Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own any characters pertaining to the 2007-2008 TV series 'Moonlight'. All recognisable characters and texts belong to Ron Koslow and Trevor Munson.
Author's Note: And here we… go! Truthfully, I'm unhappy with how this turned out. I'm fairly sure that I've messed up some of the American/British vocabulary, but I've tried.
Reviews will be invited along to see the Rocky Horror Show, on stage, on New Year's Eve.
The damp breeze hit against my pale cheeks, and strands of hair clung furiously to my eyelashes as I walked at a decisive pace towards the diner. It had become dark fairly quickly; though there were few clouds in the sky, the few that did exist saw fit to shadow the moon in a way that would have been incredibly amusing had it not been for the events currently unfolding.
Shame, I thought, fiddling with the pockets on my shorts, the past twenty-four hours had been pretty good. I considered my prior commitment – namely to myself more than anyone else – that I would dutifully avoid the devastation tonight that unfairly befell Chloe, but the guilt that knotted and tightened like a snake had slithered its way in to my consciousness not three hours prior. I had met her, spoken to her; my hand had brushed against her own when I returned her keys. How was I supposed to stand idly by and allow a human being to die when I had the potential to stop it?
I knew that my mother's worriment would pose an issue if she found out what I was doing. Harping on about how a TV show I religiously watched nine years ago was suddenly very real would have me dragged back home, which would not have made the blindest bit of difference to what was now my reality. With that in mind, it would be equally as impossible to inform her that I was currently marching my way to a potential murder scene, with no idea how to stop said aforementioned murder or indeed how to deal with the assailant. I had such little upper body strength; years of attempting to learn even the simplest of self-defence mechanisms that came from a sensible mindset of living alone had proved rather fruitless; I had a slender frame, very little muscle, and paired with my height I did not exactly look like a twenty-five-year-old.
As it had from that first call less than a week ago, something tugged at my heartstrings at the thought of her. Megan was a doting mother and an incredibly charming woman, but she often thought too much of others, chastised herself for it, and then dispassionately thought of herself in a vain attempt to level it out. Naturally I was biased, but I loved her and Dad and Dinah, our erratic little ragdoll, and I was miles and miles away from them, incapable of seeing their faces or enjoying the warmth that only company with close family can bring. Perhaps that was why I saw fit to try and save Chloe. She had to have a family. Just because the family I had grown up with had been taken from me, did not mean I could force the same on those who did not deserve it. If I was here for a reason, I had to at least try and make a difference, and I was certainly old enough now not to cower in a corner like a petulant child and expect the world to feel sorry for me because I was, in every sense of the phrase, 'out of place'.
I did not have so much of a plan as I did an idea. At least, a vague understanding of what I would like to occur, but the probability of that was incredibly low, and I had not yet thought of a back-up plan. Somewhat infuriated with brashness, I pulled my hair in to a ponytail and stretched out my fingers. The entire situation was absurd; I should have called the police. The consideration of calling Mick had been perhaps the briefest thought thus far; there was absolutely no way to tell him that Chloe was in danger, or for him to get there sooner without making myself in to even more of an enigma. Of course, if this panned out the way I assumed – ridiculously, of course – he would find me anyway. Preferably intact. Maybe I was having dinner. Perhaps I was checking on her myself, worried about her behaviour after the funeral.
Every single possibility even more nonsensical than the last.
There was no way to get out of this without another talk being had in his office. Either way, be it now, several episodes later, or at the end of the series, something would give. The folder Guillermo had given me still sat at the bottom of my desk drawer; perhaps out of some childish naivety, I refused to look, though deep down I knew it pertained nothing so frightening that Guillermo had not been able to reassure.
Even as I approached the diner, I had yet to formulate a plan. Still, at least I was still fully aware of my own stupidity, and not blind to how hairbrained I had become. As soon as my eyes found a lone, considerably worn vehicle in the carpark, I shuddered. To my right, distinguishable only for its own solitude, was yet another vehicle; it was parked so unevenly, half propped on the curb, it could easily have been mistaken for something abandoned. Perhaps that had been a marginal oversight on Daniel's behalf; parking it beside the diner would have drawn too much attention, especially in the event of the security cameras actually operating as to their purpose but parking it so carelessly not even too far down the road – near enough for me to see it as I approached – definitely drew more attention.
The eerie blue light from the diner glared hauntingly; each of my footsteps seemed to echo throughout the vacant space, though they were far quieter and indeed impossible to be anywhere near as noisy as that of the traffic down the road.
I was stupid – this was stupid. And if I failed, then what? Mick had no idea I was coming, and I was foolish enough not to disclose any information to him. Additionally, he was not arriving for quite some time, long after Chloe had been killed. If I was killed along with her, I did not expect in the slightest that I would be lucky enough to cheat death for a second time.
