Chapter 1 - A Message From Beyond
San Francisco, California. Monday afternoon, March 27, 1989.
Lydia Morgan Wheeler emerged from the stall in the women's room of her office at EnviroTech Resources. She looked in the mirror and evaluated her appearance. She was tall and thin, with black hair cut in a chin-length cut. She wore no eyeshadow on her intense brown eyes, but she did need a little more mascara. She pulled down the jacket on her stylish red suit, with matching red pumps. She washed her hands, checked to see that her hair was still in place, and took out a dark red lipstick from her oversized purse. Lydia really hated makeup, too. but when you're chief financial officer of an up-and-coming corporation, you have to look the part, she thought as she primped halfheartedly. "If they only knew," she muttered. Of course, if the people at her office knew that her side work was psychic investigations, they wouldn't treat her in quite the same way.
As Lydia was putting on her lipstick, time stopped. The woman next to her at the mirror was frozen, and the toilet stopped in mid-flush. The only person aware of this was Lydia, whose psychic shields went into overdrive. It was definitely familiar, and friendly, but why take a chance? A white light appeared out of nowhere. She looked up into the mirror, and a man's face stared out where her own should have been. "Lady bless!" she muttered as she dropped her lipstick into the sink. The face belonged to her old friend, Special Agent Dale Cooper of the FBI. He seemed to be saying something. She wasn't very good at lip reading, but he appeared to say something like "Help me, I'm trapped."
"Dale, where are you?" she asked, touching the mirror. He just kept repeating "Help me, I'm trapped."
Just as abruptly, the white light went away and time resumed. Lydia found a smear on her face where she had been applying her lipstick. She picked her lipstick out of the sink, grabbed a piece of paper towel and wiped her face off as best as she could. Then, she ran back to her office, which was no small feat in high heels.
"Kelly," she said hurriedly to her secretary, "Hold all of my calls, all right?"
"Sure thing, Lydia," Kelly answered with a shrug as her boss breezed by her and slammed the door shut.
The office of Lydia M. Wheeler, Vice-president and Chief Financial Officer of EnviroTech Resources, was a cubicle done in a tasteful gray fabric, with a door and glass sound baffle on the top. Her back wall was a window, which had a commanding view of San Francisco Bay. The walls were decorated with framed environmental posters and Lydia's framed diplomas from Wellesley College and Stanford University, both summa cum laude, and also her CPA license. In the corner nearest to her desk was a bookshelf filled with accounting and computer books, with an overgrown ivy plant hanging tendrils over the side. The plant had a sign taped to it that said "FBI Plant-Bugged." She sat at her desk, and with trembling hands, called her best friend.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation, White-Collar Crime division. This is Agent Masters. May I help you?" said the cheerful woman's voice on the phone.
"Robin, it's Lydia," she said quickly, her voice shaking. "You'll never believe who just contacted me."
"Who?" Robin asked tentatively.
"Dale Cooper."
There was dead silence on the other end of the phone. "You're right. I don't believe it. How long has it been since he left?"
"About two years," she confessed. "Two years of nothing, then all of the sudden,"
"Are you okay?" There was concern in her friend's voice.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Robin, he's in trouble. That's why he got in touch with me. Have you heard from him lately?"
"Not since he sent me a Christmas card from Philly in December. God, I almost regret throwing you two together at my housewarming back in '85. How did he sound?"
"Well, that's the thing..." Lydia hesitated.
"Wait a minute, you're not talking about that psychic stuff you work on with Violent Crimes, are you?"
"I was training him in it. He was, well, gifted. He used what I taught him to contact me. Dale kept saying that he was trapped somewhere. Robin, what's his number in Philadelphia? I think I'm going to call his office and see what's going on."
There was a sound of a drawer opening and the rustling of papers. "Here ya go. 215-555-9431. Are you sure you want to do this, Lyd?"
"No, I'm not sure. But, I have to. Thanks."
"No problem. Call me when you find out something, will ya? He's still a friend, no matter what happened between you two." There was a ring of the phone on the other end. "Hey, I gotta go. These macho men seem to think I'm the blasted secretary around here. I'll show them next time it comes to qualify on a sniper rifle," she laughed.
