S2, E6 | Alive

With the radio switched off and nothing to keep him entertained, Avon’s mind loses itself in a flurry of assumptions as he mans the steering wheel, piercing through the cloudy, small town night with only the mounted GPS’ guidance affording him a path toward answers for his questions. “Turn left. Then, keep straight” the machine reads aloud, its feminine voice doing just enough to keep the man’s mind from straying down territory better off left undisturbed.

“He could be trying to set me up. I don’t know why he wouldn’t do it when he had the chance that night, but that doesn’t mean he won’t take it tonight” the man thinks aloud, speaking to a car empty of passengers other than himself. “Why would I even entertain something like this? They killed Beth, they killed their own members, and they tried to kill me” he further murmurs, bypassing the concerns he voices aloud by following through with the source’s request.

Rolling to a stop at the red, octagonal sign planted into the rough terrain off toward his right, Avon lightly taps his foot along the gas pedal as his hands grasp tightly upon the wheel he rolls to the left. “In half a mile, turn right at the stop sign” the device he’d mounted a short distance away from his line of sight remarks, leading the final down the final stretch of passageway between himself and the man he searches for.

“These are vicious people. These are evil people” the writer continues to whisper, trying to talk sense into himself despite his intentions being nothing close to willing, his mind already made up on seeing this journey through. “I should do the world a favour and put them down when I get there. The world is better off without these kinds of animals” Avon continues, speaking whatever thoughts linger upon his mind without any people within earshot to hold him accountable for them.

“These people are depraved. They’re ruthless, and they will stop at nothing to hurt people” the whispers continue, refusing to silence as the destination has yet to be reached. “They hurt Beth. You gave that woman your word, and you let her down” he says as a glance is passed toward the machine’s screen, the trail that he’s meant to follow shortening the further that he seeks out what lies at the end of it.

“You can’t allow these people to get away with something like that. Jake and Beau are trying, but- if this guy is right- you can’t trust the cops” the comments are uttered, only interrupted by the feminine voice once more. “At the stop sign, turn right. Then, continue straight for half a mile and your destination will be on the left” the device mutters aloud, prompting the driver to come to his final stop outside of his intended area of interest and guide the vehicle accordingly.

“This man’s haunted you. He’s haunted your wife, and he’s killed so many people” Avon continues to declare, preparing himself for the soul that he prepares to find himself at the courtesy of, finally coming face to face with the smiley face demons that had plagued him. “This man is a savage. Even if it seems like the two of you can find common ground- he cannot be trusted” the author proceeds, refusing to let up in his conclusion, “react to him as if he were the devil itself.”

“You have arrived at your destination” the feminine voice proclaims whilst the car’s driver pulls onto a gravel driveway, the substance bringing a different sound over the vehicle that the paved roadway had not offered. At the behest of his device assistant, Avon brings his vehicle along whatever length of the rock-covered stretch of continued passage that’s provided to him, only stopping when his driver’s seat is aligned with the steps that lead to the home’s front patio.

“He’s vicious, he’s ruthless, and you need to be careful” Avon mumbles, twisting the keys in the ignition before sliding them out once the car’s engine has been powered down, keeping them in his hand as he steps out of the car. “He’s vicious, he’s ruthless, and you need to be careful” the author repeats, slamming the door shut on his way out before marching for the front steps, repeating the line as he nears them, “he’s vicious, he’s ruthless, and you need to be-”

Interrupting himself as he stops dead in his tracks, Avon looks toward the home’s entrance to find a man emerging from within, the face one so hauntingly familiar that the writer recognises it immediately. With a cup of hot tea in his hand, Devin joins his visitor in the crisp air of Remedy Hills without uttering a word, his eyes simply falling upon the new arrival with a friendly enough demeanour to mistake for any of the other town’s people.

“Welcome, Mr. King” the soft-spoken, well-mannered man remarks as he, too, comes to a stop just feet away from his own front door. Dressed in a knitted green sweater and a pair of beige khakis, Devin stands before the unannounced visitor with a pair of glasses worn over his clean-shaven face, looking toward him with a semi-smile. “I’m glad you could make it” the decent-appearing subject of Avon’s torment proceeds, lifting his cup toward the man, “care for a cup of tea?”

