By Inferno's Light
Disclaimer: Same as before. By Inferno's Light is the title of a DS9 episode I thought would fit this fic. Shyaku, do you mean Diane and Rusty as antagonists (the correct term for them is protagonist since they are the heroine and hero of this fic respectively. The Unspoken is the antagonist.)
~ ~ ~ ~
(Unknown POV)
The Half-Eared One is braver than I thought. Perhaps war does that to a man, his courage is remarkable as is his single minded drive to find the other trapped in this town. Yes, my servant, she is the key to this curse.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Rusty's POV)
Using that street map that I took from the shop I'm walking down Bachman Street, out of the convenience store. My instincts tell me to go through a nearby alleyway after a barricade of some kind is in my way. I could climb it, but if any of those flying bastards showed up I'd be shit out of luck. I could go back around, but it'd be a long walk to Bradbury Street and if Diane is there time is of the essence.
I walk into the alley, with my Smith and Wesson out and a fresh clip loaded in. My track record with alleys so far hasn't been good, so it's understandable I've got some apprehension. As I move deeper down the alley between Bachman Road and Ellroy Street I find a torn piece of paper that looks like it came out of Diane's day planner.
On it the words, 2 Ellroy Street are clearly written in her handwriting. It gives me some sort of hope to see this, for I can deduce she's still alive and her captors moved her down this alleyway. Somehow she was able to make note of where they were going. Whoever's holding her is either careless or is trying to walk me into a trap. I'm hoping for the former but expecting the latter when something strikes me in the back.
I whirl around, expecting anything but the sight I find. It's a severed head of a dog, breed unknown lying on the pavement. Around what's left of its neck is a red piece of fabric from what can only be Diane's sweater.
"Hey! Where the hell are you? Show yourself you bastard!" I shout into the air. If it was one of the kidnappers that she was going on about earlier, he can't have gotten far. The only thing I hear is the echo of my own voice. I can only see one way this guy could have come from, the Ellroy Street side of this alley.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Diane's POV)
"You are too late child. It is too late to turn back." Dahlia Gillespie begins.
"What? What do you mean?" I ask. I don't know but she's giving me the creeps, she may look old and frail but some sixth sense is telling me something's not right with our witness.
"There is great evil afoot." Dahlia Gillespie began.
"Is that what killed Tonya Davies?" I ask.
"It has, is, and will claim many a soul." Dahlia replies.
"What? Are you saying that this has happened before?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Who's responsible for it? Is it one person? A gang?" I ask, trying to determine guilt. I've already figured a cult is involved, though when I even alluded to it at the office, Rusty went pale and I swear he almost fainted. Something tells me he knows more about this than he lets on.
"By Inferno's Light, all shall be revealed child." Dahlia replies.
There was some sort of ritualistic injury on Davis' body when the police found it. There was also ligature, suggesting she'd been tied in place. Most strangely her restraints were characteristic of those used in mental hospitals. I really think Rusty was trying to be funny when he suggested the whole town could be involved in this, like in some kind of B rated horror movie. Talking to Dahlia Gillespie is starting to give that idea serious merit.
I luckily have an extra cell phone battery in my purse and after putting it in, I speed dial Rusty's number and give him a call.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Rusty's POV)
I've no sooner reached the end of the alley when my phone starts ringing, "Puckett?"
"Rusty?" it's Diane, and I can't imagine how relieved and terrified I feel at the same time, "Where are you."
"I'm at the Ellroy Street Alley the one from Bachman Street." I reply, "Are you alright, where are you? How many of them are there?"
"I'm a couple blocks from the Alchemellia Hospital. I found our witness. How many of who?"
Jesus Christ! You just gave me the biggest scare of my life and we're back to the case again! "Diane, there's something seriously wrong with this town...I thought that whoever kidnapped that kid might have gotten you as well."
"I know." Diane replies, "The hospital is especially creepy. There's a little girl missing named Alessa, these people were holding her in some kind of industrial area. That's where I was before I woke up the hospital."
"Whoa! Slow down, hospital? Missing kid? What is going on here?" I ask.
Diane fills me in on more information and what I'm hearing I'm starting to like less and less. A little girl held captive by some unknown captors, a strange industrial area, and darkness falling early. This place is really starting to give me the creeps. All I want to do is find Diane, get whoever this kid is away from her captors and get the hell out of here.
"Diane, stay where you are, I'll be right there!" I snap abruptly and start running.
