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{\*\generator Msftedit 5.41.21.2508;}\viewkind4\uc1\pard\b\f0\fs44 parallelogram\par
\b0\fs28 a life on mars/twin peaks x-over fanfic by pink_bagels\par
(http://pink_bagels.livejournal.com)\par
\par
\fs20 Parallelogram--chapter one\par
\par
Though he has been here many times before, under far more sinister circumstances, the room has changed drastically. The usual red curtains served as walls, where they rose to an infinite ceiling, and the floor had its usual checkerboard, black and white simplicity, but these have always been the main points of this universe hovering within our own. White and black lurks beneath the poured blood of those who pass through this place. The difference, Cooper noted, was that there was no chair for his comfort, and the room was a stubborn hallway of a thicker width than the last time he had journeyed here. It felt crowded, as though it were full of people rushing through various life and death crisis, a strange sensation since the hallway was, in fact, empty. \par
\par
He could hear, at odd intervals, a rhythmic, static beeping that pulsed through the red space with the cold assurance of a heart monitor. He began to walk down the hallway, noticing that as he did so, a series of IVs stood sentry against the curtains, each one perfectly spaced out by two feet. The more he walked, the more prolific these sentries became, until the hallway was suddenly a vast, forever convergence that resulted in a myriad of these saline and thin steel pipe guards.\par
\par
Encouraged by the calm and the fact of his solitude, Cooper begins to seek answers in this sparse setting. His steps echo as he makes his way down this infinite hallway, his hands inspecting the bloated rubber faces of the IV soldiers. They are all identical, save for one, which has a Victorian stopwatch dangling from the crook of its steel arm, its silver casing ornately decorated with the etching of a rather surprised looking rabbit. He picked the watch up, its metal cold enough to numb his warm palm.\par
\par
"Tell me what time it is."\par
\par
He doesn't need to look up, because he knows the owner of that strange, backwards voice. It is her, and she is standing in front of him, her knuckles brushing his cheek in cool, yet sympathetic, understanding. He lifts his head to meet her gaze, and is instantly hit by the amount of empathy and sadness in her eyes, her head shaking at the knowledge of certain terrible trials to come. Her hair is a golden halo that cascades over the shoulders of her black dress in perfect symmetry, a small smile warming her features in a way that only a person of deep, resonating love could possibly express. He longs to do as she asks, and give her the answer she seeks, but the watch only has the long hand, and all of the numbers on its surface have disappeared.\par
\par
The sound of a heart monitor grows louder, this time accompanied by the suck and hiss of a ventilator. Cooper does his best to find the source of the noise, and he is surprised to find it is from the IV sentry that he had taken the watch from. He inspects it, searching for some other difference from the others, but finds none. When he turns back to her, she hands him a teacup, full of a steaming, pale brown liquid that can only be a good cup of orange pekoe. The cup has a childish picture drawn on it of a little girl, and a series of x's and o's. He frowns and looks up at his messenger, and sees she is holding a white teapot that has a large advertisement printed on its fat body.\par
\par
He tries to take a sip of tea, but the delicate teacup has now transformed into a mug, and it is empty. Another advertisement litters its surface in ugly hues of orange and brown. He reads the cryptic inscription, knowing its significance will show itself in due time. \par
\par
"Bob," he whispers.\par
\par
She drifts away from him at this, her body eerily out of sync, like a stop motion animation, her bones clicking as her joints twist in unnatural angles. The IVs jingle like wind-chimes as her crooked wrists brush against their metal frames. Her fingers bend backward, cracking, her thumbs snapping upwards, against her knuckles. She wants to tell him something of importance, but her jaw is twisted open, crushed to half its size.\par
\par
"I will finally end this, Laura," he promises her, surprised he can actually speak. "The fire will be put out, and Bob will be no more. I promise you, this violence will end."\par
\par
///\par
\par
The last thing Jimmy the Mook saw before crumbling to the ground was DCI Gene Hunt's fist contacting with his face. A spray of blood spewed forth from Jimmy's obviously broken nose, where it found its target against the already stained and bleak brickwork behind him.\par
\par
"That's what nonces get for resisting arrest!"\par
\par
Gene wheezed against Jimmy's only semi-conscious face, and Sam stood aloof behind him, only slightly out of breath. They had chased Jimmy a good four blocks, and though it was Gene who had finally caught up with him, it was clear the capture had been due more to adrenaline than the state of Gene's health. Granted, to be fair, Jimmy himself wasn't exactly the poster child for healthy living, as evidenced by the piles of discarded drugs he'd tossed off his person as he'd sprinted down the back streets. Jimmy sputtered back to consciousness and the first words out of his mouth were "Piss off, copper!" which pretty much sealed Jimmy's personality as that of utter idiot.\par
\par
Gene nodded at the trail of discarded drugs behind him. "Illiterate, are you?" he shouted at him. "Can't bloody well read?" Gene picked Jimmy up by the scruff of the neck and began slamming him against the public service poster that had been pasted on the worn brickwork. "Keep. Britain. Tidy. You. Needlework. Pisshat. Nonce."\par
\par
"I suppose this is all in the interest of public health," Sam said, already weary of the familiar scene. "Your method of drug prevention."\par
\par
"When it comes to counseling, I'm a bloody miracle worker." Gene gave the still struggling Jimmy a good kick in the stomach which effectively reduced all resistance to cursing whining. "Come along now, Jimmy, I'll help you write a letter to your parole officer. Dear Sir, I got meself arrested for littering, drug possession, resisting arrest and being retarded."\par
\par
Jimmy held his hand over his nose, blood seeping from between his knuckles. "You can't arrest someone for being a retard," Jimmy said to Gene.\par
