Moonlight, The Next Chapter: Darkness
Chapter 20
Next Steps
Author's note: I posted 2 versions of the end song, one of my all-time favorites - As Time Goes By - from the incredible movie, Casablanca. If you've never seen it, do yourself a favor some rainy day. Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman - talk about a star-crossed couple! Worthy of a Mick/Beth moment…
The first YouTube link is to the scene from the movie where it's sung & you get to catch a glimpse of the chemistry between the two leads. The second is also an old version, used in one of my favorite contemporary movies, Sleepless in Seattle. My husband and I watch both of them every New Year's Eve.
Intro Song: Trouble, Cage the Elephant
"How about Davis?"
"Edward, I left him a message, mentioned there was someone I wanted him to meet. He texted me that he'll call me on Monday. If he's released to return to duty this week, I can get Durand together with him at my office whenever your friend is back out here on the West Coast." Ben Talbot rubbed his tired eyes, gritting his teeth as he anticipated arguments and disappointment from his mentor. This was not how he wanted to be spending his Saturday night. He heard Edward exhale heavily into the phone, but his response surprised the ADA.
"I guess you're stuck there." Garfield snorted cynically. "It's probably good for someone to tell Christophe 'no' once in a while. God knows, it doesn't happen often. He'll just have to understand - you can't do anything that would make people question your motives or behavior. I'll back you up if need be, son."
Ben could feel himself relax. This was the man he'd come to know as a surrogate father, not the driven individual of late who couldn't - wouldn't - tolerate any mistakes, an echo of his father. Suddenly, he missed him, missed Donna. It had been too long.
As if he could read the younger man's mind, Edward added, "Look, we haven't seen you in ages. I know it's late and the weekend's half over, but why don't you throw some things in a bag and come up? We can drink good whiskey, stay up to watch the sunrise, let Donna cook us a hangover breakfast... What do you say?" His tone was warm and welcoming.
Why not? Talbot certainly had nothing to keep him here in L.A. No companionship - male or female. Nothing but the rest of the long, lonely weekend loomed ahead, broken up only by work he'd brought home with him.
"I say that sounds like a terrific idea. Don't wait up though; it'll be really late when I get there - or early, depending on how you look at it. We can do all that stuff tomorrow and I'll drive back Monday morning. I don't think the world will stop if I get to the office a little late."
"I'll leave the light on for you, as the old ad goes. I'm warning you though - if I'm still up when you get here – and I may be – I'll expect you to socialize with me."
They said their goodbyes and Ben disconnected the call, feeling much more upbeat than he had when he first picked up the phone. For at least the rest of this weekend, Durand, Davis, St. John and the whole debacle in the desert, could go to hell. Whistling, he headed off to his bedroom to pack; ten minutes later he was out the door, on his way to the closest thing he had to a family.
Carl sat down heavily on his couch, blowing on his latest cup of Joe. I'll never understand people who drink cold coffee! He'd spent the most of his Sunday morning doing research, alternating between Christophe Durand, CHOIR and Crucis. There had been precious little to find on the last topic. A private Facebook page that turned down his request to join, a few vague references on other social media sites, one obtuse article, several years old, that contained even less information than what Jamie had been willing to share, other than an odd symbol he'd never seen before that appeared to be some kind of insignia for the organization.
He'd finally switched tactics out of frustration, digging into the Auxilium organization in the hopes of finding links to Crucis information there, but didn't fare much better. He was able to confirm the existence of a clandestine organization by the name of Auxilium, along with allusions to their mission of protecting small groups of individuals targeted with hatred. Rather than the common garden variety of discrimination and bigotry, he thought cynically. Still, it aligned with what Jamie had explained to him – but hours of work hadn't given him much more to work with than he had when he walked out of her house in the pre-dawn hours of Sunday morning.
Leaning back against the soft sofa cushions, his mind went back over the previous night's events. First, the relief – and lingering guilt - he felt when he visited Mick. The injured man had looked like he was on his way back to health, a remarkable achievement, given the severity of his injuries. The image of Mick on the ground that terrible night - pale, cold, desperately clutching at the intestines spilling out from his abdomen, his eyes an eerie shade of blue as he looked up at the detective - sent a shudder through him. That's over, he told himself. He's recovering.
