" ER/Stand part 22 "
Something was wrong. Doug didn't consider himself one of those people that "had feelings" but something had his nerves ringing. He didn't like the motel, or the small Coloradan town whose name he hadn't even caught. It wasn't the town though. It was like every other abandoned deserted town they had been through. Empty. Quiet. Sometimes he felt like he was on some grand, never ending ride through a giant haunted house. Only, it was impossible to get off or even get a refund. He didn't like it.
He missed Carol. Even though he knew that the situation would have depressed her royally, it still would have been easier if she was there. Instead, he was left with Carter and Randi. He watched as they smirked at each other and playfully threw their sleeping gear around. That should be Carol and I, he thought sadly. Part of him wanted to cry. Part of him knew that if he did start, he'd fall apart completely. The last thing his companions needed was another basket case.
That's not fair, he chided himself as he parked his motorcycle. If nothing else changes about me, he decided, then the one thing that does change is I'm going to give Kerry Weaver some credit. For a woman that was obviously highly disturbed by the summer's events, she had managed to shake it off pretty well.
Even Lucy, a constant worrier, seemed to think that the worst had passed. The last three days had been almost blissful.
He looked up, a cold chill running through him. She was filled with relief, that's what he had seen in her eyes. He'd seen that look, that attitude before. From Carol. When Carol ate the bottle of pills and almost died. Oh damn, he thought, how did we miss this? How did I miss this?
You were off on a month long drunk, he told himself harshly.
You've just been drinking and letting everyone else take care of everything and look what that's accomplished. Kerry had been gone for almost forty-five minutes. If she was set on it, she had already done it. Hopefully she wasn't set on it. He spotted Lucy trotting out of one of the motel rooms and he waved her over. "
Lucy, " he called, " What's the plan?"
" Nothing special, " she said brightly. " I was going to walk over to the convenience store. Wanna come with me?" She smiled at him.
She was a good kid, he thought. Not really a kid, but it was hard to see her as anything but an overeager student. " No, I was going to check on Kerry. She's been gone a while." He got back on his motorcycle as he spoke. " Let everyone know where I went,
ok?"
" Ok. See you in a few." With that she walked off. He turned on the cycle and started down the street. He was fine at first,
but then he spotted six bikes coming down the street towards him.
Not just bikes, but big motorcycles. The riders were all men, and they were all heavily armed. They didn't look very friendly either. Doug suddenly regretted his choice to not wear a helmet.
The bikers spotted him but didn't seem terribly interested and at first he thought he'd misjudged them. Then one raised his shotgun and fired. Doug spun the motorcycle but he knew he was only buying lesser injuries. The blast from the gun tore out the front wheel of the bike. He slammed into the payment, his vision filling with darkness.
It was starting to get dark when he finally regained consciousness. He looked at his watch, noting clinically that his arm had a series of long scrapes running down it. It was almost seven o'clock. Dammit, he thought, this can't be good. Even if they'd thought he'd gone off to get drunk, Carter or Jeanie would have made a point of looking for him after a while. The bikers might have distracted them, he reasoned as he carefully stood up.
Fortunately he wasn't hurt too badly though his motorcycle had been effectively destroyed. I can always get another. The only serious injury he had sustained seemed to be the giant bump and scrape on his head. Coupled with the bloody scrapes and bruises he had all over, he was going to be sore as hell but otherwise had gotten off very lucky.
I wonder, he thought as he carefully stood up, why they didn't come back for me. Not his companions, no. It was safe, if unfortunate, to assume they had probably run into trouble of their own. It simply surprised him that the bikers hadn't bothered to finish the job. No matter, he decided with a rueful smirk, its not like I haven't been doing a fine job of killing myself slowly anyway.
He looked up and down the street, debating on what to do.
That everyone had run into a world of hurt, that he had no doubt.
The question was what to do. I'm closer to the Walgreens, he decided. Even though the amount of time that had passed filled him with dread over what he would find, he still felt obligated to check on Kerry. He slowly walked down the street, noting with some surprise that the red truck that Kerry drove was not parked in front of the drugstore. Maybe that's good news, he thought, or maybe the bikers stole it from her after killing her.
He tried to shake off his dark thoughts as he stepped through the broken glass around the door, but couldn't quite do it. After all, he thought sadly, I think she was about to commit suicide. She'd probably have been relieved to have someone else put her out of her misery. No, he thought as he spotted a trail of blood on the pavement leading from the door, that's not right.
She'd be pissed as hell that someone dared try to kill her.
Even if she was planning suicide, she wouldn't just let someone kill her.
The store was very dark inside. He pulled his Maglite flashlight out of his pocket, and his gun. This is like a bad X-
files episode, he thought as he shined the light around, the gun feeling awkward in his hand. " Kerry? You here?" There was no response, but he didn't expect one. The blood on the floor, just spots really, led to the front register and then down an aisle.