\par
Gene smacked him hard on the back of the head. "That's right, Jimmy, I forgot. You're the right genius at getting caught!"\par
\par
Sam pinched his brows with his fingertips, not at all awake enough at this early hour to deal with Gene's more than brutal methodology. He'd stayed at the station until a ridiculously late hour the night before researching Jimmy's past contacts, and this morning's pursuit had been a mission to gain even more information from the source himself. Despite Gene's pounding, Jimmy was a man ripe for a deal, especially since his own parole officer was just dying to see him thrown into jail and forgotten about for a good fifteen years or more. Victory in shutting down Jimmy's suppliers was as good as cinched.\par
\par
A whistling, uniformed police officer walked by in the distance from where they were standing, and Gene whistled back harshly at him. The officer stopped, and Sam observed the policeman was a young recruit, no more than eighteen or nineteen, though his freshly scrubbed face and freckled nose gave him more the appearance of a twelve year old in costume rather than an adult.\par
\par
"DCI Hunt and DI Tyler," Sam said, flashing his badge to him. "We're with 'A' Division."\par
\par
Gene shoved a handcuffed Jimmy into the back seat of his Cortina. "Bleed on my seats and you're a dead man," he warned him. He slammed the door shut and peered over the roof of the car to the policeman standing in the middle of the street, his baton being twirled in lazy, circular movements. "Oi, moron!" Gene shouted to him, and the policeman paused and looked up. "See that, Jimmy?" Gene shouted as he slammed his palm on the roof of his car, making Jimmy flinch like a frightened bird within a rattled cage. "Your genius is infectious."\par
\par
"Sir?" the policeman said as he casually walked up to them. "Is there something I need to do?"\par
\par
"What the bloody hell is your name, soldier?" Gene asked.\par
\par
"Constable Gary, Sir," the young man replied. He gave Gene a crooked, unsure grin. "It's my first day on the job, Sir."\par
\par
"Lucky you," Sam said, feeling infinitely sorry for him.\par
\par
"Is your mother aware that you're out this early?" Gene said.\par
\par
"Erm...I believe so, Sir."\par
\par
"God almighty..."\par
\par
"We need to round up this evidence," Sam said to him, feeling sorry for the young man. He pointed to the various packets and baggies that had fallen like dandruff from Jimmy's pockets. "Use a glove...Just wait a moment and I'll get an evidence bag from the car..." He glanced over his shoulder back at Gene who was still draped over his Cortina with Jimmy in the back seat like a prized buck shot down on a hunting trip. \par
\par
"Come on Alice, get a move on!"\par
\par
"You *do* have a supply of evidence bags?" Sam asked him.\par
\par
"Of course. They're in the glove compartment right beside my Picasso painting and velvet bag of uncut diamonds."\par
\par
"For God's sake, Gene. I don't suppose it even ran through that thick skull of yours that we ought to pick up all the little reasons he'll be begging for a deal in the first place?" He shouted to the policeman who was about to pick up the drugs with his bare hands. "Use a damn glove!" \par
\par
He stormed over to the Cortina and opened the passenger side door, his hand roughly unlocking the glove compartment which, oddly enough, held a pair of Gene's leather gloves. He shoved his hands into them, ignoring Gene's cursing protests that 'those mitts cost me a good four quid!'.\par
\par
Sam crouched down and began picking up the various packets and baggies of drugs and paraphernalia, a soggy but useable paper bag that had drifted from the trash serving as the container for evidence. The trail of drugs led him to the entrance of an alleyway, the bright pink outlines of hallucinogens sparkling in the dewy morning sunlight. This particular brand was a known supplier's specialty and Sam felt a glimmer of pride at the fact that, for once, this investigation was going to go smoother than butter on toast.\par
\par
"I've already got three varieties," Sam shouted to Gene. He inspected the content of the most recent find, where dried bits of an organic brown substance shook within the package like pieces of tree bark. "Make that four with this side of 'shrooms."\par
\par
The young officer who had identified himself as 'Constable Gary' stood a few feet away from Sam, clearly at a loss as to what to do. Rather than leave the poor man at the mercy of the world's most caustic DCI, Sam waved him over. He handed him the soggy brown bag which Constable Gary took with a delicate grip. "Get this over to the station, specifically to forensics," Sam said to him. "Don't handle any of it with your bare hands, your prints on the stuff could seriously damage our investigation."\par
\par
"Oh. Got it," the young man nervously replied. He held the paper bag firmly, and nodded to the trash can Sam was still crouched near, his bobby hat nearly toppling over his wide, brown eyes. "I think you got another piece of evidence there, Sir."\par
\par
Sam gave Constable Gary a wry smile and stood up from where he had been crouching, his hands wiping away imaginary specks of dirt from his jeans. He craned his neck to see where Gary had gestured to, and caught sight of something grayish and pink beneath the scattered refuse of the spilled trash in front of it. The overturned, rusted metal trash can obscured his view, a foul stench erupting from beneath it when he tipped it upright.\par
\par
"What's that you got there, Sammy Boy?" Gene shouted to him. "Pay-dirt?"\par
\par
The foul stench wound its way upwards, polluting the already gritty touch of an early Manchester morning. Constable Gary stood still and traumatized beside him, his brown eyes huge with horror, and his skin a sickly pallor that hinted he was feeling faint.\par
\par
"It's a girl," Sam said, his voice carrying on the gravel particles that lurked in the morning mist. "She's dead. Wrapped in plastic."\par
\par
"Hold on," Gene said, incredulous. Jimmy was comfortable enough in the back seat, but even he was questioning this statement, his bloodied face peering with curiousity through the back window. In a few quick strides, Gene was at Sam's side, looking down at the peaceful death mask of a young woman. Her body had been wrapped in a clear plastic tarp, but her face was now exposed, the clear plastic surrounding her in a grey-hued halo. Her dark hair cascaded across the tattered folds of the plastic in angelic wisps.\par
