S2, E10 | Enter the Forest

​Season 2 Finale

Bleeding from the lip, nose and the gash just above his eyebrow, Avon’s head hangs low in the seat that his wrists are tied to, his feet similarly bound to the legs of the chair. With his eyes closed, the brutally beaten author sits without a word to utter, unable to see anything around himself as the room he’s in- whether cramped or spacious- is clouded in utter darkness.

Breathing normally, the writer waits for whatever fate may come to him, unsure of anything other than how he ended up in the predicament to begin with. Finally parting his eyelids, Avon finds the same nothingness that he’d seen when the thin flaps of flesh had covered his sights, entrenching him in the void that he’s stranded within. Covered in sweat, the man’s face is struck by the cold air that wafts over his face in every breath, proving more chilly than the stuffy quarters he’s confined to.

As he tries to lower his breathing to such a minimal point that not even he, himself, can hear it, the author tries to allow his hearing an attempt at listening into anything that can lend him clarity as to where he is. Struggling to catch much more than the blood in his ears, Avon pulls in whatever oxygen his lungs can expand to accommodate before holding it back, eyes widening as he fights to gain an insight into just what kind of circumstance he finds himself in.

Though faint, the sound of verbal scuffle between a pair of men in the great distance manages to penetrate the blanket of darkness the author is forced to call his current home. Though unclear, what is said seems to spark a discourse that grows louder the longer that it goes on, the volume and intensity of such a conversation forcing its way further into the room which the abducted writer is stored inside.

“Everyone’s gonna be looking for him!” a man proclaims, the anger carried through his voice bringing the comment to such great lengths that the words can be made out by the subject of the concern. Commencing slow and quiet breaths, Avon begins to retain his grasp on the chatter beyond his captivity, trying to take away as much insight as he can from the confinement he’s been sentenced to.

“They don’t like him, they won’t do a damn thing!” a much lower, yet less intense voice replies, fighting the conclusion that was made by the soul he seemingly argues with. “This isn’t just a town thing, it’s a national thing you fat dope!” the first man- who’d initiated the high volume of the conversation- retorts, insulting his cohort whilst correcting the conclusion that was made by him, “the dude’s known all over the fucking country! This shit’s gonna be national news!”

“Boys, that is enough!” a third voice interjects, breaking through the conversation in ways that the author hadn’t taken notice of before, lowering the volume of the discussion back toward lesser-heard levels. Pulling in his breaths again, Avon ceases his breathing as he attempts to regain his grasp on what’s being said beyond his reach, only to find this attempt proving futile, no further comments being made coherent enough for him to follow.

Shaking his head with disappointment, Avon begins his breathing once more, letting out a long breath through his nose to clear the blood and snot that he’d been incapable of ridding. Feeling beads of sweat trickle down the side of his face and neck, the writer closes his eyes and prepares to await further action once more, no longer able to know what’s happening around him and coming to a temporary understanding of that.

Suddenly and without warning, the door that had forced the author into complete nothingness is pulled open once more, provoking the prisoner into deepening the closure of his eyes as a shield from the harsh light that floods into the room and over him. “He’s awake” the third man’s voice remarks, overhearing the pained groan that Avon initially reacts with and taking it to mean what it does.

“What the hell do you want from me?” the author questions aloud, his eyes remaining closed and face remaining heavily beaten and bloody whilst his voice sounds rugged, cold, and tired. Without initially replying, the three men that now approach their victim inspect his physical condition, the unintroduced third voice taking Avon by the chin and forcing the man’s face toward the exterior of his own mask, looking through the holds in his visage’s covering at the attack’s aftermath.

“You did a decent number on him” the identity-concealed man remarks, still inspecting the author’s face, looking from one side of his sweat-covered skin to the other as if he were a slab of beef in the supermarket aisle he’d contemplated buying. “What do you want from me?” Avon repeats, still yet to open his eyes as he feels the fingers that had pressed into the flesh around his jawline pull away, returning to the side of the man they belong to.

“Look at me” the mask-covered assailant replies, urging the abducted civilian to do as instructed, “hey, look at me.” Having whistled and snapping his rubber glove-covered fingers before repeating himself, the anonymous criminal once again gestures for the writer to do what’s been asked of him, waiting for a few seconds as the victim’s eyelids struggle to part with the light that still dazes him.

