So, it was a rather eventful week on the real-AMC front last week, wasn't it? Best of luck to the cast and crew as they continue on this new venture. Who would've thought we'd be able to say that a year ago?
Sorry about the extended break between updates. (That always seems to happen when JR and a gun are involved, doesn't it?) Since I'm snowed in today, I've gotten the chance to play a little catch-up. This chapter's technically two chapters in one. I think you can follow along alright, though : )
####
Times like these, he almost wished he'd opted for the prison bars. At least then he could have taken care of Junior in proper fashion. And no fancy concoctions to get the job done, either. It would've been the old-fashioned way.
And wasn't it all rather ironic? His ability to game JR's father and avoid that prison sentence had inadvertently led to the scum's salvation.
David threw his keys on the desk and eyed the sprawling file cabinet. After surveying the immense task that lay before him, he jammed his thumbs onto the ridges of his eyebrows. Acupressure: non-traditional, non-approved. His kind of treatment.
This particular treasure hunt wasn't going to be benefitted by all the fancy electronic advancements of the past few years. It could quite literally take months to sift through the mountains of decades-old paperwork, but what choice did he have?
He'd tried, he'd honestly made the pledge to end it: to put down the lyre before anyone else he dared care about was condemned…or before his head ended up in a river, like his project's namesake. Now, once, again, Orpheus would become his all-consuming reality. Given the circumstances, the fact that his ex-sister-in-law/ex-wife was now in possession of a powderkeg of information, seemed like small potatoes indeed.
David shook his head and left the file cabinet untouched. Right now, he needed to deal with the infamous Orpheus' last legacy.
####
The rusted door beat a frenzied rhythm, rival to any ashika drum. It was either the most fitting or the most twisted backdrop to his current predicament.
Jesse motioned to the two officers flanking the other side of the metal before promptly retraining his hands. Setting his aim.
Just another target.
Just another capture.
That's what it had to be.
He grabbed the door, and the concert grew quiet.
One of the other men could go in first. Less chance of…complications. Only a complete idiot would want to go in first, not knowing what was on the other side of that door.
Jesse nodded to his backup and entered the warehouse.
####
"We both know what is going to happen."
He knew. He knew what she was going to say, and a part of him was disappointed. She was supposed to be different: the standard. His antithesis. And this was most assuredly a David Hayward move if ever one existed.
Why? She'd been down this road before; she had already learned the price of the lies once. Now she wanted him to give her the roadmap again: the roadmap he had memorized by heart.
"Angie, I won't –"
'Be a party to this deception?' Joke.
'Do that to them?' Since when?
"I won't say anything."
Those words had sealed their first pact.
As expected, the coma had claimed her a few days later. While they laid his daughter in the ground, he sat with Angie Hubbard, in silence. When she began to slip, she had grabbed his hand.
Once again, he couldn't break the fall.
New Year's had marked the day when David was supposed to honor the second part of their agreement, if circumstances had not changed. But he'd never been an honest man.
Even if she hadn't given him that final spark – that final affirmation that maybe, just maybe – he knew that he would not make the injection. He wouldn't help her end her life.
Another thing about him people needed to understand: he never, ever left things unfinished.
Since the first time she'd regained consciousness, David had been forced to make the pact twice more. Each time, he told himself that some degree of memory loss was normal. Expected. They could count themselves lucky if the problems ended there and did not extend to atrophied muscles, bed sores, breathing difficulties...
If Angie Hubbard had proven one thing since they'd met, it had been that she was an undeniable fighter. That's why he couldn't let her give up. Not then.
Not now.
"Angie?" He shone the light into one eye. Responsive. Good. "Angie? Can you wake up for me, hon?"
Her lids fluttered. "David?"
"I'm here." He gently pushed her back down as she attempted to raise up. "Easy now."
She settled and looked at him with the clarity and the determination that would always distinguish her in his mind. He had to smile at that.
"David, you can't tell anyone. We know it's going to happen soon."
His smile died a little by the second as they – or at least he – reenacted a too-familiar conversation once again.
'I can't let them hang on to a lost cause."
Those words followed him when he stepped away to get some food. When he came back a few moments later -sliced apples in hand - to a still-clear, still-aware set of eyes, they grabbed him by the throat.
"David, you can't tell anyone."
She wasn't losing her old memories. Not at all.
She just wasn't making new ones.