\par
"How old is she, do you reckon? Sixteen? Seventeen?" Ashes from Gene's cigarette drifted down to mingle with the alleyway's debris. He shook his head at the various examples of waste, human and otherwise, that had taken over his city. "She's a bit battered up. I'd say she's a prozzie, one with a nasty pimp."\par
\par
Sam dared to lift her corpse and inspect the underside of her shoulders. "She hasn't been dead that long. Blood pooling is minimal." He gently laid her back down, so as not to disturb the scene, but there was something amiss in her general appearance that burned into Sam's consciousness, daring him to dismiss it.\par
\par
"It's strange, isn't it," he said. "Her expression. She doesn't look like she's in distress at all, if anything she looks peaceful. Relieved. It's like she just fell into a deep, blissful sleep."\par
\par
Gene flicked his cigarette against the brick wall of the alleyway, sparks showering downwards as it died. "Yeah, well, maybe all her nightmares were wakeful ones."\par
\par
The finality of this statement was for too much for the rookie officer Gary. He made a valiant effort to contain his disquiet, but his body rejected the plea and left a nasty remnant of toast and tea splattered on Sam's jeans from the knees down.\par
\par
"Congratulations," Sam shouted, furious. "You've just contaminated the scene!"\par
\par
"It's all right, son, don't give it a thought," Gene said, cheerfully slapping the pale young officer on the back. and giving him a warm grin. "You didn't contaminate *my* shoes."\par
\par
===================================================================\par
\par
Parallelogram--chapter two\par
\par
The change in his surroundings was apparent immediately, an odd pall overcoming the station that Sam could almost taste against his teeth. It had a slightly metallic, medicine flavour, a lurking expectation that crept into his being as he walked into the gloomy confines of the main office space. To simply view the area was not enough, because nothing physical within A Division had changed, not with the desks still a mess of spilt booze, case folders slipping into overflowing ashtrays, a wayward soccer ball rolling to and from beneath the space under Chris's desk. Ray himself was a prop of normalcy, his hands shuffling a deck of cards as he chewed his gum without mercy. The general hum of the place was punctuated by the sound of Ray's cards hitting the rim of a metal wastebasket a few feet from where he was throwing them at the far end of his desk. Only one of the cards lay face up in the discarded pile, the Ace of Spades peeking warily out of the mesh of the wastebasket, agreeing with Sam that all was not as it seemed.\par
\par
"Right miserable, ain't it," Chris observed. "I haven't heard of nothing like that round these parts before."\par
\par
"You got that right," Ray answered. "I couldn't even keep me breakfast down when I heard the news."\par
\par
Sam settled behind his desk with some trepidation, a worry etching its way into his consciousness that had something to do with the panic rising in his system on a solely physical level. He could feel the rush of his heart beating as though it had found a hidden cache of adrenaline, his breath catching as he tried to keep it even. All signs pointed to an anxiety attack, Sam reasoned, but he was completely at a loss as to its source.\par
\par
"What's so whiffy?" Chris complained, his nose scrunched into a tight rabbit impersonation.\par
\par
"That would be me," Sam said, and he gestured to the wet stains still evident below the knee of his dark jeans. He'd rinsed them thoroughly in the loo, but the waft of sick was still hovering around him like a miserable halo, adding a further illness to the room. "PC Gary labeled me at the scene."\par
\par
Ray began to laugh only to choke on it as a thin shadow sliced into the main office. Sam watched as the their current, extremely temporary, acting Superintendent Eisner entered their sacred space, his stooped, geriatric posture shakily going over some nearby files on Chris's desk. Eisner had taken over Woolf's position for the past week, and it was clear the old man was on his last legs before retirement or, more likely, death. There was a distinctive yeasty smell that pervaded the air around him, the kind of aroma Sam associated with moth balls and nursing homes. Sam sighed, and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Eisner putter about, his rheumy eyes seeing little of the cluttered landscape in front of him.\par
\par
"Good morning, Sir," Sam said to him.\par
\par
Eisner blinked, and opened a file, some of the smaller pages within it fluttering to the floor. "Eh?" he said.\par
\par
"Good morning," Sam said with more emphasis.\par
\par
Eisner shook his head. He hadn't heard him.\par
\par
"GOOD MORN--"\par
\par
Eisner just about jumped out of his saggy skin. "Good Lord, boy, are ye trying to kill me afore the last cheque?" He coughed, chunks of phlegm catching in his throat. "Where's DCI Hunt?"\par
\par
Without waiting for a reply, Eisner made his way into Gene's office, his long face stretched thin as he realized Gene wasn't in his usual lair and would thus need some tracking. Still, it didn't stop him from rifling through the mess of papers on Gene's desk, his arthritic hands searching aimlessly through the collected bits of junk and overflowing boxes that made Gene's professional post look like an ill used garage. He pushed a box to one side with his foot, the tell-tale clink of empty bottles within signaling that Gene had been here recently. Eisner sighed, though it was hard to tell if it was due to the obvious signs of Gene's increasing alcohol problem or the fact that there wasn't a full bottle left for Eisner to nick.\par
\par
"There was a murder of a young woman this morning," Sam explained to him as he left Gene's office. "We found her in an alley near where we snatched up Jimmy. The Guv is currently setting up the interview room, since we naturally want to ask Jimmy some questions about this girl, see if there are any connections."\par
\par
