14 (Part 1 of 2): Forward

Yep, it had been a gut-punch. They got into the car wordlessly and drove. Dappled sun hit the windshield. So much beauty and peace. Kay tried to breathe, focus. Mike had to be focused because his eyes never left the road ahead. Ahead – how could they face the next defeat?

Mike pulled over just before a small apex carport, and she eyed it. "There was a car here this morning," she said.

"Yeah, there was."

The structure was simple and looked to have been fashioned with local timber. It blended well into the backdrop of forest. The silver Mercedes sedan they had noted on their last pass was gone.

Kay thumbed through her notes, breathing again. "Car is registered to an Orsen Counis. He owns the house as well." She caught Mike's brief, approving nod and pulled herself together. "Let's have a look."

They climbed rustic granite flags and stairs, curving through tangled brush, until the path ended to admit them onto a surprisingly manicured lawn. Mike shook his head and gave a low whistle, and Kay wondered for the second time how a square of such aggressive order could have been cut into the chaos of mountain woods. Edged with a tidy box hedge that caught the sunny area's outermost limit, the property was at once hidden and pretentious, a small and calculated retreat. Ahead of them sat the centrepiece – 2 stories of cedar and glass in the 'Great Camp' style that still influenced local architecture.

Up 2 more steps to the wraparound porch. They knocked and waited, peered in the leaded glass sidelight window. The house was regal, dim. Mike tilted his head, listening. "Still no one home," he said.

Kay nodded. "We should check around back."

They moved around the house, finding nothing out of place in either the well-tended grounds or the exterior of the building. The doors and windows were locked; an empty recycle bin sat just outside what appeared to be the kitchen entry. Nothing stirred.

"The car was here before," Kay repeated.

"It was."

Kay looked at Mike. "This place is isolated, well-kept and secure. It fits the profile to a T. We should go in."

"Hold on," Mike cautioned. "We don't have a warrant."

"And we won't get one on what we have. A missing car and no answer at the door? Any judge would laugh." Kay felt herself growing hot, bitter. A judge would laugh. The homeowner hadn't answered in the morning because he was asleep or in the bathroom or hard of hearing or just because he didn't feel like it and now he was out running errands, visiting friends, picking up a nice fat T-bone to slap on the grill. Because none of this mattered to him or the damn judge. She listened to wind in the high evergreens and it sounded like sickness, like evil. Inside, inside, inside, it whispered. She itched.

Mike was staring at her, eyes dark. "Yes," he said. "I feel it too."

….

To be continued…below

….

14 (Part 2 of 2): Mike

"Oh god, Mike, it's bad."

"No, it's not bad," he panted, the adrenal rush subsiding. He felt shaky and the pain was building. The air was acrid with propellant; his ears rang.

Kay twisted the handkerchief tighter around his forearm, wincing her sympathy as he gritted his teeth. "Sorry, sorry." She tied it off and grimaced. "That won't hold long. You need medical attention."

Mike breathed in slowly, exhaled. His tactical arousal control training asserted itself, and he could see that Kay was focusing on slowing her own fight-or-flight reaction. "I'm good," he said. And we still have to search this place." He held up a hand to cut off Kay's protest. "We'll do the search and then we'll go break out the first aid kit." He eased his shirtsleeve down over the makeshift bandage and tried not to look at the blood-spattered floor.

"Alright," Kay surrendered. "We search and then we head back to town and see an actual doctor." She retrieved her weapon from the floor, checked and holstered it, then stepped around the dead Rottweiler to close the door. "Nice pet," she muttered.

They climbed the staircase, listening. The dog had materialized the moment they'd picked the front door lock and stepped inside, and the silence of its attack spoke to rigorous training. Four bullets from his partner's gun to take it down. That was no pet.

"Clear," Kay called softly as she finished sweeping a small bathroom at the end of the hall. They slipped like shadows down the hallway, opening each door and clearing each room in turn. The house was cool and hushed; it felt full of secrets.

Mike checked another guestroom of generic furniture and respectable art. Its banality was disturbing. He felt like there were eyes on them, like the house itself could be watching, and he shivered.

"You alright?" Kay murmured. Her eyes scanned each nook and her breathing seemed loud in the quiet space.

"I'm solid," he murmured back automatically. He had to be solid – they both had to be. The answers they had searched for (and waited for, and maybe given up on ever finding) were close by now and he could feel them. They made the air heavy in his lungs. They twisted the tasteful décor into something grotesque. Somewhere in this empty house was the truth – however ugly and horrific and painful – about their lost one. They would find it and it would probably be bad. It would probably drive them to their knees, to tears, into the grief they'd never really been able to feel. They would cry over it, over him, and they would hold each other and support each other and maybe then they would all be able to move on.

"The master suite," Kay whispered. A king bed with ornate mahogany posts dominated the massive room. The furniture was vaguely colonial.

"No pictures," Mike noted. "I haven't seen a single one."

Kay shook her head. "No personal items at all." She searched a nightstand, then checked the granite-and-glass ensuite.

Opposite the foot of the bed stood an entertainment center, wood and black glass. Mike glanced inside, catalogued a flat screen TV and half a dozen smaller screens. They were all turned off, but something about them made his stomach twist. He glanced at Kay. "There's nothing up here. Let's keep moving."

….

To be continued

Note: A couple of notes tonight! First, thanks for continuing to read and review…or just read. Second, interesting thing I learned last night on that petition I keep mentioning. Did you guys know that the "save Deception" campaign is arranging to send 1,000+ packs of playing cards to Ben Sherwood at Disney to convince him that the show has a lot of fans? I only sent him a plain old email, but I'm hoping that also gets noticed. If anyone has the time to email him as well, he can be reached at "Ben Sherwood (with a dot between first and last name) at Disney dot com. I keep mentioning it because I keep seeing more people signing the petition and talking about how serious they are about changing ABC's mind, and I figure it can't hurt. Email and web feedback, etc are all free, and if we want them to change their minds we have to convince them.

Finally, I didn't plan to pause the story here, but I realized that the stuff to come needs a bit more work before it's ready to go up. So work it shall have.

Cheers,

Bunny