"Okay, I'll keep you posted. See ya," she hung up the phone, then dialed the number that Robin gave her.
"Yes, I would like to speak with Agent Dale Cooper, please."
"I'll connect you to his office," said the phone voice, and on came violins playing the Doors' "Light My Fire." Gods, Lydia thought, Jim Morrison must be rolling in his grave at the thought of his song on Muzak.
"Agent Cooper's office, Diane speaking," came a new phone voice.
"I'd like to speak with Agent Cooper."
"He's in the field right now. May I take a message?" The phone voice was clearly stalling.
"Yes. My name is Lydia Wheeler. I have to reach him, it's urgent. I have a lead on the case that he is working on." Come on, you silly woman, let me talk to his supervisor, Lydia screamed to herself.
"Uh, hold on. I'll connect you with Agent Cole. Better turn down your phone. He talks really loud." More muzak.
"GORDON COLE HERE, CAN I HELP YOU?" said an extremely loud voice on the other end of the phone. Lydia held the receiver about a foot from her ear.
"I'm trying to locate Agent Cooper. I'm an old friend of his. I recently received a message from him, and I wanted to say hello." Better to talk around the issue. Non-psychics just don't get it.
"COOPER'S OUT IN THE FIELD ON A VERY SENSITIVE ASSIGNMENT. CAN I TAKE A MESSAGE FOR HIM?"
"Can you at least tell me where he is? I can assure you that I have a need to know. Perhaps I didn't introduce myself clearly enough," she enunciated, "I am Lydia Wheeler. I am a consultant to the San Francisco Bureau office for violent crimes and embezzlement. If you don't believe me, call them. I am also personal friend of Coop's. I have reason to believe that he is in danger. Now, please tell me where he is." I really hate to throw that fact around, she thought. This guy isn't getting the hint and he's deaf as a post.
"LYDIA WHEELER? ARE YOU THE ONE FROM THE SAN FRANCISCO THAT WAS A FRIEND OF COOP'S?" said Cole.
"Yes. Now, I need information on his whereabouts. It's extremely urgent." Lydia shook her head and bit her lip.
"HE WAS DETAILED OUT TO THE SEATTLE OFFICE. HE'S INVESTIGATING A MURDER IN A SMALL TOWN IN WASHINGTON STATE CALLED TWIN PEAKS. IT'S NEAR CANADA. WE HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE THAT HIS FORMER PARTNER, WINDOM EARLE, WAS DOING SOME SORT OF REVENGE AGAINST HIM."
No wonder I got a Calling, she thought as her stomach sank. "Agent Cole, as an independent consultant, I'm putting myself on this case, effective immediately."
"GOOD. I THINK THE BUREAU SHOULD HIRE YOU ON IMMEDIATELY FOR THIS CASE. GET UP TO TWIN PEAKS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE AND I'LL HAVE AGENT ROSENFELD BRING YOU UP TO SPEED.. GOOD LUCK." Cole hung up. Twin Peaks, now why does that sound so familiar?
She sat back and remembered the last time that she saw Dale Cooper. It was June of 1987. Her grandmother had been put into the hospital with end-stage cancer, and was not likely to live very long. It was a beautiful early summer day, and she had spirited Dale out for a walk at lunchtime to Golden Gate Park. They talked about everything else but what was on her mind. When they came to the fountain, they sat on the edge. "Dale," she said tentatively, "I got some bad news today. My grandmother's dying."
He had studied her for a minute, and then put his hand on her shoulder. "I got some news today too. The Bureau has set up a counter-narcotics task force with the DEA. Gordon seems to think that I need to broaden my experience a little bit beyond Violent Crimes and Counter-Intelligence. I'm headed out to San Diego next week. I'll have to break my lease. I'm sorry, Lydia."