Really recovering. The image of Mick, springing up from the sofa when the subject of Christophe Durand and his support of ADA Talbot came up, played out in his head. How had he been able to do that? "Adrenaline?" he asked aloud to the empty room. Likely. Clearly, Dickbot was now a trigger for a certain private investigator, even while still weak from life-threatening injuries.
The detective shook his head. He'd seen all manner of injuries and gunshot wounds in his career, but he had never seen anyone recover who was that badly injured. Mick, himself, clearly thought he was dying as he struggled to get out some last words for Beth. Davis had thought that St. John was either the luckiest guy on the planet, or gifted with the world's best recuperative powers – or both. Now, with what Jamie had divulged, it all made more sense to him. Mick really did have almost superhuman abilities to heal, as it turned out.
Wonder if Beth knows. Well, he certainly wasn't going to bring it up and potentially blow Mick's cover with her. Your secret is safe with me, buddy. This knowledge still didn't keep him from feeling horrible guilt over what the grievously-injured man had gone through for him – or erase the debt he felt he owed the P.I.
And then there was Jamie Sommers.
His heart had gone out to her when she described her situation and the wreck it had made of her life. Criminals who chose their own paths got no pity from him, but those who had been victimized into ending up on the wrong side of the law had his sympathy. Jamie's story had resonated with him. Her life for several years had been akin to someone in a witness protection program, except without the comfort of the support of law enforcement.
Davis had decided then and there to make it his mission to learn more about Christophe Durand and both of his organizations – and to be sure he came face-to-face at some point with the man who had made Jamie's life hell.
The two of them had talked most of the night, pausing only to pour a drink or make coffee. At one point, she had jumped up, exclaiming, "My gran would have my head, you sitting here for hours without offering you anything to eat!" Over his protests, she had hurried into her small kitchen, bustling around for a few minutes before returning with a plate of crackers, sliced salami and a steaming crock of what turned out to be delicious crab dip.
Davis had smacked his lips appreciatively as he sampled the delicious concoction. "Okay, I stand corrected. I won't try to dissuade you from feeding me again."
"You'd better not. It doesn't work with a native Louisianan anyway," she'd teased, sitting down next to him so close that their shoulders were rubbing. Her soft curls had a sweet fragrance that had made him think of spring flowers. What was that great-smelling bush in his family's backyard? Lilacs. Her hair had smelled like lilacs. It had been all he could do to keep his hands off her.
As the night wore on, they had shared stories of their upbringings, family dynamics, college experiences, job and career choices – all the experiences that had brought them to this place and time. Carl had never had such an intimate conversation with a woman, not even his ex-wife. It felt like they were alone together in a bubble, with all the time in the world. Everything Jamie had said was interesting, or informative – or funny. He'd had no idea what a wicked sense of humor southerners could have. At least this particular tacit agreement, they had avoided any further discussion of Durand, Crucis or Auxilium.
The first streaks of daylight sneaking in around the draperies like a thief, had caught both of them by surprise. Neither of them had wanted the night to end. When Jamie turned to Carl to ask him if he wanted coffee before he left, he'd astonished both of them by reaching up to hold her face between his hands and saying, "I'd rather have you."
The kissing session that followed had been intense – and had it started a few hours earlier, might have ended in her bedroom. Wonder what Pooh would have made of that?!
As it was, Jamie had finally broken away to say primly, "I have to get ready to go to Mass, Carl. Perhaps it's time for you to leave." She'd deposited a quick peck on his lips and smiled up at him to take any sting out of her comment.
Davis had sighed, but behaved like the gentleman he had been raised to be, rising to his feet and helping her up. He brushed some crumbs from her pajamas and pushed a curl back from her face. "There, you're presentable now. Is it acceptable to go to church in your PJs?"
She'd thrown back her head, letting out her delightful, throaty laugh. "Not hardly! My gran probably turns in her grave every Sunday, knowing I don't wear white gloves to church anymore!"
"White gloves on a curly-haired little girl. I'll bet you were the most adorable congregant in your parish." Picking up her hands in his, Carl had said softly, "Jamie, you have to know that I want to see you again."