He shined the flashlight onto the register counter. There was a bottle, a bottle of expensive scotch. A little higher class than what he usually drank, but well within Kerry's taste. A good third of the bottle was gone, and there was an almost empty glass sitting right next to it. A box of sleeping pills was also there,
opened and the contents carefully extracted from the plastic wrap. Next to that was a small pile of pills. He picked one up,
and almost smiled. It was Prozac and there were enough pills there to tell him that she hadn't taken any Prozac in a long time. Right next to the pills was a bag of Hershey Kisses, and a notebook. The lined paper was mostly blank. The words " I'm sorry " were scrawled in almost illegible handwriting across the top.
Everything after that was illegible, which was ironic since it was usually Kerry who chided everyone for poor handwriting.
" Dammit, Kerry, what the hell were you doing?" He said it out loud. The only upside, he realized, was that she obviously hadn't gone through with it. He let his imagination play with the scene. She gathered everything together, and poured herself a drink. A big drink. She was getting herself drunk to depress the gag reflex so she wouldn't throw up the pills. Then she decided to write a note. Probably hadn't planned that, Doug thought,
because she was soused when she wrote it. Something, or someone interrupted her, but exactly what happened or where she went escaped him.
He eyed the blood on the floor. Ok, he thought, if she was going to kill herself here, why is there blood trailing out the front door? Why is there blood at all and where is her stupid truck? She didn't plan on walking out of here. He followed the spots of blood to the back room. What he found surprised him in a way, and in a way he almost expected it. A dead man was lying on the floor, three gaping holes in his chest. Just where did you learn how to shoot, Doug wondered. So she had a gun, and this bastard surprised her and judging by previous testimony, she had a fairly restrained response. She didn't empty the clip this time, that was something. He doubted that the biker, that stank of sour, stale beer, had intended to pleasantly discuss the weather.
So she got hurt, but not too badly. She left, no doubt to find the others, or perhaps wallow in her misery. Considering her state of mind the last time she'd been attacked, he figured it was a toss of the coin as to whether she was rational or not. Ok,
he thought suddenly, Kerry was here to commit suicide. She got interrupted. She was hurt. Her truck was gone. While it wasn't outside the realm of reason that she might have walked away, he doubted that. So she probably took the truck. She must have gone back to the motel, he reasoned. And it'd been a few hours at least, so it was possible that he was wasting his time. I better head back, he decided. I'm not doing any good here and if Kerry had run off some place other than the motel, there was no way of finding her until she wanted to be found.
He sighed. It was a failure, a bitter failure. There were so many things different about why Carol had tried to kill herself and why Kerry had set up some sort of elaborate suicide ritual,
and yet he couldn't help but feel to blame. I should have seen it, he thought again. He shook off the thought. I have to get back, he decided. Check on the rest. Maybe things aren't as bad as they seem.
He strode down the dark aisle, towards the front. He stopped at the register and grabbed the chocolate kisses and the bottle of scotch. He didn't want a drink, no, but he worried about sleep later that night. It had gotten to the point where he simply couldn't sleep with out help. He knew it was weak, he knew it wasn't going to help an already chaotic situation, but he needed it.
The streets were deathly quiet as he jogged back to the motel. There were no flashlights shining about, and while one motorcycle was still parked near the manager office, the rest were gone. He felt a cold chill. That wasn't right, not at all.
As he got closer, he could see bullet holes in the walls. But the cycles are gone, he told himself over and over, so they must've gotten away. Still, even hours later, he could smell the stink of gunpowder floating around the area.
There was some blood near the manager office but not a lot.
He looked around, hoping for some sort of clue. He spotted a piece of paper taped to the door of the office. He pulled it off the door with shaking hands and read it.
" Kerry, Doug, " he read out loud, " We were attacked by some men in some sort of motorcycle gang. No one is badly hurt,
but they grabbed Lucy and took off. We heard one of them shout that they were heading to the next town over. We're going to try to circle around and head them off. Try to catch up. We know you have a map so if you don't find us, head for the hunting lodge.
P.S. Please don't kill each other." He put the taped paper back onto the door and tried to think.
They have Lucy. Those bastards grabbed her. Everyone went chasing after the biker gang, and they think Kerry is with me.
That's just great. He took a long drink out of the scotch bottle.
I don't have a map, I don't know where Kerry is, and some sick bastards have grabbed Lucy to do god knows what.
That's just fucking dandy, he thought again. He took another drink, and then with grim determination finished the entire bottle. Then, he slammed the bottle into the nearest wall. I need another drink, he thought. I can't do this by myself. Not with the dreams being so bad.
