AN: This story is written for "Book 'em Again".
I was inspired by a scene in the 2007 film "Dead Silence". This is a belated Halloween tale and a story of the beginnings of new friendships.
Disclaimer: I do not own "Hawaii Five-O" and its characters. All creative rights to the characters from the series belong to their original creator(s). Only the plots and fanon which includes my own characters or places of interest that I created belong to me.
Thanks for reading and thanks to the wonderful lady who beta read this.
Sweat ran freely down the Samoan detective Ben Kokua's face as the humidity became suffocatingly unbearable. He leaned back against the wall of the narrow corridor in the run down theater situated at the end of Nuuanu Avenue. The flashlight in his clammy hand flickered and he swore under his breath. He could see no one but he knew that he was not alone. Somewhere within the dilapidated building someone was stalking him. He tried to steady his heavy breathing but in the silence surrounding him, he could hear it echo off the peeling walls.
The young detective had just received his position in the elite State unit known as Five-O. His mind raced back to an hour ago. The call to duty tonight was routine. His boss Steve McGarrett, the head of Five-O, radioed him on his way back to the Iolani Palace and asked him to make a sweep of the area around Oahu cemetery. It was Halloween night and HPD was swamped with calls ranging from vandalism of property, a robbery in progress, missing children and even people claiming they were being attacked by vampires and monsters. Five-O's second-in-command had quipped that the full moon brought out strange behaviors in people. Now, standing still with every muscle in his lean body taut, Ben Kokua's dark brown eyes darted to his left as the sound of footsteps filled his ears. He licked his lips which had been devoid of moisture and lifted his arm, holding it out toward the direction of the noise with his pistol at the ready for any sign of the man who tailed him.
Ben's mind took him back to the moment in time when he first reached Oahu cemetery after seeing a shadow of a man prowling in between the tombstones, carrying what looked like a bag in one hand. He had cut the engine and sought for the individual. "If you see anything suspicious, anything at all, call it through. We have HPD on standby." McGarrett's voice replayed in the young detective's mind as he made his decision. Picking up the receiver, Ben sighed and replaced it under the dash. Just two days into his promotion, Five-O's newest recruit wanted to prove himself worthy of the position. Only a few years older than Dan Williams when he became the new face of Hawaii's top unit almost six years ago, Ben had heard from Dan himself the pressures of demonstrating his capabilities of handling the dangers he faced with the job. I'll call it in if it's necessary, he had told himself as he sat in the warm leather seat.
Making up his mind, Ben kept his eye out on the suspicious character, watching his every move as the moonlight shone down over Oahu cemetery. Peering through the binoculars, his eyes roamed the area through the windscreen. Ben thought he lost the prowler until a distinct movement caught his attention. The figure rose from what appeared to be a crouching position behind a large Celtic cross atop a marked grave. He was no longer carrying the bulky object. His hands were empty. What are you hiding? The question ran through his cop mind. Could this be a Halloween prank? A game? Or perhaps the person was merely discarding an item he no longer wanted? His cop instincts told him something was off.
The figure straightened as if he had heard a noise or sensed he was being watched from a distance. He turned his head in the direction of the detective's dark sedan and stood frozen on the spot for what seemed a long moment before taking off and darting between the gravestones and stone angels, stumbling in his flight.
Not wasting time, Ben placed the binoculars on the passenger seat beside him and turned the key in the ignition to start the car. The engine stalled. He tried again. It refused to come alive. Not wanting to lose the fleeing figure, Ben abandoned his attempts and exited his vehicle as swiftly and silently as he could. Before shutting the door, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the long, black metal flashlight. Drawing his gun, the tall detective then ran toward the historical cemetery across the street and leapt over the low stone wall that bordered the graveyard. Sure that his cover was blown and that he had been seen, Ben shone the flashlight ahead of him as he ran. Just as he thought he had lost him, the detective's keen eyes caught sight of the dark shape reaching the other side of the Victorian cemetery. Pushing harder, the Samoan took advantage of his long legs to take lengthier strides. He saw that he was closing in and called out, "Stop! Police! Hold it!"A gust of wind blew hard against him and drowned out his words.
