S2, E9 | Snatched in the Night

Tapping his finger upon the space bar, Beau brings the video to an end as the final claims made within it are voiced, allowing the air to go quiet as he leans back in the seat of his police cruiser. Closing the laptop’s lid, the young officer sits in silence for a moment whilst peering into the empty passenger’s seat beside himself, his eyes kept as the exclusive sights to have seen the amateur film since it had been delivered to him.

Clearing his throat as he pulls the keys from the ignition, the hot-headed officer steps out of his vehicle, leaving the computer behind in favour of what it had led him to. On his lonesome and beyond the reach of Remedy’s jurisdiction, the vehicle remains at the start of a modest home just as the sun reaches above the horizon for the first time, bringing about the start of a brand new day.

Tapping his knuckles against the screen door, Beau stands with his thumbs slipped into the tactical belt he wears whilst patiently awaiting his request for attention to be answered. Surrounded by forest on all sides, the young officer remains composed and level-headed as he begins hearing the tapping of feet from the opposite end of the building’s entrance, their approach obviously drawing closer to the cop.

With a squint in her eyes that suggests she hadn’t intended to get up so early in the morning, Leah peers her head around the door that most of her body remains hidden behind. “Good morning, Ms. Bowers. My name’s Beau Donovan, I’m a police officer from Remedy Hills” the officer politely greets, his voice kept somewhat lower than his normal tone despite having remained awake for well over a full day, “I apologise for how early I’m stopping by; my next shift starts in two hours.”

“What do you want?” Leah questions back, caring less about the time in which the man had come to greet her than she does of his intentions. “I received a video in the late hours of last night by someone who’d implied you might be able to help me with something” Beau responds, remaining cordial with the woman who’s clearly set out to live in the middle of the woods for some reason unbeknownst to him, “I wanted to swing out while I could and see if that was true.”

“That depends on what you’re looking for” Leah replies, inspecting the man’s physique for a moment with genuine curiosity, “you look like one of those strippers people order for bachelorette parties.” Amused, Beau’s lips lift into a grin as he delivers the woman a singular nod, “I’ll take that as a compliment, and it’s one that I appreciate” the man reassures, unclipping the badge from over his left breast before handing it over to the homeowner.

“If you would like for me to come another time, I’m more than willing to do that” Beau explains, watching as the woman glides her thumb over the reflective medallion as if she were attempting to reassure its authenticity. Pressing her lips together, Leah returns the breastpin to the man whom it belongs to, wrapping the hand that had cradled the piece around the screen door that she leans halfway through.

“What is it that you want to know, officer-?” she questions back, the man’s name having just been spoken, though her mind fails to think back that far. “Donovan. Beau Donovan” the officer replies, refusing to hold the lapse in memory against the woman, “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me about what you’d started to find out about the Remedy Phantom case. I’ve heard that you had done quite a lot of research in the short amount of time that you were in town.”

Nodding, Leah runs the tips of her fingers up the length of the home’s entrance, tapping against the aluminium exterior that shields her much heavier, inner door. “Wouldn’t that put you in trouble?” she questions, though the lack of emotion in her voice implies that she doesn’t care much one way or the other, “investigating the phantom case as a cop is like shooting yourself in the toe with a nail gun.”

“I would certainly hope that’s not the case. However, if it were, I’d like to believe I know enough people inside the force that’d be willing to have my back if I were in danger” Beau reassures, watching the woman look up to him with as great of an inquisitive squint as she can manage. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d also like to know a little bit more about why you left so soon” the young officer adds, his charm allowing the woman to take to him quickly, “I believe that could help matters too.”

Letting her eyes fall toward the patio’s floor, the woodlands-based once-author pulls in a deep breath before looking upward, taking the man’s proposition to heart before making the call that seems best. “Can I offer you a cup of tea?” Leah queries, watching as the visiting cop sprouts a wider smile than just one of flattery, joining alongside her in entering the home, the allure of the tea almost coming off as enchanting as the possibility for uncovering answers.

= 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 =

Rolling out of bed with a groan, Penny pulls her hair back in an effort of tying it into a ponytail whilst she yawns, stepping toward the adjacent bathroom after slipping her feet into a pair of slippers. Running through a short routine, the woman eventually wanders out from the room’s side, finding the mattress as empty as she’d assumed that it was when she’d attempted to get up.