Lydia felt at that moment as if she had stepped into one of those elephant traps in Africa, the kind that is a deep hole concealed by brush. As they were walking back to the Federal Building, some of the Bay Area's ubiquitous throwbacks to the sixties were smoking pot and listening to The Doors on a boom box. They laughed, and kept on walking. He didn't even stop to give the pot-smokers a warning. She remembered saying to him before he left, "Dale, if you ever need anything, please, don't hesitate to call. Somehow, knowing you, I don't think you'll need a telephone." They had laughed, remembering his clairvoyant talents, and her empathic ones.
She shook herself out of her reverie. "Well, I guess I should start with my psychic network," she muttered to herself. "Now, who does the Circle have in the Northwest?" The Circle was an unofficial association of fellow psychics. By virtue of her hacking and financial skills, Lydia was the main records-keeper for them. She put her phone into the modem jack and dialed her home computer number. On her screen, a window came up with CORD-Circle Online Record Data. A nice little database that she had written herself. It came in handy to be an amateur hacker sometimes. She punched in her password, and called up the names, addresses, and phone numbers of everyone in the Web. There was a guy in Portland, Oregon, whom she had worked with on a previous occasion. She logged out, and dialed the phone.
"Oregon Air Shuttle Service, Jim speaking," said the voice.
"Hey, Jim, this is Lydia. How are those 'Blazers doing this year?" Jim Novak liked basketball about as much as slam-dunking Satanic cults, she recalled.
"Ahey, Liddy! We're going all the way this year! If only we could beat Chicago... But, you didn't call long distance on company time to talk sports. What's going on?"
"I've got a Calling from up in Washington, near the Canadian border. Have you caught any feelings from up that way? I don't want to step in and ruin things if we have someone on it."
"Well, yeah, but I haven't had time to check it out. I read an article a few months ago about a serial killer who had killed his own daughter and niece that sounded positively creepy. But, you know something, I've really been getting some bad vibes in the past week. How did you get Called out of your area?"
"An old friend. He had the right stuff, but was too old to train by the time I found him. I taught him the basics. I think something may have happened to him."
"Yeah, if he's one of your buddies, by all means, go ahead. Hey, this wouldn't be that FBI guy that you were with a few years ago, would it?"
She hesitated. "Yeah, how'd you guess?"
"That little catch in your voice you get whenever you talk about him. Let me know if you need help."
"Thanks, Jim. Keep Portland from getting too weird, okay? See ya." She hung up, and got a buzz from Kelly.
"Your brother is here to see you. He says it's urgent," the secretary informed her.
"Sure, send him in," she agreed. Lydia rubbed her temples to get rid of an oncoming headache. Great. Just what I need, she thought. My peripatetic half-brother. Unfortunately, he also happens to be my boss. At least I can tell him that I have to cut out for a few days without too much hassle.
The door opened, and John Justice Wheeler walked in to Lydia's office. He was, like Lydia, tall and black-haired, with piercing brown eyes and an infectious smile. That, and their business acumen, was where the similarities ended. While Jack was a more people-oriented person, Lydia was more comfortable with information. He was more laid-back, and had, to her perpetual amusement, a fascination with cowboys and the Old West. It must have come from their father, who was a Wyoming cowboy himself. Despite their different styles, they were very close-knit. After all, they were the only family that each of them had left.
Today, Jack just looked tired and worried. He was still wearing the ugly striped turtleneck sweater and jeans that he usually traveled in. That sweater was a crime against fashion. At least he had taken off his cowboy hat, she thought. "Hi, sis. Did you hear about Tom?" Their third partner, Thomas Chang, had been murdered two days ago in Rio De Janiero, Brazil. He had been Jack's best friend.
"Yeah, simply awful," she shook her head. "The loggers that wanted our land probably didn't even realize that it may have had the cure for cancer growing on it. I've sent Andy in Legal down to Rio to pressure the government into pressing charges, and to bring back Tom's body. He's also working on pressing negligence charges against the timber company." She handed him a folder that contained her action on the disaster.
"I need to go down there myself," Jack insisted, his face etched with pain.
"Jack, I'm sorry," she took a deep breath and changed the subject. "I've got another problem. I have to take some time off, starting immediately. I have to take care of some Business."
