinted, Avon’s confusion remains ever-present, his finger dragging the mouse back to the original tab he started on before scrolling up. Of the near-eight pages he’s written, the most recent six of them contain an onslaught of illegible writings, just numbers and symbols plastered onto what would be a piece of paper. With a nod, Avon accepts the findings to have been an accident having occurred in a blank train of thought, every character of text highlighted in a light shade of blue before vanishing from the screen with the simple click of a key. With a nod, Avon returns to his original writings, unable to progress any further upon finding it difficult to recall where he was originally intending to go with his words. Considering his options, Avon leans back in his chair, feeling the need to create space between himself and his keyboard before glancing out at the view in his backyard. The neighborhood is one of quiet peace, the sights that are afforded to Avon exist as no different, woodlands as far as the eye’s sight can reach awaiting his appreciation, a gentle breeze rolling through the leaves. Beginning to bear the fruits of an ascending day, the woodlands give Avon a moment of introspection he needs to clear his mind of the clutter overwhelming it. Allowing his breathing to steady, Avon emerges through his back door and rests his arms against the bannister of his patio, glasses worn over his face so he can actually see the views from afar. The size of his yard creating a great distance between his patio and the start of the treeline, Avon has a heavy distance between the view and himself. Almost as a metaphor, Avon starts at a far distance with his place in the creation of his book, the yard representing the long distance he has left to venture before the accomplishment of peace on the other end. Lifting one hand and balling his fingers into a fist, Avon rests his chin against the knuckles beneath it, staring off at the sights with a smile before his expression inexplicably sours into a frown. Uncertain at first, Avon leans in to get a better view, still not able to accomplish the clarity he needs to see the sight through. Head shaking, Avon turns to the short staircase and steps onto the freshly-cut grass, walking for the start of the forest before halting mid-step. Eyes widened again, just as they had been before, Avon stands in the middle of his backyard looking out at the treeline in horror. Beneath the ascending morning sun, a figure cloaked in all-black garb and a smiling face mask stands in the corner of the treeline, hands to each side, just looking back at the man before it. “Who-” Avon says to himself, frozen in fear, unable to move without being prompted to, waiting for the figure to make the first move. Without warning, said figure lifts its left hand to its face, unfurling its fingers until only the index remains upwards, pressing against the mouth of its mask. Unprovoked, the figure quickly turns away from the man and dashes into the depths of the forest, a prompt that calls Avon into action, the writer hurrying after the man in hopes of getting answers for the night prior. Fear having eluded him, all Avon runs on is a mixture of adrenaline and curiosity, hoping to stop the man before he hurts his wife or himself, and needing to receive a reason for the events of the prior night. Stopping at the start of the treeline, Avon stares into the covering of trees to find nothing, not a trace of the man having given him a fair warning despite the sunlight leaving no inch of the ground ahead of him without illumination. Catching his breath, Avon stands in the place he stopped, head turning toward one side before darting to the other, astonished at the ease the figure had in vanishing before his very eyes. = 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’re new” a woman’s soft voice cries from behind Penny as her locker slams shut, prompting the woman to turn toward the source. “I am!” Penny replies enthusiastically, shaking the hand of the scarlet-haired woman behind her. “Anne Silva” the woman introduces herself as, wrist peeking out from beneath the long, cotton sleeve of her undershirt, “it’s not often we see new faces in Remedy.” “Yeah, my husband clued me in on that pretty quickly” Penny chirps, the woman’s head tilting nearer toward her shoulder. “What does he do?” Anne asks, watching Penny’s expression briefly shift toward confusion, “your husband, what does he work as?” Eyes wide, Penny’s mind drifts toward the truth she’d never had to conceal before, though her instincts push her toward an alternative direction before a sound can leave her cherry-red lips. “He’s an… entrepreneur” Penny responds, clarifying the latter-most word upon its recitation from Anne’s lips. “What is he the entrepreneur of?” Anne questions, watching Penny’s hands lift into the air before throwing themselves aside, brushing off the question as unimportant. “He doesn’t really tell me much about his work” Penny replies, Anne’s head bobbing along with every word she utters, “he’s someone that likes to draw a fine line between work and relationship.” “Okay… Yeah, that’s a healthy choice to make!” Anne responds, finding sense in the response, “I think I might actually envy you a little bit!” Humored, Penny attempts to raise a question of her own to the woman before the pager on her hip begins to ring. “Duty calls” Anne exclaims, Penny shrugging her shoulders before tossing on a doctor’s coat, “I’ll see you around!” With a smile, Penny accepts the half-offer, flashing the woman a smile before heading off into the opposite direction. Rubber soles of her shoes tapping along the marble floors, Penny intends to advance her day forward, the ‘first day of work’ jitters settling over time, learning the layout of the hospital she wanders the halls of taking precedence over most else. “Doctor?” a strange voice beckons from behind, Penny hearing the single term flutter through the airways and grab her attention like a moth to a porchlight. “Hi” Penny replies, keeping her profile low, greeting the man with enough forwardness to afford him the comfort of being able to proceed with his line of inquiry. “Are you the new doctor my wife was telling me about?” the man asks, Penny assuring him of the accuracy in his statement, a grin being offered as a symbolic gesture. In a swift turn of events, the man takes a slushie from behind his back and throws it over Penny’s jacket, forcing security to restrain him immediately. “Tell your husband this city isn’t his personal play-thing for inspiration!” the man shouts with his finger pointed toward Penny, hands pulled behind his back as he’s led by the neck toward the front exit. Both astonished and in shock, Penny glances down at her coat to