A/N: Jiminy Crispies O_o I cannot believe it has been nearly a year since I touched this fic. SO sorry for the late update. I was in postgraduate hell and I guess my priorities just shifted...

Muchas gracias to those who continue to read! I am, as always, eternally grateful for your time and patience :)

Chapter 10: A Room with a View

This would not do. This would not do at all...

Charlotte Charles was in a hotel, en Paris, with her nearest dearest family, and their window looked out onto...a wall. The flat, ashy brick wall of some neighboring building. It seemed sacrilegious; to arrive in the city of light and be deprived of its sights...

"We need to change rooms toot sweet!"

"This one is fine," Lily claimed, reclining on her bed. "New towels, clean sheets and a bar down the hall."

"But the view..."

"We know, dear," Vivian warbled, emerging from the bathroom in her feathery robe. "Perhaps when Jimmy Neptune gets here."

"Next week?" she groaned. "Mais non! Maybe if we ask the desk clerk..."

"You go, kiddo. That wine is making me drowsy."

"Not to mention the time difference. Papen County must be fast asleep by now..."

At that, the thought of home tied itself to her heart like a swiftly sinking stone. Chuck breathed in, swallowing this sudden sadness with determination, and said: "Be right back."

But she would not be right back. For as the snippy receptionist refused her (citing the last minute nature of their reservation), a giggling couple stumbled through the foyer doors. They glanced at her as they passed, then skidded to a stop.

"Chuck?"

She turned, eyes wide and mind reeling at the sight of Gwen and Gene.

"Chuck!"

The Alive Again Adventurer felt her heart float up like a buoy, bobbing on this wave of familiarity. And in that moment home was but a distant dream, drifting away on the horizon...

XXX

Ned had spent two nights on the couch of Olive Snook. Or was it two mornings? Time seemed to have blurred into an indefinite mass of moments since their encounter with Dwight Dixon...

Either way, he could feel himself becoming comfortable. Perhaps too comfortable. The Pie Maker knew that he would soon have to stop camping out in her living room...and he dreaded the thought. For his own home had grown colder, quieter without the girl named Chuck. Here he felt less alone and more capable of protecting Olive, who did not need protection, as she often reminded him. But there was safety in numbers and he was one of only three people that could stop Dwight dead in his tracks. Law enforcement had filed the man under "deceased" and reporting him now would be nigh on impossible...

Ned clung to the hope that they would never have to. Dwight had two watches. The third belonged to Père Pie Maker, who was long gone...

"Digby is moping," Olive announced, breaking into his thoughts with an armful of beddings.

"Why?" Ned asked, standing to take them.

"He saw you and Pigby playing earlier..."

The Pie Maker sighed. "He knows I can't pet him. I would if I could but..."

The waitress regarded him for a while, before inquiring: "How old were you when he died?"

"Nine."

"Nine? Nine when you found out what you could do?" He nodded. "Oy..."

Ned could see her turning this over as she watched him, trying to find a question with which to pry open his more intimate memories... "How are your flowers?" he blurted out, desperate for a distraction.

"Hm? Oh. Immortal..." She smiled wryly and drifted over to the glass vase. He heaved a silent sigh of relief and went to turn on the television, hoping to hear something about Terry Marlowe and the Poppy Temple People...

But Ned had barely found a news channel before Olive turned it off. "Wha...?"

"TV is evil!" she blurted out. "It infiltrates the hearts and minds of its victims, making them dependent on it instead of friends or family. I mean...why watch a box when we could talk? How's your nose?"

"Sore," he said slowly. "But better...Olive, I haven't read or watched the news since the night Dwight crashed our party. Something important might have happened, somebody might have seen him..."

She waved this away. "Old lady wins the lottery, the weather gets weirder, politicians lie...nothing about a dead man walking. But hey, if you want the skinny on Dwight and the Deadly Dozen, Emerson has been looking into it."

"He has?"

"Uh, yeah. He can tell you everything you need to know! Let's go."

"Now?" Ned queried. "He might be asleep."

"Nah!" Olive replied. "Believe you me; Emerson Cod is wide awake and working..."

XXX

Emerson Cod was fast asleep and dreaming. Images flickered through his mind like multicolored moths...a little brown girl with thick black hair, a violet swing set, a blue sky creasing and crumpling, caving in on them both...and emerging from the wreckage was a man in red, shapeless and faceless and screaming-

Ding dong! The PI jerked awake, reaching for his holster compulsively. Somewhere in the blurry, sleepy recesses of his mind he knew that intruders rarely ever rang the doorbell...

And sure enough, this home invasion came courtesy of Dough Boy and Itty Bitty.

Emerson growled and directed his gun at them, in order to convey just how inconvenient their visit was.

"Told you so," Dough Boy muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Itty Bitty ignored him and forced a smile. "Heeeey, buddy. Can we come in?"

"This better be good," he said, stepping aside. "Or very bad."

They scurried inside and stood awkwardly as he locked the door.

"So this is your humble abode," Olive remarked, taking in the open plan apartment. "Neat!"

"Why, thank you. Would you like a tour?"

"Really?"

"No, not really! How the hell did you find me? I went to great lengths to avoid having people turn up uninvited."

Olive tapped the side of her nose, signing secrecy. "Tricks of the trade. Picked up from my Norwegian colleagues."

Emerson scoffed, ostensibly unimpressed. "State your business."

"Well, we-"

"She-"

"He wanted to watch the news...to find out more about the Poppy Temple People. And I thought, why waste time on hearsay when he could hear it from...a more reliable source?"

Itty Bitty fixed him with a significant look and in that moment he understood. She was stalling; delaying the inevitable. Hoping the Pie Maker would be less upset about his trigger finger if he found out later. And he would find out. Killing twelve cult members by proxy had a way of coming back to haunt people...

Emerson glared at the pair, torn between a strange urge to protect them and a more familiar desire to punt them out. "All right," he snapped. "Sit."

Ned and Olive glanced at each other- neither entirely sure of what he was about to reveal- before obliging. Emerson dropped down into his favorite chair, thought for a moment...

"...so," he said. "You want to know which one was a casualty o' random proximity." They nodded, leaning forward like bobsledders...

"It was Terry Marlowe. Just as we suspected. The others picked their poison. They believed some spectral star ship would ferry them back to their 'planet of origin' after they died. Marlowe knew it was nonsense. He planned to take all their earthly possessions, cash in and move on. He killed them. He didn't touch them but he killed them."

Ned stared down at his hands, as if they belonged to someone else. "Sounds familiar."

"Hey," Olive urged. "Don't go there. It's over."

He glanced at her, gratitude underlining his eyes, and tried to smile. "Thanks, Emerson."

"Yeah," she exhaled. "Thanks."

The PI sighed, annoyed at his own softening heart. "You're welcome. Now get the hell out and let me sleep!"

A/N: Gleeks and non-Gleeks alike have probably heard that Glee star, Cory Monteith, died a few months ago (Cheno acted alongside him briefly in seasons one and two). You do not have to be a fan of the show to know how sad and senseless it is for a 31-year-old to die alone in his hotel room. Just wanted to say sorry for the loss of a great young guy. RIP, Cory.