Sorry about the week-long delay; I could have posted chapter 52 as it was already finished, but as well all know, 51 comes before 52, and I wasn't finished 51. You know how it is.
Anyway, chapter 51. In which I don't really feel like it's spoiling too much to say that this is the second-to-last time you will ever see Becky in normal condition.
CHAPTER 51: RAMONES ENCORE
TIME AND LOCATION: 18:20, Becky's house
WEATHER REPORT: Cloudy, chance of showers
FORTUNE: "After the Rose comes a Thorne in the side."
The door opens and a broad, rugged police officer with tousled brown hair leans out and says with a leer, "Hey, Doll Face, try not to hit the doorframe with those love handles of yours. Haven't seen you at the gym in a while. Where you been? Too busy trying to meet your candy bar quota?"
"In case you haven't noticed, Todd, there's been a murder investigation going on," Emily growls, stepping into the lobby. She almost pulls up short at how dark it is, but George is coming through the door after her, and she's forced to step aside. Todd backs up too, even though there's plenty of room; George's presence tends to draw respect even from the most gormless of her colleagues, Officer Todd being a prime example. She sticks her tongue out at him while George's back is turned, and he returns the sentiment with a rude hand gesture. Todd is the only person in the world for whom she'd stoop to such levels of immaturity.
"So how's our young charge doing?" George asks, nodding towards the closed door at the other end of the room. A light, fast-paced beat can be heard from behind it, and Emily thinks she even recognizes some of the words. Todd shrugs his beefy linebacker's shoulders, the look on his face indicating that something's not right, but damned if he knows what it is.
"She's doing fine, sir, but she ain't talking. Not to me, anyway. She's just been sitting in her room, playing her music at full volume since I got here. I make sure she doesn't lock her door and she doesn't seem to care when I go to check on her, but she's barely moved from that bed. Doesn't even look up when I come in. I told her you guys were coming and she only shrugged and said 'Do your worst'. Whatever that means..."
George nods grimly. "I see. Well, in that case, best we send in a woman to deal with her. Emily? Are you ready?"
She nods just as the kitchen phone begins to ring. Todd goes to answer it, but Emily is nimbler; she beats him to the punch and picks up the reciever.
"This is Deputy Emily Wyatt, Ames residence," she says brightly. "Who's calling? ...Oh, hello, Agent York! Where are you?"
She listens to his reply as George and Todd appear in the doorway, watching her with semi-quizzical expressions. George's eyes narrow slightly when he hears who she's talking to. "No, I just got here," she says, wishing they'd stop hovering over her shoulder. "George and Todd Thorne, the officer in charge of watching her, they're waiting for me out in the lobby. I'm about to go into her room... Was there anything you wanted me to ask her?"
After that, the conversation takes a downward turn. Emily hangs up with a knotty feeling in the pit of her stomach, the same feeling she gets when she doesn't have anything but leftover frosted cruellers for supper. She passes by George on her way to Becky's bedroom and he puts a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Sounds like you handled him pretty well this time, Em," he says, not exactly approvingly, but managing to give the definite impression that he would like to see more of this attitude in the future. "Remember, he is on our home turf. He may be officially in charge, but in the end, we'll be the ones picking up after him. It's best if he knows we won't let ourselves be pushed around for no good reason."
"Was that Agent Morgan? Awesome!" Todd pipes up, ignoring the stormy look George turns on him. "When do I get to meet him in person? I've never deen a real FBI guy outside of TV and movies before!"
"He's not what you think, trust me," Emily says dryly, one hand on the doorknob to Becky's bedroom. She glances briefly at George. "And he prefers to be called York."
Without waiting to see George's reaction, she opens the door. Immediately, the music she'd felt pulsing through the knob hits her eardrums like a patter of sonic hail. Quickly she closes the door behind her, turns around and leans against it, letting her eyes get accustomed to the darkness. Eventually she percieves a black shape huddled on the bed, on top of the covers. There is no indication that it is anything more than a shapeless pile of clothes...
Emily looks at the window, sees that it's shut tight and locked from the inside. Relieved, she looks back at the shape, but it remains motionless, unresponsive to her presence.
I saw her walking down the street
He jumped down, he knocked her off her feet
And then I knew it was the end of her
"Becky?" Emily says, raising her voice above that of the singer's. "It's me, Deputy Wyatt. Todd told you we were coming, right? Me and Sheriff Woodman?"
He's gonna kill that girl
He's gonna kill that girl
He's gonna kill that girl tonight
She is almost surprised when the pile of clothes turns out to be, in fact, a human being. It stirs as if awakening from a slumber of Rip Van Winkle-esque proportions, and a pale crescent of face shows itself through a crack in the bedsheets.
"Hi, Emily," says Becky, her voice creeping like a little brown mouse through the storm of music coming from the CD player on the foot of the bed. "Make yourself... comfortable."