Stepping down the hall while yawning again, the highly-educated homebody instinctively turns the corner with the yearning for a cup of coffee freshly on her mind. “Good morning” she murmurs as she rounds the corner, paying a brief greeting to her husband as she reaches the counter, her hand falling upon the handle to the coffee’s pot before pulling it free, only to realise that the glass contained has no brewed liquid contained within it- as clean as it had been the prior day.

Surprised by the lack of a new pot, Penny squints at the discovery before turning toward the room’s entrance, taking a sudden realisation that she’s still yet to hear her husband’s voice. Gently placing the container down, the doctor retreats the way she’d entered, peering around the corner to find a lack of any presence behind Avon’s still-closed laptop.

Having assumed he’d be slaving over his new work since she hadn’t seen him in the bedroom, Penny’s second expectation proves to fall futile too, leaving her unsure of where the man could be. Coming up with a spurt of the moment quandary, her eyes turn toward the entirely opposite direction, allowing her feet to follow the path laid out for her toward the front door, which affords her yet another curious view when she looks through it.

“Where the hell is he?” she queries, finding their vehicle parked in the driveway without an occupant inside of it, the rest of the home seeming big enough to be capable of hosting the writer, but not for his presence to be completely missed as it has been. Pressing her back against the home’s entrance, Penny thinks quietly to herself as she ponders the places in which her husband could be, falling short of anything in the home or close enough to not need a car.

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To the sound of a bell ringing overhead, Beth steps foot on familiar ground once more whilst Harlington follows closely behind her, his head dawning a hat and face shielded by the lens of sunglasses. “Can we please just make this quick?” the man questions, making an effort at keeping his profile low, cautious to step out of line in fear of being exposed by a passerby.

“Dude, it’s felt like ages since I’ve been in here” Beth responds, looking around the area that she once considered to be her home away from home, the state in which she’d left it in proving to be anything less than undisturbed. “Someone must’ve cleaned the mess” the librarian remarks, gazing toward the shelves upon shelves of hardcover and softcover books alike that her library hosts, the strewn-around state that they had been left to remain in as she’s initially left having been undone.

“You’re back” Donald murmurs from afar, catching the ear of the librarian who’d vanished into the night without so much as a note to ease concern, surprise carried in his lifted eyebrows. Turning her head with a smile, Beth faces the man who takes note of her return, approaching with an eye held toward the rest of the room.

“Did you do all of this, Mr. McArthur?” the returned resident questions aloud, her hand held toward the sea of novels returned to their natural state. “I wish I could say I had the foresight to expect your return” Donald replies, gently taking the woman’s arms into his hands as if to alleviate any doubts he could have that her retreat to Remedy Hills is anything less than in the flesh, “Mr. King came by shortly after you went missing and fixed the place up over a few days.”

Keeping his distance, Harlington turns his back toward the librarian and the figure who greets her back, maintaining the costume that he’d entered with as he looks throughout the building. “Where did you go? What happened to you?” Donald questions aloud, briefly looking past the returned librarian and toward the man whom she’d entered with, unable to make out the man through the minimal, yet effective disguise that’s adorned.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. I needed to make it look like someone had taken me out, and I couldn’t take a chance on anyone knowing the truth” Beth confesses, apologetic for the stress she could have been responsible for causing. “I’d been attacked shortly before I left, so I figured it’d be easier to cover my tracks and pin the blame on those people in the masks” she carries on, speaking whilst her wanted travelling partner gazes the ‘crime’ section of the building.

“Just ask the guy what you came here to ask him so we can get moving, Beth” Harlington whispers to himself, only turning toward the woman’s direction once his body is concealed behind the wooden shelf. Having nothing else to pass the time with, the fugitive peruses the aisle and taps the nail of his index finger against the spine of whatever book wordmarks appear the most appealing.

Trying to remain patient, the man resorts to pulling halfway out one book after another from their places, standing upright and against each other front-to-back, peeking at their covers as if they were previews to a movie. Surrendering to his complete cluelessness over any of the material lined up before his eyes, Harlington covers his face with one hand whilst randomly reaching for the spine of whatever book his hand happens to graze first, removing that novel from its place in the row.

“Mr. McArthur, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to catch up. Right now, though, I have something that I need to ask you” Beth explains, having concluded her retelling of the events leading up to her disappearance, coming around to the point of her reappearance. “I’ve heard that the person who escaped from jail recently- Rico Martinez- may have known my father” the librarian carries on, squinting as she shakes her head, gesturing for clarity, “is this true?”

