Messalina Munroe, Jimmy Duran, Russell Holland, and any others you don't recognize are mine.
Rated R : Strong but brief violence, language, m/m sexual contact. Some scenes are intense.
This story includes slash, which involves sexual situations between two men. If you're uncomfortable with the idea, don't read this.
Reviews are always appreciated.
There didn't seem to be anyone home, at first. Lina and Jimmy had turned away from the door of the house next to Eric's when a blonde girl, maybe ten or eleven years old, came running in from the street. She stopped abruptly when she saw them, blinking at them in the early morning sunlight.
"Hi!" Lina called. "Do you live here?"
"Yes. My mom's out back in the yard." She stared at the badges they were holding up. "Are you policemen?"
"I'm a policewoman." Lina smiled, and went on to Jimmy, "Why don't you find Mom. I'll be there in a minute."
"Okay."
Turning her attention back to the little girl, Lina smiled again and took a few steps closer. "I'm Detective Munroe."
"You're a detective? Wow, that must be cool!"
"It's a living. What's your name?"
"Alice. Where's your gun?"
Lina patted her holster. "Here. But don't worry, I'm not going to shoot anyone, just ask a few questions."
Alice tilted her head. "What kind of questions?"
"Do you know the man who lives next door?" Lina pointed.
"That's Eric. Sure, I feed his birds sometimes when he's busy. I know him real well."
"That's great. Do you like his birds?"
"Oh yes. They're so cute."
"Alice, have you ever seen this man?" Lina held out her photo of Wes.
She only needed a quick glance before nodding. "That's Wes. I met him."
"He came to see Eric?"
"Sure. Lots of times."
"Lots of times. When?"
"I don't know. Lots. Sometimes he goes in Eric's house. Or they go in together." Alice shrugged. "A couple of times I saw him come out in the morning."
"In the morning?" Lina asked.
"Yes." The little girl looked up into Lina's face. "I saw Wes's picture on the TV. Did something bad happen to him?"
"Yes, honey, something bad happened. That's why we're here."
"Poor Eric. He likes Wes a lot."
"How do you know?"
"He hardly ever used to smile. But he did it a lot more when Wes was around," Alice said. "Come on, don't you want to ask my mom some questions?"
His fit of pounding and kicking the roof of the box had left Wes with raw, painful knuckles, but it had done more that that. He examined the wooden planks above him closely with the flashlight. They ran crossways across the width of the box, with the hole for the pipe cut out of two planks, leaving them weakened, almost cut through. Now the strip of wood holding one of them together around the pipe was broken. That board was a little loose, moving slightly when he pushed at it.
The plank on the other side of the pipe was cracked -- wouldn't take much to break it too. But what could he use to hit it with? Just try the same thing again, he decided. Wes rolled onto his back, raised a leg, and kicked up, hitting the wood next to the pipe. With an audible crack, it began to give. Another couple of kicks and it snapped, bringing down a light shower of damp soil.
Wes sat up and inspected the roof again, thinking. Everything depended on how deep he was. If there was a full six feet of earth above the top of the box, it might collapse and pour in when he broke a hole open, burying and suffocating him before he could dig out. But if the bottom of the box was six feet under, the top should be only about three feet deep. Then he'd have a good chance. The soil above him seemed loose; did that mean it wasn't very deep? What about the pipe? It didn't look all that long -- maybe.
He smiled, a little. It hardly mattered, anyway. Doing nothing meant he'd die for sure. Three minutes without air. Better to have a quick death, struggling to get out and live, than to spend three days lying here dying of thirst. He reached up to grab the broken end of one of the planks, and started pulling.
"Detective? Hope I'm not interrupting."
Lina looked up, her mind still occupied with the notes she had been reviewing, and then climbed quickly to her feet. "Mr. Collins. Not at all." She tried a smile, and then decided it might not be appropriate. "What brings you here?" she asked.
"I'd like to have a word with you, if I may."
"Of course."
She led the way into one of the small interrogation rooms, the same one where she and Jimmy had questioned Eric, and turned to wave him into a chair. "Sorry about this," she said, nodding at the cold, tiled walls. "Not very comfortable, but it's private. And I got the feeling you didn't want to talk in the squad room."
"Right." Collins took a seat and faced her, leaning an elbow on the table next to them. "I wanted to know what progress you're making."
"The investigation is coming along. Sorry, but I can't discuss details at this time."
And he said what she had somehow known he had come to say. "You suspect Eric Myers, don't you?"
"At this point, everyone's a suspect."
"So you said before. And as I said before, I'm sure he had nothing to do with it."