= 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 =

“Where do I factor into any of this?” Beth queries, her eyelids pressed together and head leant back against the chesterfield’s padded backing. “I beg your pardon?” Harlington wonders back, curious as to the context in which the woman’s question is offered, taken by surprise at the sudden vocalisation from a woman who’d been quiet for so many hours that he’d mistaken her for being asleep.

“You said earlier that there was a reason that I survived the crash” Beth responds, the middle finger on her right hand flicking at the index digit on her left, nothing else to do whilst still confined to the rope’s restraint. “You’re important” Harlington answers, adding nothing more to the reply than the two words, a conclusion vague enough to prompt the kidnapped resident to open her eyes and stare forward.

Without uttering a word at first, the hostage looks toward her keeper without the slightest sense of understanding what was meant, though it quickly becomes apparent that her abductor neither has one himself. “I don’t get it either. Remedy Hills seems to think you’re mightily important” Harlington shrugs, the lean in his rocking chair having ascended all the way back once more and remained there, the climb back down prevented by the steadily-firm planting of his feet.

“Did a ghost knock on your window and tell you to kidnap me or something?” Beth wonders aloud, not finding it within her to disregard that conclusion as something so far out of left field that it’s impossible to be answered with. “No, but I would’ve rather one had” Harlington confesses, crossing his own arms as his chin presses against his chest, head bowed as he looks at the floor.

“Please tell me it’s something less ridiculous than the ghost story you fed me a few hours ago” Beth quips aloud, holding out the hope that her intelligence will not be insulted the way her kidnapper had traipsed over it earlier. “It’s tame in comparison, yes” Harlington confesses, speaking with the tone of a man yearning for nothing more than a good night’s sleep, his spirits having lowered to a similar level to the woman he’d forced into imprisonment.

“That might just be my opinion, though” the abductor admits, his head leant toward his right as he funnels through his head for the answers to the woman’s quandary, “it’s hard to find it anything less than tame when it’s something that lives alongside you for years of your life.” Frowning, Beth’s head hangs as she braces herself for the reply that she’s bound to receive, unsure of what kind of mythical statement she’ll be forced to endure.

“I haven’t stopped getting these weird things since that night in the cab” Harlington recalls, dismissing the variety of oddities that have come and gone like they were people he’d encountered in life and quickly moved on from. “I stopped driving after Rico’s taxi company shut down. There wasn’t much reason for it having business in Remedy in the first place” he says, yet to lose the woman’s attention as it currently stands.

“When I was a few days out from the end of the year, I’d planned on moving out. I wasn’t enough of a survivalist to live off the land, and there wasn’t much in the way of work people associated with Rico could get in this town” Harlington speaks as he stares at the floor, his face still illuminated by the candle between himself and his prisoner- though it’s dwindled substantially.

“Around this time, I started getting threats from some of the people I worked with. Most of them came to the same conclusion that you did- I’d feigned the ghost story as a cover for ratting on Rico” he explains, still managing to retain the focus of the woman that sits opposite him. “I packed my things, hopped in my car, and I sought out leaving town. When I got to the bridge- the one over the river- I was stopped by a group of dudes.”

Familiar with the area in question, Beth continues to reserve her speech until the man finishes his own, holding back her doubts that it will end in any way she would deem believable. “Long story short, they dragged me out of the car, roughed me up a bit, and left me there” the man remarks with a frown, the events having happened in such quick succession that he’d failed to keep track of it, “I drove myself to the hospital, got stitched up, and they said I was lucky to even be alive.”

Having lost part of the feeling in her hands, Beth squeezes her fist in intervals in order to rid of the pins-and-needles sensation that overcomes them, refusing her the opportunity for comfort. “I felt like shit, my body was aching, and I knew there was no way I was making it more than a few minutes on the road before the sores got worse than I could manage” Harlington reveals, stricken with pain over the way he’d felt that following night, “I went back to my cabin and tried to sleep it off.”

As her teeth press together, the runaway librarian holds back her concern that the paranormal aspect of the man’s stories will prevail when she least expects it, holding out the hope that such will not come to pass. “That night, I got a knock at my door. It took me a minute to answer it, but when I did- I figured they’d come back to finish me off” the dirty blonde-haired resident confesses, shaking his head with displeasure at the sight he’d been beholden to that night.