Questions start firing off in my head as I run down Ellroy Street. Where are the police? Come to think of it, aside from the kid I saw earlier, Diane, Gillespie, the mysterious old guy, and myself I haven't seen anyone. So where the hell are the townsfolk? If a child was missing, and this town is the sort of small New England town where no one needs to lock their doors, why aren't the police focusing their effort to bring Alessa back? If some kind of group is operating in the town cult, a terrorist cell of some kind, whatever it is, then why haven't we heard about it? They'd have to either be holding the population as a whole hostage, in which case there'd be a lot of them. Or even more disturbing, the town itself could be in on it. Dear God I'm getting paranoid...
But even if I'm being paranoid, I have a gut feeling that answering any one of these questions will eliminate the rest. And I also have a gut feeling that I'm not gonna like the answer in the least.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Unknown POV)
Yes, Half Eared One, the town is in on 'it', as you say. And you won't like the answer in the least. For centuries the people of this town have been in my thrall and worship me as a god. Few have escaped my world, and should you escape, I will be damned to the abyss for all eternity. However, should you not I will be free to wreck havoc upon the world. To think, an entire world in flames, to burn for all eternity. Such a lovely thing to contemplate by inferno's light.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Diane's POV)
The nerve of that man! Sometimes I think my partner has absolutely no faith in my abilities as an investigator or that I can take care of myself. Where does he get the idea that I'm some kind of damsel in distress needing to be rescued? I can take care of myself, thank you very much.
"Mrs. Gillespie?" I ask, in my brief talk with Rusty apparently she just disappeared.
Alright, if there was already one dead person in the alley plus one missing girl and no police department around one of two things is happening. First the police haven't gotten here yet. Second, and creepiest, is that the police are either gone or in on whatever's going on in this town. Great, it's usually Rusty who's the paranoid one, but why is it that the second theory seems correct.
Rusty had been acting strange ever since we were assigned the Davies investigation. He was a lot more paranoid than usual, that's for sure...
~ ~ ~ ~
(One week earlier)
The Naval Criminal Investigative Service office building, adjacent to the building shared by the Judge Advocate General Corps in Falls Church was part of a larger compound devoted to military law and criminal investigation. Diane Schonke returned a salute by the Marine gate guard as she walked into the building to her office.
She put down her handbag and left her cover on her desk as she walked over to the conference room for roll call. She ran into Rusty on the way, who was nursing a cup of coffee in a sealable metal mug bearing the Scouts and Raiders trident insignia.
"Hey Rusty." Diane said, with a friendly grin.
Rusty noticeably came to life, with his trademark lopsided grin. It was a good deal more careworn than it had been when they were midshipmen at the Academy, but that's what happens to a man who's been in a major war. Or a man who just saw a childhood dream go down the toilet a year ago. She could see the scars, small but numerous around his left ear from the burns and grenade fragments. He still carried himself with that same quiet confidence from their Academy days. Now there were a few more ribbons and a warfare device on his chest. The gold trident, the much coveted pin of a Navy Scout, glistened brightly in the sunlight of the nearby window. It was the culmination of a dream of a young boy. His short black hair was cropped short, in its usual crew cut, though not bristle headed and white side walled like their Marine commanding officer. His small black eyes were truly mirrors of whatever was inside him, she could tell after years of knowing him. They'd light up noticeably whenever he'd had an idea or figured out something really important.
"Hey Diane." Rusty replied with an enigmatic grin, "You don't suppose Franks has a case for us today. Somehow I've got a feeling one's coming on."
Rusty studied Diane briefly with his eyes as they spoke. She still wore her brown hair short, above her shoulders, just above her neck. It really brought out and complemented the rich brown shade of her eyes. Her surface warfare pin gleamed gold in the light which also played a dazzling trick with the light brown of her hair. Many things about his life had changed over the past decade, but Diane was still a beautiful woman.
"Lieutenant Puckett, sir." Yeoman Third Class Mike Hadley, a young man from Australia, said, "Colonel Franks would like to see you and Lieutenant Schonke in his office."
"I knew it." Rusty said, with another small grin.
"You jinxed us." Diane joked with a smile of her own, "You stinker."
"I do not stink. I bathed this morning." Rusty mock protested, sniffing under his arm to emphasize his point.
"Rusty..." Diane began as the approached the colonel's office.