Trying as best he can, Avon parts his eyelids to find a singular smiley face mask looking into his face, the man having dropped to the ground and placed himself upon one, bent knee. To either of the man’s sides, a pair of men in similar facial coverings- one muscular figure and another comfortably overweight figure- stand at attention with their hands hung at either side, prepared to attend to the aid of their presumed leader at a moment’s notice in the event that it’s needed.

“What do you want from me?” the author asks for a third time, looking away from the knelt criminal before him in order to pass glances at the assailants to either of his sides, eyes inevitably falling back toward the nearest abductor. Looking into the victim’s eyes, the masked figure continues to kneel in silence, staring at Avon without uttering a word, simply taking the man’s assaulted appearance and helpless nature into his memory as if he were taking a photograph.

= 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 =

“We’re not trying to talk in circles, Penny. We’re just trying to make sure we understand what you’re saying without mistake” Beau clarifies, sitting in his passenger’s seat whilst looking at the woman through the cruiser’s rear view mirror toward the woman in the back. “I don’t know how you could mistake anything that I’m saying” Penny responds, “we went to bed, he wasn’t home when I woke up, and then I found the mask on the chair where his laptop is.”

“And you checked the entire house for him?” Jake queries, taking part in the conversation whilst navigating the roads from the precinct to the King’s residence, “we’re not gonna walk into another JonBenet Ramsay situation, are we?” Assuring the older officer otherwise, Penny watches as the final turn onto the road in which their residency resides is taken, “There isn’t much home to look through. I did a quick run-through to see if he could be playing a joke, but-”

“Who’s that?” Beau questions aloud, interrupting the conversation as he leans forward, looking through the windshield and toward the sedan parked outside of the woman’s home, “do you have company over, Penny?” Shaking her head with vehement denial, the well-educated doctor refuses the man’s conclusion, “no, we don’t” she answers, a comment that the cop in the driver’s seat accepts as the truth immediately.

“I believe that’s the car Harlington Spears has registered to his name” Jake remarks, speaking in a low tone, though the words that he speaks are more than spoken loud enough to be heard. “Is he inside our home?” Penny questions aloud, looking toward the building’s exterior before taking notice of the massive front door being left open, the interior of her home visible only through the facade of the screen door that precedes it.

“I’m gonna run the plates on the car. Detective Donovan, would you-?” Jake queries, slowing the cruiser to a stop before his partner answers, cutting the man off with a smile on his face. “It’d be my fucking pleasure to, partner” Beau replies, immediately pushing his door open and returning his feet to contact with the ground, the gun on his hip being taken into his possession as he rounds his own vehicle.

“Mrs. King, stay in the car” Jake remarks, joining his colleague in entering the scene of what could turn out worse than what they anticipate, his hand being taken to the radio on his shoulder. Sneaking his way toward the house’s front staircase, Beau peers through whichever windows haven’t been concealed behind drapes or shades, seeing nothing from the level that he occupies that can alleviate some of the concerns building within his core.

“This is Detective Jake Mansoor, I need plates run on a vehicle parked outside of Avon and Penny King’s residency on Milton Hill Drive” the older officer radios in, reading off the numbers on the licence plate whilst his colleague continues about his journey. Staying low to the ground, Beau ascends the concrete platforms with his side grazing the metal bannister, the barrel of his weapon held in the direction of the ground as he draws closer to the entrance.

“Where the hell would he have gone?” a man’s voice questions aloud, raising a wonder that the hot-headed officer is now well in-range to overhear. “I don’t know, but we aren’t in a rush” a second voice replies, catching Beau by surprise with its soft and feminine appearance. “I can confirm the plates as belonging to Harlington Spears, do you require backup?” the officer on the other end of the radio replies, raising the inquiry that Jake- at first- appears eager to affirm.

“No, no, no!” Penny whispers, sneaking up on the older cop quickly before covering the talkie with her hand, urging the man not to reply. “Look at Beau!” the woman hisses, pointing toward her building, where the younger cop silently gestures for his partner. “Detective Mansoor, do you copy?” the woman on the radio’s opposite end questions aloud, momentarily disregarded by the gendarme as his sights direct themselves toward the house.

“Two people” Beau mouths, pointing in the direction of the door before raising a pair of fingers toward his colleague. Aware of the need for quiet, Jake lifts his thumb toward the younger officer’s direction before pointing at his radio, the circular motion of his finger that encompasses the entire neighbourhood preceding the extended flattening of his hand, leaving his partner in control of the call.