“They hadn’t actually come to my house before, so it took me by shock. I leapt back, fell down, and the first guy that I saw walked in” Harlington murmurs, swallowing a wad of spit as his mouth goes dry. “I swear, I’d never been more terrified of anything in my life. Even when I saw them on the bridge, I got out and yelled at them ‘cause I thought they were some pranksters looking to piss me off” he confesses, shaking his head in refusal, “I realised I was going to die that night.”

Balling his right hand into a fist, Harlington sits in silence whilst his victim is left- in that moment- with only the sound of the wooden wick in the candle to catch her ear. Remaining seated in silence, the kidnapper struggles to continue speaking over the stranglehold that the fear he had in such a moment left him with, paralysing his mind like a virus to a cancer-ridden patient with no immune system left to fight it.

Pressing his hands against the floor, Harlington drags himself away from the group of men who tower above his laid-out body, wincing at the struggle that comes with every small movement. “What the hell did- argh!” the jobless, wounded civilian questions aloud, thwarted in the moment by the pain that shoots up his body as it twists beyond the point of composure, taking control of him for no more than a second, “what did I do to you!?”

Saying nothing, the man at the front of the group steps through the doorway and slowly approaches the cabin’s tenant, leaving the injured young man to continue retreating as quickly as he can. Followed in by a second masked man, the towering figure at the head of the group draws closer to the handicapped Harlington before reaching around his hip, hand vanishing behind his back in an attempt to brandish what the victim has yet to find.

Violently spinning back toward the home’s entrance, the two men who pose the resident harm look toward the same direction as the rest of their group, caught by surprise at the sound of snapping that comes over the area. “What was that?” a masculine voice questions, extending the inquiry toward those that he shares the home’s entrance with, equally unsure as they all are.

Just as his quandary is raised, the man’s eyes fall upon the air that surrounds the cabin’s exterior, listening into the snapping and crackling sounds as they grow louder whilst a thick fog rolls over the town. Preoccupied, the group’s leader watches as the clothing of his conspirators begin to thrash in the wake of a strong wind that suddenly consumes Remedy Hills, picking up like a storm within an instant.

Ruffling through the air, the sound of disturbed trees that had calmly sat along their branches begin to whip as an even louder snap than the one that had persistently caught the attention of the terrorising group commences. Emerging from their brace at the caution, the aggressors who’d yet to advance into the home look toward the sky for the cause of the noise, appearing to hurry in the final moment that their leader sees them as they were.

“What are you do-!?” the masculine voices questions aloud, once more begging for an answer from those that immediately disappear just as a massive thud crashes against the ground and buries them beneath. As in awe as the intruders are, Harlington gasps and ducks as closely to the ground as he can manage, bracing against the impact of the object that had plummeted toward earth.

Growing steady with as little of a warning as it had picked up steam beneath, the winds of Remedy Hills die out as the storm’s onslaught vanishes as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the three souls within the home to find the results. In silence, the pair of masked criminals look toward the doorway and find it blocked off entirely, cut off from the outside world by a massive obstruction that refuses anyone within an exit.

Leaping off the ground as quickly as he can manage, Harlington lunges into the back that the group’s leader still holds toward him and pushes the taller man into his slightly-shorter, less-muscular colleague. Though his intention had not been to, the shove that the wounded homeowner had met his assailant with dislodges a firearm from the man’s back, its shell bouncing along the ground and coming to a stop off toward the distance.

“Stop!” the injured man exclaims, dropping to his knees and picking up the pistol, taking aim at the men that he cannot get a decent look at. Cut off from receiving any of the moonlight by the massive object that now blocks the front door and the home’s forward-facing windows, Harlington is left in the same darkness as his aggressors are, holding out the hope that one of them will be standing wherever his gun is aimed.

“Go, go! Get out! Get ou- ARGH!” the smaller assailant screams, shoving his heavier friend toward the back of the home, their eyes following the closest thing to natural light that they can. Interrupted by a gunshot, the guiding force that attempts to lead his friend to sanctuary drops to the ground as a bullet pierces his lower back.