"Colonel Franks, sir." Hadley announced, "Lieutenants Puckett and Schonke as ordered."
Both were ushered in and came to attention in front of their commanding officer's desk. "At ease. Have a seat." Franks began.
Franks was a rugged looking man in his early forties, with his graying black hair cut in a classic Marine high and tight. His Marine Corps tropical uniform was impeccable as always, his creases sticking out prominently from his shirt, his ribbons in perfect order, his shoes shiny enough to be mirrors. Despite his stern air, Franks was approachable and respected and admired by anyone who had served under him. He had started his small unit of twelve investigators, whom he jokingly called his Twelve Apostles, for the NCIS in 2146 after the Biohazard had ended and he combed the Navy and Marine Corps for those whom he thought would work best for undercover criminal investigation and counterterrorism work.
He eyed easily his best investigative team. Schonke and Puckett worked well together, he noticed, complimenting each other through respective strengths. Schonke was extremely organized, tending to find the most logical solution in cases. Puckett was the exact opposite, he tended to operate on his own instincts and follow his gut feelings. He could usually guess which one wrote the report for any given case. He often compared Schonke's reports with a technical manual, in reference to her organizational skills, and Puckett's to reading a paperback detective thriller, in reference to his seemingly haphazard manner of solving cases.
"Well, the reason I wanted to see you two is because frankly I want my best team on this case." Franks began, "It seems a Petty Officer Tonya Davies was taking leave at a resort town named Silent Hill. Her holiday was prematurely terminated."
'Very funny Arnold.' Diane thought, referring to the popular twentieth century actor's trilogy of movies. She took her copy of the case file, from Rusty and noticed an uncharacteristic shaking in his hands.
"I want this investigation to be as discreet as possible." Franks began, and his tone softened, "And I want you on the case as soon as possible. Those are my parameters for this. Diane, keep Rusty in check this time. I really don't want a repeat of the Palo Alto motorcycle incident."
"Yes sir." Diane replied, she noticed Rusty didn't throw his normal mock glare whenever their CO usually threw those comments their way. And whatever picture was in the file she hadn't opened yet had to be something seriously disturbing for a veteran Scout to look spooked.
"Dismissed." Franks ordered.
With that command both stood up, came to attention, and turned out of the office. When they were out in the hall, Diane noticed Rusty intently staring at the photograph of the murdered sailor. "Rusty? Are you alright?"
"Diane, what does this say to you?" Rusty said, holding one of the black and white photograph. The woman's ebony complexion was darkened around one of her eyes by a bruise. There was ligature about her neck, wrists, and ankles, suggesting she had been tied up and struggling in her last moments of life. There were markings on her body, shallow cuts, abrasions, burn marks, nothing serious or life threatening on their own, but cumulatively adding up to a large loss of blood.
"I'm guessing those cuts are ritualistic." Diane replied, "It sounds like something a cult would do."
Rusty froze in his tracks, like a tank hit by an artillery shell. "Of course it makes sense, judging from her wounds. But take a look at the ligature, it seems to suggest hospital restraints, leather straps and so forth." Rusty replied, "I'm guessing that whoever did this must be a mental health worker or possibly the cult might be pervasive in the area."
As he continued to speak, his tone became more hushed, as if even speaking of the deceased was a bad omen. It was ridiculous, an entire town involved in a ritualistic cult that could be responsible for a murder? But as both of them knew, it was equally ridiculous to throw out every assumption out of hand. Diane decided to file that one way back in her mind.
"I'm going home and getting packed." Diane replied, "Meet me at my place in a half hour?"
"I'll be there." Rusty replied. Why was it that every hair on his head stood on end when his CO mentioned Silent Hill? He'd never even heard of the place until then, but why was a strange sense of déjà vu and dread mixing into his guts.
A half hour later, Diane opened the door to her apartment to find Rusty in his civilian clothes with his green Land Rover parked in front of her apartment. He looked a little calmer, but she could still sense his unease about this case. There had to be something significant about that town if even the mention of it was enough to make him nervous.
"Would you like a drink?" Diane asked.
"No thanks. It's a long drive up to Brahms. We'd best get going." Rusty said, as he took her bag for her and tossed it into the back of her Mustang. Diane locked the door to her apartment, making sure that her spare key was well hidden.
"Rusty, listen to me, what's the matter?" Diane asked.
"I don't know, exactly." Rusty began, "But I've got a very bad feeling about this place..."
