Title: Forty Miles from the Sun
Author: Wynn
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Veronica Mars. They are owned by Rob Thomas, UPN, Warner Brothers, etc. and are used for non-profit, entertainment purposes only.
AN: Many, many thanks go out to Arabian for helping me deal with the fic issues plaguing me for this chapter and helping me finish it. I apologize for the rather large delay between chapters, but at least the new chapter's finished.
Chapter Four: Citizen Kane
By: Wynn
The Le Baron was gassed up, packed full, and obsessively cleaned out until it was spotless. Veronica had checked out of her room and interviewed Pedro the day man about Duncan's whereabouts. She'd traced, highlighted, and written down the route to the latest pit stop on her wayward ex's road to nowhere before calling ahead to see if he was actually still there. Which he was. She'd made her list, checked it twice, and was ready to hit the road and leave this sorry little town and its stupid, stupid beach far, far behind.
There was just one problem.
She stood before said problem's door and banged her fist against it (again.) Logan didn't answer the door and present himself for solution (again), so Veronica whipped out her cell phone and punched in his number (again, again, again.) Four rings and then another rendition of today's inspirational message: He who climbs a ladder must begin at the first step. She cut the message off before the beep beeped; she doubted her thoughts on where exactly Logan could stick that proverbial ladder would solve her problem.
Not that Veronica knew exactly how to solve her problem. She wanted to leave Logan in this sorry little town with its stupid, stupid beach far, far behind and drive off into the Mexican sunset, making sure he got a big choking mouthful of her dust. She knew if she continued to attempt first contact, she'd have to suffer more antisocial interaction with everyone's favorite- but not hers- son of Neptune. Pulling a Houdini to avoid that unfortunate fate would be worth the price of abandonment she'd surely have to suffer at their inevitable reunion north of the border.
But if she left she wouldn't know what, if anything, Logan might have told Duncan about her Mexican pursuit. Assuming, of course, that he'd gotten in touch with Duncan sometime during the night, a mission she herself had failed. And the more information she had about Duncan's prospective state of mind, the smoother, she hoped, their reunion would be.
Damn it. No unrepentant abandonment today.
Okay. So now she actually had to get the information. Veronica supposed she could go get the motel manager and have him open the door for her. Since, she doubted, Logan would be doing that anytime soon. But getting the manager meant involving other people in this war of the words she and Logan found themselves (constantly) in and that, she knew, would result in incarceration for someone. Most likely her, especially if Logan got snippy within arms reach of her.
So Veronica had to get into the room to get the information without any help from Logan, the manager, or anyone else in the rest of the world.
Sighing, she stuck her hand into her bag and removed her lock pick set. Breaking and entering it would be.
Veronica grabbed hold of the doorknob, ready to break in order to enter, but the door popped open beneath her hand. Great. Unlocked doors always signaled badness. Always. At least in the movies. Unlocked doors signaled the serial killer waiting patiently for you to come inside so he could chase after you with a big butcher knife or some other appropriately gory weapon and kill you. Veronica knew the reality behind this door would be just as bad as the cinema killer fantasy. Logan was a Hatori Hanzo of words, laying waste to his enemies with a crimson bloodlust and a samurai tongue. She shouldn't go inside, she knew she shouldn't, but everyone went inside.
Veronica opened the door.
Early morning sunlight followed her into the room, knocking back the musty darkness. Veronica stopped inside the threshold and let her eyes adjust to the shadows. A moment later she found herself in a war zone. Broken glass glinted and gleamed in the bright morning sun all across the floor. What used to be a small table and chair lay in a jagged pile of splinters on an equally ragged patch of carpeting. The bed had been stripped bare, the sheets and blankets strewn every which way throughout the room. The bedside lamps sat cracked on the floor, their upended nightstands next to them, their legs ripped off and missing. And in the far corner, surrounded by a trio of empty liquor bottles, a half-full fourth grasped between two loose fingers, sat Logan himself, oblivious to Veronica and the hotel carnage surrounding him.
