The knock at the door startles him from his thoughts.
"Come in," Harry calls, rising from his office chair. The door opens, and Hawk steps in, his face set. "What's goin' on, Hawk?" He asks tiredly.
"Ben Horne," the deputy replies darkly. "It's now or never, Sheriff. We charge him… or let him go."
Harry closes his eyes. In the panic, he'd almost forgotten. Now, with no leads, no Cooper…
'Harry,' Cooper had said absently in the car, on that fateful drive. 'Harry, something doesn't feel right.'
'How do you mean?' He'd asked, but Cooper had just shook his head.
'Ben Horne…' then he'd sighed, and was silent for some time. After that, the quiet had only been broken by Cooper's low whistling some minutes later. He'd never elaborated, and now Harry can't shake this feeling.
"Harry?" Hawk once more breaks him from his reverie.
"Yeah," he says slowly, forcing his train of thought back on track. Focus. Resolve settles. "We got a strong case, Hawk. We get him into court… maybe we got Laura's killer."
Hawk nods. Doesn't say anything.
"Right?" Harry asks, helplessly. The other man just regards him, and he thinks he sees pity in that gaze.
"And Maddy Ferguson?"
Damn. He shrugs, not sure what else to do. "He could have hired someone." Even as the words come out of his mouth, he doesn't believe them. Benjamin Horne is a powerful man, but at the same time, he's locked up. Everyone who's visited is logged, and unless he killed her before they took him in yesterday… "The judges will decide," he asserts, not sure whether he's trying to convince Hawk, or himself.
His deputy only nods. "I'll let Jerry know."
"Thanks, Hawk."
As Hawk leaves, Harry can't help but wonder what the hell he's going to do now.
Water flows somewhere nearby. It finds its way through the shroud of darkness, through the pounding in his head, as if it wants to tell him all will be well.
As Cooper comes awake bit by bit, it dawns on him that it's a foolish notion. He's being dragged again, the forest above him passing as he can do nothing but watch through squinted eyes. It's no use trying to recall the last thing that happened – and Leland drags him on, and on.
He remembers a gun. His gun. The dull pain in his leg reminds him what the bullet hit when it went off. He winces, closing his eyes and trying to work up the strength to even think clearly.
Leland is humming. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cooper recognises the tune, only he's too exhausted to put a name to it.
The ground below his unresponsive feet turns from leaves to gravel. His injured leg is jolted as they pass over two sharp bumps, evenly spaced, but the sudden realisation of where he is overrides that.
"Isn't it beautiful, Agent Cooper?" Leland asks silkily, coming to a halt. He doesn't seem to expect an answer as he continues on his way a moment later. He doesn't get one, either way.
Cooper's hold on consciousness is nowhere near tenacious, especially once Leland begins to haul him up the stairs and into darkness. But despite that, he remains awake, awake as Leland ties his hands together and rustles somewhere in the darkness for a long while. Then, his captor leaves.
Leland's obviously confident that Cooper won't get far if he manages to run. But that doesn't mean that Cooper won't try. By the time he's sure that Leland won't be coming back for at least a while, he's managed to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position, and, with a great deal of effort, stumbles to his feet.
His leg burns as he puts weight on it, but it's nowhere near the level of pain he knows he should be feeling. He doesn't stop to dwell on that. Pushing through a spell of nausea, he slides along the wall to the door, finding it unlocked. Not that Leland would have a key, he realises.
The ropes dig into his wrists, and he takes the stairs down one at a time, inhaling sharply with each step as it drives stab after stab of pain up his leg.
Once his feet are on the ground, he pauses to get his bearings. Determination just about gives him the strength to continue. He needs to get out of sight. Wherever Leland has gone, he'll be coming back soon.
So, Cooper's best bet will be the trees. Decision made, he limps forward, nearly tripping over the iron bolted into the ground. But he makes it just before his legs buckle, and he leans heavily against a tree, pressing his forehead into the bark and forcing himself to breathe.
When the brief spell of dizziness passes, he takes a moment to try to loosen the ropes binding him. Already, he can see that the skin underneath is reddening. He leaves it, and, after gathering the strength, pushes off the tree and stumbles forward, deeper into the woods.