TBC
Disclaimer: Same as before. By Inferno's Light is the title of a DS9 episode I thought would fit this fic. Shyaku, do you mean Diane and Rusty as antagonists (the correct term for them is protagonist since they are the heroine and hero of this fic respectively. The Unspoken is the antagonist.)
~ ~ ~ ~
(Unknown POV)
The Half-Eared One is braver than I thought. Perhaps war does that to a man, his courage is remarkable as is his single minded drive to find the other trapped in this town. Yes, my servant, she is the key to this curse.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Rusty's POV)
Using that street map that I took from the shop I'm walking down Bachman Street, out of the convenience store. My instincts tell me to go through a nearby alleyway after a barricade of some kind is in my way. I could climb it, but if any of those flying bastards showed up I'd be shit out of luck. I could go back around, but it'd be a long walk to Bradbury Street and if Diane is there time is of the essence.
I walk into the alley, with my Smith and Wesson out and a fresh clip loaded in. My track record with alleys so far hasn't been good, so it's understandable I've got some apprehension. As I move deeper down the alley between Bachman Road and Ellroy Street I find a torn piece of paper that looks like it came out of Diane's day planner.
On it the words, 2 Ellroy Street are clearly written in her handwriting. It gives me some sort of hope to see this, for I can deduce she's still alive and her captors moved her down this alleyway. Somehow she was able to make note of where they were going. Whoever's holding her is either careless or is trying to walk me into a trap. I'm hoping for the former but expecting the latter when something strikes me in the back.
I whirl around, expecting anything but the sight I find. It's a severed head of a dog, breed unknown lying on the pavement. Around what's left of its neck is a red piece of fabric from what can only be Diane's sweater.
"Hey! Where the hell are you? Show yourself you bastard!" I shout into the air. If it was one of the kidnappers that she was going on about earlier, he can't have gotten far. The only thing I hear is the echo of my own voice. I can only see one way this guy could have come from, the Ellroy Street side of this alley.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Diane's POV)
"You are too late child. It is too late to turn back." Dahlia Gillespie begins.
"What? What do you mean?" I ask. I don't know but she's giving me the creeps, she may look old and frail but some sixth sense is telling me something's not right with our witness.
"There is great evil afoot." Dahlia Gillespie began.
"Is that what killed Tonya Davies?" I ask.
"It has, is, and will claim many a soul." Dahlia replies.
"What? Are you saying that this has happened before?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Who's responsible for it? Is it one person? A gang?" I ask, trying to determine guilt. I've already figured a cult is involved, though when I even alluded to it at the office, Rusty went pale and I swear he almost fainted. Something tells me he knows more about this than he lets on.
"By Inferno's Light, all shall be revealed child." Dahlia replies.
There was some sort of ritualistic injury on Davis' body when the police found it. There was also ligature, suggesting she'd been tied in place. Most strangely her restraints were characteristic of those used in mental hospitals. I really think Rusty was trying to be funny when he suggested the whole town could be involved in this, like in some kind of B rated horror movie. Talking to Dahlia Gillespie is starting to give that idea serious merit.
I luckily have an extra cell phone battery in my purse and after putting it in, I speed dial Rusty's number and give him a call.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Rusty's POV)
I've no sooner reached the end of the alley when my phone starts ringing, "Puckett?"
"Rusty?" it's Diane, and I can't imagine how relieved and terrified I feel at the same time, "Where are you."
"I'm at the Ellroy Street Alley the one from Bachman Street." I reply, "Are you alright, where are you? How many of them are there?"
"I'm a couple blocks from the Alchemellia Hospital. I found our witness. How many of who?"
Jesus Christ! You just gave me the biggest scare of my life and we're back to the case again! "Diane, there's something seriously wrong with this town...I thought that whoever kidnapped that kid might have gotten you as well."
"I know." Diane replies, "The hospital is especially creepy. There's a little girl missing named Alessa, these people were holding her in some kind of industrial area. That's where I was before I woke up the hospital."
"Whoa! Slow down, hospital? Missing kid? What is going on here?" I ask.
Diane fills me in on more information and what I'm hearing I'm starting to like less and less. A little girl held captive by some unknown captors, a strange industrial area, and darkness falling early. This place is really starting to give me the creeps. All I want to do is find Diane, get whoever this kid is away from her captors and get the hell out of here.
"Diane, stay where you are, I'll be right there!" I snap abruptly and start running.