Something was wrong. Doug didn't consider himself one of those people that "had feelings" but something had his nerves ringing. He didn't like the motel, or the small Coloradan town whose name he hadn't even caught. It wasn't the town though. It was like every other abandoned deserted town they had been through. Empty. Quiet. Sometimes he felt like he was on some grand, never ending ride through a giant haunted house. Only, it was impossible to get off or even get a refund. He didn't like it.
He missed Carol. Even though he knew that the situation would have depressed her royally, it still would have been easier if she was there. Instead, he was left with Carter and Randi. He watched as they smirked at each other and playfully threw their sleeping gear around. That should be Carol and I, he thought sadly. Part of him wanted to cry. Part of him knew that if he did start, he'd fall apart completely. The last thing his companions needed was another basket case.
That's not fair, he chided himself as he parked his motorcycle. If nothing else changes about me, he decided, then the one thing that does change is I'm going to give Kerry Weaver some credit. For a woman that was obviously highly disturbed by the summer's events, she had managed to shake it off pretty well.
Even Lucy, a constant worrier, seemed to think that the worst had passed. The last three days had been almost blissful.
He looked up, a cold chill running through him. She was filled with relief, that's what he had seen in her eyes. He'd seen that look, that attitude before. From Carol. When Carol ate the bottle of pills and almost died. Oh damn, he thought, how did we miss this? How did I miss this?
You were off on a month long drunk, he told himself harshly.
You've just been drinking and letting everyone else take care of everything and look what that's accomplished. Kerry had been gone for almost forty-five minutes. If she was set on it, she had already done it. Hopefully she wasn't set on it. He spotted Lucy trotting out of one of the motel rooms and he waved her over. "
Lucy, " he called, " What's the plan?"
" Nothing special, " she said brightly. " I was going to walk over to the convenience store. Wanna come with me?" She smiled at him.
She was a good kid, he thought. Not really a kid, but it was hard to see her as anything but an overeager student. " No, I was going to check on Kerry. She's been gone a while." He got back on his motorcycle as he spoke. " Let everyone know where I went,
ok?"
" Ok. See you in a few." With that she walked off. He turned on the cycle and started down the street. He was fine at first,
but then he spotted six bikes coming down the street towards him.
Not just bikes, but big motorcycles. The riders were all men, and they were all heavily armed. They didn't look very friendly either. Doug suddenly regretted his choice to not wear a helmet.
The bikers spotted him but didn't seem terribly interested and at first he thought he'd misjudged them. Then one raised his shotgun and fired. Doug spun the motorcycle but he knew he was only buying lesser injuries. The blast from the gun tore out the front wheel of the bike. He slammed into the payment, his vision filling with darkness.
It was starting to get dark when he finally regained consciousness. He looked at his watch, noting clinically that his arm had a series of long scrapes running down it. It was almost seven o'clock. Dammit, he thought, this can't be good. Even if they'd thought he'd gone off to get drunk, Carter or Jeanie would have made a point of looking for him after a while. The bikers might have distracted them, he reasoned as he carefully stood up.
Fortunately he wasn't hurt too badly though his motorcycle had been effectively destroyed. I can always get another. The only serious injury he had sustained seemed to be the giant bump and scrape on his head. Coupled with the bloody scrapes and bruises he had all over, he was going to be sore as hell but otherwise had gotten off very lucky.
I wonder, he thought as he carefully stood up, why they didn't come back for me. Not his companions, no. It was safe, if unfortunate, to assume they had probably run into trouble of their own. It simply surprised him that the bikers hadn't bothered to finish the job. No matter, he decided with a rueful smirk, its not like I haven't been doing a fine job of killing myself slowly anyway.
He looked up and down the street, debating on what to do.
That everyone had run into a world of hurt, that he had no doubt.
The question was what to do. I'm closer to the Walgreens, he decided. Even though the amount of time that had passed filled him with dread over what he would find, he still felt obligated to check on Kerry. He slowly walked down the street, noting with some surprise that the red truck that Kerry drove was not parked in front of the drugstore. Maybe that's good news, he thought, or maybe the bikers stole it from her after killing her.
He tried to shake off his dark thoughts as he stepped through the broken glass around the door, but couldn't quite do it. After all, he thought sadly, I think she was about to commit suicide. She'd probably have been relieved to have someone else put her out of her misery. No, he thought as he spotted a trail of blood on the pavement leading from the door, that's not right.
She'd be pissed as hell that someone dared try to kill her.
Even if she was planning suicide, she wouldn't just let someone kill her.
The store was very dark inside. He pulled his Maglite flashlight out of his pocket, and his gun. This is like a bad X-
files episode, he thought as he shined the light around, the gun feeling awkward in his hand. " Kerry? You here?" There was no response, but he didn't expect one. The blood on the floor, just spots really, led to the front register and then down an aisle.