Veronica took another step into the room. She winced at the crackle-pop of crunching glass beneath her feet. Logan looked up at the echoing pops and she froze as his bleary gaze found her. Neither of them spoke. Silence like water filled the room. Her heart thumped heavy in her chest. The liquor bottle slipped from Logan's fingers, and Veronica watched it fall, a cheap crystal pigeon deep rolling down to a dull thud landing on the carpet. The bottle tipped over and spilled its tawny contents onto the industrial cotton-poly blend. Then it smacked against the wall, cracking like a shot. Her eyes jerked back to Logan as he spoke, his voice whiskey coated steel wool.
"There's a reason I didn't answer the door."
She found her voice, forced it out smooth and level. "Or your phone."
"Or my phone." He lumbered to his feet and staggered over to the sink. He filled a plastic cup with water, drank it down, filled another, and gulped it just as fast as the first. Then he said, "I had my fill of Twenty Questions last night. Don't start another round today, Ronnie."
"I need to know if Duncan knows I'm tracking him."
Logan closed his eyes. "Go away, Veronica."
"Did you tell him? Did you talk to him again last night?"
Logan looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "No. No, he didn't answer my calls. Just like I'm sure he didn't answer yours." He turned around and leaned back against the sink. His face was set solid, impenetrable to her probing glances. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, "And that probably means he doesn't want to talk to anyone. Including you."
"I won't have to talk to him if you tell me what he said."
"Christ, Veronica, let it go. It had nothing to do with Lilly or your investigation."
"Then what did it have to do with?"
Logan hesitated. "Nothing. Guy stuff."
"You're lying. Why? Why won't you tell me the truth?"
"Because you won't like what you'll here, and I'm trying-"
"To what? Protect me? I don't need protection, Logan. I need to know the truth." Veronica shook her head. She felt the conversation reins slip from her grasp. This wasn't where she wanted them to go, but they'd gathered too much speed for her to change course now. "I need to know the truth. And it's obvious you won't give it to me."
He white knuckle gripped the sink. "What is so great about the truth anyway, Veronica? Does it give you peace of mind? Everlasting happiness? No."
"Peace of mind, yes."
"Did it for your dad? He knew the truth about Abel Koontz, and did it give him peace of mind? No. It destroyed his life and yours, too. Do you think that me knowing the truth about my mom makes her death any easier to bear? Because it doesn't. It doesn't."
"But you had to know the truth. You came to me to find out what really happened to your mom because you couldn't live with the lie. You couldn't live with what everyone else believed but you felt in your heart to be wrong. And now you expect me to do just that." She shook her head again. "God, Logan, I never expected you to be a hypocrite."
Logan tightened his hold on the sink. "It's not hypocrisy. It's learning from your mistakes."
She exploded, a short fused firecracker bursting on the upswing. "Wanting to know the truth is never a mistake! Wanting something tangible and real to hold on to so you can stop tormenting yourself with the what-ifs and the maybes is never a mistake. You might be comfortable living a lie, but I'm not. I'll take the cold, hard, concrete truth any day, no matter how unpleasant it might be."
He watched her with hard, hooded eyes. The silence around them was not silent at all but loud, humming with memories of words said and unsaid, of broken headlights and balcony kisses, of friendships betrayed and the ghost of a dead girl they both loved. Logan pushed off the sink and moved toward her. "Fine," he said. "You want the truth. I'll give it to you."
"Fine. Give it to me."
Veronica waited. She propped her hands on her hips and waited. She waited while Logan licked his lips and shuffled from one foot to the other. She waited while he looked at her and then looked away. She waited while his hesitation dragged on. She waited while he closed his eyes. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe him. She'd been a fool to think that he'd really changed, that her trust in him hadn't been misplaced. She'd been a fool to trust him. She wouldn't be a fool any longer.
She turned to go.
"Veronica, wait. Wait, damn it. Veronica!"
She stopped and looked back at him. He'd taken one step forward for her step back. He held his hand out, whether for her to take it or to drag her back kicking and screaming she didn't know. "I'm done waiting," she said. "I've asked you to be honest with me, and you haven't been. I've asked you to tell me the truth, and you won't. For whatever reason, you won't, and I'm tired of waiting for you to think up another lie."