Stopping his retreat, the larger-built criminal hurries back to his friend’s side and helps guide him around the corner, shattering a window in the process whilst their prey becomes the predator that forces them to flee. Mustering as much strength as he could, Harlington follows the lead that the perpetrators had left without the will-power to do so as quickly, only managing to catch up with the intruders once they’d already begun driving off, scattering into the night in failure.

Looking back to the home’s newly-destroyed front patio in search of the obstruction that had left the cabin impossible to leave through the front, Harlington finds a massive oak tree that had occupied a space just a few feet away from his home to have perfectly collapsed across its face. Crushing the other invaders beneath its massive weight and killing them instantly, the towering beast now refuses him the ability to re-enter his residence, sparing him from a cruel fate instead.

“Why should I believe any of this?” Beth questions, returning her abductor to the present day and the task at hand- answering her inquiries and alleviating her doubts. “You go from telling me that there’s a cover-up in Remedy, to spinning some ghost story, to this” she reiterates, the man’s face directing itself away from her and through the window just beyond, “you haven’t even told me how I factor into this, and you just spill your- what!?”

Cutting herself off, the kidnapped librarian snaps at the man’s refusal to look her in the eyes before taking her sights toward the glass pane behind herself, watching as a dense fog falls over Remedy Hills- clouding the headlights of a vehicle that parks just beyond the cabin. “It’s happening” Harlington mutters aloud, stepping out of his chair with a newfound energy upon his face, one that lights his features as if he’d just awoken from a full night’s sleep.

“What? What’s happening?” Beth questions aloud, clueless as to what the man was trying to get at. “The fog only rolls over Remedy when the town is watching... Willing to step in to protect what’s within its best interest if need be” Harlington replies, voicing his devotion and trust in the claims that he’d made since the pair had first met.

“Who the fuck is that, Harlington!?” Beth shouts, watching as the approaching headlights come to a stop, their beams falling upon the home that the vehicle they’re attached to now stops at. “Someone that Remedy Hills is going to have to take care of if it wants what’s best for it” Harlington replies, walking over to the woman and lifting her by the arm, turning her around to face the scene that awaits them outside as he undoes the knots that tie her hands back.

“You want to know why you should trust me or believe anything that I’m saying- even the most ridiculous parts? Well, you’re about to get it” the abductor replies, freeing his victim before turning her body to face him, her eyes falling upon his own. “I brought you out here so you could see it for yourself” Harlington reassures, nodding as he looks away, setting his sights on the front door he’s prepared to venture beyond, walking past the woman without uttering another word.


|

“No, I did not kill Beth Ovorre. In fact, I haven’t killed anyone” Devin corrects, his statement immediately drawing the ire of the man who sits in the seat opposite himself. “You say that with a lot of confidence for someone who’s killed multiple people. Probably more than just the people you’ve anointed as human scarecrows in my backyard” Avon corrects, his rebuttal doing little to convince the man of truths beyond the one he’d uttered.

“That was not me” Devin replies, immediately prompting the author to ask the follow up question, “who was it then?’ he wonders aloud, holding a straight face toward the man he sits opposite of. “They’re the people that used to work for Rico” the naturally low-voiced, sweater-wearing gentleman responds, “they’ve been working for the town’s officials in return for not getting convicted on their variety of crimes.”

“And that’s not you?” Avon responds, answering the man’s concerns sarcastically without missing a beat, “it was your face that I saw underneath that mask when the bombs went off.” Nodding in agreement, Devin lowers his teacup onto an equally-small plate and reaches over to a nightstand a foot away, letting it sit as he continues the conversation.

“It was my face under the mask” the baby-faced man corrects, shaking his head as he leans back in his seat, hands folding atop his small, almost unnoticeable gut. “Just because I wear one of their cheap, plastic masks doesn’t mean I align with them” Devin explains, visibly refusing any potential creativity from consideration, “they’re not meant to be fashionable, they’re meant to get the job done.”

“What job are we talking about in this scenario?” Avon hastily questions back, refusing to lower himself from the guard that he’d erected to stand atop, using it as an outpost as if he were a guard in search of the truth. “The job of keeping one’s identity away from recognisable eyes. That’s the only purpose of this- a blown cover is the worst crime you can commit to them” Devin answers, watching his guest’s head shake instantly.