Eisner picked up a girlie mag that had been lying on the top of Ray's desk, his knobby hands leafing through the pages. "Ever been to Hawaii, Tyler?" he asked. He shook his head, not waiting for Sam to answer. "Beautiful place. Hot, not damp, palm trees swaying in the breeze, perfectly clean beaches full of fish to eat and sharks to eat the riffraff. If some useless human sewage tries to muck up paradise, they just whisk him up the volcano and toss him in for Pelee." He paused over the center spread of the skin mag, his usually pale face only slightly pinkened. "Gorgeous coconuts. You can just reach up to the tree and pick 'em right off."\par
\par
Sam shifted his eyes at Ray and Chris, who were likewise confused as to whether or not Eisner was still talking about Hawaii. "Sir, if there's something we can help you with..."\par
\par
"Got my plane ticket and I'm all packed."\par
\par
"Sir?"\par
\par
"Retirement, lads! I got me package and me pension and I'm off next Sunday. Can't count the minutes off fast enough, makes me heart pit and pat in a way that worries me chemist, but sets my blood pumping for change. Coconut oil and baby blue swim trunks and a transistor radio. It's all I'm needing, sold off the rest. They can bury me putrid, withered up old corpse beneath the stars of Honolulu." The old man's eyes seemed to actually spark with a kind of half life, only to dull once again when they looked on the trio staring at him. "Speaking of the Americas, as Chris and Ray have no doubt informed you, Sam, you boys will be welcoming a guest by tomorrow morning. A 'Special Agent' they called him, so mind your manners and dot your 'i's." He raised a thin eyebrow at Sam and tossed the girlie mag in his hand onto Sam's desk. "He's coming in from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Seems this girl's death has some unhealthy commonalities with some business on the shores of the New World. Don't worry about a thing, lads, I have no hope whatsoever of going out in a blaze of glory and getting patted on the back with a key to London to pack in me suitcase. I just wants to get to the beach before I drop dead, and to do that I have to make it out of the airport on Sunday. So be nice lads, and show the kind Special Agent all your files and happily hand him over the case, because I'll be damned if I want to hear one ugly word about any of it. Give him the key to the city and let him off into the sunset, got it?"\par
\par
Eisner left them alone with these words, and it was Ray who let out out a whistle of shock. "Great, we got the cowboys and indians rolling in here, taking over our cases and making a mess. Bloody foreigners, they ain't got nothing on us, what makes them think they can do better?"\par
\par
"Ray," Sam said, doing his best to refrain from being patronising. "The FBI is known internationally as a powerhouse of investigative might. The FBI spearheaded modern policing methods, we could learn a lot from them. I say we give their officer every courtesy."\par
\par
"Bugger that," Ray said, and he tossed a card at his wastepaper basket, missing it by a foot. "I say we just hand him the lot and leave him alone with it, like Eisner says we ought to. I ain't doing no Yank's job if I don't have to, one less case for us if you ask me."\par
\par
"It doesn't work that way, we have to find commonalities in our investigations, which means we have to exchange information. He's an extra hand on the case, possibly a big one, yes, but he's not going it alone."\par
\par
Ray angrily tossed a card at his wastebasket and missed it by a mere fraction of an inch. He cursed loudly over his misfortune.\par
\par
"How do you think the Guv's going to take this? The Cavalry coming in and taking over all?" Chris was slumped in his seat behind his desk, his fingers nervously drumming against each other as an uneasy quiet settled into the room.\par
\par
"There's going to be a right row," Chris gloomily predicted.\par
\par
"Slippery old bastard," Ray muttered. "That Eisner, do you see what he's done? He made sure Gene wasn't here so it was up to *us* to leave him the rotten news. Can't trust a Kraut, that's for sure."\par
\par
"Eisner's not German," Chris said, confused at the racial slur. "He's from Glasgow."\par
\par
"Close enough," Ray shrugged, which only further complicated Sam's understanding of his prejudices. "Don't know why you're up on your high horse about these Yanks anyway. Everyone knows we was the ones who invented forensics. Scotland Yard got it all together after that Jack the Ripper muck up."\par
\par
"Yeah, right, it's how they caught him!" Chris said, suddenly optimistic.\par
\par
Ray gave Chris a disgusted glare. "What are you on about? They never caught Old Jack!"\par
\par
"But you just said..."\par
\par
"I *said* they invented forensics back then, in order to catch him."\par
\par
"Yeah, but...It didn't work, they never got him."\par
\par
"Well how the bloody well could they when he was Queen Victoria's bloody doctor?"\par
\par
"The Royal's medicine man done it?"\par
\par
Sam pressed his thumbs deep against the side of his forehead, doing his best to shut the twin inanity of Chris and Ray out. He wanted to believe they could help this unknown officer who was traveling over a massive ocean in the hopes of tracking down a killer, an officer who clearly was passionate enough about keeping his home safe from harm that he was willing to throw himself at the mercy of the best that 'A' Division had to offer--which was Tweedledum and Tweedledee arguing over Victorian serial killers and completely mangling its history.\par
\par
"It wasn't Queen Victoria's doctor that did it," Sam said, irritated with himself for joining in on the madness.\par
\par
"Oh? You got all the answers then, do you?" Ray snapped at him. "Go on then, who was it?"\par
\par
Sam was quiet a long moment, his thumbs circling away the headache that had grown and gained substance between his temples. Research in the nineties had confirmed it...the answer had been there all along, in old newspaper clippings and offshore journalism. Some man whose name escaped Sam, a madman who hated women and had been accused of murdering two of his wives in succession. Sam frowned, the headache growing into a sickening migraine.\par
\par
"He was an American," Sam said.\par
\par
///\par
\par
DCI Gene Hunt's face was redder than the shade in the Union Jack flag hanging off a hook in the filing/interview room. "I don't care what those bloody bastards think they're doing, this is my kingdom, my city, and what happens here belongs to *me*! I'm not surrendering squat!"\par
\par
Sam rolled his eyes and tried to inject the smallest glimmer of reason onto the situation. "We're not at war with the FBI , Gene, they are coming here to assist with the case."\par