Questions start firing off in my head as I run down Ellroy Street. Where are the police? Come to think of it, aside from the kid I saw earlier, Diane, Gillespie, the mysterious old guy, and myself I haven't seen anyone. So where the hell are the townsfolk? If a child was missing, and this town is the sort of small New England town where no one needs to lock their doors, why aren't the police focusing their effort to bring Alessa back? If some kind of group is operating in the town cult, a terrorist cell of some kind, whatever it is, then why haven't we heard about it? They'd have to either be holding the population as a whole hostage, in which case there'd be a lot of them. Or even more disturbing, the town itself could be in on it. Dear God I'm getting paranoid...
But even if I'm being paranoid, I have a gut feeling that answering any one of these questions will eliminate the rest. And I also have a gut feeling that I'm not gonna like the answer in the least.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Unknown POV)
Yes, Half Eared One, the town is in on 'it', as you say. And you won't like the answer in the least. For centuries the people of this town have been in my thrall and worship me as a god. Few have escaped my world, and should you escape, I will be damned to the abyss for all eternity. However, should you not I will be free to wreck havoc upon the world. To think, an entire world in flames, to burn for all eternity. Such a lovely thing to contemplate by inferno's light.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Diane's POV)
The nerve of that man! Sometimes I think my partner has absolutely no faith in my abilities as an investigator or that I can take care of myself. Where does he get the idea that I'm some kind of damsel in distress needing to be rescued? I can take care of myself, thank you very much.
"Mrs. Gillespie?" I ask, in my brief talk with Rusty apparently she just disappeared.
Alright, if there was already one dead person in the alley plus one missing girl and no police department around one of two things is happening. First the police haven't gotten here yet. Second, and creepiest, is that the police are either gone or in on whatever's going on in this town. Great, it's usually Rusty who's the paranoid one, but why is it that the second theory seems correct.
Rusty had been acting strange ever since we were assigned the Davies investigation. He was a lot more paranoid than usual, that's for sure...
~ ~ ~ ~
(One week earlier)
The Naval Criminal Investigative Service office building, adjacent to the building shared by the Judge Advocate General Corps in Falls Church was part of a larger compound devoted to military law and criminal investigation. Diane Schonke returned a salute by the Marine gate guard as she walked into the building to her office.
She put down her handbag and left her cover on her desk as she walked over to the conference room for roll call. She ran into Rusty on the way, who was nursing a cup of coffee in a sealable metal mug bearing the Scouts and Raiders trident insignia.
"Hey Rusty." Diane said, with a friendly grin.
Rusty noticeably came to life, with his trademark lopsided grin. It was a good deal more careworn than it had been when they were midshipmen at the Academy, but that's what happens to a man who's been in a major war. Or a man who just saw a childhood dream go down the toilet a year ago. She could see the scars, small but numerous around his left ear from the burns and grenade fragments. He still carried himself with that same quiet confidence from their Academy days. Now there were a few more ribbons and a warfare device on his chest. The gold trident, the much coveted pin of a Navy Scout, glistened brightly in the sunlight of the nearby window. It was the culmination of a dream of a young boy. His short black hair was cropped short, in its usual crew cut, though not bristle headed and white side walled like their Marine commanding officer. His small black eyes were truly mirrors of whatever was inside him, she could tell after years of knowing him. They'd light up noticeably whenever he'd had an idea or figured out something really important.
"Hey Diane." Rusty replied with an enigmatic grin, "You don't suppose Franks has a case for us today. Somehow I've got a feeling one's coming on."
Rusty studied Diane briefly with his eyes as they spoke. She still wore her brown hair short, above her shoulders, just above her neck. It really brought out and complemented the rich brown shade of her eyes. Her surface warfare pin gleamed gold in the light which also played a dazzling trick with the light brown of her hair. Many things about his life had changed over the past decade, but Diane was still a beautiful woman.
"Lieutenant Puckett, sir." Yeoman Third Class Mike Hadley, a young man from Australia, said, "Colonel Franks would like to see you and Lieutenant Schonke in his office."
"I knew it." Rusty said, with another small grin.
"You jinxed us." Diane joked with a smile of her own, "You stinker."
"I do not stink. I bathed this morning." Rusty mock protested, sniffing under his arm to emphasize his point.
"Rusty..." Diane began as the approached the colonel's office.