She held his gaze, measured his hesitation in heartbeats. She waited one. She waited two. She didn't wait for three.
…………
He caught up with her at her car and jumped inside before she could take off. Once again she cursed herself for having bought a convertible. Her next car would be something impenetrable. A tank. An armored car. Fort Knox on wheels.
Logan shot first. "When the fuck have I ever lied to you?"
Her hands clenched on the steering wheel. Hot leather scorched her skin. She didn't feel it though. Her blood burned hot like the sun. "You haven't," she said through gritted teeth. "But-"
"But what? You just automatically assume that's what I'm going to do now? God, talk about hypocrisy."
"Excuse me?"
"Out of the two of us here, who's kept the most secrets? Told the most lies? You. You investigated Lilly's death behind all of our backs. You stuck your nose into business that didn't concern you, without anybody's permission, and now you're harping on me about secrets and lies? Un-fucking-believable."
"I'm sorry. When exactly was I supposed to confide in you? When you were threatening me with a crowbar? Or when you were cheering on my arrest by the Sheriff's department?"
"I don't know, Veronica. How about when we made Lilly's memorial video? A little 'Hey, Logan, nice video. By the way, did you know that the guy rotting away in prison for killing your girlfriend really didn't? Just thought you might want to know.'"
"To which you would have replied, 'Thanks, Ronnie. I always knew you Mars women were paranoid schizophrenics as well as raging alcoholics. Now I have proof. Yippee.'"
Logan shook his head. "You don't know that."
"Yes, I do."
"That's not what happened when you told me yesterday. I listened to you. Christ, I believed you."
"That's because you were ready to hear what I had to say. You weren't six months ago. You weren't six weeks ago. You wouldn't have given me the time of day much less have listened to anything I had to say." Veronica let go of the steering wheel. She leaned her head back against the seat and stared off at the ocean. Waves crashed down upon waves, endless and constant; Veronica sympathized with the ever beaten sand. "I told you when you were ready," she said, quieter. Quieter still: "When I was ready."
"Which is exactly what I'm trying to do now." Logan sighed and slouched down in his seat. He rubbed a hand over his face. His eyes were bloodshot, his mouth a fine white line. "Duncan ran away, Veronica. He ran away from everyone and everything he loves because of what he told me on the phone last night and that doesn't make you think it might be just a little bit difficult to discuss again?"
"Just tell me the truth, Logan. I can handle it."
He looked over at her, a homespun crystal boy, his insides laid bare for all the world to see. For all of her to see. And she saw the cracks beneath the sneers and the snark, cracks widening and popping like the broken glass beneath her feet.
"I don't think I can," he said.
She wanted to reach out and comfort him. Hold his hand. Tell him everything would be all right. But she couldn't. She had no warmth left to give. The weight of the truth cast too long a shadow over the both of them, hiding them shivering and shaken from the sun.
"Logan." She knew the time had come. She was the sea and he was the sand and she'd worn him down to this. She'd ask the question again, and he, he would answer. "What did he say?"
Logan looked down. He looked down and blew her world apart. "What do you remember about Shelly Pomroy's party?"
"I…what?"
"Duncan said… He said you didn't remember much. Or anything at all."
"What?" Veronica blinked and tried to close the gap between what he said and what she thought he'd say. "I don't… I don't understand."
"That's what we talked about. Her party. What happened at her party."
"No…" This wasn't real. This wasn't true. Veronica clung to the thought even though she knew it was a lie.
"You slept with someone that night. You woke up alone. You didn't remember what had happened, so you thought… you told the Sheriff that you had been raped."
"No…" She wanted to stop what would come next, what he would say next, but she asked for it. She'd demanded the truth, and she couldn't give it back because it wasn't what she wanted to hear.
"Duncan didn't know. He didn't remember what had happened until a few days ago. He drank the night of the party. I didn't know he wasn't supposed to. Not when he was on his meds. Christ, I didn't even know he was taking anything then. And you…" His eyes flickered over to her then away. "You were…"
"Drugged." The word felt strange on her lips. Or maybe it was that her lips felt strange to the word. Numb. Dumb. Drugged. Fucked.