\par
"It's a bloody siege!" Gene shouted.\par
\par
"FBI. Weirds me out just thinking on 'em. They wear black and white suits. They can kill a man just by taking off their sunglasses. It's a fact, I once knew this bloke who..."\par
\par
A rather battered Jimmy trailed off as he took in the incredulous glares both Sam and Gene were giving him. He shrank a little further in his seat, which gave his usual weasel appearance a more rodent composure.\par
\par
"I don't recall asking your opinion," Gene spat at him. "And since you're so willing to talk now, perhaps you ought to spill what you know before the men with the death Ray-Bans walk in here and finish you off with a bat of an eyelash."\par
\par
"I keep telling you, I never seen her before." \par
\par
"American prisons are very clean, I hear," Gene said to him, darkly. "Has something to do with what happens when you bend over to pick up a bar of soap."\par
\par
"I can't tell you what I don't know!"\par
\par
"Jimmy, there is a black hole of ignorance formed in the universe thanks to that sentence. Try filling a bit of it in with something like this: 'Yeah, I sold that bird some of me stash, but she stiffed me two quid and took off running with twice what I meant to sell her. So I caught up with her, roughed her up a bit too much, and tra la la, she's dead in an alley.'"\par
\par
"I never sold her nothing!" Jimmy pressed his hand against his nose, testing how sore it still felt with his palm. "Look, if you really need to know about that area, you should ask Tom Gordon."\par
\par
"Oh? And who the hell is this Tom?"\par
\par
"Tom Gordon. You have to use his full name or he gets upset, he'll cuss you out and make a grab for you. He's an old bum who harassed me the few times I tried to sell around there, so I took that area off my vendor list."\par
\par
Gene pursed his lips in thought at this. "Hmph. Should give the old soak a medal."\par
\par
"I wouldn't be that keen," Jimmy warned Gene. "He lives in that alley where you found the girl, and he's right possessive of his space. Which was made this morning so weird, like. He weren't there, and he's *always* around, he's like the brickwork."\par
\par
Gene's fist hit the table with a resounding sonic boom that simultaneously made Sam and Jimmy flinch in response.\par
\par
"You're going to do a Jackie Chan on that table one of these days and break it in half," Sam muttered.\par
\par
"You can't beat the strength of formica," Gene said, and he violently punched the table again. He turned his attention back to Jimmy. "So, the Invisible Man did it? Quite convenient, that."\par
\par
"I'm telling the truth."\par
\par
"Amazing, Jimmy, how creative your lies keep getting. That last one, like I said before, pure stupid genius."\par
\par
"Guv," Sam interrupted. "A word."\par
\par
He led Gene behind a stack of files, out of the sight and hearing of Jimmy. Sam chewed the inside of his mouth, trying to figure out how best to say what needed saying, and decided the best course was to just spit it out. "It's insanity what you're doing. You can't make Jimmy the murderer in time for the FBI to show up because the facts state he didn't kill that girl. The time of death was early morning, right around the time we gave him an airtight alibi while we were chasing him over half of Manchester's back streets."\par
\par
"Yeah, well, our man overseas doesn't need to hear about that, does he? We'll lock up Jimmy and remember where he was just in time for the plane to leave our shores and take that bastard meddler off to where he belongs. None the wiser and no harm done."\par
\par
"No harm done? Gene, you're talking about impeding an international investigation!" \par
\par
"I'm protecting our own," Gene said, furious. "The last thing we need is to start letting in strangers when we got no clue of how they do things, how they figure we're off and wrong or how useless they are. He's going to slow us down, and while he's busy filling in files and making long distance phone calls on our taxpaying tabs, a bloody murderer is going to go free and easy to another shore, one what doesn't have the likes of a bastard like *me* to bring him down!"\par
\par
Sam shook his head at Gene, disgusted. "'Pride goeth before the fall,'" he said. "This is going nowhere, fast. I don't care if he's from the darkest realms of Hell, our 'guest' is a respected officer of the law and I intend to treat him like one--Not like an invading army, but an ally in a war that we are both waging against the same enemy."\par
\par
"They still hang traitors," Gene said as he glared down his nose at Sam.\par
\par
"Look, at the very least you have to realize that if we keep him close to the investigation, we have a better chance of keeping him on the same page as us." Sam could see he was chiseling at some of Gene's resolve with this, and he latched onto it. "He gives us what he knows, and we give him what we know, and we take a killer out of the world altogether."\par
\par
"Just so long as he doesn't fart without one of us knowing about it," Gene said. He nodded in the direction of where their prisoner was waiting for them. "He don't get to interview Jimmy, consider that door closed."\par
\par
"Fair enough," Sam said.\par
\par
With a sign from Gene, two uniformed policemen took Jimmy off to his cell, the battered drug dealer oddly small between them as he was carted off, his hand held delicately over his scabbed nose. Gene stormed ahead of Sam into the main office space, his eyes quickly taking in the forms of Ray and Chris, the scattered cards lying in front of Ray's wastepaper basket and Chris's startled, deer-in-the-headlights expression. Sam slipped in behind Gene, where he paused at the sight of a tall, slim man in a perfectly pressed black suit, He had an angular, but boyish face, his black hair slicked back from his forehead in a formal crew cut. He had the appearance of a man who was accustomed to perfection and who instead of finding fault with all around him had a profound sense of peace with this universal flawlessness he had put himself in the centre of. \par
\par
Gene's hands were deep in the pockets of his camel coat as he regarded this stranger, and he clearly bristled at the crisp appearance of health and intelligent youth before him. "Seems you've lost your way. The morgue's a floor down. I don't know how it is with you lot, always getting the wrong directions. Had to chase one your fellows out of the brig last week. I'm starting to think that funeral home of yours needs a bloody map of the building."\par
