A/N: Hello, all! This chapter's a little crazy (thus the title) so pay attention to what's goin' on! Hope y'all enjoy!

Straightening the Curves

Chapter Thirteen: One Crazy Night

Cooter had only been laying in the bed for maybe thirty minutes when he got the strangest feeling in his gut. It was enough to make him sit up in bed and turn the lamp on. He didn't know what it was, but something was telling him to go outside.

"Yeah, right. Go outside in this weather," he said to himself out loud.

But somethin's wrong. Ya need to check it out, a little voice in his head told him.

"Why me? Someone else can do it. I'm tired."

What if you're the only one that feels it? What if you're the only one that can figure it out?

Cooter rolled his eyes and got out of bed. "Arguin' with myself is like arguin' with a brick wall."

Le Chateau was busy that night, but the Coltranes were lucky enough to get a good corner table. The fancy restaurant was decorated in golden walls, columns, a ballroom area, small statues, a giant chandelier—the works. A stage with a small orchestra played Frank Sinatra's "I Only Have Eyes For You."

Eve never looked so pretty in her black dress with pearl necklace and matching earrings. Rosco looked pretty handsome himself in the nice suit he had on. They'd already ordered, about ten minutes ago, and were getting caught up on things.

"I almost forgot," Rosco said, reaching inside his coat to get something from the inner pocket. He pulled out a thick piece of paper. "I developed it myself," he said with a proud grin on his face.

Eve took the paper and sighed. It was a picture of Rachel holding her baby the day she had it—before they found out that she was sick. Eve's hand went to her heart. "Oh, isn't she precious?" she asked rhetorically, noting the pink blanket they had wrapped around her.

Rosco got this strange, sad look on his face but he tried to look somewhat happy for Eve. Hell, it killed him to see her holdin' a picture of a baby. It killed him even more knowing that he couldn't give her one of her own to hold.

"They named her Chelsea," he informed her, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

"Chelsea. That's a pretty name," she said, putting the picture in front of her on the table. She looked up at him. "Did you hold her?"

His eyes lowered and he shook his head slowly. Eve was immediately sorry she'd even asked. She put her hand over his comfortingly. "It's all right, dear. It's not your fault. We've got each other an' Flash."

"Yeah," he said softly.

She decided to switch subjects. "So, where's Flash anyway? Surely you didn't leave her alone."

"Enos is babysittin' her. She did the cutest thing yesterday, ya should've seen it—"

Cooter was fully dressed, roaming the cold dark alleys behind the hotel and beyond. He didn't know why he'd talked himself into coming out here, but he still had that sense that something was wrong. He wished that the "something wrong" would hurry up and appear, he was getting cold out here!

He heard a noise behind him and he turned around quickly. A cat had knocked a trash can over and was now taking off down the alley. Cooter sighed in relief, relieved that was all it was.

"Well, looks like there's nothin' wrong," he said to himself. "Guess I was just worryin' over nothin'."

You haven't even looked around, the voice told him. What if there's trouble two alleyways down an' you didn't go down far enough to stop it?

"Good grief, what do I look like, a cop? If somethin's wrong, they can handle it. I'm goin' to bed."

The cops might not get there in time. Just check it out, will ya? Put me at ease so you can sleep later.

Cooter threw his hands up in the air. "Fine! I give up! But I'm tellin' ya, nothin's wrong!"

Heather Kent was locking up the back door to the art museum that she worked at. She would've left earlier except the night guard had fallen ill and there was nobody else to lock up that night. It didn't matter anyhow, she didn't have anyone waiting for her at home. She lived alone, unless you counted her cat. He was sure to be upset and hungry when she got home.

She was walking down the alley to head to the front entrance for her car when she was suddenly grabbed from behind. She panicked, tried to scream, but found that she couldn't because something was covering her face. Frightened beyond reason, she felt the front of her face. Plastic, someone wrapped plastic around her. She'd suffocate. Heather kicked and fought with whoever had a hold of her—and that was the last thing she remembered before getting violently hit in the head with something hard . . . over and over again.

"This is the last alley I'm checkin'," Cooter muttered, rubbing his hands together from the cold. He wished he'd brought his gloves with him.

Fine, suit yourself. You're gettin' brainfreeze anyway, which I don't appreciate very much.

"Your fault, I didn't make myself come out here."

Cooter shook his head. "Man, no wonder they call me 'Crazy Cooter'," he muttered to himself, shaking his head again to clear the vapors. "Runnin' around talkin' to myself like I'm two different people."

He went down the next alley and at first he didn't see anything, which was what he had been seeing all night. He got closer to a light fixture and saw a horrible sight. He tensed up and started gagging as his eyes fell on the dead body of a woman lying on the cold hard pavement—her head wrapped in plastic and was surrounded in a large puddle of blood.

Cooter's hand went to his stomach and he turned to face two trash cans to puke. The pictures of Summer Caskells had been bad enough, but seeing an actual dead body so terribly beaten was just too much for him to handle.

The killer could still be here, you dork, pay attention! the voice screamed.

Cooter snapped to his full height, realizing he was right. The killer could be hiding anywhere in this alley, watching him. A raindrop falling on his nose nearly scared the living daylights out of him. He looked up and before he could think, it began to downpour. He was soaked before he had time to put his hood up from his jacket.