"Yeah." A pause, a hitch in his story, and then, "Duncan didn't remember anything about Lilly's death, Veronica. He remembered Shelly's party. That's why he ran away. You two slept together that night and you thought you'd been raped, that he raped you, so he ran away."
Logan stopped talking, and Veronica was left with nothing but her thoughts. Duncan. It had been Duncan all along. Duncan was the one who did that to her. She turned away. She felt sick. She wanted to throw up. Duncan. Duncan slept with her. Duncan left her. Why would he do that? Why would he leave her? If all they did was sleep together, why did he leave? Wouldn't he have stayed, even if he hated her? Why didn't he tell her the truth when he remembered instead of running? If he knew she thought she'd been raped, why wouldn't he have told her the truth?
"There's more."
Veronica let out a choked sob. "More? God, what else is there to say?"
"I… Veronica, I was the one who drugged you."
And for the second time in one day, Logan blew her world apart. She turned and looked at him. Everything felt slow, moved in slow motion. Her, her thoughts, the tears dropping from her eyes like fireflies, gleaming in the sun on the way down to the ground. She met his gaze; his eyes were red and drowning in guilt. Tracks of tears cut across his cheeks like pinstripes. Veronica couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. "You… you drugged me?"
"I didn't know. Veronica, I didn't know what would happen. I didn't know you slept with Duncan. I didn't know you thought… I didn't know. You have to believe me. Please say you believe me."
Please. Please believe. She had nothing to believe. She had nothing to say except, "Why?"
He laughed then. Or maybe cried. Everything sounded the same to Veronica. Betrayal wrapped in disbelief cloaked in madness. He jerked his hands through his hair and swallowed hard. "Christ, I don't know. You just showed up at the party like you owned the damn place. Like you were better than everyone there and not afraid to show it. And, god… I hated you. I hated that you could be that strong and just show up and give the proverbial fuck you to everyone. I hated that you weren't off shaking and miserable from betraying Lilly because, you know, that's what I thought. That you betrayed Lilly. That you turned your back on her and me and everyone else in that house and then had the gall to come and flaunt it in front of our faces."
"So you drugged me."
When he spoke, he whispered, his words wisps of wind gliding gently to her ear. But they plowed through her consciousness like a wrecking ball, laying waste to what had been, to what could have been.
"Yes."
"You drugged me because you wanted to hurt me."
"Yes."
She looked up. The clouds streamed across the sky, bleeding into the blue. Veronica blinked and the world snapped back into focus. "Get out."
"Veronica…"
"Get out. Now."
"Veronica, please."
"Get out of my car before I make you get out."
"Veronica, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was drunk and angry and so fucking stupid and you have to know that things have changed. That I have changed. We havechanged. Please, god, you have to know that I-"
"I don't know anything except that I want you out of my car right now."
Veronica stared straight ahead. The world looked the same, the ocean still rolled, the sun still shone, but everything had changed. She slipped her hand inside her pocket, grasped her taser, and waited.
The click of the car door sounded like a cannon. She grabbed her keys as Logan stepped out, turned the engine as he eased the door shut, peeled out of the parking lot as he stepped away.
She didn't look back.
…………
Another town, another lot, another boy who betrayed her. Or so Logan said. But nothing Logan said could be trusted anymore because Logan couldn't be trusted. He drugged her to hurt her, damn the consequences, what fucking consequences, Logan has no consequences, and if he could do that, he could just as easily lie, even if the lie implicated his so-called best friend.
Duncan wouldn't leave her. He wouldn't. He wouldn't have just left like that without saying something. Without waking her up or leaving her a note or bringing the whole goddamn 09er crew into the room for a good laugh at stupid, clueless Veronica. He couldn't do that. Not to her. He loved her once. He did. And you don't do that to someone you love.
Her phone rang again, but she switched it off without looking. She already knew who it was, and she'd heard all she wanted to hear from him today. Now it was time for Duncan to talk. Veronica didn't care how painful or difficult or goddamn stressful it might be for him, she was going to ask questions and he was going to answer them.