"Well, we both work with the ADA, so I'm sure that will happen," she'd retorted.
"You know what I mean. I want to take you out on a proper date, have some fun. I-," he'd paused for a moment. What are you doing, Davis? Go slowly! You don't really know much about her yet. Remember your last mistake… He'd shoved those misgivings aside to say, "I'm crazy about you. And I want to be sure you're safe."
"That first sentence is a better reason than the second one."
I don't know about that. He'd kept that counsel to himself and said only, "Okay then. I'm crazy about you and I'd love to see you outside of work. I want to really get to know you. Are you willing?"
She'd nodded, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Willing and able!"
They'd parted company with a pledge to meet for dinner that evening – or supper as Jamie had informed him it was called in the south. I need a nap, he realized abruptly. There had been no sleep last night and he wanted to be on his A-game for their meal. Closing his computer with a snap, he jumped up and headed for his bedroom, unconsciously whistling as he went.
Mick awoke in his freezer with a start. What had he just heard? Tensely, he listened for a repeat of the sound, relaxing as he recognized the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. A quick glance at his watch told him that Beth was likely working on dinner for herself. He must have really needed the freezer time for it to have taken this long to notice the sounds.
With a pang of guilt for sleeping the day away and leaving her alone, he shoved open the freezer door, sprang up and dashed for the shower. A few minutes later, he was dressed and heading down the stairs, toweling his wet hair as he went, his bare chest still damp.
"Well, hey there, sleepyhead," Beth grinned up at him as he appeared in her line of sight. God, he's gorgeous…
"I'm sorry for sleeping so late. Didn't mean for you to spend your Sunday alone."
"You're kidding me, right?"
"Noooo?" Perplexed, he cocked one eyebrow at her.
"Mick, we were up until six A.M.! And pretty lively, I might add," she said slyly. "I didn't get up myself until almost three. I seem to be adapting pretty well to vampire hours."
"You shouldn't have to," he growled, more brusquely than he'd intended.
Crossing her arms, Beth turn to face him, leading against the island she had been working at. "Let me ask you something. Do you think I'm a doormat?"
"What?!"
"Am I a doormat? Or a pushover? An obedient sex slave?"
He laughed out loud at the last question. Reaching out his arms, he drew her into his embrace. Planting a kiss on the top of her head, he responded, "Nope. Not any of them. Not even the last one – which might be kinda fun under the right circumstances…"
"I'm willing to discuss that," she retorted, grinning up at him. "My point is that I'm perfectly capable of letting you know if something isn't working out for me in this relationship – and I would. For instance, I believe I've made it clear that there can be no more having your guts blown out of your body in the name of police work."
"Yes ma'am, you have," he said solemnly.
"Well, trust me, I'm equally capable of drawing that line in other places. Sleeping late because we had a late night isn't one of them. I kinda feel like I'm back in college," she added mischievously.
"Well, far be it from me to burst that bubble then," he quipped dryly, prompting laughter from both of them.
They had been almost giddy with relief when Jamie had texted that Carl was on his way to her house – and even more so an hour later, when she reached out to Beth again.
Carl still here.
Everything's good.
You owe me big-time!
Talk soon.
Beth reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and pull his head down for a lingering kiss. "I was thinking maybe we could watch another movie later. Maybe another old one you like."
"Or we could watch the newest action flick," he teased.
"It's still early – we could probably fit in both before I have to get to bed. Compromise is the name of our game, right?"
"Compromise it is." For the thousandth time, Mick St. John thanked whatever passed for a god that had brought Beth Turner into his life. What a bleak place it had been without her… Shoving aside all thoughts of Crucis, the New York investigation, even his own personal research into vampires, he pulled out his phone.
"Let's see what we can find for tonight." Scrolling rapidly, he exclaimed, "Oh look, Casablanca! Did you know that As Time Goes By was written in 1931. And the composer's name, believe it or not, was a guy named Herman Hupfeld…"
End song: As Time Goes By, Dooley Wilson from Casablanca
watch?v=J-p6xFMGK7g
also I love this version from one of my favorite movies…
As Time Goes By, Jimmy Durante from Sleepless in Seattle
watch?v=duMUG6XwwQ0