Slightly wider than they had naturally rested, Donald’s eyes pull away from the much younger woman standing before him, facing the building’s front windows to look at the cold, empty street. “I know you and my father were always close. I wouldn’t be asking you if I thought it was pointless” Beth restates, doubling down on the need to know that her purposefully-absent cohort listens into from afar, looking over the line of novels that he hides behind to spectate the conversation.

“Who told you this?” Donald queries, finally looking back toward the woman’s face without answering her question, his hands having fallen to his sides before swinging upward once more, tapping against each other at his waist. “No one told me anything. I read it online somewhere” Beth lies, offering the best explanation she can manage aside from outright confessing to have been within the presence of a wanted fugitive, “I was looking up Remedy and found an article on some website.”

“Well that article must’ve been mistaken” Donald responds, shaking his head before waving at the notion, scoffing at the conclusion that his longtime friend’s daughter brings to his attention. “So my father didn’t know Rico Martinez?” Beth questions back, looking for clarity whilst Harlington judges from afar, trying to read the expression on the face of the man, barely able to catch a glimpse of it from around his acquaintance’s side.

“Your father was a decent man. He would have no such affiliation with criminals like Rico Martinez’s kind” Donald reassures, looking away from the woman as he speaks once more, struggling to maintain eye contact. Standing at a slightly taller frame than the much older property owner, Beth watches the man shake his head in refusal, finding the oddity in the man’s body language for what it is.

“He’s lying” Harlington calls out, remaining concealed behind the library’s depths as both figures across from him turn in his direction. “He’s ashamed of something and I’m pretty sure it’s that he’s hiding whatever it is from you” the third participant in the discourse continues, guiding his cohort into continuing the line of inquisition, “don’t believe him unless he can say it while looking you in the eyes.”

“Who is that man that you entered with?” Donald wonders aloud once the returned librarian spins back to look him in the eyes, the question he asks falling on deaf ears. “He’s a friend, now tell me again-” Beth hastily retorts, looking the older gentleman in the face as she asks the question whilst Harlington flips open the novel’s first page in the distance, averting his eyes whilst keeping his ears on alert, “-did my father know Rico Martinez?”

Lowering his eyes once more, Donald shakes his head in refusal before attempting to speak, his efforts thwarted by the woman he stands in the attention of. “Look me in the eyes while you answer the question, Mr. McArthur” Beth queries, forcing the man into conceding his attempts, his face lifting to look at hers, “did my father know Rico Martinez?”

“This is a very troubling line of question that you’re embarking on, Bethany” Donald warns, shaking his head again without answering the question that’s begged of him, leaving the woman of reappearance to draw her own conclusions. “I’m going to assume that my father knew that man in some way if you can’t look me in the eyes and tell me that he didn’t” Beth informs, levying her own statement toward the property owner, “one more time- did my father know Rico Martinez?”

Pressing his eyelids shut, Donald again attempts to pull his face away from the woman before thinking better of it, opting to endure the strain on his neck as his stare refuses to part. “Yes, he did” the older man confesses, watching the change in the librarian’s face present a slight amount of surprise in spite of the stance she’d declared would be taken, “your father did know Rico Martinez.”

“How did they know each other?” Beth follows up, watching as the older man lowers his head once more, eyes falling to the floor before the woman’s behest is voiced aloud. “Look her in the eyes, sir” Harlington warns, speaking the same declaration that the returned woman was just about to utter, catching a momentary glance from the property owner before the man’s eyes find their way back to the woman.

“This is a very bad idea, Bethany” Donald again warns, appearing to wear his heart on his sleeve over the fear of what may come from his answers. “I’ve already been attacked and run out of my home by these people; I don’t have much to fear from them” Beth reassures, only for the man that stands at the centre of her interrogation to argue otherwise.

“These people will not hesitate to keep things in order, Bethany” Donald explains, vocalising his plea with the woman to not ask of him anything more that could prove dangerous. “Knowing something alone makes you a problem inherently. Knowing even more than just one or two things could spell the difference between survival and surrender” the property owner continues, shaking his head as he presents the woman with his plea, “I beg of you. Your father wouldn’t want you to become a loose thread.”

“Rico Martinez can’t hurt her anymore” Harlington interjects, drawing the man’s attention away from the young woman standing before him, emerging from his hiding whilst removing the glasses from his face. “He was killed a few nights ago. He’s buried in a shallow grave somewhere in the forest where he’ll never be found” the living runaway explains, revealing his identity to a now horrified older man, “if they’re playing his game, then they’re too late. It’s already over.”