Gulping, I flexed my fingers once more – admittedly out of habit, rather than a ridiculous attempt to psyche myself up. I have a truly, terrible feeling about this.
I made my way to the back of the diner. The probability that the front had already been locked was fairly high; she would leave through the back, in any case. At least, I assumed so – perhaps the logic of assuming that the front would be locked in order to prevent anyone entering once the diner was closed was flimsy in itself, owing to my poor knowledge of diners, cafes and restaurants in general.
The door was unlocked – I pushed it gently, the latch not quite having caught itself enough to fully close. It opened without a creek, which I silently thanked it for (too frightened was I to properly acknowledge thanking an inanimate object). The only sound came adjacent to the corner; footsteps, the occasional thump of something being placed on a hard surface, and then –
"We're closed!"
For a single moment all I could hear was blood pounding in my ears. A shiver ran up my spine, but my feet were too glued in place to pay much attention; if I was not careful, someone would be walking over my grave fairly soon.
Her voice broke through the trance and I started forwards. I didn't have time. There were seconds. Frantically I glanced about me and didn't really think when I haphazardly grabbed the first thing in my line of sight – an unboxed heavy roll of cling film. It felt unbalanced as I gripped it, the sweat from trepidation making it slip. Keep calm, keep calm…
Fuck.
I rounded the corner to see the masked figure brandishing a knife, and the petrified look on Chloe's face as she realised what was coming for her. Should have called the police, should have called someone!
"Hey!" The words left my mouth before I really had a chance to doubt them. Truly, it may have had something to do with the speed in which Daniel approached her. I had made a decision to stay out of it, to leave Chloe's fate to the writer's discretions, and yet here I was, brandishing a plastic film that had about as much intimidation as a new-born kitten.
Daniel froze before he turned. To give him credit, he did not panic as he turned, nor did he show Chloe his back. He pushed against the bar, so we were both in his field of vision, the hand brandishing his weapon moving rapidly between us both. Chloe looked to me immediately, her chest heaving, and her face screwed up, pinched with horror.
"Leave. Now." I didn't know whether he would listen but clung to the hope that he really was a hapless coward and he would flee without harming either one of us if he believed he had been caught.
Neither happened, of course.
With his spare hand, Daniel flung a metal tissue dispenser towards Chloe. It hit her clean on the centre of her forehead and she fell backwards, head connecting with the corner of the door behind her. Nothing moved in slow motion as he hurled towards me, the weapon in his hand catching against the overhanging lights that had been dimmed moments before.
"Chloe!" I screamed as I ducked under his swinging hand. As I rose, I swung the cling film towards the back of his head and heard an unsettling crack as it shuddered him in to a table. The chairs that had been stacked on top of it fell unceremoniously to the floor and the diner erupted in an uneven cascade of noise. For two steps I backed away from Daniel before turning and running behind the bar towards her. As I went to kneel, I felt a searing pain through my ankle and I crumpled beside her. The pain was singularly the worst I could recall feeling; in that moment, all I could hear was white noise. My knees would have buckled had I still been standing, but my hands began shaking as I pushed myself to sit. Eyes spun between the wound on my leg and Daniel, who was fast approaching, hovering menacingly as he adjusted the mask. I could feel Chloe twitch beside me as she came around.
Still he said nothing. I grimaced, poorly clutching at the plastic wrap and holding it out unsteadily towards him. There was nothing threatening about my stance. Chloe, however, was a tougher nut than I had given her credit for. She was breathing, shallow but there.
"Daniel." My voice no longer held the same level of authority it had before, and the name rattled between my teeth, but no matter how it had been said, it terrified him; Daniel froze, the knife tilting in his hand. Then he ran.
I was not foolish enough to chase after him – indeed, I was in no shape to. Despite my brashness of approaching the dinner I glanced beside me as Chloe's chest rose and fell and considered it, in those brief moments, a success.
As I glanced towards my own wound, I saw the pool of blood soaking in to my socks and shoes before I recognised the pain once more. There was too much blood to assess the wound, so I clumsily ripped off my jacket and pressed it against my ankle. With my other hand I reached for Chloe's wrist, forcing my eyes open as I counted her pulse. It was slower than it should be, but steady. Swallowing nervously, I returned to my ankle and wiped at the blood, grimacing and hissing between clenched teeth as I took stock of the deep, circular lesion. As if it would make it go away, I covered it with my jacket once more and shifted myself as I pulled my phone out from its pockets.
No sooner had I rung off the ambulance service did the doors burst open. Mick's shadowy figure came in to view, his eyes wide as he rounded the corner and looked down on us both. For a moment, it seemed he did not recognise me, and my heart foolishly skipped; my ragged appearance and sweat that beaded around the creases in my face smearing what little makeup I wore – it was hardly a comfortable sight.