find it stained red from the man’s drink, muttering to herself the hopes that such an image isn’t a sign of things to come. “What was that?” a doctor asks, approaching the woman with a towel in his hand, Penny assuring him that it was an encounter she was warned would be semi-commonplace. “Dr. Kitts” the man introduces himself, returning to the front desk to collect a few additional towels before being waved off. “This isn’t coming out without a wash” Penny exclaims, pulling at the material in her hands to give herself a better view, “I appreciate the effort, though.” “I’m so sorry for this” Clark explains, “I swear, you’d think people would be smart enough to not piss off the people that might have to save their lives one day, but I guess we’d all be wrong.” Earning a laugh from the woman, Clark cuts himself off before he can get too chatty, cutting the introduction down to a welcome and handshake. “Thank you for the help again” Penny responds, the man walking back the way he came with a nod, “it was my pleasure” he replies with grace. | “How might I be of assistance?” Beth calls out upon the ringing of the entrance’s bells without looking up, finding a newly-familiar face greeting her. Entering the library with his hands in his pockets, Avon escapes the winter-like chill beginning to come over the town in favor of Beth’s warm welcome, surprised to find the man walking in so soon after he walked out. “Salutations” Avon says with a smirk, hiding the paranoid and cold exterior in favor of a less-daunting approach, taking the seat still left beside Beth’s desk from the night before. “Greetings, author… To what do I owe the pleasure?” Beth asks, starting a pot of coffee from the machine just beside her desk. “A sleepless night courtesy of that coffee you gave me last evening” Avon says with a hum, earning nothing more than a shrug. “I don’t think you’re Remedy material if you can’t handle nighttime coffee” the woman responds, the machine off to her side just now starting to fill the pot. With a smile, Avon folds his hands over his lap and pulls one leg over the other, accepting Beth’s opinion. “I’ve got a lot to learn” Avon concludes, Beth refusing to consider such a claim as anything but true. “So what can I do you for?” Beth continues, allowing the direction of the conversation to rest in the hands of Avon, the floor left with an empty space for him to occupy. “What was Remedy Hills like before the urban legend?” Avon inquires, the worn look on the woman suggesting the answer to be complicated. “Remedy was just like any other small town that got famous overnight” Beth replies, “just ordinary people going about their day. Nothing overly notable.” With a nod, Avon continues, his eyes roaming through the large interior of the building Beth remains the only consistent inhabitant of. “Who owns this place?” Avon asks, the woman wearing a smile of pride prior to her answer. “I do… My name is on the property lease and anything else required to keep this operating” Beth responds, her voice taking on a more prideful tone than the one of eagerness she had prior. “My dad passed a few years ago and left me all of this in his will” Beth continues, the machine behind her spurting out the final few drops of the warm, french vanilla brew, “it wasn’t always a library.” Reaching back, Beth takes the handle to the pot in her hand, feeling the warmth radiating off of the plastic handle and onto the palm of her hand, perhaps the only thing making the winter worth bearing through as far as she’s concerned. “This building used to be an old tavern. He knocked all the walls down” Beth continues, “when he passed it to me, I’d taken my rather large collection of books and brought them here… Soon other people did the same with the books they no longer wanted or needed.” Pressing his hand to his chin, Avon listens in with intrigue, the woman continuing her life story with a captivated audience. “I know libraries are usually things that cities make to consider themselves beneficial, but I don’t really care for all that jabber” Beth explains, pouring herself the first coffee, “people can come here for the conversation more than the books… But at least they actually want to come here.” Watching the beverage trickle over the curved edge in Beth’s coffee pot, Avon interjects a question in between the woman’s storytelling. “Why’d you tell me only the elderly and middle schoolers came around every once in a while?” Avon asks, watching the woman cover the pot with it’s attached lid with a smirk. “I didn’t want you to think visiting the town’s resident librarian was a thing to put on the daily to-do list” Beth replies, “but seeing as you’ve now come here two days in a row looking for a story, I figured it’d do no damage.” His teeth showing, Avon remains quiet, Beth noticing this expression and asking about it. “What’re you all smiling over?” Beth wonders aloud, watching the man’s lip part with confidence, every word he utters carrying the obvious weight of truth behind it. “I didn’t come here for a story” Avon responds, removing a notebook from the satchel over his shoulder and tossing it onto the top of Beth’s desk, “this is a ‘I wanna get to know the people I’m living with’ visit.” “Is this an invitation to read?” Beth asks, Avon leaning back in his chair, hands folded together and gliding back, offering a cushion for his head to rest against. “If you wish it to be” Avon replies, the woman nodding at the man’s suggestion, slowly reaching out in a sign of goodwill before pulling the notepad into her hands. “Then I guess I’m down to my last two wishes” Beth responds, crossing one leg over the other and letting the booklet fall onto her lap. With an easy glide, Beth flips open the front cover and reads the text that rests just beyond the cover, her eyes holding an excitement to read words put together in sentences she’s never followed before. Satisfied, Beth closes the notebook and returns it to Avon, his hands lifting into the air to reject her advances. “I want you to hold onto that until I leave” Avon replies, “I want you to know, beyond any doubt, that this conversation is as I have said it is.” Her smile now growing, Beth slowly guides her hand back to her side, placing the notebook upon one of her desk’s shelves. “Where were we?” Beth asks, Avon’s smile matching the wide-berth of her own, invested in the conversation enough to lift his mug to his lips with glee. | Fist tapping against the front door of the King residence, Jake awaits Avon’s answer whilst Beau leans against the cruiser, watching on with a smirk. “I wonder if he skipped town already” Beau mocks, Jake looking back at the man, reminding him of how illogical it would be for Avon to have played a part in this mystery. “Why? The guy