“Who is ‘them’?” Avon queries, pointing out the man’s refusal to speak of himself and those responsible for the crimes he’s taken to expecting of the smiley face group as one in the same. “The same people who’ve covered up what happened in Remedy all those years ago” Devin replies, finally following up his speech with a pause that doesn’t get interrupted by the antsy writer who’d found him.

“The same people who kill loose threads, the same people who scare writers out of Remedy, the same people who no one in the town is even aware exists beyond a select few...” the well-mannered man continues, clicking his tongue as his voice comes to another momentary stop, “...the cleaners.”

“The Cleaners?” Avon repeats, more of a curious tone taken in his vocalisation of the group than that of the man across from him, “who are ‘The Cleaners’?” Clearing his throat, the home’s polite owner reaches for the teacup once more as he answers, licking his lips to moisten them as they continue to dry just as his mouth does.

“They’re mercenaries hired in secret to keep Remedy Hills a quiet little town in Massachusetts and no more of a tourist attraction than it’s already become” the slightly-older man responds, clicking his tongue again as he lifts the cup to his lips.

“And how do you know this?” Avon queries, raising his suspicions and refusal to fully buy into the tale being spun whilst the home’s owner takes a drink. “Because I used to be one of them. For a short time, anyways” Devin answers as he lowers the cup, the plate he’d picked it off of held in the opposite hand, “at first, we were only supposed to run this one woman out of town. We were told she knew things that were dangerous, and it could get us all locked up just like Rico.”

Sorrowful in his presentation, the man’s voice begins to rise just slightly from its resting tone, growing less stable the louder he becomes- even if minimally. “Then we all found out it wasn’t us she had information on, it was them... The local police. When we went to them, they tried to cut us a deal” Devin recalls, shaking his head in refusal, “we took it. We were- held on retainer, so to speak- meant to nip snoopers in the bud in case they tried to dig deeper than the mystery itself.”

“I thought you said you weren’t part of the Cleaners?” Avon corrects, interrupting the man’s claims before being returned a reiteration without pause. “I’m not anymore. As far as they’re aware, I died of cancer a year or so back” Devin explains, his comments proving difficult for the author to fully comprehend.

“My brother- who looked a lot like me- was diagnosed a few months before he went. I saw that as an opportunity to run for the hills” the man clarifies, subduing his voice once more in the name of retaining its strength. “I was not proud of it. However, I knew what needed to be done.” Devin summarises, falling silent for a brief moment as he looks away, eyes appearing displeased when they take back toward his guest.

“Had they realised that I wasn’t interested in playing mercenary anymore, they would’ve gotten rid of me at the first chance they had” the man remarks, bowing his head in shame as he pauses once more, “I saw my way out and I took it. I may not be proud of it, but I did what I had to do.”

Staying silent, Avon finds himself captivated by the story that’s unfolding, finding it difficult to keep track of, but worth hearing out anyway. “I’m sorry for giving you the illusion on that video that there were more of us rather than just me” Devin proceeds, staring at the author across from him with hope, “after what happened with that driver- the night that you rolled into town- I knew all of this had gone too far.”

“So, you’re just a random citizen, laying low and playing dead, who wants the Cleaners done away with?” Avon questions with genuine curiosity, only to be met with a reiteration of his question. “They’ve manipulated this town. These senseless tragedies never stop. That needs to end” Devin answers, again lifting the cup of tea to his lips, “by getting rid of the people responsible for it, you get rid of the cleaners. And finally, Remedy Hills will be at peace once more.”

“So you used to be fine with it all until you weren’t?” Avon queries, only to be met with an immediate shake of the head in refusal. “I was never fine with it. At the start, I only saw it as a means to self-preservation” Devin rejoinders, making it a point to make such clear, “then killings increased. Remedy Hills became a cesspool for these strange oddities that simply made it impossible to not think that there was a wound inflicted upon this town that had been refusing to heal.”

“So what do you want from me?” Avon questions back, metaphorically extending a hand of trust that would allow him to put faith in the answer he receives from the relatively-unfamiliar confidant. “I want you to help me do what the woman we ran off those years back should’ve done” Devin explains, interrupting himself by lifting a finger.