He might've had time to wrap his head around this newest diagnosis. He might've even formulated some on-the-spot plan for dealing with Angie's anterograde amnesia. Or he might've beat a quick retreat out the door.
"Oh my God."
The stunned girl, however, blocked the escape route…and subsequently shot all the mights straight to Hell
####
"Gentlemen, what took you so long?"
Jesse didn't look for long, because then he couldn't see the expression that contradicted the light tone.
He couldn't hear the two unspoken words that wouldn't ever be enough.
He stayed back.
He stayed back so he wouldn't be tempted to finish a botched job.
The details of how Chandler managed to bust out of prison and why he would make a call and turn himself in just a few hours latter didn't…couldn't matter now.
Jesse busied himself with other details: the little formalities that would ensure JR Chandler would never see the light of day again.
A life for -
The smell slammed into his nostrils first before clenching around his gut.
Oh,, God, not again.
Not again.
Magical words, magical thinking minus the magic dust. Yet he couldn't stop repeating the words even as he opened the next door - this one extending its own sick invitation.
Jesse motioned again. The approaching faces of curiosity soon transformed - no, mutated - into revulsion as the stench took its full reign.
"What's happening?!"
He dry-heaved, forced the voice out, and dropped to his knees. Not from disgust or shock, though those were in plenty enough supply.
To stop himself. A few simple steps, and it would be so easy. Too easy to take the gun in his hand and -
The thump resonated as his officers dragged the body from its storage place.
####
You can do this. Come on, come on.
Her fingers rattled against the doorknob again.
"Oh damn, come on!"
When said door opened, revealing her frowning best friend, she immediately plastered on the kind of smile one might find on the latest bobblehead figure.
"Hi." Followed by a small wave. Inconspicuous she was not. "I..."
The arm fold. And the door lean. Just one eyebrow arch, and Greenlee felt confident that she was a millisecond away from a full-on confession.
You can't tell anyone.
David's directive: one she would've been fine with breaking…if not for the pleading eyes behind him: the ones that were no longer relegated to her dreams.
Greenlee cleared her throat and walked past Kendall, inviting herself in.
"I'm sorry…" She closed her eyes and prepared the lie. "That we didn't call and let you know what was going on. Ryan and I, we got a little…held up."
"Two days? That must've been one hell of a holdup. And it must still be holding Ryan up."
The words lacked a certain force Greenlee come to expect from the woman standing across from her. If she didn't know said woman better than the back of her own hand, she might even guess that Kendall was ready to…let it go.
"Emma's upstairs. I'll go get her." Followed in short order by a move to do just that.
OK, that did it.
From waking up to a reunion with her not-so-dead husband to now playing 'guess the latest crisis' with her BFF…
Except, really, wasn't this just another day in Pine Valley, USA?
"Kendall, what's wrong?"
The addressee turned and fixed her with a pointed 'tell me yours and maybe I'll be inclined to tell you mine' look.
"You tell me one thing," Kendall finally said.
Famous last words.
"If I can."
Famous last reply.
"What really happened to my brother when I was in a coma?"
Greenlee could say she most assuredly was not expecting 'that' particular question, so her lack of an immediate reply could be somewhat forgiven.
In fact, her lips were still forming their next lie when her cell rang. Her better judgment told her to put the phone back and face the firing squad in front of her. It just might be preferable.
She hit the button and was immediately greeted by Jesse Hubbard's voice. No nice formalities.
"Greenlee, can you please come down to the station?"
All business, but underneath…
One minute later, Greenlee was on her way to meet Pine Valley's police chief, best friend in tow.
And better judgment be damned.
####
"I understand."
Good. At least someone did. He sure as hell didn't.
Tad hung up the phone. Krystal had bought the excuse, or at least she hadn't fought it. The latter somehow worried him more.
"So, how did it go?"
He didn't wince at the familiar voice behind him. Not turning around, he offered: "I told her that I couldn't do it. That I couldn't testify."
He did, however, brace himself for the questions. Silence reigned instead.
"And she understands," he added weakly.
Weakness seemed to be the order of the day. He'd let the likes of Adam Chandler get him over a barrel. Worse yet, he'd let Adam make it real again.
Six years. In this town, secrets had a way of rearing their heads after just a few months. But it had been six ears. Almost long enough to convince himself that it had never happened. That he wasn't that guy that did that thing - that thing ripped out of some low-budget horror flick.
He had almost convinced himself that it was really just a B-movie, off-focus nightmare.
This town had a way of making nightmares come true.