"I can't let you go, sis. This is not a good time."
"Jack, I have to go. I told you when we started the company that there would be times when I had to leave. That's part of being what I am. That's why I was self-employed before we met."
"I need you at the helm while I'm in Brazil."
"Let Andy handle it," she advised. "The last thing we need is for you to go off to Brazil half-cocked. He's more emotionally detached than you are right now. I've got to go help an old friend, just like you were doing. By the way, where the heck were you?"
"A little town in northeast Washington State called Twin Peaks. It's where Dad settled after your mom died and left you with your grandma. I was helping my mentor, Ben Horne."
Lydia got a cold chill down her back. At the same moment, there was a buzz from the phone. She gave her brother a skeptical look and picked it up.
"Yes, Kelly?"
"There's an urgent call for Mr. W. I'll have his office put it through," she said.
Lydia handed him the phone. "Jack Wheeler here," he answered.
"Sir, you have an emergency call from a Jerry Horne in Twin Peaks, Washington," his secretary replied.
"Put him on," he pushed the button for the speaker phone. "Jerry, what's up?"
"Jack, I've got bad news," came a nasal voice over the phone. "Ben and Audrey were both injured in two separate accidents over the weekend. They're both in intensive care. You need to get up here right away." Brother and sister exchanged a worried look.
"Okay, I'll be up there when I can. Thanks, Jer." He hung up the phone. "Looks like bad news comes in threes." His voice broke, and he put his head in his hands. She walked around her desk and hugged him.
"Let's get a move on," she ordered. He raised his head. "I was just about to tell you that my business happens to be in that area as well. Let me go back to my house, pack my bags, feed the cat, and I'll meet you at the airport. Are you going to be okay to fly the plane?" She gave him the once over. It didn't take a psychiatrist to realize that her half-brother was very near the breaking point.
"Yeah, I'll have to be. See you in two hours." He left the room. She logged out of her computer, grabbed her purse, and left her office.
"Kelly, Mr. Wheeler and I have to go out of town immediately. Tell Janet that she's in charge, and I'll call you with the number where we can be reached." Lydia didn't even wait for her reply before she followed her brother out of the room.
Twin Peaks, the same day.
From the moment Agent Cooper walked into the office that morning, Deputy Thomas "Hawk" Hill knew that there was something wrong. He acted preoccupied, and had no patience with doing the mundane paperwork. He was also very rude to Lucy, whose hormones were on another pregnancy-induced rollercoaster ride. Coop was normally a nice guy and a superior lawman, but right now he just was being a grade-A jerk. It was almost like he was another person. Then, there was that mysterious cut on his forehead, which Harry had claimed came from Cooper's bashing his head against the mirror of his room at the Great Northern. That was understandable, he thought, considering what the guy had just been through. Still, Hawk had seen Cooper under stress before, and he had always been the perfect gentleman. His musing was broken up suddenly by the opening of Truman's office door, and Harry and Cooper emerging.
"Come on, Hawk, we're going to get something to eat," said Harry. Hawk shrugged and followed them. It was time for lunch, after all. In the car, Coop was describing his experience.
"It was incredible. Bob just blew Earle's head apart, and let me go. Did I tell you that I saw Leland Palmer in there? He told me that he didn't kill anyone," Cooper shook his head in disbelief.
Harry pulled into the parking lot of the Double-R Diner. The three of them got out of the car and went inside. When they sat at the booth that was unofficially reserved for the sheriff's department, Annie Blackburn came over with coffee.
She set down the coffee cups, and gave Cooper a smile. "How are you, Annie? Everything all right?" Cooper asked as he took her hand.
Annie stopped for a moment as if she were assessing how she was. "I'm doing better," she nodded, "I'm not seeing it in front of me every moment. Work helps. I'm just glad that the hospital let me go home. I really was fine."
"That's a nice ring, there," Hawk interrupted, noticing a strange gold signet ring with a green stone that Annie was wearing. "I didn't know that the convent allowed you to have jewelry."