buys a house he can afford not to live in and settles in a town no one with his wealth would even point to on a map” Beau responds, “he’s guilty.” Shaking his head, Jake turns back to the door, his knuckles taking to the metal exterior in hopes for a response, Beau having to break the news to him that the man isn’t coming to answer. With a sigh, Jake turns away from the door and removes his phone from his pocket, looking toward Beau, the man having walked away from the cruiser with intentions set on investigating the property. “We can’t look through his home without a warrant, Beau” Jake calls out, dialing Avon’s phone number as his partner acknowledges their legal obligations. “I don’t need a warrant to just have a look around” Beau replies, hands draped over his belt as he looks around the edge of the home, Jake remaining patiently standing on the front steps awaiting an answer from the other line. As Jake leaves a message for Avon’s voicemail, Beau continues to walk around the edge of the house, his body shaded from the house next door, allowing him an unobstructed view. Shaking his head at the empty flower bed, Beau glances off into the distance before looking back at the home, only to return his eyes to the treeline ahead, taking interest in the sights he’s captured out of the corner of his eye. Fingers becoming untucked from his belt, Beau’s hands move to the grip of his firearm, not yet ready to pull his weapon on whatever he finds staring back at him. “Jack!” Beau calls out, his voice not loud enough to catch the attention of what he finds standing in the distance, the man hanging up his phone and returning to Beau’s side. “You find something, kid?” Jake asks, rounding the corner to find Beau with his weapon ready to be pulled, staring off at the trees. “Do you see that?” Beau asks, Jake approaching his side and staring out at what glances back at him in the distance, a figure draped in black with a plastic smiley face mask. “Let’s flank him” Beau says, cautiously moving forward with his gun now removed from his belt, Jake creating distance between the two, his gun newly drawn as well. “Police! Step forward with your hands up!” Beau calls, nearly halfway into the backyard, still uncertain as to whether or not he’s speaking to a person. “I’ll repeat, we’re police!” Beau shouts, “come forward with your hands where we can see them now!” The figure remaining without movement, Jake recites the same warning as offered by Beau, hoping the target they approach is nothing more than a poorly-dressed scarecrow. “I’m gonna say this one more-” Beau begins, his tension lowering as he begins to recite his call for the third time, stopping himself mid-sentence the moment the figure surprisingly turns around and takes off running. “Call in re-enforcement!” Beau shouts, he and Jake both running into the woods with the weapons to their side, breaking into a stride as they keep the figure constantly within their sights. As seconds turn into a few minutes, the figure continues to run at the same pace as it had burst into the moment it’d taken off. In the same breath, Beau begins to slow himself, energy depleting and the ability to move forward at the same pace he has vanishing. Seconds later, despite the refusal to give up, Beau collapses into the dirt, the calls of his name from his partner a great distance away are unable to come within hearing distance. Struggling to catch his breath, Beau grunts as he climbs to his knees, staring out at the depths of the woodlands where the figure had escaped to, internally beating himself for having allowed the masked watcher to escape. | “How did it all happen?” Avon asks, hands folded beneath his chin as the daylight has long faded into night, the streets lighting up with the storefront displays while the pair within the confines of the library pay it no mind. “It happened just like it’s always been told” Beth responds, her hand tucking the loose hairs in front of her face behind her ears, “a kid went missing in the middle of the night and was found in pieces on the backroads the morning after.” “I know that part, I’m talking about the legend… How did it start?” Avon replies,watching Beth lift her feet from the floor and place them beneath each other, sitting cross legged in her old-school wooden chair. “They never found the killer, which pretty much made it impossible to avoid anything other than being reminded that we’d never have closure” Beth responds, “I was only twelve, but I remember hearing about the phantom at recess from a few of my friends.” “So you don’t know where it originated?” Avon inquires, the woman disappointingly shaking her head in refusal, admitting that she wished she had. “Everyone that cares about this town wants to protect it… Keep it from being trifled on by people looking to turn a tragedy into a sad ghost story” Beth explains, “but for whatever reason, an asshat slipped through the cracks and made people like you a target more than anything else.” With a deep breath, Avon nods at the notion, a gesture that Beth takes notice of, apologizing for her wording. “It’s all going to get better over time, just look at it as growing pains” Beth explains, the man flashing her a smile to assure her that he’s fine, though hiding how much worry runs through his mind over the idea. “Tell me about the phantom” Avon quickly quips, “why, of all things to call what was responsible for this, did people settle on a phantom?” With a shrug, Beth admits that the reasoning has never been something that people cared to look into. “I don’t think it matters much… There’s no phantom roaming the streets of Remedy Hills...” Beth explains, her head tilting down, fingers twirling amongst themselves as she pauses, words evading her as Avon observes. The woman slightly overcome with emotion, Avon reaches a hand onto hers, watching her face light up with an apologetic smile as her eyes latch onto his. “Have you ever admitted to yourself how that statement ends?” Avon inquires, the woman looking back at him with her head shaking in refusal. “I’m twenty-five now, so it’s been thirteen years of my life spent thinking about that day… Over and over again” Beth says, a single tear she doesn’t care to wipe away falling from her eye, “never once have I finished that sentence.” Stricken with grief, Avon leaves his seat and walks around the desk, Beth leaving her seat as well to accept the hug the man gives her, emotions bringing the pair to a similar page. “When you want to finish that sentence, I’ll be happy to be there for you when you do” Avon promises, the woman unable to hold back the smile that forms on her face. “I wish the writers that came here were as nice as you” Beth mutters, the man patting Beth on the back as the embrace ends. Returning