When he turned, though, he was reminded how this crazy place could also hand out the occasional miracle. Like the walking, talking contradiction in front of him.
His miracle.
His wife.
Looking at him. Knowing him. Knowing but willing to make it not matter. He wouldn't lie to her. Wouldn't send them down that path again.
"Dixie, I -"
When the phone rang, he made a silent plea. Don't answer.
She checked the number. "It's the school."
After the shortest and vaguest of exchanges, she ended the call with an "I'll be there as soon as I can."
She met his eyes, and offered her own silent plea. One that had him grabbing his coat before she even said the words.
One that scared the hell out of him.
"We need to go now. Kathy's been in a fight."
####
He watched their lives literally flip by: all the chaos, all the struggle, and all the 'mess' neatly bound and not-quite-contained within the pretty, neat pages of an assessment report. He took the hand of the beautiful, amazing, crazy-sexy woman beside him, even as she took in a quick breath that the buttoned down official across from them couldn't see.
This…
This was worth it.
Worth traveling the thousands of miles.
Worth the stifling heat and humidity that made a cold shower seem like a pleasant but distant memory.
Worth being back in this place he'd tried so hard to forget.
Watching her smile at him even as she chewed her lip into oblivion: worth everything.
Jake figured the office would be full of pictures, crayoned drawings, photographs of smiling children with their new families: testimonials. But it was uniform, dull, tan - almost as if the desert outside had spilled into this room…had recreated these four walls in its image.
When the official spoke, it was equally dull. Non-dramatic.
Clipped English, but pitch-perfect.
"Mr. and Mrs. Martin…"
The smile didn't match, didn't line up…and Jake didn't have one damn idea what the next words would be.
Amanda's subtle squeeze telegraphed her thoughts., thoughts that had been brushed off as jokes when she dared speak them…thoughts that he knew teased her like some demented clown in the dark.
Like mother, like daughter…
Schizophrenia….the ticking bomb…collecting its due right about now…
Gonna take one look and see matching mother-and-daughter strait jackets….
They'll never…
Who would?...
He'd help her chase the clown away when he could. Even tied him down a few times. But like any jokester, any expert tormentor…
It never quite left.
He squeezed her hand back. Held on, and threw a punch at the clown anyway.
The official's smile widened. "Are you ready to meet your daughter?"
Jake traded his wife's hand for a full-body squeeze.
"Yes," she whispered into his shoulder.
Jake looked up, her soft words fueling his – their –fierce affirmation. "Absolutely."
KO punch.
####
He'd practically made a second home of the principal's office in his own misspent youth. The fact that the secretaries had been replaced with admin assistants and the notepads with computers didn't exactly ease the tension crackling up his spine.
The stiff chairs – the one constant – didn't help either.
"Kathy, this isn't going away."
Nor did his daughter's quiet response to her mother: "It's just….it's typical stuff, okay? I'm sorry. Can't we forget it?"
"No." At his slight nod, Dixie softened her tone. "Honey, just talk to us. What was the fight about?"
"Nothing."
Time for the tag-in. "Something." Tad scooted the chair closer. " Come on, Katie, you and me - we got each other's backs, remember? You got a problem…" He pointed to himself and winked "…I'm your guy, madam."
The faux-French didn't get its usual desired response this time. Still, she wouldn't look at him. Those pretty eyes, they used to tell him everything. Now, they had taken a different oath. And her voice got quieter, if possible. "They just said some stuff. It doesn't matter."
"Obviously it did. It does." A thought occurred to him. Or maybe a last straw to grasp. "If this is about AJ's custody trial -"
"It's not." Quick, abrupt. A particle escaped through the filter. "It's….me…it's the way…"
Dixie attempted to throw their flailing daughter a rope. "If someone's bullying you, honey, we'll talk to the principal immediately and -"
"No!...I can handle it."
Tad had the sick feeling the rope was just pulling his little girl down further
"Kathy, this is serious. We need you to understand that," he said, lowering his voice in spite of the fact that they were the only three current occupants in the office. "The principal thinks you were going to seriously hurt someone. He said you had a razor. He was afraid that -"
"I wasn't going to use it on them!"
The quiet frustration and anguish in those words screamed stop. As much as a voice inside of him was screaming that word too, his instincts were screaming something different. Bracing himself, he drove through the stop sign. "Then why did you have it?"
"Because I was going to use it on me."
Low. Swift.
The most effective - and damaging - gut punches always were.