"Robin?" After a few uncomfortable seconds, he knelt beside us. His eyes darted quickly between Chloe and my own, the air suddenly still and lodged uncomfortably in my throat.
"I've called an ambulance. She's okay," I breathed. Her wrist balanced across my lap as my fingers remained precariously against her fluttering pulse.
"What happened?" Don't ask me that. You have to save Beth! It had not occurred to me that my own actions would have spurred Daniel to act with less rationality – not that he behaved with any, but the concern over Beth's wellbeing, and their later encounter that simply had to happen surely could not have been compromised by my own human nature? What indeed would occur, should Mick not reach her on time, or Daniel be too terrified to stand idly outside the building just waiting for someone to come running out? Waiting for Christian? Or was he waiting nearby, hoping to catch us on the way? Was he building an alibi? It did not bare thinking about; I had done it. Chloe was alive.
"I came to see her, to make sure she was okay. Someone was here when I came in, and he attacked us – I don't know where he is now." Lie. Mick knew when humans were lying; my heartbeat was anything but normal and the blood still pooling from my ankle created an uncomfortable haze whereby I was becoming increasingly unsteady. I swallowed, ignoring the throbbing, and hastily squeezed my eyes shut before steadying them on his own. Shutting them did little to blink away the hazy residue.
Something shone behind Mick's eyes; a sudden flash of recognition, and a realisation of something inherently wrong. "I have to go." The words had barely left his mouth before he vanished – trailed only by the flashing blue lights that illuminated the diner. Chloe stirred beside me, and I finally shifted the jacket that hid my laceration.
I did not hate hospitals, per say, but like many they gave me a horrendously uncomfortable feeling that stirred unease and trepidation in the pit of my stomach. The wound had been cleaned, bandaged, and I had been given a nasty injection (something about the weapon used potentially carrying all sorts of dangerous infections). I had nodded and silently accepted the treatments, occasionally breaking the silence with a question regarding Chloe's well-being. The young blonde had severe concussion and an injury to the back of her head that had required stitches, but aside from that, she was alive. That was all I cared to hear. After refusing a blood transfusion ("I like to regularly give blood."), they had settled me comfortably in a small waiting room. I bit the inside of my cheek as I signed away my life on a flimsy clipboard – apparently, I paid in to health insurance, but the complexity and sheer grandeur of costs for such a simple thing startled me. I felt sick.
There seemed to be one lone, singular hospital in the middle of Los Angeles, and so it stood to reason that somewhere, on one of these floors, Jeff would be buried deep within his work, with no idea of what was to come. I did not truly believe he would be on this floor; from what I had gathered, his particular station was more long-term patients and severe trauma. Swallowing, feeling the chill settle at the root of my spine, I hastily peered about me. "Can I see my friend?" I asked the receptionist. She took the clipboard and smiled – whatever I was expecting from her incredibly proper appearance, it was not the gentleness that she responded with, and I felt immeasurably guilty.
"Until she comes around, only family are allowed in. We can tell her you're here, if you like?" I nodded. "You're clear to go home, if the doctor gave you your pain medication."
"Thank you." I moistened my lips, gave a manageable smile of my own – grinding my teeth against the pain as I placed a little too much pressure on the offending foot – and turned towards the exit. The automatic doors parted wilfully as I left, and I shuddered as the cold night air bristled against my skin. My eyes ached against the furious onslaught of bright, white lights and headlights from cars moving in and out of the drop-off area. I had not wanted to waste any time sitting in the plastic chairs – it could be hours more before Chloe woke, and I knew that my being there was not going to make her regain consciousness any faster. Staying would benefit no-one, not even myself; I wanted… no, needed my bed. I needed sleep. I needed any part of sanity I could grasp with my blood stained, grubby palms.
"Robin?" The voice came from the left side of the drop-off zone. I squinted, the darkness most certainly no longer my friend. With an intense, suffocating sense of foreboding, I pressed forwards, and the PI swam in to view. "I came to check on you both. Is Chloe –"
"She's fine," I interrupted, stumbling over my words. Perhaps I should have stayed; the world outside was refusing to stay anymore stoic than the walls inside. Those insisted upon moving, and there was little that could be done but watch as they swirled the acid in the bottom of my stomach with frequent, shoddy movements. "They let me go, but she's going to be okay." I moistened my lips again – why were they so dry? "Not sure about – about him, though. I hit him pretty hard."
Mick chuckled. I wanted to laugh – oh God, what was wrong with me? "He'll be taken care of. Do you need a ride home?" I nodded – at least, I think I did – and followed Mick, limping and hopping as I awkwardly manoeuvred myself in to his vehicle.
I had to stop making a habit of it. If I carried on, I was not going to last the series.