"Oh, I found it somewhere. I'm wearing it hoping that a customer will come in and recognize it," she said innocently.
"Would you like to meet me at the station after work?" Cooper interrupted. "Harry still has to get your statement. We could go out afterwards and celebrate. Maybe go dancing again."
"Sounds good. I'll see you about five. Now, what would you guys like?" Annie took their orders and went back into the kitchen.
The diner door opened, and in walked Margaret Lanterman, the Log Lady. She went to her usual booth in the back corner. Norma went over and poured her some coffee. As Norma moved away, Margaret stared over at the booth with Cooper, Hawk, and Truman. She shook her head, and looked again. Then she bent down and murmured something to the log that she always carried. As Hawk got up to go to the men's room, she beckoned him over to her table.
"My log has a message for you, Deputy," she whispered.
"What is it, Margaret?" Hawk asked, just as softly.
"It says to seek help from the white Medicine Woman."
"What White Medicine Woman?" As the grandson of a Medicine Woman, he took offense that whites were stealing their learning.
"That is all that my log said. Is there something wrong with Agent Cooper?" She peered over at the other booth.
"You, uh, your log noticed it too, huh?" He was not surprised. Margaret had what his grandmother called "spirit vision." That's one of the things that helped Cooper to solve the Palmer case.
"Yes. My log says to be very careful. That is all for now." She turned away and drank her coffee. Apparently the social graces were lost on the Log Lady.
Lydia walked up the brick walkway to her old brownstone in the Mission District and unlocked the door. It was a comfortable old house with a separate apartment in the basement, which she rented out. She had lived here all of her life, and inherited the property from her grandmother when she died.
She was promptly greeted with a meow from a fat, long-haired red-point Himalayan cat with blue eyes. "Hello, Fluffball," she said. The cat wrapped herself around her leg - begging for food, as usual. "James, I'm home. I need to talk to you, now." She called for her housemate. This new housemate, James Hurley, was a good kid, although he was terrified of her. The kid was looking for a cheap room. A biker friend of hers knew that she needed a responsible, discreet housemate. Bikers take care of their own. James walked down the steps and into the living room. He doesn't look like a biker, she mused as he walked upstairs, he looks like a preppie pretending to be a biker.
"Hi, uh, Miz...er... Lydia," he gulped. He was uncomfortable calling her by her first name.
"James, I need to go out of town for an indefinite period of time. I'll leave a number where I can be reached, in case of an emergency. I'll need for you to feed Artemis, and scoop her box. You know where the stuff is. Also, just take any messages from anyone who calls, not that I have a social life or anything like that."
"Sure. Where are you going?"
"I'm headed to a small town in Washington called Twin Peaks. Hey, you're from around there, aren't you?"
"Yeah. Uh, could you do me a favor? If you should bump into an Ed Hurley, he's my uncle, and a girl named Donna Hayward, tell them that I'm doing okay. Thanks."
That was about the most the kid had ever said about his life, she thought, raising an eyebrow. "Sure. I'd ask you to come with me, but Arty likes you. She hates everyone else. I get the idea that you're not ready to go back yet, either."
"No, I'm not. Don't worry, I'll take good care of the little monster for you." James picked up Artemis and walked into the kitchen, the cat struggling the whole time. Lydia went upstairs, changed into her jeans and a polo shirt, pulled out her suitcase, and went to pack. She decided to take her red suit and a black one at the last minute. They might be useful. Not to mention several pairs of jeans. From what she gathered, this place was a real jeans-and-flannel-shirt kind of town.
As she was leaving the house, she grabbed her notebook computer. She left her house with a final nose-to-nose with Artemis, and floored it to the airport. Jack was already waiting for her in the company Learjet.
"I'm still packed. The jet's refueled and ready," he announced. His eyes were red.
"Sorry, I got here when I could. Are you sure you're going to be okay to fly this thing? You know, we could get on a real plane." She had made him aware of her fear of flying in a small plane several months ago when he bought it.