“No” Donald whispers in response, mortified by the information that he’s come into, presenting such in a matter of awe that provokes him into retreating. “You can say ‘no’ all that you want, but it won’t change what the facts are-” Harlington remarks, joining alongside Beth, who stands in silence as she allows her cohort to continue speaking, “-Rico Martinez is dead and his group of masked crime buddies are without a leader.”

“You’ve made a terrible misjudgement” Donald again sighs, shaking his head as if he’d just seen the amalgamation of Satan himself form before his very eyes, “this is nothing to be proud of.”

“Mr. McArthur, please tell me how Rico Martinez knew my father” Beth interrupts, preventing the man from continuing to speak by returning the conversation to its original course, “I’m already a loose thread. If you want what my father would want, tell me how they knew each other so I can have a fighting chance when whoever it is comes to take care of me.”

“It’s too late...” Donald responds, retreating to his room at the back of the library without providing the woman the clarity that she’d come to, his warnings coming off more like threats of outcomes that he already knows for certain, “...you’re already dead.”

Furrowing her brows at the comments that are made, Beth refuses to utter a word further as the older gentleman vanishes into the back room, slamming the door shut on his way inside before locking it. Rolling her eyes in frustration, the librarian’s ability to digest the threats paid to her is thwarted by the tug of her arm at Harlington’s hand, his gesture for them to depart the discourse as a whole leaving them in search of a new line to follow.

“He’s seen my face and he’s clearly not in the mood to cooperate” the man explains, beginning to retreat with his randomly-selected book in tow whilst the woman he urges to depart watches on, “we’re not gonna get anything out of him, so let’s see if we can figure out something ourselves.”

Without needing to say anything further, Harlington returns the sunglasses to his face and begins walking for the library’s exit, allowing his cohort not a moment to settle with what she’d been told. Taking a glance around the library she’d been pulled away from just as she’d been reunited with it, Beth begins following the lead that her partner in crime presents to her, their trail guiding them onto Remedy Hills’ streets in the name of finding answers they’ve been refused.

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“Where’ve you been?” Jake queries, passing a glance toward the man that approaches him before returning his sights to the various details pinned to the corkboard, arms crossed and shoulders leant just slightly further back than his waist. Without saying a word, Beau cuts through the distance that remains between himself and his desk before tossing the keys to their cruiser onto the open space of his work table.

“I need to talk to you” Beau whispers, tapping his colleague on the lower back before retreating in the same direction that he’d approached from. “What about?” Jake questions back, turning around to find his partner walking off, the head shake that he receives making it clear that he hadn’t meant here. “Somewhere private, please” the younger officer reiterates, watching as his older coworker points his thumb in the direction of the interrogation rooms.

“Then why are you walking that way when the interro-” Jake queries, only for his efforts to be cut off by Beau’s restated assertion. “Somewhere private-” Beau whispers, though the words are carried far enough to reach the ears of his partner, the momentary pause that he receives from the older man making it clear that attention is at least captured, “-please.”

“What’s going on, Donovan?” Jake questions aloud, following his colleague’s lead through the precinct’s exit and down the handicap ramp that leads toward the front lot. “I’ll tell you when I think we’re far enough” Beau responds, the comments and unclear motivation displayed proving somewhat impossible for the older cop to not take amusement in.

“What the hell does that mean, Beau?” Jake chuckles hands held out at either side as he follows the more agile officer’s lead further away from the building they centre their work in, “far enough where!?” Turning back only for the time it takes to reply, Beau answers his colleague before continuing to embark upon the journey that leads them toward safer pastures, “far enough away from the precinct” he reiterates.

“Why?” Jake queries, watching his partner again turn back, only to receive no verbal communication of any sort this time around. Returning to the route that he’d wished to take, Beau silently continues leading his colleague onward, across the street, around the nearest corner, and into an alleyway behind the Turkish restaurant that remains open despite barely ever being host to a paying patron.

“Why are we out here, officer Donovan?” Jake queries, finally coming to a stop once the younger officer’s journey has come to an end, their destination satisfying enough to allow their conversation a refuge. “Because I can’t trust that the building, or our cars, or the interrogation room, or pretty much anywhere isn’t bugged with microphones front and back” Beau explains, his face wearing the reservations of someone who believes something to be wrong.

“Alright, Donovan. Calm down and take a breath here” the older cop explains, leading his partner down from the ledge that he seems to be walking along. “We’re far enough away from the precinct for whatever reason that may be” Jake clarifies, waving his hand in the building’s direction, “now that we’re behind whatever the fuck this thing is, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, get your shit together and tell me why we need to get all worried about being around other cops.”