The blood from the woman's head began to run in a river towards his feet. He stepped out of the way so not to get any of it on him. He looked around him nervously.

"Where are you?" he called out into the rain. "Where are ya, you sonuvabitch! I know you're out there!"

About ten seconds after his outburst, he felt himself get knocked onto the ground from behind. He landed on the pavement with a THUD, keeping his face from being busted by holding his hands in front of him. He quickly turned around to face his attacker, but before he could the perp had jumped on him and was trying to strangle him.

Cooter landed a punch and knocked the guy off. He stood up and got a good hard look at the killer's face. When he realized who he was looking at he nearly fainted from the shock.

"No," he muttered. "It can't be. That's impossible!"

The killer jumped to his feet and rammed Cooter into the wall behind him. The mechanic was still for a second and the stranger pulled something out of his jacket pocket. A hammer. Cooter's eyes widened at the fear that he was going to die right then and there.

The killer did a strange thing. He tossed at Cooter, where it landed on his lap. And then he grabbed a trash can lid and rammed the mechanic in the head, knocking him out. Once Cooter was still, the killer picked up Cooter's left hand and placed the hammer in it. And then he took off running down the alley.

Balladeer: I got a feelin' that things just took a turn for the worse. I didn't even get to see the guy's face!

The orchestra was now playing Bobby Darin's "Beyond the Sea". It had been almost forty minutes since the couple had ordered and Eve for one was starving to death.

"Darlin', maybe you need to go to the kitchen an' ask what's takin' them so long," she suggested, patting Rosco's hand. "The longer we sit here, the longer you'll just have to do without."

He gave her a funny look. "Do without what?"

It amazed her how he didn't understand her when she was trying to give him a "hint". "Think about it," she whispered, her fingers tracing a path down his.

The lightbulb switched on in his brain and he got one of his dopey grins on his face. "Oh, that. Uh . . okay, I'll just go to the . . . kitchen . . .now," he stammered, getting up from his seat in a flustered manner.

He turned around real fast and ran into a waiter carrying a tray of glasses and a bottle of wine. Rosco clumsily helped keep them all from toppling to the floor, muttering apologies and even dusted the bottle off with his hand as if he'd soiled it by knocking it over. Eve had a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling.

"Eet iz fine, monsieur," the little French waiter assured him, stepping out of his way.

Rosco blushed and gave Eve a little wave with his fingers before turning aroundto try again. "Khee, I love 'er, I love 'er!" he muttered to himself,nearly tacklingalmost every other waiter that came in his way.

It was a circus tent in there. French waiters, chefs, managers, everyone seemed to be in there making a huge fuss over everything. Nobody seemed to notice that Rosco was even there. Someone ran by and handed him a load of laundry.

"There you are, Jean-Claude, put these on the wash, will ya?" an American in chef's clothing spat out as he passed by.

"Jean-Claude?" Rosco muttered to himself.

Someone else pushed by him, almost knocking him over. "Sorrry, monsieur!"

And who the heck is this Miss Zur person they keep talkin' about? the confused Hazzard County sheriff asked in his head.

He didn't quite know what to do with the pile of dirty laundry so he just opened up a door and stepped inside it, hoping it was the laundry room. Then he realized that he had gone out the back door and was now standing in the cold holding an armful of towels with nowhere to put them.

"Oh, good grief," he sighed to himself.

He was about to turn around and go back inside the madhouse kitchen when he heard the sound of someone running into some trashcans over head. A figure came running down into the alley and collapsed in front of Rosco when he tripped over a tin can. Rosco's eyes widened with fear, not knowing what to think.

The man quickly picked himself up and gave Rosco a similar look—either out of fear or out of curiosity at seeing a dressed up man standing outside holding laundry. Rosco got a brief look at his face before he took off running into the darkness.

"Cooter?" Rosco asked out loud.

Balladeer: Cooter? But I just left him knocked out in an alley!

He shook his head and wondered why the devil Cooter Davenport would be running around this late in the cold. And was that blood that he saw on him?

Rosco made it back to their table, still a little shaken about what he had seen. Eve looked up at him as he sat down. Now the band was playing Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World".

"There you are, I thought you'd gotten lost. Did ya talk to a chef?"

"Uh . . ." In all the excitement, he'd completely forgotten. "They said it'd be out in a few minutes," he told her, silently asking God's forgiveness for the small lie. He pushed his wine glass out of his way. "I don't think I need anymore of that. I thought I just saw Cooter covered in blood."

She stared at him. "Blood?"

Eve was at a payphone beside the bathroom calling her cousin's hotel room. After five rings, she finally got an answer.

"Hello?" she heard a groggy voice answer.

"Cooter? It's Eve, you okay?"

"Eve?" she heard him ask confusedly. "Oh, hi. Uh . . . yeah, I was just sleepin'. What's goin' on?"

She smiled and shook her head. Rosco must've been seeing things. She remembered the last time he had something besides buttermilk to drink. He thought he saw a tiger in their living room. "It's nothin'," she said, embarrassed she'd even called. "I'll be back in about an hour or so. Just go back to sleep."

Balladeer: Folks, somethin' ain't right about this . . .