"Mr. Collins. Sir." She hesitated, reluctant to bring more pain into those tired blue eyes. But, unpleasant or not, the question had to be asked. "Were you aware that your son was spending a great deal of time with Eric?"
"Yes. They worked together closely." That same guarded look was back in his face.
"Not just at Bio-Lab. Wes was seen at Eric's house."
"They were personal friends, too."
"Sir... We have reason to believe Wes spent the night there at least a few times."
"Sometimes -- he was there late. It was easier for him to stay than to drive home."
Sometimes you just had to throw it at them. Lina watched him closely as she asked, "Did Wes and Eric have a romantic relationship? Is that where you thought Wes was the night he disappeared?"
No anger. No surprise. Just a look of resignation. Collins sighed. "My son's private life was... private. It's got nothing to do with this."
"Normally, I'd agree completely. But if it's what got him killed, it has everything to do with it."
He blinked, a look of pain crossing his face and making her wish she had found some better way of putting it. But all he said was, "I just can't believe Eric could have done this. He has a temper, that's true. But he's not a killer, and Wes was the last person he would have harmed."
Lina didn't smile, didn't react outwardly, didn't tell him how many murderers she had brought to justice who had -- at least outwardly -- loved their victims. Husbands and wives -- parents and children. Lovers. She only nodded. "I hope you're right, sir. I really do. But we have to consider all possibilities."
"I understand. And I want my son's killer found. Whatever it takes, and whoever it is."
She walked him to the stationhouse door. They stopped there, at the top of the steps, Collins facing her again. "The funeral's day after tomorrow," he said. "Will you and Detective Duran be there?"
"Of course."
"Part of the investigation, I suppose."
"Not just that. We both knew Wes, and liked him. He'll be missed by everyone in the Department."
He swallowed, avoiding her eyes for a moment, but then held out his hand and took hers firmly. "Thank you," he said.
"I haven't done anything."
"Yes, you have." And with that rather cryptic remark, he turned and started down the steps.
Had to take the chance... Russell parked in the same place he had used before, in the woods, off the road winding past the Warren summer house. The family was away; only the housekeeper was there now, and she hardly ever went out. No one to see him as he slipped through the trees on his way to the graveyard, a thick plastic bag and a roll of tape clutched in his gloved hands.
All he'd need was a couple of minutes. Just a couple. Tape the bag over the end of the pipe. Wes would never even know what had happened, he'd just quietly suffocate. Not much farther... but all these trees looked so damned alike; Chris had been the one who knew how to find it. Anger again, at Chris, for screwing everything up, for not being here, for being the reason he had to take this risk.
Finally, he came to the edge of the woods, to a place he recognized. The slope below him here ran down toward the cabin. They had come this way, that first night; now he would be able to find it, just follow the faint trail he could see leading up. He smiled, and started to climb. This whole business would be over soon... just a few minutes...
The cabin, where he had killed Chris. He didn't really want to see it again, to see what little the fire he had started had left, to be reminded of what he had done. But inevitably he stopped and looked back. And saw movement on the hillside.
Wes yanked again, harder. The board pulled free with a splintering sound, the sudden lack of resistance sending him thudding against the side of the box. Loose soil began to rain down through the hole left in the roof.
He pushed back, wriggling out of the way, heart pounding, but the small shower of damp earth stopped after a couple of seconds. When Wes turned on the light and looked, he saw a surface of dirt above him through the opening he had made.
Experimentally, he reached up and touched it, lightly at first, but then digging his fingers in. A few more clumps fell, but that was all. The danger of a larger collapse would get greater the bigger he made the hole in the top of the box, but so far it was holding. There was no choice, anyway. If thirst didn't get him, hunger would.
The thought only reminded him of how empty his stomach was, how weak and shaky he felt, how much he would give for a pizza or a burger. Even a piece of bread and a glass of milk would seem like a feast... Wes shook his head, put hunger firmly out of his mind, and reached for the second board.
There they were. Eric knew he was under surveillance now, being watched by the police. They didn't even bother to hide it; a squad car had been parked in front of his house last night, and had tailed him to work and back home today. He had spotted another car following him here. Just another sign of the noose that was slowly tightening around his neck. Eric believed in the system, but he also had heard the horror stories, the cases of innocent people convicted for something they hadn't done. And now, Jimmy Duran and Lina Munroe were after him, trudging up the hill he had climbed a few minutes before. Eric watched them for a few moments before turning away.
He had already been to the burned-out cabin, still circled with crime scene tape although the CSI's had gotten everything out of it that they were likely to find. He had gone in anyway, stood there in that small room, still with the bitter smell of fire and ashes, trying not to wonder if he was also smelling the stench of burnt human flesh. There was no room for the flood of horror and grief that threatened to break through, no time for it. Wes was depending on him to find whatever answers might be here.