“You want me to write an exposure piece on the town’s corruption?” Avon queries, the assuring nod that he receives doing enough to make the message clear. “If the truth were to slip out- especially from an already-popular author like yourself- there’d be nowhere to hide for them” Devin explains, running string around points as if to create a visual path to follow, “the people who use the Cleaners would be doomed. They’d go into hiding, the Cleaners would die off, and their filth would go too.”

“You say that like any of it’s guaranteed. That’s not to mention what kind of risk it puts me at” Avon responds, watching as Devin frowns, looking off to the side before shaking his head. “I never said it was a danger-less task” the soft-spoken man replies, watching the author’s chin lift with concern as he hears out the man’s point, “but if you’ve come this far to look for the truth, I’m sure you’ve already buried yourself so deep in this rabbit hole that there’s no other way out.”

|

“Harlington Spears!” Rico proclaims, still dressed in the uniform of the prison guard he’d killed days prior, emerging from the fog and stepping into the fog as the man himself exits the woodland cabin. “You’ve found me, Rico” Harlington proclaims, throwing his arms out at either side as he walks alone, welcoming an attempted hit from the man who’d come to deliver just that, “there’s no more running for me to do.”

“You shouldn’t have started running in the first place” the escapee proclaims, holding a firearm at his side as he looks a former acquaintance in the eye. “You had a lot of balls doing what you did to me. Hell, I’m shocked you’re even still alive” Rico doubles down, the barrel of his stolen pistol still held toward the leaf-covered ground, “maybe I should start taking heads off of my own men. None of them could seem to do the job. It didn't take me much of an effort to get done, did it?”

“What can I say, Rico? You’re really good at what you do” Harlington replies, not meeting his tormentor with an ounce of fear- but rather- an openness to accept whatever is to come, “why don’t you go ahead and finish me off?” With a squint and a smirk, Rico begins chuckling to himself at the ease in which he’s seemingly met with, unaware of the woman who shields herself in the cabin, her head turned away from the scene out of fear that her kidnapper will rue the stories he tells.

“You have a death wish, son? Is some lady not giving you enough love to make this world seem worth it or something?” Rico queries, finding his ability to take aim and pull the trigger without issue to be too good to be true. “Y’know, for someone who likes to tell tall tales- maybe I shouldn’t put it past you to convince yourself of the same bullshit you spun with me” the runaway prisoner remarks, lifting the barrel of his weapon toward his adversary, “you think you’re invincible, boy?”

“I guess we’ll find out once you pull that tri-” Harlington begins to reply, only for his eyes to direct themselves toward the same direction as his potential killer, interrupted by his hostage’s frantic voice as she fearfully runs through the door.

Having pressed her back against the cabin’s entrance and averted her eyes, Beth shields her face by placing her hands against each side of her head, not wanting to see whatever is about to unfold just beyond the home. “Look” a feminine voice whispers, catching the newly-freed captive by surprise, the volume of the chirp being louder than the breathy tone in which she’d believed herself to hear.

“What?” Beth whispers aloud, furrowing her brows as she lowers her hands, looking toward the candle at the coffee table’s centre before her eyes take toward the kitchen. “Look” a woman whispers again, her face holding itself toward the ground as the mystified librarian takes notice of her presence.

Widening her eyes, Beth leans her chin forward as she refuses to pull away from the home’s entrance, trying to breach whatever amount of distance she can between herself and the lady that captures her every ounce of focus. “Beth...” the unnamed woman whispers, quickly leaving the spot she’d stood in before lifting her face, revealing a visage mangled beyond the point of what can be feasibly considered human, “...look!”

“THERE’S SOMEONE IN THERE!” Beth shouts, throwing herself out of the cabin and away from one horror completely separate from the one occurring outside. “Beth, what are you doing!?” Harlington exclaims, watching as the teary-eyed woman looks to him and points toward home without saying a word.

“Spears!” Rico angrily shouts, his face having gone from a mixture of confusion and intrigue to one of unbridled anger, “what the hell are you doing with Fred’s girl!?” Looking back to his enemy, Harlington’s concerned visage turns to one of loss, his squinted eyes and shaking head indicating his uncertainties. “Who the fuck is Fred!?” the abductor shouts back, the arms held out at each side now representing his cluelessness.