Jack gave her a dirty look as he strapped himself into the pilot's seat. "Well, I guess you quiche-eating yuppies would rather spend more company money to get two plane tickets than trust me to fly you myself," he teased back. "Of course, then we'd miss all the fun, like in that ice storm this past winter. What did you call what you were doing in the back? Worshiping the porcelain Goddess?" He chuckled as he powered up the engine, and began to taxi to the runway. He received clearance from the control tower.
"I'm not a yuppie..." Lydia snapped. She closed her eyes and grabbed the seat as the Learjet took off.
Nadine Hurley woke up with a terrible headache. It must have been a reaction to the concussion that she had suffered the night of the Miss Twin Peaks pageant. The phone's ringing woke her the rest of the way. She staggered across the room and picked up the receiver.
"Hello, Nadine. It's Coach Webster." Why would the wrestling coach be calling?
"Hi, coach. I guess you heard what happened, that I'm back to normal," she said. Make things perfectly clear, Nadine.
"Yes, that's what I'm calling to tell you about, Nadine. Your story got picked up by a national news service, and I got a phone call about you today."
"Great. Now I'm a laughingstock for the entire country!" Nadine wailed.
"Actually, no. This guy that called is setting up a women's professional wrestling team, and he wants you to audition. It's a great opportunity." The coach was fairly bursting with pride.
"Really? They wanted me? Sure, I'll audition! What's his number?" The coach gave her the number of the promoter. "Thanks, coach!"
"No problem, Nadine. You were the best wrestler I've ever seen. I just wanted to do you a favor." He hung up.
"Eddie..." Nadine hung up the phone and ran out to the gas station that adjoined the house. Things were finally looking up for Nadine, she thought. Eddie would have to stay with her now.
As they were passing over Klamath Falls, Lydia unstrapped herself and moved to the back of the plane. She took out her laptop computer and set it up on the coffee tray on the back of a wide seat. As she sat, she noticed the crinkle of plastic and looked down. There was an empty condom wrapper stuck in the wedge of the seat cushions.
"Uh, Jack, flying the friendly skies now? I don't know who she was, but I'm glad that you put a baggie over it," she commented, dangling the wrapper when he turned.
"Audrey..." he answered, and a haunted look came over his face again.
"You want to talk about it?"
"She's Ben's daughter. She was only eighteen."
"Excuse me, Jack," she asked, incredulous. "You mean to tell me that the latest love of your life is just this side of jail bait?"
"It wasn't like that at all, sis. She was, er, is, beautiful. Mature for her age, too," he shot his sister a look. "As I was leaving - was it really just two days ago - she asked me to make love to her. In the plane."
"In the plane? Lordy, I hope you weren't airborne at the time." Lydia stood up and regarded the seat cushion warily. There are some things that even family shouldn't know about.
"Oh, God. I don't want her to die. She has everything to live for. I'll do anything to help her out. I just don't want to live without her." Jack turned away so that she couldn't read his face.
Oh, please, Lydia thought as she rolled her eyes. This little bimbo must really mean something to him. She decided she'd better get his mind back on more important things, like piloting. "Hey, she'll be okay. Just don't choke up on me and forget to fly the plane, okay? I don't want us to crash on the way to see her."
He gave her a nasty look and changed the subject. "Sis, I want you to work up a plan for us to take over the hotel and department store, in case of an emergency. Ben's younger brother, Jerry, is a real lightweight. I don't want their family company going down the tubes. Ben got me started. I want to return the favor by bailing them out."
"You know I can't do that without knowing what the corporate balance sheet is," she explained. He turned around and gave her the stare which usually meant do it! "All right, all right. I'll look into it. It'll get my mind off crashing."
"Why do you hate flying in small aircraft so much? If I know anything about your other line of work, I'd think doing that is a lot more frightening."
"Because, dear brother, I have a hard time giving up control of situations. I can protect myself in any other situation. I can't in a small plane. In a big one, the pilot is usually competent." She couldn't resist the rub.
"Anyone who questions the abilities of the pilot of this aircraft will find themselves with a parachute strapped to their back and being shoved out the door!" Jack teased and grinned. She could tell that he was feeling much better already.