Shaking his head whilst waving his fingers at his own throat, Beau refuses the call for backup, a conclusion that the older gendarme trusts enough to put his faith in. “No, we’re all good on this front. Just needed clarity” Jake answers back, refusing the precinct’s request before nodding toward Penny’s direction, gesturing for her to seek cover behind their cruiser before hurrying across the lawn.

“There are two people inside- one of them sounds exactly like Harlington, but the other one is a chick. She sounds young- probably mid-twenties” Beau whispers, moving aside to allow the more experienced cop a position in the driver’s seat. “The man is looking for Avon and the woman’s telling him that they’re not in a rush” the young cop adds in, reaching for the screen door’s hand before gently pressing his thumb into it, allowing a quiet entry into the building to commence.

“Police! Put your hands where I can see them!” Jake exclaims, his voice bouncing off of one wall and into another whilst he storms down the home’s main foyer, his gun drawn in the direction that footsteps are heard. “Don’t shoot! We’re unarmed!” the woman’s voice proclaims, allowing the detectives to follow the sound of her voice into the kitchen, where they find the subject in question lifting her arms, surrendering at once without any conflict to offer.

“Hey guys” Harlington greets with an odd level of confidence, just beginning to dig a spoon into the surface of a newly-opened carton of red gelatin, “how’s it going?”

“Beth?” Beau quickly wonders aloud, taking notice of the much more concerned woman, her guilty visage and trembling hands raised whilst she stands a few feet ahead of the man who she’d broken into the home alongside. “We can explain!” Beth hurriedly confesses, turning her head back to face the man that immediately chuckles at her assertion.

“Well this is an interesting turn of events” Harlington murmurs, sliding the dessert-covered spoon between his lips before using his tongue to clean the curved side of it, coating it with the cherry flavouring his snack had been laced with, “now it’s you that has to explain the crazy stuff.”

Surprised by both the woman’s unanticipated return to Remedy Hills and the fact that she’s riding with a man who’d climbed the ranks of the most wanted fugitives in the town’s entirety, Jake and Beau remain standing with their guns drawn, neither man sure on what to say or how to react to the odd pairing that stands before them.

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“I’m just gonna keep asking the same question until you answer it” Avon mutters, refusing to look into the eyes of his captor as the restraints around his ankles and wrists are made tighter. “You’ve been tormenting my wife, you’ve been tormenting me, you killed Beth Ovorre, you’ve killed countless other people, and you don’t seem to be interested in stopping” the writer persists, his grogginess made clear in the uneasy reflection contained within his voice.

“For god’s sake, if you’re trying to tell me something- just come out with it” he pleads, shaking his head with a loss before his chin is held steady by the masked assailant’s fingers, another examination of the author’s scars taken. Refusing to play along with this second inspection, Avon violently thrashes his head and pulls it away, shaking from the grasp of the criminal that kneels before him.

With the most gentle tilt, the masked cleaner’s head leans toward the right as his eyes stare into those of the author’s, eventually taking to the differing features in the man’s appearance. Coated in sweat, the stuck-together strands of Avon’s hair reflect the light of the hallway that the open door allows to crash upon the imprisoned figure of national interest, the trail of blood leading down from different points of the man’s face having mostly begun to dry.

Breathing slowly, Avon’s chest lifts with ease and lowers back to a resting state without issue, the damp collar of his grey, V-neck t-shirt allowing the fabric to stick to his moist body, the sweat upon his flesh reflecting the same illumination that the strands of his hair to. “What do you want from me?” the man questions aloud once more, earning no change in the abductor’s demeanour, and provoking no reaction from the man who has heard the question countless times now.

Refusing to answer it as he had in all other instances, the unidentified criminal lifts himself away from the ground and ventures through the room’s door, walking around the corner before coming to a stop shortly thereafter. Inspecting something beyond the author’s sight, the masked abductor sifts through what sounds like various pieces of metal whilst his acquaintances watch on, keeping to themselves before one figure is met with the urge to taunt.

“Don’t gawk at me” the heavy-set fellow remarks, turning his sights toward the author before raising a finger in the man’s direction, “you answer to us now. This doesn’t work the other way ar-”

*pop pop pop*

Without any warning, the apparent leader of the trio retrieves a gun from the waistband behind his pants and fires three rounds at the overweight criminal, two shots striking at the man’s chest before the final one tags him just over his top lip. Having concealed his wince well, the well-built masked kidnapper moves aside as the much heavier victim topples to the ground, not wanting to be taken down by the force of the man’s weight.