A white hand, attached to a thin wrist, appears to glide disembodied through the air. It fiddles with a dial and the volume drops just enough that Emily can make herself heard without straining too much. Moving carefully, as if trying not to startle a deer in the woods, she comes over to the side of the bed and sits down on the edge. From this vantage point, she can now see two dark, doe-like eyes staring at her from inside the pile of bedsheets.
When I saw her walking down the street
My heart stood still and skipped a beat
Then he knocked her on the floor
But he wanted just a little bit more
"How are you doing?" Emily says, as softly as she is able. "Have you been getting along with Officer Thorne?"
"He's all right," Becky says listlessly. "I don't talk to him much."
"Do you feel like talking now?"
"Oh, is that what you're here for," Becky says, and it's not a question. Emily permits herself to scoot a little closer.
"We're just here to help. Your protection is what matters most right now. Do you... Do you feel safe, Becky?"
He's gonna kill that girl
He's gonna kill that girl
He's gonna kill that girl tonight
"I guess," Becky says. "It doesn't really matter. You can tell Agent York I don't need bodyguards any more. I'm sorry I've been wasting your precious time."
"Don't worry about it. It's barely been twenty-four hours since we put you on watch," Emily soothes. "And Agent York isn't in command of the police department, Sheriff Woodman is. York just made the recommendation."
"Sure he did," Becky says, without malice, or any sort of emotion. "I mean, it's not like he's in charge of Anna's case or anything."
Emily pauses, then says the thing to which she doesn't really want to hear an answer.
"...Would you... rather that Agent York be here instead? Would you feel more comfortable talking to him?"
"I told him everything I have to say. There's nothing left."
"What did you two talk about?"
Becky laughs mirthlessly. "Didn't he tell you everything? I thought you guys were supposed to be working together on this."
"Only a few things. He said you told him to talk to Quint."
"What, is that all?" Becky's voice is dripping with sarcasm. "Wow, with this kind of cooperation, Anna's murder is gonna get solved in no time! If I were her, I wouldn't hold my breath... Oh wait, she can't fucking help but hold her breath, because she's dead. My bad!"
"Do you want me to leave?" Emily says.
When I saw her walking down the street
My heart stood still and skipped a beat
Then he knocked her on the floor
But he wanted just a little bit more
"...No," Becky whispers. Emily can barely hear her. "I'm sorry. Please stay."
"That's okay," Emily says, hiding her bemusement. "I'll sit here as long as you want me to. You don't have to talk if it makes you feel uncomfortable."
They sit and listen to the music for a few minutes, until the song finally ends. To Emily's private relief, only silence follows, and Becky makes no move to reactivate the player. Just as Emily is beginning to wonder if Becky has somehow fallen asleep, huddled in her blankets with her arms around her knees and her eyes closed, her voice comes once more through the darkness. Emily is struck by how hollow Becky sounds, how empty of feeling... She also has no idea how to answer the question.
"Emily... Do you think I'm pretty?"
"Of course you are," is Emily's automatic response, but she has to think for a moment longer before she can confirm it in her head. She hasn't met Becky very often outside of the Milk Barn, and now, surrounded by a musty cloak of shadows, it's even harder to tell what she looks like. But Emily does recall a certain sensitivity about Becky, with her large eyes, almost too-thin figure, and dark brown hair long enough to shield her pale face when she wants it to. Maybe pretty isn't the right word to describe her... Almost as soon as she has the thought, it's as if Becky picks up on it instantly.
"I didn't think so," she says, too emphatically to contradict right away. "Even Quint doesn't think I am."
"Did he tell you that himself?" Emily says, a little shocked. She's met Richard's son plenty of times at the SWERY65, and it doesn't sound like something he would say.
"No, of course he wouldn't. But I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me." Becky shrugs in a way that reminds Emily of Agent York, for some reason. "The reason we were meant to be together is because he doesn't actually give a crap. My looks don't matter to him. He says I'm beautiful, and it's only true when he says it. But he knows I'm not pretty."
Emily has no idea what to say to this. Fortunately, Becky keeps going.
"It's the same thing with Anna. She saw things in people... Things even they weren't aware of. She had this ability to draw it out of someone, just by being herself. You just had to pay attention to what made her happy when you were around her. If you just counted up all the things you did that made her smile, then you'd know what it was that made you special. Because it made Anna laugh, and nobody else, so you were different."
"It sounds like she was a very good friend," Emily says lamely.
"We kind of drifted apart in high school, but we'd known each other since we were little," Becky says, a dream-like softness slipping into her voice. She speaks as if Emily is no longer in the room. "When I was ten, we made a picture book together... She wrote it, I did the illustrations. It was about a rabbit and a willow tree who were best friends, but it was really about ourselves. See, Anna had this nickname for me... 'Rebecca Rabbit', because she said I was 'so jumpy'. And Anna was the only person I let call me that, because it made her laugh, and I loved her laugh. If Diane tried to call me Rebecca, I'd claw her eyes out."
"And Anna was the willow tree?" Emily asks. She sees Becky nod from inside her blanket coccoon.