He shined the flashlight onto the register counter. There was a bottle, a bottle of expensive scotch. A little higher class than what he usually drank, but well within Kerry's taste. A good third of the bottle was gone, and there was an almost empty glass sitting right next to it. A box of sleeping pills was also there,
opened and the contents carefully extracted from the plastic wrap. Next to that was a small pile of pills. He picked one up,
and almost smiled. It was Prozac and there were enough pills there to tell him that she hadn't taken any Prozac in a long time. Right next to the pills was a bag of Hershey Kisses, and a notebook. The lined paper was mostly blank. The words " I'm sorry " were scrawled in almost illegible handwriting across the top.
Everything after that was illegible, which was ironic since it was usually Kerry who chided everyone for poor handwriting.
" Dammit, Kerry, what the hell were you doing?" He said it out loud. The only upside, he realized, was that she obviously hadn't gone through with it. He let his imagination play with the scene. She gathered everything together, and poured herself a drink. A big drink. She was getting herself drunk to depress the gag reflex so she wouldn't throw up the pills. Then she decided to write a note. Probably hadn't planned that, Doug thought,
because she was soused when she wrote it. Something, or someone interrupted her, but exactly what happened or where she went escaped him.
He eyed the blood on the floor. Ok, he thought, if she was going to kill herself here, why is there blood trailing out the front door? Why is there blood at all and where is her stupid truck? She didn't plan on walking out of here. He followed the spots of blood to the back room. What he found surprised him in a way, and in a way he almost expected it. A dead man was lying on the floor, three gaping holes in his chest. Just where did you learn how to shoot, Doug wondered. So she had a gun, and this bastard surprised her and judging by previous testimony, she had a fairly restrained response. She didn't empty the clip this time, that was something. He doubted that the biker, that stank of sour, stale beer, had intended to pleasantly discuss the weather.
So she got hurt, but not too badly. She left, no doubt to find the others, or perhaps wallow in her misery. Considering her state of mind the last time she'd been attacked, he figured it was a toss of the coin as to whether she was rational or not. Ok,
he thought suddenly, Kerry was here to commit suicide. She got interrupted. She was hurt. Her truck was gone. While it wasn't outside the realm of reason that she might have walked away, he doubted that. So she probably took the truck. She must have gone back to the motel, he reasoned. And it'd been a few hours at least, so it was possible that he was wasting his time. I better head back, he decided. I'm not doing any good here and if Kerry had run off some place other than the motel, there was no way of finding her until she wanted to be found.
He sighed. It was a failure, a bitter failure. There were so many things different about why Carol had tried to kill herself and why Kerry had set up some sort of elaborate suicide ritual,
and yet he couldn't help but feel to blame. I should have seen it, he thought again. He shook off the thought. I have to get back, he decided. Check on the rest. Maybe things aren't as bad as they seem.
He strode down the dark aisle, towards the front. He stopped at the register and grabbed the chocolate kisses and the bottle of scotch. He didn't want a drink, no, but he worried about sleep later that night. It had gotten to the point where he simply couldn't sleep with out help. He knew it was weak, he knew it wasn't going to help an already chaotic situation, but he needed it.
The streets were deathly quiet as he jogged back to the motel. There were no flashlights shining about, and while one motorcycle was still parked near the manager office, the rest were gone. He felt a cold chill. That wasn't right, not at all.
As he got closer, he could see bullet holes in the walls. But the cycles are gone, he told himself over and over, so they must've gotten away. Still, even hours later, he could smell the stink of gunpowder floating around the area.
There was some blood near the manager office but not a lot.
He looked around, hoping for some sort of clue. He spotted a piece of paper taped to the door of the office. He pulled it off the door with shaking hands and read it.
" Kerry, Doug, " he read out loud, " We were attacked by some men in some sort of motorcycle gang. No one is badly hurt,
but they grabbed Lucy and took off. We heard one of them shout that they were heading to the next town over. We're going to try to circle around and head them off. Try to catch up. We know you have a map so if you don't find us, head for the hunting lodge.
P.S. Please don't kill each other." He put the taped paper back onto the door and tried to think.
They have Lucy. Those bastards grabbed her. Everyone went chasing after the biker gang, and they think Kerry is with me.
That's just great. He took a long drink out of the scotch bottle.
I don't have a map, I don't know where Kerry is, and some sick bastards have grabbed Lucy to do god knows what.
That's just fucking dandy, he thought again. He took another drink, and then with grim determination finished the entire bottle. Then, he slammed the bottle into the nearest wall. I need another drink, he thought. I can't do this by myself. Not with the dreams being so bad.