The detective kept running, keeping pace. The figure exited the cemetery, jumping over the fencing, and fled down a deserted street, the detective hot on his trail. His breath coming in searing gasps, Ben could feel his shirt sticking to his skin. He wanted to rip off his jacket but to do so would slow him down. They were both out in the open, running beneath the light of the moon. The street ended and there stood the looming structure of an abandoned theatre. Its windows were boarded up and a crooked wooden sign protruded from the ground at the entrance reading, Danger: Under Construction. Authorized Personnel Only. Trespassers will be prosecuted.
Ignoring the warning, the fleeing character ran past the sign and slammed his shoulders against the rotting door. The wood splintered with ease and the man fell through to the other side into the building. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a flashlight as he scrambled to his feet. Switching it on, he ran across the dusty red carpet that marked the grand entrance and through the alcove leading into a large open area where seats once stood in rows. Now there was nothing but an empty hall. Every sound echoed off the concrete floor and the walls. The charging footsteps behind him grew closer. The figure paused briefly and took in his surroundings, shining his flashlight all around. Two narrow staircases leading up to the next level of seating stood to his left and his right hand side while ahead stood the stage above ground level. The tattered scarlet curtains remained hanging from the rails, closing the stage off from its audience. Turning to his left, his feet skidded as he made his way two at a time up the stair-case, the detective was not far behind.
….
Ben Kokua saw his opportunity was nearing to apprehend the man and continued his pursuit up the narrow stairs which rose steeply. His flashlight bounced over each step, making it difficult to see where his shoes landed. He could not see what lay ahead of him beyond the stairs for it was pitch black but he could hear the man's labored breathing and his boots slamming against the ground as he ran. When the detective at last reached the final step, he held the flashlight out in front of him in one hand, while in the other he held out his gun. Cushioned seats still remained in their places, facing the stage below. With his heart hammering a staccato rhythm in his chest, Ben came to a standstill and shone his flashlight across the cramped gallery. No one was in sight. He listened intently for any sounds apart from that of his heart beating and his own rapid breathing. Nothing. Tightening his grip on his pistol, the detective crouched lower and walked down the first isle of seats at the front most row. His gaze rested on a blue denim jacket draped across a seat. Ben's eyes widened when he saw the unmistakable crimson smears that liberally marked the material. Fresh.
Suddenly, something was hurled through the air and knocked the gun out of his hand. It flew over the balcony and landed in the center of the floor, hidden in the darkness. The object thrown by the mysterious figure clattered onto the floor and rolled at Ben's feet. The detective immediately sank low to the ground and picked it up - a flashlight. Movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention away from the item. He looked up in time to see a glint of steel reflecting off his own flashlight. He held both arms up in a defensive position. The body of a man heavier than him forced him to fall back against the wooden banister which gave way and fell with a loud crash. The man he sought held a large hunting knife aimed at Ben's chest as he teetered over the edge. Ben lunged forward away from the fringe. The stranger made a grab for Ben again. He managed to push him away enough to give him the room he needed to throw a right hook at his attacker's face. Grunting, as the blow connected, the man fell backwards into a seat. The detective regained his footing but his adversary was quick and held a knife once again. He made another attack as the detective dodged to one side then dodged again. Ben clambered over the seats and made his way back to the staircase and climbed down the steep stairs. His flashlight began to flicker and he silently prayed it would not leave him in darkness. Unarmed, the detective knew he was at a disadvantage against the knife wielding man hot on his heels. He could hear the swiping movements at his back as he ran down from whence he came. Got to get the gun!