She'd knocked on his door once, but no one had answered. She'd slipped inside, but the room was empty. Now she sat in her car waiting for him to come back, composing what she was going to say in her head, making sure she knew it by heart so it came out smooth and level with no breaks, cracks, or tears.
A blur of movement broke her from her thoughts. A lone figure shuffled up the sidewalk of the motel toward Veronica.
It was Duncan.
He looked different. Thinner. Less substantial somehow. She doubted she would have recognized him if she hadn't been actively searching for him. He was still tall and broad with shoulders wide like the desert sky, but he walked hunched over and hollow. His arms swam in his blue t-shirt, exhaustion cut navy swaths beneath his eyes, and dark stubble like cacti dotted his chin. He'd only been missing four days, but it looked more like four years to Veronica.
He walked past without seeing her and entered his room, slipping into the waiting darkness and sliding the door shut behind him. Still Veronica did not move. All her carefully composed words abandoned her. She looked down at her hands and realized they were shaking.
She closed her eyes and rested her head on the steering wheel. Just a moment. She only needed a moment and then she would go. Then she would go.
The car door opened and she didn't have time to scream before Clarence Weidman shoved a rag over her face and the world faded to black.
…………
Consciousness returned slowly to Veronica, slinking in like a stray cat at the rat-a-tat sounds of something. She opened her eyes, closed them again at the too-bright light greeting her, and then opened them again slower, allowing her pupils time to adjust to the normal levels of light that felt like an exploding supernova to her frayed nerves.
She stared up at a blank white ceiling for a minute before the rat-a-tats regained her attention. Turning her head, Veronica saw Weidman hunched over something flat and squarish at a small round table. The something flat and squarish was her computer. Great. His fingers flew over the keys with ease, and Veronica doubted her standard password protection would protect her private files from his prying eyes.
She let her gaze drift around the room- a motel room by the bland, standard look of things- and tried to garner some clues as to the where, when, and why. Where was she? Was she still in Mexico or did Weidman take her somewhere else altogether? How much time had passed since she passed out? And, most importantly, why had Weidman kidnapped her? She had a pretty good idea about the last one (it began with a 'D' and ended with an 'uncan') but the other two stayed as vague and fuzzy as the cobwebs in her brain.
"Good. You're awake."
Veronica eased up into a sitting position and glared at Weidman. "Good. I'm alive."
"I have no wish to kill you, Miss Mars. I need to talk to you. Therefore, I need you alive."
"You know, a simple tap on the glass would have gotten my attention. You didn't have to kidnap me and hold me hostage just to talk to me."
"Miss Mars, you are not my hostage. I am not keeping you here against your will. You are free to go any time that you wish."
Veronica swung her feet over the edge of the bed she'd been laying on and planted them firmly on the floor. She didn't need to be told twice that she could get the hell out of there.
"However," Weidman said as he lowered the screen of her laptop, "I would advise against leaving now."
"You would, would you?"
"Yes. I would."
Though her brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton and the room swam around her like a shaken snow globe, Veronica got his hidden message loud and clear. She tried to suppress the shiver that ran down her spine at his cool, clinical demeanor. Not everyone could pull off the casual threat of death and dismemberment without batting an eyelash, but Weidman could and did. Just because he had no wish to kill her, didn't mean he wouldn't if she didn't give him what he wanted, when he wanted it. Her phone was gone, the door was locked, and her taser was nowhere to be found. No one knew where she was or that she was even missing. Weidman held the power and the advantage in this situation, and he knew it.
He knew she knew it, too.
Swallowing hard, Veronica said, "What do you want?"
"To talk with you. Privately and directly."
"About what?"
Weidman opened her laptop again and swung it around to face her. Veronica looked at the screen; the Lilly Kane files looked back at her. "You are going to stop your investigation into Lilly Kane's death," Weidman said, his voice slow and measured. "You are not to continue the investigation after you leave this room. If your father has continued his own investigation into the murder, you will convince him to stop. You will not ask Duncan Kane what he remembers about the murder, and if he or anyone else tries to speak to you about it, you will change the subject and not engage in discourse. Do you understand?"