to his seat, Avon begins his final line of dialogue, Beth downing the rest of the beverage in her drink before throwing another load of grounds in to brew. “There are some people that say this town doesn’t play by the laws of nature” Avon explains, watching Beth’s face go red with embarrassment, “what do you make of all that?” Opening her mouth to speak, Beth breaks out into laughter, her head hanging low as her hand covers her mouth, Avon confused as to what is happening. “I mean… They’re not wrong” Beth responds, putting a look of surprise on Avon’s face, the man having been pulled in with intrigue. “So you’re sold on there being no such thing as the ‘Remedy Phantom’, but you’re also convinced Remedy is pretty much a world of its own?” Avon inquires, becoming lost the longer he speaks. “Some things just happen that shouldn’t” Beth replies, looking through the scattered halls that her brain has historically been described as, searching for the perfect example. Suddenly, as if a bolt of lightning had just struck the street outside, Beth pops into action with her response. “A few days ago, the bells over the door rang and I called out to someone coming in” Beth explains, Avon leaning forward as if he were listening to a ghost story. “When I looked up, there was no one there, and the bells hadn’t moved an inch” Beth concludes, Avon looking on with skepticism. “There is no draft, those bells swing for a long time after they’re hit, and that’s never happened before” Beth explains, “you can call me paranoid or delusional all you wish, but that shouldn’t have happened and yet, here we are.” “Are you sure you didn’t-” Avon begins, Beth immediately cutting him off. “Imagine it? No, it happened” Beth responds, “it may be one of many stupid reasons to believe in something so strange, but it’s a reason that I buy.” With a chuckle, Avon admits defeat, giving Beth the point and finishing the coffee left in his mug. Graciously accepting his notebook being returned to his possession, Avon prepares to leave before thinking twice, still reeling from the weight Beth carries on her shoulders. Quickly opening his notebook, Avon tears a single page from within and pulls a pen out of his pocket, his name and phone number being jotted down in dark blue ink. “I can tell you still have some fear in your mind- regardless of how old you are now- that you’d still be the next one to be found like that” Avon says, “so while I’m only thirty-four myself, therefor not creepy enough for this to be odd, I still want you to have this on you.” Extending his hand, Avon gives the woman his phone number and home address, promising to be there in the event she needs him to be. “Small town, everyone knows each other, I get that there are people you’re probably better off going to than me” Avon accepts, “but I made you a promise, and now I have no excuse to not go through with it.” With a full heart, Beth walks up to Avon again, pulling him for another hug, and thanking him for caring. Having left the library and driven the short ride home, Avon takes the final turn onto his quiet, residential street to find a surprising sight, one that he takes grave concern with. Parked outside of his home, a flurry of police cruisers flash their red and blue lights throughout a neighborhood filled with concerned fellow residents. Short of his driveway, Avon puts the car in park and quickly exits his vehicle, racing to the scene where his wife stands, watching the events unfold. “What’s going on!?” Avon calls out, his wife having to hold him back from dashing into the house, telling him that they have a warrant to search the property. “On what probable grounds!?” Avon shouts back, enraged, Beau calling out to the man from afar with the answer he was looking for. “For whatever the fuck we want it to be” Beau shouts back, watching Avon look toward him in anger, “we may not have much to go off of, but the judge doesn’t like writers very much.” Walking away from his wife, Avon marches toward Beau with an angry expression, prepared to exceed being just confrontational. “Put your hands on me and I’ll take you in on assault charges” Beau warns, Avon stopping short of getting physical, instead, staring Beau down. “What exactly is it that you think I did, but that you don’t have the balls to come out and say?” Avon inquires, challenging the man to outright admit what his motives are. “You know exactly what I think you did” Beau replies, Jake being forced to order Beau to stand down and walk away, his efforts coming up fruitless. “You’ve got blinders on, cop” Avon responds, leaning forward to keep himself close to the man, “you want me to be guilty… Well, sorry to burst your bubble.” “My bubble’s intact, dude” Beau replies, refusing to give up ground, instead inching his face closer to Avon’s, “but I promise you this… I’m gonna bring you down for murder, don’t you forget that.” Shoving his partner away, Jake turns back to Avon, asking the man where he was earlier in the day. “I was at the library the entire day” Avon responds, “Beth Ovorre will tell you the same thing I am… I was down there the whole day asking about Remedy and her life.” With a nod, Jake turns toward a third officer to put in a request, Avon stopping him before the tires can kick too far, asking what Beau meant when he called him over. “Failing to cooperate with authorities, what is he talking about?” Avon clarifies, Jake recalling the events that allowed all of this to transpire, asking Avon if he owns a smiley face mask. “No, I don’t own a-” Avon replies, looking riddled with fear for the moment he pauses before finishing his statement. “No” Avon responds, Jake’s face falling as he pleads with Avon to be honest with him. “If there’s something going on, my department can protect you” Jake promises, “but in order to do that, you need to tell me the whole story, Mr. King.” Looking the man in his eyes, Avon forgets about the neighborhood-bathing lights and his wife’s trembling hand grabbing at his arm, answering the question as it’s recited by Jake. “No, I don’t own a smiley face mask” Avon responds, watching Jake pause for a moment in hopes of getting more, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath before nodding seconds later. “Okay” Jake replies, “we’ll be done with all of this soon.” “What was that?” Penny asks, Avon watching Jake walk off, Beau still mean-mugging him from afar. “The young cop thinks I killed that truck driver” Avon responds, “and whilst the older one doesn’t think I did it, he thinks someone’s coming after me.” Looking toward her husband with surprise, Penny asks the man to clarify his prior statement, worrying that she heard him correctly. “We’re not wanted in this town, likely for good reason, honey” Avon replies, turning to his right to look his wife in the eyes, “but we’re not going to let them run us out.” Returning his gaze to the officers, Avon watches Jake climb into the driver’s seat before Beau looks back at him, stepping into the seat with his eyes on Avon, a anger-infused thousand-yard stare being given to the town’s newest resident before he takes his place, slamming his door shut with authority. == Remedy Hills == Series Premiere