\par
"Erm..Guv..." Chris began, only to have his voice wither as Gene looked on him.\par
\par
"He's not the undertaker," Sam said, embarrassed. \par
\par
The young man held out his hand to Gene, his face lit up from within as he gave him a warm, sincere, downright beautific, grin. "Special Agent Dale Cooper, Federal Bureau of Investigation," he said. \par
\par
"Oh," Gene said. He blinked slightly as he regarded the hand held out to him in camaraderie. "In that case...Fuck off."\par
\par
Gene stormed into his office, the door slamming behind him so violently the walls holding it up nearly split. Sam sank his face into his hands, his palms smoothing across his cheeks in a vain effort to wipe away his utter mortification.\par
\par
"Welcome to 'A' Division," Sam quietly said.\par
\par
==================================================================\par
\par
Parallelogram--chapter three\par
\par
'A' Division was silent. Chris cleared his throat and the sound echoed through the grey space around them, making their mutual discomfort a physical presence in the gloom laden space. Agent Cooper, for his part, was completely unperturbed by Gene Hunt's curse of a greeting, and he smiled amicably at Chris and Ray, his hand extended to them both in innocent greeting. Ray hesitated, clearly wondering if he was to follow the Guv's example and be a pigheaded prick, but he decided against this at the last minute and gave Agent Cooper's hand a decidedly limp grip before letting his hand fall to his side, his palm embarrassed by the seeming mutiny.\par
\par
"You can learn a lot about a man by his handshake," Cooper cheerfully informed Ray. "For instance, your name is Ray Carling."\par
\par
Ray raised a brow. "That's right," he said. He gave his gum a snap. "That's me name, don't wear it out."\par
\par
"You once had a relationship with a woman who was fond of macram\'e9 and despite your slovenly exterior you hold a deep respect for gourmet cooking and have even gone so far as to apply at the Cordon Bleu cooking school in France as an alternative career choice as a master chef. However, your unfounded prejudices against the French culture have prevented you from fulfilling your lifelong dreams, and thus you have opted for a similar job. In many ways, law enforcement has similar requirements to the high stress machinations of an excellent five star kitchen. You are now the sergeant of this department, and are apparently happy with this position since you have abandoned your other dreams. Still, I would give you this piece of perhaps un-called for and unwelcome advice--Ray, a woman who knows how to tie complicated knots is never to be trusted."\par
\par
Ray gulped at this outburst, a distinctive pallor evident to his skin over having been so intimately exposed in front of his peers--In front of Chris and Sam, no less.\par
\par
"Is all that true?" Chris asked him, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open and his little mind no doubt remembering the entire vole-et-vents discussion not two weeks ago and seeing it in an entirely fresh and disconcerting light.\par
\par
"Bloody Americans," is all Ray would mumble. He turned his back on the trio and sat at his desk, all hope of interacting with him further over.\par
\par
Cooper turned his attentions on Chris, his hand held out to the young, naive officer. "Salutations," Cooper said, and Chris eyed the hand extended to him as if it held the black plague. He shrank from Cooper's hand and his scrutiny, his back firm against the main door leading into the office area. \par
\par
"I...I got to go. Lunch hour." He slid through the door with snake-like grace and his shadow could be seen on the corrugated plastic windows as he made a mad dash towards the vicinity of the canteen. Cooper frowned at this, though the grin he'd worn since he'd come into their presence was still firmly in place. He turned his attention on Sam, his already extended hand daring Sam to meet his. Sam held both his hands up, like a man with a gun pointed to him.\par
\par
"Believe me, you don't want to know my innermost secrets," Sam said.\par
\par
Cooper let his hand fall. "Perhaps you're right. I do tend to come on a little strong in these situations, and I'm a little out of practice with the social niceties expected, especially those on foreign shores. I suppose it would be best if I get right to the point--I believe, DI Sam Tyler, that you have a killer among you."\par
\par
Sam raised a brow. "I suppose the body waiting in the morgue right now was a bit of a clue," he said, evenly.\par
\par
"I need to talk to your DCI," Cooper said, remaining stubbornly cryptic.\par
\par
"Obviously, that's going to be a bit of a problem," Sam said, gesturing to the firmly shut door of Gene Hunt's office. Cooper waved this issue away as if it were fat bluebottle in its last hour of life.\par
\par
"Meet me in the morgue," he said to Sam. "You and the rest of your team. Oh, and bring a tape recording device. I may need to keep it for an extended period of time, but it will be returned to you when I am finished with it."\par
\par
Sam shrugged and gave him the bulky, portable tape recorder he kept on his desk. Cooper turned it over in his hands, assessing its value as if it were fine china with a discernible crack down its surface. "It's primitive, but it will serve the purpose," Cooper said. He pressed 'record' and 'play' at the same time, and immediately began speaking into it with clear, precise diction:\par
\par
"Diane, I would like it to be noted that I am holding in my hands one PrinzSound TR8 tape recording device which, though primitive, shall serve me well as a component in this ongoing investigation. I have borrowed said machine from 'A' Division, an investigative branch of law enforcement in Manchester, England. The year is 1973, the month is May. This machine shall be returned to this aforementioned department on completion of my duties here, specifically to one Detective Inspector Sam Tyler. May I take this opportunity to say, Diane, that the unexpected turn this assignment has taken has brought me to a place that is the purest anathema to all that I hold sacred and dear. While the air of that idyll known as Twin Peaks had been fresh and clean upon my first arriving, with the scent of Douglas firs filling and cleansing my lungs, I have now found myself in a place of tar and oil fumes, a vile black pollution seeping into the very pores of my skin. Though I have never found the need to disease my body with the addictive properties of nicotine, I feel that every breath I take here is much like sucking on a string of Camel Lights only without the film noir glamour. Remind me, Diane, to inquire about that naturopath that Hawk recommended who lives just outside the border of Twin Peaks. I believe I will be needing some serious detoxification in order to maintain my good health upon my return. I already miss those fantastic firs. Cooper out."\par
