The Lab. 7:00 A.M.
By the time Jean got to the lab that morning, Hank was already there, peering through a microscope. The small tabletop centrifuge was whirring in the background. "Good morning," he said, hearing her come in and looking up, "It occurred to me that even if there isn't any evidence left on the body itself, there is a slight chance that one of these guys," he thumbed a finger towards the collection of insects, "has just what we're looking for. On their bodies."
Jean smiled. "How long exactly have you been here?"
"Only since five," he said, as if that were normal after jet lag and a tiresome previous day. "I'm also going to shrink so I can get a better look at the ones that are alive. They won't hold still on the microscope, and I don't want to risk washing away evidence by putting them in something to hold them down."
"Do you need my help?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, "If you would put me inside this terrarium when I'm small enough that would be wonderful."
He had already placed a few of the bugs that were still squirming inside of the small glass box fitted with a bug's environment – or so Jean thought, anyways. "Sure," she said.
"Also," Hank said, handing her a small little Bluetooth type communicator, "You can use this to talk with me while I'm shrunk. I'm not sure how long I'll be down there."
Charter Plane.
Scott and Ororo wanted to be in the cave as soon as possible, but Frank Perry said he and his wife – who he told them would be accompanying them on their expedition – needed some time to do other things first. Scott wasn't exactly pleased about this, but he accepted, knowing that Perry and his wife – he had researched both of them last night – would be probably their best bet as guides of El Grande Rojo Cueva.
They still boarded the charter plane at a little after seven, to arrive around nine. Because the plane was much smaller than the SR-71 Blackbird, Scott couldn't get up and move around much, and so, belted in, he drummed his fingers on his pant leg and pretended it relieved pent up excitement as well as pacing would have. He was beginning to note that the amount of travel time required by their back and forth trips and three different location points was more than he bargained for and ultimately a big waste of time.
Ororo, on the other hand, not as get-up-and-go as Scott, found the trips back and forth to be relaxing, both physically and mentally, and since she knew what she would have to endure today, she was very welcoming towards anything to give her a sense of the serenity she was often known for.
By the time they reached the cave site, Ororo had relaxed enough to be ready for her day; she was certain that she was no longer 'pasty' as Remy had put it, either. She and Scott put on the cave attire they wore yesterday and met with the Perrys just outside of the cave's entrance.
Frank was a bit on the beefy side, barrel-chested, thick arms, stocky legs; he looked strong despite his sixty years. His wife, Tanya, though she was probably in her fifties, seemed much younger. She had a nearly unlined face, except for the eyes and smile lines, and her hair, though going gray still had the life and bounce of someone much younger. She was spry and athletic and looked ready to tackle the cave as soon as Frank would let them.
Because Scott had checked them out online, he knew of their personal story. They lived nearest the cave by accident, but got into the business of exploring it very much on purpose. More than fifteen years ago, when Scott and the rest of his team were playing superhero instead of actually doing it, the Perrys lost their only child to a cave collapse. And yes, he had been alone.
Frank seemed to know what went through Scott's mind, and he said, "Our boy would've been only a coupla years older than the two of ya. I want you to know that we really appreciate everything y'all are doin' here."
Scott smiled and put his hand on Frank's arm, giving it a little squeeze. "And Ororo and I are very grateful for your expertise."
Tanya's face lit up with a genuine smile; her sunny disposition probably accounted for her youthful appearance, and she said, "Well, come on now, plenty to see and God only gave us 'bout twelve hours of sunshine to see it."
Jim Hogg County. 10:00 A.M.
The county itself was fairly large and thus, the few people that lived there – few in comparison to Dallas, San Antonio, or any major city – were spread out. Remy's first thought was that this day was going to drag on and on while he waited for the folks to travel to the townhouse where the mayor had set him up to tell their tales of woe.
He found he was wrong. He had entered through a back entrance and set up shop in a small back room and not five minutes later, the local sheriff, a man by the name of Jim Whitely, who was very hospitable and cooperative for a small town sheriff, said, "Agent LeBeau. They're ready to talk whenever you are ready to listen."
"They?" Remy asked, "You mean the Manuelos?"
"No, sir. Not just them," the sheriff answered, a smile touching the corner of his lips, "You got yourself a line fit for a Tim McGraw concert."
"Well, guess you can send 'em in, either one by one or families at a time then."
"Yes, sir," Whitely said.
"Sheriff?" Remy asked, before the man left. "Why the red carpet?" He meant why were they setting up a meeting in the town hall with corn bread, sweet tea and already a through-the-county knowledge of the going-ons.
Sheriff Whitely knew exactly what the young Agent was referring to. "Because someone finally is listenin' to us," Whitely said, "An' we've been waiting for that for a long time now."