Donna Hayward walked up the stairs from the basement room in the Hurley's house that used to belong to James, her former boyfriend. She went into the living room to talk to Nadine, James' aunt, but she saw Nadine run out of the house over to the gas station. Nadine was definitely a strange bird, but she was always nice to Donna. It was very generous of Ed and Nadine to offer Donna the basement room when she decided that she couldn't stay at home any more. She looked up from her reverie to see Nadine and Ed coming back into the house.
"Oh, Eddie," Nadine gushed, "isn't it just too exciting? Now we'll finally be richer than our wildest dreams, and we can get out of this town!" Ed shrugged in response.
Donna looked from Nadine to Ed, then back to Nadine. "Did I miss something here, Nadine?" she asked tentatively.
She ran up and hugged Donna, causing her to lose her breath. Nadine Hurley was a strong woman. "I can't believe it! Coach Webster called, and he says that some man in California wants me to audition for a women's wrestling show. He says that I have a really good chance of getting a spot! I'm so excited!" Nadine was fairly jumping for joy.
"That's great, Nadine," Donna said half-heartedly. "I'm happy for you."
"Look, Nadine," Ed said. "How are you going to get to California? When you do, what's going to happen? You're thirty-five years old. Most of the competition is ten years younger than you." He did have a point, thought Donna.
"Well, I'll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it. Now, Eddie, don't you want to celebrate?" Nadine cuddled up next to Ed, who looked trapped. Donna discreetly went outside to take a walk.
As the afternoon wore on, Harry Truman found himself alone in his office. He stared out the window, trying to make sense of the last few weeks. Josie Packard's death had really sent him into a tailspin. Cooper had been right about one thing. Josie was trouble. In a way, Harry realized, they were a lot alike. Both of them tended to let themselves get backed into a corner. Unfortunately, she was the one who backed him into the most recent corner.
"Dammit, Josie, why did you have to die like that? Why couldn't you just run away with me when I asked you to?" he said to the picture of her that he still kept on his desk. "I love you, Josie. Until the end of time. This isn't finished yet." He knew it was finished, and he should get his life back together. After all, Harry thought, he was rapidly approaching forty. He wasn't getting any younger.
Harry was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come on in," he called. Hawk strode into the room. "How's it going?"
"Well, after the past few days, I'm glad it's quiet," his best friend replied. "Audrey Horne is still in critical condition at the hospital. It's a miracle that she's even alive, after being at ground zero. Andy's going over to the hospital later today to talk to Sylvia about what the hell her daughter was doing chained to a bank vault. Also," he read off a checklist, "Ben Horne is in stable condition, although he's still under sedation. Sylvia doesn't want to press charges against Doc Hayward."
"That's good. I'd hate to bust the Doc on something. He's been a good friend,"
"Yeah. Apparently it's personal between the Ben and Will. I'm not asking any questions. Third," he returned to the list, "Leo Johnson is still missing, presumed dead. Although with Leo, I wouldn't presume anything."
"I still wish we could have pinned something on him."
"Too bad the Bookhouse Boys didn't get more evidence on Leo before he turned into a vegetable," Hawk brushed his right index finger against his temple. Harry nodded.
"Fourth," he hesitated, "Agent Cooper." Harry looked up, confused. "Have you noticed that Cooper is different since he came out of the Black Lodge with Annie?"
"No, not in the least." Harry said quickly. Although, there was something nagging at the back of his mind that he dared not acknowledge. "Your granny dropping some funny herbs on the rocks in the sweatlodge again, Hawk?"
Hawk scowled. "I haven't been to a sweatlodge in since before Laura Palmer died. Not that Grandma hasn't been nagging at me. She's being more insistent these days."
"Given the circumstances, I can see why. Look, Hawk," he hesitated, "I don't think there's anything wrong with Coop that a little R and R can't cure. What did Doc Hayward call it? Post-traumatic stress disorder? He and Annie have been through a lot. Let him be."
"I don't agree with you, Harry, but I'll keep my mouth shut. Maybe you're right."
"I hope so, Hawk. For all our sakes, I certainly hope so."