But there were none that he could see. From the position the body had been in, Wes must have been sitting in that chair, at the table. Someone had stood behind him, raised the crowbar. Brought it down. And then used it again, and again, destroying Wes's face. But why? That kind of brutality was usually the sign of a personal motive, the desire to not only kill, but to destroy completely, out of hatred... or anger. Who could have felt that way about Wes?
He had spent only another moment there, glancing around. Noticing the generator. Someone had been planning to spend some time there. The shovels, crowbar, and pickaxe were gone, taken for evidence, but he remembered them leaning against the wall, and wondered why they were there. Could have been there for years, left by some previous visitor. If the killer had brought them, what were they for? Had he planned to bury Wes, and then changed his mind and burned his body instead?
More questions, when he needed answers. Outside, Eric had taken a deep breath of fresh air and looked around. Why up here, out in the woods? Because it was secluded? Or was there something else? Not even sure of what he was looking for, mostly for the sake of keeping in motion, he had started uphill, wandering aimlessly, hoping he'd find something, anything, before the daylight faded.
It caught his eye as he glanced back at the two detectives again. Something out of place on this grassy, rocky hillside. A gleam of near-black, something that wasn't grass, rock, or dirt, almost hidden in a cluster of small boulders overgrown with bushes, maybe thirty feet away and slightly downslope from him. If he hadn't been standing in exactly the right spot, he would never have seen it. He headed for it.
It was wooden, polished surfaces now aged and scratched. Six feet long, curved sides and top, made of thick wood -- with a sudden rush of irrational fear, he recognized it. A coffin. Dirty, scuffed, the side splintered where it lay against the rock, but a coffin. He froze for a few heartbeats and then scrambled forward again.
Eric fumbled with the lid. It was fastened down -- but the wood was old, rotting, and broken in places. He yanked it up and stared inside, breathing hard, then closing his eyes.
"Jesus. What the hell is this?" Jimmy's voice came from over his shoulder.
Eric twisted to look up. "What does it look like?"
"Like an old coffin, complete with old corpse."
"Yeah." Eric closed the lid, relieved to hide the shriveled object inside, unsure of what he had been afraid of finding.
"Man, I'm getting too old for this," Lina puffed as she joined them, staring. "What's a coffin doing here?"
Eric peered up the hill. "Must be from the Warren place. They had a family graveyard up there."
"You think someone dug this up and dumped it here?"
"Kids are always doing shit like that."
"I guess." She looked up at Jimmy. "We'll have to report it. Get someone to find the gravesite and rebury it."
"Right."
Eric straightened and started away. The morbid discovery had disturbed him, and he was anxious to get away from it and return to his search. Not that he knew what he was looking for.
Lina's voice came from behind him. "Eric? Why are you here?"
"Since you seem to be determined to waste your time investigating me, I thought I'd try to find the real killer."
"Okay." Lina gave him a considering look. "Any luck so far?"
"No," he admitted. "Did you have these woods searched?"
"The immediate area of the cabin, yes."
"But no more?"
"We don't have unlimited manpower. And we have no reason to believe there's anything out here. Do you?"
"Well, no. But -- whoever killed Wes must have grabbed him in the city, probably right outside the bar where he had drinks with Holland, or pretty close. There must be a reason why they brought him up here."
"Any ideas?" Jimmy asked. "What are you looking for?"
"For one thing, you never found Wes's car, did you?"
"No. But the killer could have ditched it anywhere, probably back in the city."
"I've got the Guardians looking for it. My theory is it's around here somewhere."
"Possible. What else?"
Eric stopped and looked around, seeing only woods, rocky ground, a gentle slope up to where the Warren family kept their summer home and down to the road and where the burned-out cabin stood. He looked up again, squinting as he thought he saw movement in the trees, then decided it must have been an animal. "I don't know," he admitted. "Not much up here besides the Warren place."
"Where you once worked a case."
"Yeah, I worked up here. Yeah, I know the area. I knew about that cabin, just like I know the house, the barn, the old graveyard. Just like a lot of the people in Silver Hills do! Not to mention anyone with half a brain could look up anything they want to know, or drive up here and check it out themselves!"
"All right, we get the point," Lina said mildly. "Do you really expect to find something we missed?"
"I hope so," he said. "I have an advantage, after all."
"What's that?"
"I know I didn't kill Wes."
He saw her lips curve in a smile, and started walking again. They moved on, up the slope towards the old house. Jimmy wandered a few yards away, apparently scouting the ground, but Lina stayed at Eric's side. It was a few minutes before she spoke again. "Why do you think someone would have wanted to kill him?" she asked.