Kicking up dirt with each passing mile, a car veers down the quiet back roads that have been swallowed by lucious woodlands in every direction. “We’d be better off out here if we actually knew where we were going, Avon” a woman lovingly calls out to her partner, sat beside him as he takes the vehicle through winding passageways. “The sign said this was the way into town- you’re just impatient” the man replies, “you’ve never really been good at that.” “Are you trying to say I need to work on my patience?” the woman remarks, a quip Avon sarcastically responds to. “No, Penny” the man assures, his eyes returning to the woman for the moment the opening is afforded to him, “I’m saying you should work on learning how to read signs.” With a wink, the man looks back toward the road ahead, his enthusiastic face falling into a state of disappointment as his foot eases onto the brake, slowly guiding the vehicle to a stop. Shaking his head, Avon throws the vehicle into park in the middle of the road, considering it safe to do so in light of having not seen another vehicle for what feels like hours by this point. Unclasping the buckle of his seat belt, Avon emerges from the car with his hand placed against its roof, half of his body remaining within the car’s confines. “Is that helping you?” Penny jokes, a thick layer of fog just ahead keeping their progression from moving forward. “Not as much as I’d prefer it to” Avon replies, returning to his seat and pulling his car onto the side of the street. “I don’t want to take any chances on these roads” Avon explains, lending his decision support, “racers wouldn’t navigate an oval in fog… Neither will I.” With a sigh, Avon rests his head on the back of his seat, head dropping to the side to face Penny, who sits similarly to himself. “I think we’re gonna be a little behind schedule” Penny mutters, swirling her fingers around each other. “We’ll make due” Avon responds, flashing the woman a smile whilst wearing a tired expression on his face, a full night’s worth of driving beginning to take its toll, “we always do.” Closing his eyes, the driver allows the dark insides of his eyelids to prompt his breathing to calm, hiding his disappointment in the situation at hand with composure. “New town… New job… New people… We’re moving up in the world” Penny quips, receiving a chuckle from the man for her efforts. “Not as much of a new job as it is a hobby becoming a career, Pen” Avon replies, “and I’d put a lot of money on Remedy Hills being a bit smaller than Boston.” “Fine, I’ll stand down” Penny responds with hidden laughter, head falling onto the man’s shoulder as her eyes close as well, “a lateral move at worst.” With a laugh, Avon repeats the prior statement, ‘lateral move at worst’ as he wraps his arm around the woman, making due with the cramped space. A minute passes, the couple remains tucked away in the front seat of their vehicle, taking a break from the sleepless night of the journey from the prior evening. Out of the fog, the noise of an approaching vehicle grows nearer, the cracked windows of their car doors allowing for the sound of rubber stretching over asphalt to call for their attention. “What a brave soul” Avon chirps, watching the faint light of a large truck’s headlights begin to emerge from the thick clouds, the driver behind the wheel careful in their navigation through the winding, maze-like paths afforded to him. “Keep going buddy, you’re almost there!” Penny cheers with a motivated, yet tired voice, watching the headlights continue forward until the truck’s body slowly emerges from beyond the unseen. With a thunderous slam, the headlights of the oncoming vehicle are suddenly thrown to the side, the sound of metal slamming into metal ringing throughout the tight roadways suggesting a massive crash to have just occurred. Shouting expletives, Avon and Penny adjust to the events they had just watched unfold, the truck having vanished seemingly in the blink of an eye. Coming to his senses, Avon throws open his car door and bursts into a sprint, the site of the crash leaving behind little more than some twisted metal and shattered glass. His eyes looking in every direction, Avon suddenly overhears Penny’s voice, the fog disappearing almost on command as his eyes dart back to her. Now with a clear scene to inspect, Avon’s head turns on a swivel, his eyes finally coming across a broken guardrail, the wound in the safety precaution leading to a steep drop into more undeveloped woodland. Hurrying to her husband’s side, Penny joins the man in peering over the edge, eyes stumbling across the view of two mangled vehicles crumpled into a heap at the very bottom, covered in dirt and debris. Without a word, Avon drops to a seat, pushing himself over the edge until his feet make contact with the leaf-covered hill, the summer having begun to fade into autumn. Inch by inch, Avon slithers away from the asphalt, sliding down the wet leaf-covered hill before touching down at the bottom. In a sprint, the man hurries toward the site to check on the well-being of the drivers involved, Penny remaining at street level above, calling for the police. Doing his part, Avon checks in the front seat of the accident-causing vehicle to find its interior unoccupied, not a soul at the driver’s wheel nor one in the front seat. Confused, Avon brushes it off as something with a reasonable explanation to be found further down the line. Racing toward the truck, Avon leaps onto what remains of its boarding platform to look into the little that remains of the passenger’s side window. “Do you need-” Avon begins to call out on instinct, staring into the driver’s seat before stopping himself mid-call, jaw hanging at what he finds awaiting him. “Are they alive!?” Penny calls out, her husband unable to answer just yet, staggering away from the truck before walking around the hood of the car. “Avon!?” Penny calls out, her husband disappearing behind the skeleton of the vehicle, looking toward the ground with fear. A trail of blood leading from the driver’s door and across the grounds, Avon stares in horror as he follows the trail with his eyes, losing sight of its whereabouts as it leads deeper into the thick forest. “We’re gonna need some help out here!” Avon shouts back upon his attention being called for a third time, swallowing