\par
He pressed 'stop' on the tape recorder, a stunned silence emanating from Sam. He couldn't help but give the agent a hooded glare. Cooper, however, completely misread the enmity in Sam's posture, and he playfully punched Sam in the shoulder. \par
\par
"Have DCI Hunt and the rest of your crew meet me in the morgue in half an hour. I'd prefer it be immediately, but I have been warned that in order to ensure I have a place to sleep tonight I must call up a number of bed and breakfasts in the area in the hopes of a reasonable rate and comfortable setting. One must never cheat oneself out of a good night's sleep. Also, there is the matter of what time of day it is. As I see by my watch, it is exactly ten minutes after noon and I'm so hungry I could eat an entire pie and thirsty enough to drink a litre of coffee. Above all things, I simply must have that cup of joe. Is there a place you recommend for good food and conversation that is in close proximity?"\par
\par
"That would be the canteen, I gather," Sam said, unsure. "It's just down the corridor, to the left."\par
\par
"Perfect." Cooper held up his fist and gave Sam a thumbs-up sign. "No need to tell me where the morgue is. I already know." He sighed, oddly happy, and walked out the main door of the office, his posture straight, his body seemingly made of nothing but perfect right angles. "I could just die for a cup of coffee," he repeated.\par
\par
"I could murder one myself," Sam murmured as Cooper left.\par
\par
///\par
\par
"I'm not working with him."\par
\par
"At the risk of repeating myself, you don't have a choice."\par
\par
"I make my own choices," Gene said with finality. He tugged a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, the thankful smoke hovering around his head. "Jimmy's gone and lawyered up. His rat bastard social worker has decided to say he's a schizoid nutter and needs hospitalisation rather than time in the gulag. I say he needs a good kick in the arse, and maybe a knock or two against the old cranium to give him some proper sense, but I ain't the one drawing up papers saying he's unfit for proper punishment like the rest of his bastard mates."\par
\par
"Speaking of making sense," Sam reiterated, "we're expected in the morgue."\par
\par
"Funny thing, expectations. They never quite live up to the reality of things, do they?"\par
\par
Sam sighed through his teeth, his fists clenching and unclenching. "You're being a stubborn ass. I thought we had ironed all of this out not half an hour ago?"\par
\par
"That was afore I got a good look at him and got the distinct, uneasy feeling that he was here to start digging out me grave. I'd say he's probably got a head start somewhere, and he's just waiting for his moment to lure me to the graveyard and kick me in."\par
\par
"What are you on about?"\par
\par
"He gave me a bloody creepfest, that's what I'm saying. My gut says he's bad news all around, and I'm not standing for having him in my kingdom, lopping off heads!"\par
\par
An uneasy cough echoed into the confines of 'A' Division, and both Sam and Gene turned to see the gangly form of acting Superintendent Eisner glaring down at them. His cloudy eyes were somewhat focused on Gene, though it was difficult to tell if he was trying to place Sam into that same, cataract view. "Gentlemen," he said. "I have heard a very disturbing rumour. Apparently, 'A' Division is giving our guest from the New World a difficult time." He walked closer, his bones creaking in their joints, his gait unsteady. He placed a gnarled hand on the edge of a desk for balance, and his sour breath eked its way through the air to hover nastily in front of Gene and Sam. "I may be retiring on Saturday, but I do remind you both that I am the acting 'Super in the meantime. So, it's quite logical for me to rip you both a new one and demote you to meter maids if you don't get off your asses right now and start improving international relations. Get in the morgue, now, before both of your careers are put there."\par
\par
He left as slowly and shakily as he had arrived, an arthritic powerhouse that held all the political might of Stalin. Gene was miserable, but at least he was putting on his coat.\par
\par
"I blame you for everything," he said to Sam as they left. "You and your 'co-operation' crap. This case is going to sneak off into that agent's pocket and we'll never get a chance to take a killer off the streets. He'll be in Turkey by tomorrow morning, I wager. He'll kill his way across Europe before disappearing into the Africas. We'll never find him then."\par
\par
"How can you be so sure of that?" Sam said, rolling his eyes at Gene's apparent ignorance.\par
\par
"Because," Gene growled. "It's happened before."\par
\par
///\par
\par
The overhead light flickered above the body, sending blue shadows across bone white skin. Despite her obvious death, the girl seemed animated beneath the flashes of light, her fingers flexing after each shuttered view, her chest rising and falling. It was an unsettling vision, and Sam tapped at the overhead light, doing his best to stop the malfunction.\par
\par
"I wouldn't bother," Agent Cooper crisply said. "The lights haven't worked properly since the girl arrived here according to the coroner. He says it's an electrical short."\par
\par
Through the irritating flashes of light, Gene stared at Agent Cooper, his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his gaze looking long down his nose at the clean cut young man opposite the gurney in front of him. "Since our coroner has already given this unfortunate creature a good once over, pardon me if I find this whole exercise a tad repetitive. If there's anything to find, he would have already found it. She was strangled to death and tossed in an alley--Quite amazing, our powers of deduction around here. You'd best be careful, Yankee Doodle. Your lack of faith is showing."\par