“‘Cause I think I’ve found out exactly why the people in those masks are taunting Avon and killing each other” Beau replies, sinking his top teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip, “and if I have, then I think there might be a way for us to figure out who’s under those masks.” Surprised at the rather unexpected revelation, Jake pulls his head back and reacts with glee, still unsure of why the spectacle was made of retreating from their home base, but willingly looking past that.

“That’s fucking outstanding, Donovan!” the man proclaims, wearing a smile of pride in the work that he takes his partner on his word for, “so why the fuck did you need to drag me out here to tell me that?”

“Because I think the people under those masks might be cops” Beau mutters, his voice having lowered enough to return to a naturally secretive state, the jubilation that his older colleague had presented him with having now fallen. “And for that matter, I think they’re more than likely our cops” the younger gendarme reiterates, the comment proving to be one that takes Jake by surprise.

“Penny King came by the precinct last night. She asked about the phantom case and made some big display by leaving this on my desk” Beau carries on, revealing the transparent blue case that had been left for him. “She didn’t tell me why she was asking or anything. She walked away, left this behind with a note that read ‘Keep This Quiet’ and that was it” the young cop continues, handing the disk over to his partner, “needless to say, my curiosity had peaked.”

“What is this?” Jake questions aloud, holding up the tray toward the eyes of the man who’d given it to him. “It’s some amateur film. It was a clip from one of Avon’s interviews with Oprah thirteen years ago. At the end, she asks him about the Remedy case that had just happened, and then it cuts to a guy in a mask” Beau explains, the claims that he makes being taken with utter seriousness by the colleague that’s come to trust what’s said.

“The guy said the people in the masks were hired by the local officials- government, cops, you name it- to apparently help aid in a cover up. From what I’d taken from the things that guy was claiming, it sounds like he was implying they were Rico’s men” Beau proceeds. “We already assume they’re Rico’s people, Donovan. What does this prove that what we’ve got tacked on that corkboard in there doesn’t?” Jake questions, challenging the man to support his efforts.

“The fact that the guy on this disk is claiming that cops already solved who committed that murder, and that the local government helped cover it up” Beau replies, pointing at the disk in question as the distant sound of burning rubber emerges in the distance. “Of those people, it was law enforcement- us- that went along with the cover up” the young cop proceeds whilst the tire-burning sound draws nearer, “and if that’s the case, then there are people in our precinct who are still-”

Interrupting himself, Beau stops to look past his partner before joining alongside the older cop in rounding the corner, taking a momentary reprieve from the conversation at hand to inspect the raucous scene. Watching as a sedan speeds toward the precinct, the two officers wince as the vehicle comes to a screeching halt, the driver’s foot slamming against the brakes to bring the car down from its hurried speed.

“Isn’t that the King’s car?” Jake questions aloud, taking notice of the woman that bursts out of the poorly-parked vehicle, her rush taking her toward the steps of the precinct. “Penny!” Beau exclaims, not waiting around to watch the woman hurry into a building they’d be forced to return to, emerging from their cover and rushing up to the aid of the seemingly frantic woman.

Turning around in a frenzy, Penny fights to centre her eyes upon the pair of officers that close in, knowing herself to trust them far more than any cop within the building she’d nearly dashed into. Crossing the street without issue, the cops return to the lot they’d marched their way through just moments prior and close in on the woman.

“Mrs. King, what’s going on?” Jake questions aloud, the first to address the woman who hurries to their services, watching the quivering bottom lip that the woman wears and taking it as a preview for whatever is about to be spoken. “Avon’s gone! They took him!” Penny proclaims, the comments that she makes being offered in a flustered state, one that both cops try to lower her down from.

“What do you mean, Penny? Who took-?” Beau queries only to pull back as the woman retrieves a plastic, party store-bought smiley face mask and turns its inside to face the officers. “They took him!” Penny doubles down, presenting the gendarme pair with the costume piece’s blank, inner material, the white colour of it allowing the black, permanent marker scrawlings within to read as clear as anything could be, “this was left on Avon’s chair” she reiterates.

“You’ve overstayed your welcome” the writing reads, paying the woman the same warning that must apply to her husband as well, his absence being the subject of the situation at hand. On the verge of tears, Penny hands the mask off to Beau before looking Jake in the eyes, restating the claim that had sparked their interest in the case she presents to them.

“Those bastards took my husband!”

== Remedy Hills ==