"Yeah. She was always fascinated by willow trees, because they don't grow around Greenvale. It's like they're allergic to this place or something. She said... She said they were too beautiful for this town, and that someday she was going to move to a place where she could dance under a willow tree every day. That was her dream, until she decided on her modeling career..."
Becky stares at Emily with dark burning eyes, still dry despite the cracking in her voice. "That was what she was good at... Not school, not modeling, not even art or sports or cooking or all of the other things people do... She was good at people. And now she's dead, and nobody but me and Quint know her secret."
"I know," Emily says. "Now that you've told me."
"You don't know anything," Becky says, with such sad certainty it almost breaks Emily's heart. "Nobody in this town knows anything."
Emily surprises herself by countering, "Agent York does."
She can almost feel Becky stiffen, pulling her arms around herself a fraction of an inch tighter. "What makes you say that?"
"I don't know." This conversation makes Emily feel like she's running headlong down a steep hill, unable to check her momentum. "I just know... I believe... that it's true."
Becky seems to consider this for a moment, then she nods.
"Yeah. I guess you're right. But you know what? FBI agent or not, that guy couldn't make a cup of tea to save his life."
They both grin despite the somber atmosphere, Becky's teeth flashing startlingly in the darkness. Emily is relieved to feel the steep hill bottoming out under her feet, checking her speed, gradually slowing to a comfortable pace. All the tension seems to have drained from the room, as if a plug has been pulled.
After their smiles fade, Becky looks thoughtful. "You know, I had a funny dream with him in it... Agent York, I mean. I asked him the same question I asked you. About whether he thought I was pretty."
"And what did he say?"
"He told me the truth."
Emily feels one corner of her mouth quirk upward despite herself. "He tends to do that, yes."
"That wasn't the funny part of the dream, though..." Again, Becky's voice is getting more and more ethereal, dreamy, slowed-down. For the first time, Emily sees how close the girl is to the edge of sleep, the shadows under her eyes no longer just a trick of the light. "The funniest part... what really made it weird... was..."
A prolonged yawn and a rustle of bedsheets, and Becky finishes sleepily:
"...funny part was... I dreamed of him, before I even met him..."
Outside the bedroom, Emily shutting the door softly behind her, George and Officer Thorne are waiting for her in the lobby. She walks towards them, wondering why her palms are so sweaty and trying to estimate without success how long she'd been in there for. As is his custom, George gets right to the point.
"Well? Did she reveal anything we don't already know?"
Emily doesn't hesitate. "Nope," she says, managing to sound firm with just a touch of disappointment. "Not a bit. She fell asleep before I could ask her anything."
Todd looks incredulous. "Then what did you spend all that time in there for?"
None of your business, you insensitive clod, Emily sends telepathically. If they'd been alone together, without the Sheriff present, she wouldn't hesitate in saying it out loud; she is quite used to trading barbs of this sort with her arch-nemesis. Instead she says politely, "Well, Officer Thorne, seeing as we're dealing with the victim's grieving best friend, I didn't think a flat-out interrogation would be appropriate. But if you're really looking to lay down the law on an emotionally vulnerable young woman in mourning, you've had all day to do so."
Todd rolls his eyes. George just grunts.
"Guess it wasn't a total waste of time, if you offered Becky some semblance of solace. It must be hard for her. On a practical note, do you think it's still worth it for her to be under police protection?"
Emily hesitates. "...She's still feeling a little scared. Best to keep it up for now."
George gazes at her with a typically unreadable expression. "All right," he says, tipping his hat forward over his eyes. "It's your call, Emily."
He turns to Todd. "Did you hear that, Thorne? Think you can hold up here 'till tomorrow?"
Todd sighs, but not too loudly. "In this creepy old house? Sure, no problem. I'm tellin' you though, this place is a security nightmare."
"Like you would know!" Emily scoffs, unable to help herself. "What TV show did you pluck that line from?"
As they bicker back and forth, parting blows even as Emily follows George out of the house and back to the cruiser, Emily feels alternating swells of guilt, resolve and triumph in her chest. Guilt, because she didn't tell George even a quarter of what Becky really said back in that bedroom. Resolve, because she's quite sure most of it has no direct bearing on the investigation, and wouldn't be worth putting in a report anyway. Like the Sheriff had said, she'd provided a measure of personal comfort, and that was enough to justify the visit.
As for the triumph, it lies folded snugly in a pocket of her uniform, a slight rectangular pressure as she stoops to get into the car. George is saying something to her about grabbing a quick bite to eat before she goes to meet York at nine, and even as she replies in the affirmative, her mind can't help but return to that darkened bedroom... Back to the look on Becky's face as Emily got up to leave, her silent stare... And the cool, marble-like smoothness of her hand as she slipped Emily the envelope, pale lips parted as if to say something, and nothing coming out.
NOTE: Todd Thorne is an OC from the Sinner's Sandwich RP, played by Whitney, who runs the Welcome to Greenvale fansite. He does have an in-game model, though; you can find him hanging around the police station, where he doesn't really do anything except vaguely resemble William Zabka.