the fear that follows him. = 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 = “I just want to forget about it, that’s all” Avon answers his wife’s question, placing a heavy box atop their newly-furnished kitchen countertop. “You can’t just tell me what you saw?” Penny replies, naturally curious toward her husband’s withholding of information. “No, I don’t want to tell you what I saw” Avon responds, slightly overwhelmed the moment his wife asks for a reasoning. “Because what I saw is not something I’d want in the back of anyone’s mind, especially yours” Avon replies, returning for the doorway of his new home, surprised when he stumbles upon two men in overcoats approaching his door. “Can I help the two of you?” Avon inquires, watching the men casually reach into their pockets and remove a leather-covered casing. “I’m Jake Mansoor, this is my partner Beau Donovan” the man introduces, “we’re investigating the crash you two reported. Do you have a second to answer a few questions?” Confused, Avon stares at the men silently for a moment, Penny walking onto the front step in the time between their introduction and her husband’s response. “Detectives?” Avon replies, “I’m sorry, I thought this was just a car accident?” With a nod, Beau responds in kind, glancing toward the man’s wife before leaning in, proceeding to explain their presence to the man in a whisper. “I think deep down, at least the three of us saw the same thing down there” Beau replies, “I’m fairly certain you’re well aware that this isn’t just a car accident.” With a nod, Avon looks back toward his wife, assuring her that everything is fine and directing her back to unboxing. “Can you please recite your story for us?” Jake requests, watching Avon lean against his car with his arms folded. “My wife and I were stopped on the side of the road because of the fog, and we saw the headlights coming on and then they disappeared” Avon begins, immediately interrupted by Beau upon conclusion. “There was no fog in the area, sir” Beau remarks, Avon shaking his head with a loss to a reply adequate for the man’s suspicions. “There wasn’t any fog when the cops came, but there was when it happened” Avon explains, not lending favor to his cause when answering Beau’s following question. “When did the fog lift?” Beau inquires, Avon letting out a sigh before replying with his fishy, yet truthful response. “Just a few seconds after the crash happened” Avon responds, watching Beau glance toward Jake out of the corner of his eye, visually expressing his disbelief in the story. “And you said the crash came from the side?” Jake follows, “like a straight-up side-swipe?” With a nod, Avon pushes himself further into a hole, Beau quick to lend skepticism to his claim. “There was no road opposite the barrier… Just a small hill” Beau replies, “also, there were no tire tracks in the mud… So none of that checks out.” Hanging his uncoupled arms, Avon tells both detectives to stop their efforts. “Have the two of you just come here to get me to incriminate myself?” Avon questions, his inquiry matched with one of Beau’s own. “Is there something you can be incriminated over?” the on-point cop questions, watching Avon’s look sour, his head leaning in as he responds with a sturdy declination. “No, detective” Avon replies, watching Beau remove a pad of paper from his pocket, taking down notes as Jake continues the questioning. “Did you remain on the road or did you climb down once you saw the crash site?” Jake asks, the man in question giving the same false response he had offered to officers prior. “I stayed at the top of the road with my wife” Avon responds, quickly called out on his lie by Beau, prompting the man to look toward the heavens with a smirk before dropping his head into the outspoken officer’s direction. “We’ve got tracks in the dirt that I promise match your shoes at the hill leading to the scene” Beau responds, “stop feeding me nonsense.” “Okay, I lied” Avon quickly replies, assuring the officers that such a lie was the only one he told, “everything else I’ve told you- as unbelievable as it all sounds- is nothing short of the truth.” Forcing the point of his tongue into the corner of his mouth, Beau asks Avon the obvious question left to raise. “Why did you lie?” the man asks, tapping the tip of his pen against the top of his notepad. “Because then I’d have know-it-all’s like you breathing down my neck” Avon responds, his face inching closer to Beau’s with each syllable until Jake places his arm between the two. “That’s enough” Jake replies, taking a less-provocative route toward the questioning, keeping his hand suspended between the men until Avon returns his back to the side of his vehicle. “We can’t arrest you for any of this unless we have probable cause, and that’s at the very least” Jake explains, “I don’t have a problem not trying to trick you into believing otherwise because I think you’re an intelligent man.” Clearing his throat, Jake- two decades-or-so older than Beau- lifts his arms into his pockets and faces Avon fully, leaning in and whispering a follow-up question. “Tell me what you saw when you got to the bottom” Jake asks, Beau standing back with a snarky grin on his face. Looking into the corner of his eyes at Jake’s face, Avon gives into the man’s persuasion, leaving his answer simple, brief and vague. “I saw a long trail of blood leading somewhere I didn’t want to look” Avon responds, his stance on the matter convincing Jake enough to take it easy on him, “and since I didn’t want to look… I didn’t go look.” With a nod, Jake backs off of the man as Penny walks out to the front step once more and calls out her husband’s name. “Are you almost finished?” Penny inquires, Avon looking toward the detectives, who nod to themselves as Beau flips his notepad shut. “We’ve got all we need for now” Jake calls back out, giving the nod to Avon, allowing him to return to his unpacking. “Thank you for your cooperation” Beau calls back out toward Avon as the man returns to his home, earning a side-eye from the citizen as he returns to the newly-purchased sanctum. Ascending the steps, Avon directs his wife back inside, telling her not to pay an eye to the officers now returning to their vehicles. Stepping through the door, Avon places his hand against the doorknob and keeps it there, staring through the entrance of his home without the intention of closing it. The engine in the cruiser outside roaring up, Avon stares at the younger man with the cocky smile on his face, Beau looking back at the new homeowner with a wink and nod. The vehicle disappearing behind a mirage of shrubbery and other lawn-related flora, Avon shuts the door, locking the knob immediately thereafter before moving on with his day. | “Beth Ovorre?” a