“Fred!?” Beth quickly repeats, losing track of the instance within the home in light of the name that’s dropped by the man with a gun outside of it, “as in my dad Fred!?” Without uttering a word, Harlington guides his eyes toward the woman at his side before directing them toward the criminal across from him. “What the fuck are you up to, Spears!?” Rico queries, steadying his aim with the gun before holding back on firing the trigger, “are you with them!?”

“Them? Who the fuck is them!?” Harlington questions back, genuinely out of his depths as far as his understanding is concerned. “Forget that! How the hell do you know my father!?” Beth interjects, the screaming match between the three secret-keeping figures turning into a war on all sides. “Who the fuck is ‘them!?’” the subject of the criminal’s aim shouts again, urging the firearm-wielding man to answer the inquiry as he disregards his hostage’s concerns.

“No! Answer me! How do you know my father!?” Beth screams instead, stepping forward before her arm is pulled back by Harlington, who repeats his own question, “what ‘them’ are you talking about!?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Rico proclaims, watching the man who’d turned him in rip the librarian prisoner back and begin stepping forward, forcing a redirection of his aim and a reach for the trigger. “Who the fuck is ‘t-!?” Harlington questions aloud again as tensions flare, chased after by Beth before they’re both forced to leap back as the weapon is fired.

“AARRGGHH!” Rico screams, firing a bullet randomly into the distance as he’s thrown forward, the unexpected assault leaving him completely incapable of comprehending the sight that’s forced Harlington and Beth into a speechless stooper of shock and awe. Upon howling out in pain, the escapee’s eyes widen as his strength to wield the pistol he’d attempted to take his nemesis’ life with disappears, allowing the firearm to fall aimlessly to the ground.

“OH MY GOD!” Beth screams in terror, falling back as she kicks herself as far away from the scene as she can manage, the escalating tensions having died immediately into a stillness that falls over the air, one that even takes Harlington by shock. Gasping for air as blood runs from his mouth and down his chin, Rico looks toward his sternum to find the wooden branch that had impaled him, driving itself through his body just as he’d set his finger on the trigger.

“Look” the ghostly apparition that had horrified Beth enough for the woman to run as far away from the cabin as she could whispers, staring toward the scene of remarkable chance that unfolds. Looking back, Harlington’s eyes widen to see a familiar presence, one that the shaken librarian can no longer deny the existence of.

As his brain processes the injury he’s been afflicted with, Rico’s face gradually bobs toward the ghost’s face, shocking him even beyond the grave injury he’d sustained. Saying nothing further, the apparition waves her hand toward the lanced convict and ushers the tree branch away, driving it out of the man’s body the same way it had punctured him.

Dropping to his knees immediately as blood begins rushing through the gaping wound in his sternum, Rico’s head reconnects the communication that had been severed upon the brunt impact his body had suffered. Looking toward Harlington with the last ounce of energy he can muster, the apparition’s killer realises that the rat’s tall tale from all those years prior had been true all along.

“You...” Rico growls, unable to say anything beneath his own power, falling forward just as the man in question turns to face him, “...you son of a-.”

Hitting the ground, the escaped convict dies without finishing his final statement, silenced just like the woman he’d silenced had been. In awe, Beth crawls away from the ghost that now turns to look at her, the apparition’s eyes taking upward toward the man who’d brought her here.

Without uttering a word, the ghost of Rico’s victim waves her hand toward the sky and disperses the fog, returning Remedy Hills to the state it had always belonged in- clear skies without a cloud in sight. To the sound of only the running vehicle that the now-deceased convict had stolen, the apparition looks away from Harlington and back toward Beth, continuing to remain in silence before fading into a mist-like fog of her own and vanishing.

Amazed in both horror and absolute astoundment, Beth gradually spins her head around to the figure that stands behind her, the man’s other-worldly claims appearing to no longer be of such deniability. Catching the breath that the ghost had stolen from his lungs, Harlington looks back to the woman at his feet, his eyes having widened just as her own have, aware that his every statement has now been verified beyond the point of doubt, but unable to find it within himself to gloat in any way.

“Remedy H-” Harlington whispers, stopping himself as a smile launches from one end of his face to the other, overjoyed at finally being vindicated in all that he’s said, lifting his voice to proudly declare what he had all along whilst looking Beth in the eyes, “Remedy Hills is alive!”

== Remedy Hills ==