Veronica considered his words, no, his commands. Then she lifted her eyes and forced herself to meet that cool, clinical gaze. "And if I don't?"
"You won't like the consequences."
"So you'll kill me?"
"I didn't say that."
"But you meant it."
"If that's what it takes to get you to stop, then yes."
Another threat, another shiver. Veronica clenched her hands into the cheap motel bedding. Rough cotton bit back. The grit kept her grounded to the here and now, kept her mind from drifting off into a hazy field of fear and panic. "My father knows you're following me," she said. "If anything happens to me, you'll be the first one he comes after."
"I'm sure I will be," Weidman said, taking the threat of Keith Mars' vengeance with a grain of salt, "but like I said before, I don't wish to harm you. Nobody wishes to harm you."
Nobody wished to harm her. Then why was he here, threatening to kill her, if nobody wished to harm her. "By nobody, you mean Jake Kane, right?"
Weidman just stared at her, his face giving nothing away. It didn't take a genius though to figure out that 'nobody' meant Jake Kane. Weidman worked for him, did his bidding. Veronica doubted Weidman cared one way or another about Lilly's death or the cover up, but Jake Kane did. Jake Kane cared about stopping her investigation, so much so that he resorted to threatening a teenage girl to keep the truth hidden. And Jake Kane was many things, a liar and an adulterer among them, but he wasn't a gambler. He wasn't a fool. He wouldn't risk the odds of her father figuring out that he was behind her death unless the consequences of her continued investigation proved too risky for him. Or for someone he loves.
"He did it, didn't he?" Veronica said, keeping her eyes on Weidman. "Duncan. He killed Lilly, and Jake and Celeste covered it up."
Weidman sighed. He slipped her laptop into a black leather briefcase and stood. "Miss Mars, Duncan Kane didn't kill his sister."
"Then why were his parents washing his soccer uniform the day Lilly died?"
Weidman peered at her for a moment through his cool, calculating eyes. Then he said, "Miss Mars, I admire your determination to attain justice for your friend. Therefore I'm going to answer your question and then you are going to stop trying to attain justice for your friend. Do you understand?"
Veronica said nothing.
Weidman took a step forward. "Do you understand?"
Veronica blinked. "Yes. Yes, I understand."
"Good. Duncan found Lilly. Mr. and Mrs. Kane originally thought that Duncan might have killed his sister in one of his epileptic fits, so they washed his uniform to protect him. They have since learned differently."
"What-?"
Weidman moved toward her, so fast that Veronica didn't have time to react. He brought his face within inches of hers, so close she could see herself reflected in his eyes. The brim of his hat touched her forehead, and he said, "No. More. Questions. I will find out if you continue your investigation, and there will be consequences if you do so. And Miss Mars? You will not like the consequences." He straightened then, but didn't move back. Veronica couldn't see his eyes in the shadow of his hat, but she could feel him staring down at her. She swallowed again and dug her fingers harder into the bed. Weidman tipped his hat down toward her then said, "Good afternoon, Miss Mars. I hope you have a pleasant afternoon."
With that, he stepped back and turned around. The edge of his trench brushed against her legs and Veronica shivered again. Weidman reached the door, unlocked it, and opened the darkness of the room to the bright afternoon sunshine. Then he stepped across the threshold and closed the door, leaving Veronica alone and shaken.
She let out a long breath and closed her eyes. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. She let go of the blanket and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears, bass drums booming like fireworks exploding like bombs. Her mouth was dry and her palms were wet; her stomach felt cold and her eyes felt hot. She reached out and fumbled for the phone on the chipped nightstand. She dropped the phone from her shaking hands and crumpled down onto the floor to retrieve it. Then she dialed, held the phone up to her ear, and waited.
Her father answered on the second ring. She burst out crying at his hello.
"Veronica? Veronica, honey, what's wrong? Veronica, talk to me."
"Dad… Daddy… something happened."
…………