Friday, March 17
Very early morning

Sitting and waiting was the worst part, and Cooper was terrible at it. An inquiring mind begets an active body; he could never feel quite right unless he was doing something. But what was there to do? He opened the window to the conference room and counted the stars he could see and inhaled the heady scent of rain and earth and pine, remembering absently that what he smelled was called "petrichor" and making a mental note to tell Harry about it because nowhere in the world had he ever smelled it as strongly as he did right here.

Cooper brushed the back of his hand across his brow and leaned closer to the window to cool down. Major Briggs had been, essentially, catatonic since his arrival at the station. His wife had been close behind him as he marched into the station; she told Cooper and Sheriff Truman that he'd seemed fine when he first reappeared in their living room a few hours before, but that his demeanour had changed as their car neared the station. He became looser, more lethargic, and his collapse in the reception area was not surprising to her. Cooper was awed. What kind of life did the Major lead that normalized experiences like this for those closest to him?

Four hours had passed since his arrival, and Major Briggs was still sitting in the conference room, his back straight as an arrow, Betty knitting silently at his side until she had fallen asleep against his shoulder. As the witching hour approached, Cooper heard the door to the conference room open, and saw Sheriff Truman toe his way into the room as silent as the night. In one hand he carried a hot cup of coffee; in the other, an early edition of the local newspaper.

Cooper pressed a finger to his lips and nodded toward Mrs. Briggs. "She's finally nodded off."

"And the Major?"

Cooper shook his head. "Nothing."

Truman took a sip of his coffee; the aroma prickled the inside of Cooper's nose, and he briefly considered helping himself to a cup. But he knew he had to try and sleep in the hour before he took the next shift waiting for Major Briggs to reawaken.

"I've called Doc Hayward over," Truman said. "He's out delivering a baby. Said he'd be by whenever he finished."

"Busy night."

"You got that right."

Cooper nodded and turned once again to look out the window. Far away over the mountains, he swore he saw the auroras dancing. With a barely contained and gleeful smile spreading across his face, he turned to the Sheriff. "Harry, you know that smell—"

"How are things with Audrey?"

It wasn't so much the fact that Truman had cut him off that stopped Cooper from continuing, though that was part of it. The question itself caught him off guard. How are things with Audrey? That could have meant any number of things…

"Excuse me?"

Truman paused, wondering what part of the question was misunderstood. "Well I just figured that it's been a while since her abduction, she's settling back into her life again, making a recovery," Truman shrugged and took another swig of coffee. "Seemed like you'd be the guy to ask."

Cooper focused his eyes on a pattern of raindrops on the glass in front of him, each one catching light from the parking lot and the street beyond that and turning them into brilliant pinpricks of colour splashing about inside each droplet. He let himself get pulled in, past reds and cool whites from the street and the pale greens he swore he could see from the northern lights. He swam within the drop, drowning out the hum of the air recirculation system embedded in the drop ceiling, or the soft snore coming from Betty Briggs behind him. He fell over the edge of the highway and spilled into the tributaries that bled off Black Lake and rushed towards the ocean a million miles from where he stood…

Haven't you wanted to tell someone? Cooper reasoned with himself. To tell someone about the way she floats into your consciousness and steals your breath and makes you itch and think about things and—

He was about to open the floodgate, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Major Briggs began to whisper...

COOPER: Diane, it's just after two p.m. We—Sheriff Truman, Deputy Hawk, Agent Bryson, and I—are about to escort Ernie Niles to the pre-arranged drug buy up at Dead Dog Farm. (Pause) I have a bad feeling about this. Ever since Major Briggs' return last night and his emergence from catatonia this morning, my heart feels heavy. Sheriff Truman deputized me today, and it helps to have a gun back, a shield pinned to my chest to lend me gravitas and authority. But there is something inside me that isn't so sure we're wading into something against which guns and badges are a useless defence. (Pause) Diane, Major Briggs spoke of Project Bluebook, deep space messages intercepted from their point of origin within the woods themselves. We've talked about White Lodges and Black Lodges and Dwellers on the Threshold. And now I'm not so sure about anything anymore. (Pause) Can you courier over whatever info you can find about Project Bluebook? I want to know as much as I can about this. I don't want to be blindsided…

Friday, March 17
Afternoon

"Do you know what you're doing?" Hawk asked the fidgeting Ernie Niles, who was already sweating profusely in Agent Bryson's car, just ahead of them on the narrow road.

"Yes," Ernie whimpered over the two-way. "Unless you want to turn around. We can still turn around. Head back for some pie! That stepdaughter of mine, doesn't she just make the best pie?"

"Ernie," Truman growled. "We have a plan and we're sticking to it. You're going to help clear the name of a federal agent. If you don't, you're going to jail with the rest of them. Is that understood?"

Radio silence stretched on for a few hundred yards. They pulled onto the even narrower road that led up the hill toward the dilapidated farm. Bare pines and brittle undergrowth alongside the road gave way to bushes and rocks as the farm came into view. The lead car pulled away, while Cooper, Hawk, and Sheriff Truman hung back, careful to stay covered. As they slowed to as top, Ernie came back on.

"Yeah, fellas. I understand."

Cooper watched as the car door opened in front of him and kept his eyes trained on Agent Bryson and Ernie as they trudged up the driveway towards the door. Hawk tuned into the concealed mic line. With bated breath, the trio hidden in the bushes by the end of the driveway waited and listened.