And he has made it far when he has to rest again. Has made it far when he looks back, but his heart sinks. Because spattered on the leaves in a very obvious trail despite how it occasionally disappears and reappears slightly off-course of a straight line, despite the darkness, is the blood from his gunshot wound. Shivering, Cooper slides down the trunk to sit on the ground, shifting his leg so he can get a look at it. It's dark, but the bleeding is definitely worryingly consistent, even if not heavy as far as he can see. If he doesn't stop it soon, he won't be going any further.
He tries working at the ropes again, so focused that he doesn't hear the rustling of leaves somewhere in the distance. In fact, the only reason he realises he's not alone is because of the torch beam that passes along the ground, just visible out of the corner of his eye. He stills.
He can hear humming, Leland's voice. The footsteps are getting closer.
Now, the cold he feels has nothing to do with either the temperature or the blood loss.
Cooper clamps his mouth shut and carefully, carefully rises, holding his breath, trying desperately to be quiet, straining to track the approaching man.
"Are you out here, Agent Cooper?" Calls that voice, pausing in its humming. It chuckles. "Of course you are, who am I kidding?"
He won't make it to new cover without being spotted. But if he stays here, the blood trail will lead Leland right to him. A thought occurs to him – maybe, as morbid as it sounds, Harry will have found the blood from when he'd gotten shot in the first place. That thought is encouraging. All he needs to do is last another while.
But, even so. Leland undoubtedly found a way around that. Maybe he's already covered their tracks. Maybe that's why he had been gone for so long.
Leland's footsteps are getting further. Cooper dares to glance around the trunk of the tree shielding him – and sure enough, he sees Leland, his back to him as he searches farther off, torchlight scanning the ground.
It's now or never. Cooper starts forward, away from Leland, towards an old sagging tree, painfully aware of each slight shift of the leaves underfoot that could be his doom.
But, he makes it, and he presses himself against it, daring another look backwards.
Leland is gone. So is the torch light.
Alarm bells go off in his head.
And then pain explodes in his side, and he swears he hears something crack. When the blinding white-hot pain subsides, he's on his knees, head pressed into the cold ground, cradling his ribs, gasping for breath. Something presses lightly into his side, something that he only just registers as a foot as the pressure on his definitely broken ribs sends another wave of pain into him. It pushes him to the ground and he lies there, coughing, unable to even cry out again.
Leland leans over him. "I can't let you go yet, Cooper. Let this be a lesson."
His captor kneels beside him, and hands close around his neck. He tries to fight, but it's useless. He claws desperately at the hands that seem to want to choke the life out of him, but already his lungs are screaming for air and his head feels like it'll explode. He sinks into the darkness again, and this time he welcomes the reprieve.
"I'll talk to Gordon."
The line cuts off. Harry sets the phone back into its cradle, his jaw clenched. No matter what's happening, Albert will always find a way to drive him up the wall, that much he's certain of. The FBI Agent's scathing words… you let them take Cooper?
It's a long while before the phone rings again. He picks it up and holds it at a precautionary distance from his ear, bracing himself. "Hello?"
"HELLO, SHERIFF." There's no question as to who's speaking. Gordon Cole's voice blares over the speaker. "ALBERT HAS JUST INFORMED ME OF WHAT HAPPENED TO COOPER. WE WILL BE THERE FIRST THING IN THE MORNING."
Wince permanently melded on his face, Harry nods, then realises the director can't see him. "Thanks. Did Albert tell you about the suspect?"
"I'LL BE FRANK WITH YOU, SHERIFF TRUMAN, I'M NOT SURE APPLES OF ANY SORT WILL MAKE THIS INVESTIGATION EASIER."
Harry's what? dies on his lips as Gordon barrels on, unheeding. "ALBERT SAID YOU HAD A STRONG CASE AGAINST A… MR. HORNE? GOOD LUCK, HARRY. KEEP IN TOUCH."
The line goes dead. Begrudgingly, Harry sets the receiver down, knocking back the last of his coffee and rubbing at his eyes. He wishes more than anything he could just pass out for a few hours, but he's too high-strung for that. He knows Hawk is still around, at least, and some of the other officers.
And Harry… it's too much. Anything could be happening to Cooper and Leland out there. He wonders if they'll find them at all. If it just means they'll find two lifeless bodies.
He can't get that picture out of his head, so morbid, so vivid. Cooper's eyes haunt him, get him up out his chair and set him pacing again.
New chapters every Friday.