As he reached the last few steps, strong arms wrapped themselves around the Five-O detective and they both tumbled down the stairs, landing in a heap. A slash across his chest found its mark and Ben cried out in pain and surprise. He rolled away from another hack aimed to cut his throat. Kicking his way out of the stronger man's grip, Ben scrambled to his feet and ducked as a wild swing almost found his head. Running toward the center of the room, he could see a small dark object laying on the floor. His gun! He dived across the floor as he felt a stinging sensation travel down his back to match the one across his chest. He dropped the flashlight and heard it roll across the floor. His fingers closed around the hand grip of the gun and he rolled over onto his back, pointing the gun upward and firing two shots into the empty air. His assailant had disappeared. Still holding the gun, he reached for the flashlight. A quick scan showed him the room was deserted.
A noise coming from the stage whirled him around. The curtain appeared to have fluttered in one corner. Ben rushed toward the stage and found an open doorway leading back stage. Entering the narrow passageway, he perused his surroundings and saw the corridor was lined with doors. He leaned back flat against the wall, desperately longing to remove his jacket but unable to do so without the fear of being ambushed.
Now here he was, he had become the hunted and no longer the hunter. Inching his way along the wall, he peered around the corner and saw the back of the stage. There were pulleys, levers and wiring. A metal rod fell and clanged onto the once polished wooden floor a few feet from where he stood. Looking up, his eyes locked on the man he had been chasing. His dark menacing eyes bulged out of a long thin face framed by unruly ebony hair. The hunter stood on the tight gangway above the stage.
"Stop! Hold it right there! Drop your weapon!" Ben shouted up at the man, aiming his gun at him as he saw the knife still clutched in his hand.
The suspect chuckled manically and rasped, "Come and get me." He then ran across the gangway before the detective could say anything else.
Ben stowed his gun back in its holster, then with the flashlight in one hand, he climbed the metal rungs of the rusty ladder that led up to the gangway. When he reached the top, he pulled his pistol from its holster once more and carefully moved across the thin walk way which creaked and trembled beneath his feet with every step he took. A swishing sound rent the air but it was too late for the detective to react as the suspect swung down from a rope and planted his boots into Ben's chest, knocking him off his feet.
Before Ben could raise his hand to point the gun in his attacker's direction, the man stomped down on his wrist hard until the cop released the weapon and cried out in pain. Sneering, the slightly larger man kicked the gun across the gangway out of the detective's reach then leaned forward and grasped the collar of Ben's shirt, yanking him to his feet. Ben swung the flashlight and hit his captor in the face. The man did not release his hold. He brought his knee up and slammed it into the detective's side. Ben grunted as the air was knocked out of him. He swung his arm once again and hit his assailant harder with the flashlight before kicking his legs out from under him. The man went down, landing on his back and pulled Ben down with him. Landing on top of his foe, Ben tried to find an advantage. He abandoned the flashlight let it roll across the gangway. A thought entered his mind-where was the man's knife? The sudden release of his shirt collar he was in trouble. Sure enough as he looked down, the man had pulled out his hunting knife from his belt and raised it ready to strike.
Ben leapt backwards, tearing out of the man's grip, and almost fell off the edge of the walkway. In one fluid motion he somersaulted away from his assailant's reach. Climbing to his feet he shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around his arm to use as a crude shield. The flashlight flickered then dimmed before darkness enveloped hunter and hunted. The detective held his arm up in front of him and relied on his other senses to locate his foe and listen to movement. The gangway creaked and Ben leaped back, falling on his backside as his foot landed on a small hard, cylindrical object. Light illuminated the scene as the abandoned flashlight glowed feebly. .
Ben's eyes widened as he could now make out his adversary lunging forward, his knife held high, ready to strike down and plunge it into him. Out of reflex, the detective brought an arm back to launch himself to his feet when his fingers met something cool and metallic. Praying that he had found what he desperately needed, his fumbling fingers closed around the hand grip of his gun. As time appeared to stand still, he brought the weapon around in front of him. Squeezing the release mechanism of the trigger, he fired in the same instant that the man bore down on him. The sound of the gun firing resonated all around, echoing off the bare walls. The jagged blade fell from the wounded man's grip onto the walk way as he clutched at the bullet wound high up in his chest. Swaying unsteadily, his eyes wide in surprise, he let out one last laugh before it died on his bloodless lips as he fell over the edge of the gangway onto the stage below. Sirens sounded outside the building and Ben looked down over the flimsy railing. To his surprise, Steve McGarrett led the way followed by a file of HPD men bearing flashlights, their weapons drawn. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ben slowly climbed to his feet and called down, "Over here!"