"He's a Silver Guardian. You make enemies in that job."
"The kind of enemy who would have killed him like that? Not just bashed his head in, but the way he was beaten -- multiple blows to the face, over and over, as if they wanted to erase every trace of him, until there was nothing left-"
"Stop it!" Eric grated through clenched teeth, his stomach lurching.
"I'm sorry. But the point is, this looks like something personal. You and Wes were very close, weren't you?"
"Yeah."
"Friends. Partners."
"Yeah."
"And more than friends."
He stopped, staring as she turned to face him. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"Come on, Eric. You know exactly what it means. Wes was seen at your house multiple times. He stayed overnight. The messages you left in his voicemail and on his answering machine didn't come from a friend upset over a fight, they were from a lover who wanted to make up. You were in love with Wes."
She paused, and took a step closer when he didn't answer. "You argued -- Russell Holland had just left Wes's office. He had invited Wes to have a few drinks with him. Was that it, was that what the fight was about? Was something going on between them?"
"No! There was nothing 'going on!'"
"But Wes came to your house that night, didn't he? You had another fight. I know how thin the line between love and hate can be. How easy it is to get carried away by anger or jealousy. You didn't mean for it to happen, did you? You didn't mean to kill him."
He stood stiffly, trying to hold back the rage, and the fear that lurked under it. His fists clenched tight, he glared at her murderously, taking a step...
Lina didn't back off. "Nasty temper you've got there," she murmured. "You look almost mad enough to kill." But her eyes flickered in Jimmy's direction, and her hand moved closer to her gun.
"Fuck you, lady!" Eric snarled, and turned, walking blindly away.
"Eric! You can't run away from it!"
He stopped again, taking a deep breath. She was right; he couldn't just walk away. The anger was abruptly gone, leaving only a cold thread of fear. He could go to jail. Even if it didn't go that far, what if people believed it? What if Wes's father suspected him? He could lose everything he had left, including the friendship of a man he had come to look on as a father.
"Yesterday you thought I killed him because I hated him," he said finally, turning back to her. "Today I killed him because I loved him. If you're interested in the truth, here it is. Wes and I were very close. How close is none of your business. Yes, we had a fight that afternoon. What it was about is also not your business. I called him that night, several times. Left messages. He never called back. I was worried; I called the Guardians and the hospital. Nothing. He never came to my house. I assumed he was at home. Mr. Collins assumed he was with me. Someone murdered him. I don't know who, but I intend to find out. And if they're lucky, you'll get to them before I do."
He shot another glare at her, and at Jimmy, who had returned, watching them cautiously. Then he turned his back and started down the hill.
Russell's hands clutched the wheel of his car as he sped back into town, his heart pounding so hard it almost hurt. They were up there. Cops. Must be cops, on the slope leading up to the graveyard. Did they know something? Had they seen him? Had they figured it out? If they found Wes... if they found the coffin and realized what it meant...
But wait. He hadn't seen uniforms, just three people in regular clothes, wandering around. Maybe they were townspeople, just curious. Sure, there must be lots of people going up there now, wanting to see the cabin where they thought Wes Collins had died. His jaw tightened. They hadn't even been heading in his direction. He should have kept going, instead of panicking and running.
But... he couldn't take the chance of wandering around those woods again, not with people around. No safe way to take care of Wes. Not now, anyway. But the problem would solve itself. Wes must be dying by now. It wouldn't take much longer. Maybe he didn't need to do anything. Time was on his side. All he had to do was wait... no choice anyway... maybe everything would be all right after all...
The second board had been stubborn, it had taken him a long time to work it loose. To his relief, the collapse he feared still hadn't happened, but a small hill of dirt had rained in as a result of his efforts. Wes sat back, turned on the flashlight, and inspected his work again. He had used the end of the flashlight to pound out a couple of nails that had been coming out of the wood. Luckily it didn't seem to be damaged. But the battery was giving out; it was starting to get dim.
He had gotten the two broken boards out of the way. But now what? The gap they left wasn't big enough for him to get through; he would need to break another board for that. And he thought he knew how.
The pipe. That was the only possibility. Pull the pipe down, use it as a lever. If it was short enough so that he'd have room inside the box to move it. If he had enough strength left after days of starvation. If the ground above didn't collapse on him. If he could break a big enough hole and manage to dig his way out. A lot of ifs. But no choice at all.
And it would have to wait for tomorrow. The flashlight was beginning to fade, and the light from outside was gone. It was evening, and he wanted to wait for daylight. Struggling with the two broken boards had tired him out, anyway, he needed to rest. Got tired so fast now. And he was so hungry. So very hungry...
TBC...