"Colonel Franks, sir." Hadley announced, "Lieutenants Puckett and Schonke as ordered."
Both were ushered in and came to attention in front of their commanding officer's desk. "At ease. Have a seat." Franks began.
Franks was a rugged looking man in his early forties, with his graying black hair cut in a classic Marine high and tight. His Marine Corps tropical uniform was impeccable as always, his creases sticking out prominently from his shirt, his ribbons in perfect order, his shoes shiny enough to be mirrors. Despite his stern air, Franks was approachable and respected and admired by anyone who had served under him. He had started his small unit of twelve investigators, whom he jokingly called his Twelve Apostles, for the NCIS in 2146 after the Biohazard had ended and he combed the Navy and Marine Corps for those whom he thought would work best for undercover criminal investigation and counterterrorism work.
He eyed easily his best investigative team. Schonke and Puckett worked well together, he noticed, complimenting each other through respective strengths. Schonke was extremely organized, tending to find the most logical solution in cases. Puckett was the exact opposite, he tended to operate on his own instincts and follow his gut feelings. He could usually guess which one wrote the report for any given case. He often compared Schonke's reports with a technical manual, in reference to her organizational skills, and Puckett's to reading a paperback detective thriller, in reference to his seemingly haphazard manner of solving cases.
"Well, the reason I wanted to see you two is because frankly I want my best team on this case." Franks began, "It seems a Petty Officer Tonya Davies was taking leave at a resort town named Silent Hill. Her holiday was prematurely terminated."
'Very funny Arnold.' Diane thought, referring to the popular twentieth century actor's trilogy of movies. She took her copy of the case file, from Rusty and noticed an uncharacteristic shaking in his hands.
"I want this investigation to be as discreet as possible." Franks began, and his tone softened, "And I want you on the case as soon as possible. Those are my parameters for this. Diane, keep Rusty in check this time. I really don't want a repeat of the Palo Alto motorcycle incident."
"Yes sir." Diane replied, she noticed Rusty didn't throw his normal mock glare whenever their CO usually threw those comments their way. And whatever picture was in the file she hadn't opened yet had to be something seriously disturbing for a veteran Scout to look spooked.
"Dismissed." Franks ordered.
With that command both stood up, came to attention, and turned out of the office. When they were out in the hall, Diane noticed Rusty intently staring at the photograph of the murdered sailor. "Rusty? Are you alright?"
"Diane, what does this say to you?" Rusty said, holding one of the black and white photograph. The woman's ebony complexion was darkened around one of her eyes by a bruise. There was ligature about her neck, wrists, and ankles, suggesting she had been tied up and struggling in her last moments of life. There were markings on her body, shallow cuts, abrasions, burn marks, nothing serious or life threatening on their own, but cumulatively adding up to a large loss of blood.
"I'm guessing those cuts are ritualistic." Diane replied, "It sounds like something a cult would do."
Rusty froze in his tracks, like a tank hit by an artillery shell. "Of course it makes sense, judging from her wounds. But take a look at the ligature, it seems to suggest hospital restraints, leather straps and so forth." Rusty replied, "I'm guessing that whoever did this must be a mental health worker or possibly the cult might be pervasive in the area."
As he continued to speak, his tone became more hushed, as if even speaking of the deceased was a bad omen. It was ridiculous, an entire town involved in a ritualistic cult that could be responsible for a murder? But as both of them knew, it was equally ridiculous to throw out every assumption out of hand. Diane decided to file that one way back in her mind.
"I'm going home and getting packed." Diane replied, "Meet me at my place in a half hour?"
"I'll be there." Rusty replied. Why was it that every hair on his head stood on end when his CO mentioned Silent Hill? He'd never even heard of the place until then, but why was a strange sense of déjà vu and dread mixing into his guts.
A half hour later, Diane opened the door to her apartment to find Rusty in his civilian clothes with his green Land Rover parked in front of her apartment. He looked a little calmer, but she could still sense his unease about this case. There had to be something significant about that town if even the mention of it was enough to make him nervous.
"Would you like a drink?" Diane asked.
"No thanks. It's a long drive up to Brahms. We'd best get going." Rusty said, as he took her bag for her and tossed it into the back of her Mustang. Diane locked the door to her apartment, making sure that her spare key was well hidden.
"Rusty, listen to me, what's the matter?" Diane asked.
"I don't know, exactly." Rusty began, "But I've got a very bad feeling about this place..."
TBC