male voice calls out, his inquiry toward the name of the woman stationed behind a desk at the back of her store following the chimes of the old-fashioned doorbell. “Whom may it conc-” the woman replies, looking up mid-sentence before stopping herself, head tilted to the side in confusion. “Avon King?” the woman responds, the man ahead of her losing his lost expression in favor of an enthused one, his arm extended in a greeting. “It’s nice to meet you!” Beth replies, “I heard you were moving to Remedy Hills, but I didn’t expect to see much of you.” Amused, the man expresses his liking for how small the town is, considering himself lucky to have found a home nearby. “Not a whole lot to do around here, so you see the same faces fairly regularly” the woman explains, hands placed upon her hips, wondering what business the man has in her neck of the woods. “Yes! So sorry!” the man blurts out, explaining that the day had been longer than he’d like for it to have been, “I’m actually trying to get ahead of my stay a little bit… Trying to find out first-hand thoughts on everything out here.” Intrigued, the woman assures the man that she’ll be able to answer any question he has for her in short order. “Give me five minutes to insert some of these check-out dates and I’ll throw you on a pot of coffee” Beth assures, returning to her desk. “You’re the librarian?” Avon asks, watching an amused expression come over her, expecting such a response from most of those new to town. “Not typical for a college-grad to be working a job like this, huh?” the woman jokes, her light-hearted humor putting a smile on the man’s face. “I typically expect the young, pretty post-college women to be partying at bars when the evening comes to a close” Avon responds, “checking books back into their library pockets is a new one to see.” Gesturing a bow toward the man, the woman takes pride in being a rarity, thanking him for the compliment. “Feel free to look around, help yourself to a few pages of a book if you please” Beth offers, Avon returning her bow with one of his own. Looking throughout the building, Avon finds shelf upon shelf adorned with vintage, hard-cover books as far as his eye can see, not a single book out of place from the alphabetically-categorized order they should be in. Marveling at the proper order the pieces of literature have been placed into, Avon loses track of time, five minutes passing in what feels like a singular minute to him. Still at her desk, Beth watches the man roam through the building at every step, taking humor in how stolen by the collection he is. “Find a few thousand that you like?” Beth quips, ending the man’s introspective journey with a well-timed jest. Throwing her hair into a messy bun, Beth stereotypically throws a pencil in to hold the gathering together, standing from behind her desk and approaching Avon with two cups of coffee in her hands. “I’ve never seen such a collection of books so well-maintained before” Avon exclaims as he takes the first cup into his hands, the handle pressing between his fingers. “I’m glad you appreciate books as much as I do” Beth replies, the man turning to her with a smile. “I’m glad the people that come in here appreciate them as much as you seem to, too!” Avon remarks, the woman humored. “Yeah, this place is empty most days… Which I don’t mind by any means” the woman responds, “but it typically comes down to one of the elderly wanting to return a book in favor of a new one or school children coming in on an assignment.” “The elderly I’d expect to take books out with care, but the kids?” Avon replies, looking toward a still-amused Beth. “The girls will come here to see the woman that sneaks them candy through the fence when they’re at recess” Beth explains, “and I’ve been told that I’m reasonably pretty before, so the boys are even easier to get to cooperate.” With a smile, Beth looks toward Avon, who nods to himself. “If only I were a pretty girl in my mid-20’s” the man jokes, “I’d be on top of the world!” With laughter, Beth nods, pleading for Avon to keep dreaming of loftier aspirations. “You’re not too far off from the top of the world” Beth exclaims, walking back toward her desk as Avon follows her lead, “you’re one of the most-notable re-tellers in literature today.” Shrugging off the accomplishment listing, Avon admits to just re-telling the stories of others through his own narrative. “I’ll get creative when there are gaps in something I can plug well-enough to stop from water leaking through” Avon explains, “but the rest of everything is always about imaging.” Following along, Beth asks him to illustrate, challenging his ability to describe their conversation in different lights. Agreeing, Avon begins to unravel the descriptions he’d use for a horror-focus narrative, painting the importance of the way objects and scenery are described rather than the actions of those around them. “I’d mention the dim light radiating from your desk-lamp, how the bulb appears to be on its last legs- though has likely appeared in such a way for years by this point” Avon begins, watching the smile form on Beth’s face as the warm mug presses to her soft lips. “If it were a drama, I’d paint the picture of how they reacted” Avon exclaims, adjusting course as Beth listens in with a raised eyebrow and focused sight, delight coming across her expression as the narrative is pushed onwards. Chest lifting with each breath, the steam from the warm beverage rises from within the cup, curling over the brim and running across her face as Beth settles in with a smile. “I could take the story from the perspective of a narrator to my own” said confidently, “I’ve always liked switching courses when offered the opportunity, this would be no different… Just a change of pace from what people have come to expect from me.” Clearing his throat, Avon leaves behind the possibilities at his disposal to the past, knowing what he wishes to do going forward. “So that’s why you’re staying in Remedy Hills?” Beth asks, eyes narrowing as she tries to read the man’s change in expression, “because you want the telling of the story to be solely your own?” Looking away, Avon stares into the quiet, yet bright streets of the town’s main road with a smile. “Partially” Avon says with assurance, “I suppose you could say that’s a partial reason for it.” With an inspecting nod, Beth sets her drink back atop the table, feet lifting onto her desk as one leg crosses over the other, her next question already pre-selected. “What’s the other reason?” she asks, watching the smile come across the man’s face, Avon having waited for this question to be asked since before he loaded the first box out of his old home. Without needing to put his answer into words, Avon allows a