….
When Ben climbed down from the gangway, Steve met him with a puzzled look on his face. "Are you alright?" the head of Five-O asked, deeply concerned as he took in Ben's appearance. His jacket hung limply in one hand and his shirt torn, dirty and blood splattered. Steve shone the flashlight over the detective from head to toe.
"I'm alright, Steve." Ben answered a touch of nervousness in his reply as he shielded his eyes from the glare.
"We tried to radio you tonight. What happened?" Steve questioned his newest recruit in all seriousness.
"I'm sorry. I saw someone dumping something in the cemetery. I chased him here–" Ben began but was no sooner cut off.
"Why didn't you call for back up? I thought I made that clear in my office this afternoon!" There was no doubt the head of Five-O was displeased and worried for the safety of his men.
"I guess I thought I could handle it on my own. I thought it was just a prank. I felt that I needed to prove something." Ben Kokua ended his statement quietly and hung his head in self-disappointment.
"The only thing you have proven is you not only neglected to follow my instructions but you have also put your life in danger. Never do that again! Do I make myself clear?" Steve's words cut deeper than any knife could as Ben looked up into his eyes and saw the anger that blazed behind them.
As he struggled to find the right words to respond to Steve's reprimand, Duke Lukela interceded, "Steve, it's him. We found this in his pocket." The silver haired HPD sergeant held up a clear bag containing a diamond and pearl pendant of intricate design, attached to a gleaming gold chain.
Taking the bag from Duke's outstretched hand, Steve inspected the piece of jewelry, then nodded and looked up at Ben who also eyed it with interest. "You said you saw our friend dumping a bag in the graveyard?"
"Yeah. It looked like he was hiding something behind one of the taller stone monuments. It was too dark to see clearly." Ben answered, hoping he could help solve a mystery.
"Duke, I want the cemetery cordoned off and a team of forensics to go through the area with a fine toothed comb until that bag is found." Steve instructed in an urgent manner.
"Right Steve." Duke hurried away to leaving Steve and Ben to themselves once more.
"A privately owned antique jewelry store on the corner of Judd and Liliha was robbed tonight. The owner of the store lived upstairs and must've heard the intruder breaking and entering. He was stabbed to death. His wife called the police but by the time HPD arrived at the scene they found her by the phone, also dead. Her throat was cut. She was almost beheaded." Steve relayed his information to Ben who stood listening intently. "I tried to reach you but when there was no response, we headed to the cemetery and found your car parked across the street. I hope you realize just how lucky you were tonight."
"Maybe you were wrong about me, Steve. Bringing me into the fold." Ben sighed dejectedly.
"If I was wrong about one thing, it's not trusting my gut instincts. I had Lester Drake. I had him in the palms of my hand! I gave him up to follow a lead that took me nowhere. Don't beat yourself up. We all make mistakes. It's what you learn from them that makes you a better detective and a better man."
Steve looked long and hard into the eyes of the man who would leave his mark in Five-O. The man who he already called friend and even brother. Ben Kokua was not just another face in the crowd. In joining Five-O, he became a part of the ohana that would hold a special in his heart for years to come. With a reassuring pat on the shoulder, Steve gave the detective a once over and grimaced as he saw the blood that ran down the Samoan's arm and the bruises on his face. Through the worry, he allowed a small smile to reach his eyes. "Let's go. Paramedics are waiting outside. We better get those knife wounds checked out." The young detective relaxed, touched by Steve's words of wisdom and concern. He followed his boss, mentor and friend through the open door of the theatre and into the night which appeared somewhat brighter than it had been before he entered the building.
Pau