With widened eyes, Avon watches as the figure who’d bad-mouthed him falls, suffocating on his own blood whilst his brain processes the fact that he’s just been killed- the rest of the man’s body just now beginning to play catchup. Returning into the author’s full view, the leading criminal approaches the man he’d just slain before passing a glance toward the shredded figure beside him, watching as the man raises two hands in surrender as if to suggest he had no issue with the action.

Lowering the gun’s barrel toward the ground, the leader turns his sights toward the visibly shocked and appalled victim he’d restrained beyond any means of escape, watching as the author looks up to meet the eyes with his own. Trying to remain strong in the face of terror he assumes was partly made in an effort of intimidating him, Avon refuses to break from the man’s eyes even as the armed murderer slowly returns to him, approaching with a relaxed sway in his posture.

Holstering his firearm in the waistband of his sweatpants once more, the criminal lowers himself back to the dust-covered ground, his knee gently pressing into the rock-solid floor directly in front of the imprisoned writer. “What do you want from me?” Avon questions yet again, refusing to allow the inquiry to die the same way the hefty helping hand had seconds prior, wanting to know the answer just as he has throughout the entire ordeal.

“You’ve put my wife and I through the ringer. You sickos are too organised for that to have been for pointless torment” he doubles down, assuring the criminal that all of this must be for a greater purpose. “You’ve done everything to make that clear other than outright telling me what you want from me” Avon adds, seeing no change in the movement of the criminal’s eyes regardless of what he says, “just tell me what you want so we can stop getting in each other’s way.”

Holding firm in his demand, the assaulted, exhausted, and emotionally-drained author looks for answers to questions that have been left for him since he’d entered the grief-stricken town that now appears to be more of a cause of grief than a victim of it. “Why did you go into the forest?” the masked criminal finally speaks aloud, raising a question to the restrained subject that he’s knelt before, allowing silence to permeate throughout the room once his inquiry has been presented.

Just barely parted, Avon stares beyond the mask’s plastic exterior, beyond the glossy material that reflects his battered face and through the slits above the mound at its centre, peering into the pupils that hold upon him. Unmoving, the man’s lips refuse to move in a way which can be considered an attempt to answer, their resting state remaining just the same way despite the seconds that pass between the question and now, unsure of what to reply with.

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“What method of self-defence did you use, exactly?” Jake questions, standing before Beth as she sits in one of the kitchen chairs, her hands cuffed behind her back just as her cohort’s are. “We used a fence post” she confesses, watching the officer’s puckered lips take toward the man seated beside her. “No, I used a fence post” Harlington corrects, specifying parts of the story to make it appear more believable, “he was getting up, so I drove the thing through him. He left me no other choice.”

“And the two of you went out to that cabin together for what reason?” Jake wonders aloud, watching on as Beau leans against the archway between the kitchen and living room, his arms crossed. “The only time cops have ever backed my side of the story was when the people made such an uproar that it forced their hand” Harlington responds, shaking his head with disgust at the officers, “after letting him slip out of jail, the cops in this town would’ve needed to show someone in cuffs.”

“And you’re making it really hard to not choose to make those people the two of you” Beau reassures, something that Penny struggles to argue against, keeping to herself in the corner of the kitchen, her arms crossed just as the younger officers are. “We had nothing to do with helping him escape. We were both out of the state when it happened” Harlington remarks, snapping the fingers of one hand restrained behind himself, “check the car that Beth crashed on the freeway.”

“You crashed on the freeway?” Jake queries, a statement that the woman immediately frowns at, “what caused that mishap?” Shaking her head, Beth looks away and rolls her eyes, “fog was everywhere and I got ahead of myself. I picked up my speed and lost control of the thing” she confesses, visibly disinterested in doing so, and not taking kindly to the amused chuckle that her cohort immediately reacts with.

“Can we please get around to the whole reason you’re sitting in my kitchen chairs right now?” Penny wonders, growing disinterested in the legal conversation unfolding whilst her fingers remain locked around the edge of the mask in her possession. “My husband is missing and the only lead that I have other than this flimsy piece of plastic bullshit is the two of you” she proceeds, speaking up as the conversation returns to what led her trio here, “why are you looking for Avon?”