Remy nodded solemnly and the sheriff left to allow the first witness to enter. Her name was Mrs. Deborah 'Dee Dee' Twain, and in their first five minutes together Remy could deduce that she was a widow, the town gossip, usually first in line to tell any sort of tale and was quite particular about cornbread. "It's too dry," she said, more than once throughout her long winded monologue, though it didn't stop her from eating it.
"Mrs. Twain," Remy said, oozing enough charm from his smile to make her stop chatting, "I am also not a fan of dry cornbread, but we're here to discuss the cave outside of your lovely town. So, if you have anything that pertains to that, I'd love to hear it."
"Well, of course, honey," she said, her southern manners impeccable, the accent as Texan as a longhorn, "I was getting to that."
Remy just smiled again, motioning to her with his hand that she should continue. By the time she left, he had learned nothing except that this town had a lot of 'those Mexican folk', 'real nice people', she had said, 'and real hard workers, but just a little too, you know…' Remy didn't have a clue what she meant, but he thanked her for her time anyways. Now he was convinced this day would drag on for a completely different reason. Yes, someone was finally there to listen to them, but he wasn't particularly happy about it.
The Lab. Noon.
Jean was in the middle of examining the scrapings from underneath John Doe's fingernails when a call came through. A S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent said over the intercom that she had a call waiting on line three. She picked it up, wondering if it was a team member why they didn't call her cell phone. "Hello. Dr. Grey speaking," she said kindly enough.
"Dr. Grey," said a man's voice, "I'm Agent Pat Fernier, Dallas HQ; we've found the identity of your Doe."
"That's great," Jean said.
Agent Fernier continued, "His sister called us. We've already made arrangements for her to come down to see the body, confirm the identity."
"Good, when can she come down?"
"She'll be in later today."
"Thank you, Agent Fernier. That's some quick work."
"That's my job, Dr. Grey."
Jean told Hank the situation through the headset that was a lot more complicated than it seemed. Not only could you be in direct contact with the other person, but you could call them with only one touch of the only button. Also, the communication system allowed proper voice amplification so Hank would not sound like a chipmunk and Jean would not sound like a thunder clap.
Once Hank was notified, they disconnected, just in case either had the habit of talking to themselves while working. He had told her he would be 'under' as he called it for a while because he wanted to study the small colony of something or other that had formed since they were put into the terrarium. One of the bugs was injured and yet the rest of the bugs didn't seem to exile it. Hank told Jean he wanted to first discover how the bug came to be missing a leg and second of all study the injured bug's usefulness among its other colony members. Jean could only say, "Let me know when you're finished," before getting back to work. She was amazed at the things Dr. Hank Pym found interesting.
Jean figured she would wait until she was introduced to the sister before telling the others. Maybe the sister could help them; maybe she had no desire to.
Town Hall. 3:15 P.M.
At first the crowd was mainly older white couples, no one as privy to gossip as Dee Dee, but all giving their version of why the cave was what it was. And then it was younger white folk, who gave him ordinary and innocuous pieces of information that indicated to them that the cave was haunted and to Remy that they had spent too long in the hot Texas sun waiting to be interviewed. Remy felt a twinge of guilt for the way he treated Agent Gold since most of this stuff was amounting to nothing, but it ended abruptly whenever his thoughts turned to Miguel Manuelo.
In between a witness switch he shook out the cramp forming in his right hand, and glanced at the window air cooling unit. It was a far cry from the central cooling units that were in most of the public buildings in the South, and the North these days, and though normally Remy hated the frigid air of an air conditioner, he thought it might be nice now. The humidity outside was soaring, this part of Texas was a lot like his home state of Louisiana, and he would guess the temperature without the heat index to be close to one hundred degrees.
However, he didn't have time to reflect on the heat any longer, because another witness, or perhaps story teller entered. He looked up and smiled, as always and offered her something to eat and drink. And he noticed that this woman was unlike the rest. First of all, she was Mexican, and second of all, she looked scared.
Sheriff Whitely poked his head in. "This is Gertie, her English isn't that great. But she usually can tell you what she means."
"No hay problema," Remy said with a smile, never taking his eyes from Gertie, and in perfectly accented Spanish, said, "Hola Gertie. Me llamo Agent de Remy LeBeau. Hablo español con fluidez."
Gertie's deep brown eyes lit up and she spoke rapidly and effortlessly in her native tongue. Remy coerced her gently to have a seat first before she continued her narrative and asked her if he could tape record her if necessary. She was happy enough that he spoke Spanish, as far as she was concerned, he could do whatever he wanted.