short smile to break away from behind his lips, Beth’s head nodding, her assumptions having been proven correct. Leaning to the side, Beth opens a drawer and removes a book entitled ‘Remedy’ from within her desk, the book one of many removed from the almost missable space in the wooden contraption she refers to as a desk. “You knew right away, didn’t you?” Avon asks, the woman extending her arm toward Avon with the book still in her hands. “It’s not every day your whispered-about little town welcomes a big-time author” Beth responds, “but when it is… It’s always for a reason other than the clear lakes in the summer.” “I should have come around before autumn got underway” Avon says, graciously accepting the book, Beth having been pleased at her correct assessment. “Have people come to expect this kind of thing? Avon asks, standing from his chair with the book under his arm, “someone coming in to write about the story that never was?” Her eyes bouncing from one side of her head to the other, Beth replies with a contradicting ‘yes and no”, standing from her seat alongside the man. “We’ve come to expect people coming for the story, but not exactly staying for it” Beth responds, following the man to the front door, “you’re not gonna be welcomed in with open arms for at least a little while.” “And why aren’t you welcoming me with a cold shoulder and day old coffee?” Avon asks, a charming smile adorned on his face, his feet stepping onto the sidewalk just beyond the doorframe. “Because I’m used to people coming here looking to write the same story time after time…” Beth replies, beginning to close the door in between her response, “...But I’m not used to people coming here looking to write a new one.” With a smile, Avon’s head hangs low, Beth telling him to check back soon if he needs to just as the door shuts. “Welcome to Remedy” Beth concludes before shutting the entrance and locking the latch below, her dainty fingertips flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ before her legs carry her back to the front desk. | Head sunken into his pillow, Avon’s eyelids part suddenly in the middle of the night, the urge to use the bathroom coming over him. With a groan, Avon lifts himself out of bed, telling his wife to go back to sleep through whispers as her body turns, sensing his departure from bed. “I’m just using the bathroom,” Avon says, pecking his wife on the head before descending into his dark, spacious home. Hallway entrenched in the pitch black at every spot left untouched by the light in the woods every other few feet, Avon continues to stammer further into the home with his sights on the end of the hallway. Groggy, the man wipes away the crumbs from his eyes and turns to face the bathroom, hand held out toward the dark interior before his attention is stolen, eyes darting to his front door, where he overhears a loud thud resonating from his patio. His need to use the bathroom disappearing, Avon’s actions become motivated by curiosity, his eyes falling onto the paths through his hallways that lead to the front door. Every other few steps pulling him into the darkness of the hallway, the steps that are not taken plunge him into harsh moonlight, every shadow on the way being that of his own until he reaches the main foyer. Stepping into his sandals, Avon peers through the peephole before jolting back in surprise, fear taking over automatically the moment he finds something other than a vacant front porch. Careful not to make a noise, Avon lets his hand fall from over his mouth, a deep breath leaving his lungs before he prepares himself to lean forward once more. Pressing his eye to the hole, Avon’s mouth falls when he acknowledges what he discovers staring back at him. A sigh of relief coming over, Avon smiles at the sticky note with a smiley face drawn in pen staring back at him, taking the gesture as a joke by his wife. With a subtle nod, Avon begins to back away from the viewfinder, feeling a sense of overwhelming dread looming over him, his heart telling him to give the slot another look. Doing as instructed, Avon leans in yet again, staring at the sticky note for an additional few seconds. Carried by the wind, the sticky note loses its grip on the front door and flies off, revealing the sights hidden behind it the entire time. Parked on the sidewalk directly outside his front door, a van awaits the man’s attention, its sliding doors left open to provide the man a look at a figure sat nonchalantly in the cabin. Feet pressed against the asphalt, a figure draped in all black remains before Avon’s eyes, the only noticeable feature to his appearance being an animated smiley face mask. As Avon pushes the door open, the man having awaited his appearance pulls his legs into the cabin, closing the door behind him as the van speeds off into the night, leaving nothing but dust in its wake. Prepared to run after the van screaming for attention, Avon’s attempts are thwarted the moment he looks down at what remains left for him on his porch, a sick gift given to him by those responsible. From the end of his driveway to the top of his patio stairs, a trail of fresh blood and gore leads to Avon’s feet, the sights capped off with a severed index finger wrapped in a sticky note. Without rational thought, Avon’s mind tells him to discard the scene in an effort to clear his name, already believing the detectives from earlier to find him guilty. Putting the severed finger atop his mailbox, Avon hurries to the foot of his patio, turning for the flower bed and powering on the hose. In a lapse of judgment, Avon sprays down the trail of blood, allowing the red, runny liquid to be carried off with the water down the street for a few feet until reaching the gutter. Patio, driveway and lawn soaked, but clean, Avon turns the handle on the hose and watches the water dribble out of the end, dripping onto the dirt beneath his feet. Shaking his head, Avon places his hand atop his banister and pulls himself up the stairs, unwrapping the sticky note around the finger and reading it beneath the moonlight. “Don’t ask, don’t tell… Happy writing!” the note reads, another smiley face drawn at the very bottom. Staring back toward the end of the street, Avon shakes his head in disbelief, tossing the finger in the trash and the sticky note into the flower bed. Rubbing his eyes, Avon walks back inside his home and turns toward the street, giving the view outside another glance before his door shuts. In the quiet night, a few seconds of silence ensue, crickets chirping around the neighborhood until the deadbolt locks, calling it an end to the night. == Remedy Hills == |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
December 2023
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