“Because we don’t have anywhere else to go” Beth answers quickly, a reply that the man beside her doesn’t take much of an argument against. “We’d been staying in that cabin for a few days and just came back into the town proper yesterday” she doubles down, the claim that she makes latched onto and continued by her jailbird acquaintance. 

“The guy at the library wouldn’t give us any answers” Harlington proceeds, a stance that brings a frown over Beth’s face, “she said there was only one other person that she trusted to be able to at least believe her side of the story.”

“What do you mean by ‘answers’?” Jake quickly points out, harkening back to the claim that’s made for the implications that it brings, “what were you asking him?” Bowing her head whilst the man who’d dragged her into this situation in the first place turns to look in her direction, Beth becomes rather reserved for a moment whilst her face wears a displeased scowl, a gesture noticed by two officers and the homeowner, who collectively remain silent.

With furrowed eyebrows, the repetition of the question within her head draws a great disappointment over Beth, who lets out a sorrowful sigh as she parts her lips to speak. “My father and Rico Martinez knew each other” the woman confesses, drawing little change in the reaction of Harlington, though the curious looks she gets from the cops quietly insinuate that her further speech is desired.

“Rico called my dad ‘Fred’ that same night we’re telling you about. He knew my father on a first-name basis and I have no idea why” Beth doubles down, still looking at the floor whilst the two cops look toward each other, “when we asked Mr. McArthur about it, he got incredibly weird about it.”

“Yeah, asking the dude to just verify that they knew each other was like pulling teeth. When she asked how they knew each other, he got even worse” Harlington adds on, drawing the interest of both officers the longer that he talks. “He’d mentioned something about knowing these things to be incredibly dangerous and then ran off to a room in the back of the library” the runaway fugitive carries on, his proceeding silence allowing Beth to finish off the story’s retelling.

“When we told him that Rico was dead, he pretty much said that we were too” the woman concludes, drawing the interest of the woman that stands in the room’s corner. “Have you ever heard anything about this?” Beau queries, looking to his partner with uncertainty, knowing the man to have been an officer in the town for longer than he, himself, “about Fred Ovorre knowing Rico Martinez?”

“I barely knew Fred Ovorre existed until he died” Jake responds, shaking his head at a loss for what to make of this revelation, “what would the two of them have in common?” As unsure as his colleague is, Beau shakes his head as his arms uncross, falling to his sides as the fifth member of the room speaks aloud, drawing their consideration back to the conversation at hand.

“Could Rico being dead have anything to do with Avon being taken?” Penny questions aloud, looking to the members of law enforcement for answers that they just can’t come up with. “Sure, it could. But so could anything else that those people in the masks have been targeting you guys over” Beau replies, admitting that he’s fresh out of certainties in relation to the case at hand, “even if it was the reason, we still don’t know where they took him.”

“Well, I’d suggest that you try and figure that part out fast” Harlington replies, earning the redirected focus of his peers within the room as his comments are made, “if they treat Avon with the same kind of courtesy they treated me to... He might not have long.” Sharing concerned stares amongst each other, the cops and the concerned wife hosting this impromptu interrogation silently gesture to each other that, in spite of how in the dark they are, the fugitive may be right.

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\ Hours earlier /

Walking through a home warmed by only the flames kindled in the brick-laid fireplace, a man with long, grey hair and a rugged, grey beard steps toward the building’s entrance with a pair of metal cantines tucked under his arm. Exiting the home, the older gentleman steps over fallen leaves from the litany of trees that surround his middle-of-nowhere residency as he makes for the pond just outside.

Stomping the base of his rubber boot against the thin layer of ice that had formed over the tiny body of water, the woodlander fills his bottles and steps back the way he came, only having departed from the building for one purpose. Pushing the home’s door inward, the man begins returning to the relative warmth and comfort of his cabin before taking a momentary glance outward, seeing past the foggy breath that his lungs spew into the air in both awe and silence.

Dressed in little more than a brown coat and a pair of slacks, Avon’s squinted eyes look beyond the fifty yards that separate himself from the off-grid resident, speaking not one word. Without movement, the pair of individuals stand on opposite ends of the forest as each other, acknowledging only the continued presence of the other without making even the slightest of movements, their stare down continuing for as long as the meeting of their attention is prolonged.

== Remedy Hills ==