\par
"My name is Dale Cooper. Agent Dale Cooper, if you would be so kind as to appreciate my designation. While I understand that you may feel hostile towards my efforts in this case due to some territorial issues about your office, I assure you that my mission here is entirely one of a co-operative nature."\par
\par
"He's using that word," Gene spat at Sam.\par
\par
"I understand that I may have inadvertently breached some form of etiquette, and for this you have my sincerest apologies. Now, perhaps we could start anew." Cooper held out his hand to Gene. "Agent Dale Cooper, pleased to meet you."\par
\par
Sam nudged Gene with his shoulder. "Now you say: DCI Gene Hunt, nice to meet *you*."\par
\par
"I wouldn't shake his hand if I was you, boss," Ray warned.\par
\par
"I don't bloody well shake hands with anyone," Gene growled. "That's for nancy boys like Sammy here, and politicians. I don't know if you've gathered it, but I'm neither."\par
\par
"I had an inkling," Cooper said. He nodded briskly to Chris, who had the tape recorder balanced unevenly in his hands. On Cooper's signal he pressed 'record' and 'play' at the same time. Cooper's voice filled the examining room, its echo and the strange lighting seeming to make the room much larger than it was.\par
\par
"Diane, I am now in the morgue of 'A' Division, where upon the cold, steel slab in front of me lays the body of a young woman in her late teens. Her hair is free of the usual chemicals found in hair-care products, her make-up minimal and though she is slim she is a healthy weight for her age. Though it may be true, as DCI Gene Hunt and DI Sam Tyler have asserted in their reports, she may be a young sex worker, but it is also evident that this unfortunate young woman retains that distinctive aura of urban suburbia about her like a second skin. I shall go further and say with increased confidence that she was still attending school, as evidenced by the piece of blank foolscap found in a nearby purse which may or may not be hers. Save for this one item, the purse had been emptied. Thus, the problem currently presented to us is twofold: Who killed her, and what is her name?"\par
\par
"Bloody brilliant deduction, that. Gold stars all around for you. Mind you, the facts would be easier to gather if you knew how to read. The report said the purse was nearby, and it's possible it's hers, not a given. As for the foolscap, it's probably just something tossed in from the trash what got stuck in the plastic the bastard murderer used to wrap her up in."\par
\par
"All the more reason to pay attention to it," Cooper said, smiling widely. "The paper could be associated with the killer. But I was sure when I read the report that the blank sheet came out of her purse." Cooper took the suitcase that lay on the floor beside a chair onto its surface and quickly opened it up. Files were neatly arranged within it, along with a pen and pencil stuck into strategically placed leather loops. He took out a photocopy of a haphazard sheet of scribbling, and squinted in the near darkness over it. "It says here: 'Girls perse on her in the allie and they have plastic wrap up gerbige and lots of tape'" Cooper shook his head. "I had a hard time making out who wrote this, but whoever they are some remedial grammar lessons may be in order. They are clearly functionally illiterate."\par
\par
"I wrote that report," Gene said. He snatched the paper from Cooper's hands and read it over. "It says here clear as the eyes on my face: 'We found her in the alley, the purse was near her and she was wrapped up tight in plastic with tape. Bloody obvious!" Gene tossed the photocopy back at Cooper. "If you want a novel, go to the bloody library! I'm here to bring to justice monsters and murderers and my words aren't paid by the penny like bloody Charles Dickens!" He leaned close to Cooper's tape recorder. "Did you get all that, 'Diane'? Maybe your boyfriend here could use some Cliff Notes on policing. It seems he think he's Shakespeare instead of a proper copper!"\par
\par
"Diane is my secretary," Cooper said, clearly annoyed.\par
\par
"Must be nice," Gene said, his lips pursed. "I wouldn't have given a thought to the Federal Bureau of Investigation giving their officers a bird or two to keep them happy on and off the road. Quite sordid for my taste, but then they do things different on your shores. The way it's all set up, it's like an arranged marriage, but with typing."\par
\par
Cooper frowned at this. "Are you implying that Diane is some sort of consort?"\par
\par
"Draw your own conclusions."\par
\par
"Forgive me for saying so, DCI Hunt, but you are truly one of the most repulsive people I have ever met in my life. Diane, I am terribly sorry you have been pulled into this conversation, and I am taking you out of it, effective immediately."\par
\par
"Never you mind, Diane, we've all figured how often it is you change his sheets." \par
\par
Ray sniggered in the background, creating a severe level of tension in the already unsettling aura of the examining room. Cooper's fists were now clenching and unclenching, his jaw set firm as he glared at Gene, who himself was not backing down from his aggressive stance. It was like watching two cats about to spring at each other, Sam thought. Frozen postures of fury just waiting for the other to move to justify the strike.\par
\par
"Give over," Sam snapped at them. "There's a corpse between you, for God's sake."\par
\par
Both Gene and Cooper seemed to blink in the flashing light, their fury softening as they took in the task at hand. A mutual silence had now brewed between them was broken at intervals by the snap of Ray chomping on his gum. Cooper sighed, and collected himself, his voice even as he spoke once again into Diane's future:\par
\par
"Diane, I am sure you are astute enough to have already discerned the parallels that this case possesses. I only hope that the heinous crimes which both ruined my life and saved it will not be repeated on the scale with which it took hold of Twin Peaks." He reached into his jacket pocket, and took out something metallic that glinted in the bluish light. "I am now holding in my right hand a set of tweezers and if I am correct, and unfortunately, I am aware that I am, we shall have far, far more important issues at hand than proper grammar and crude inferences of our character."\par
\par
Cooper crouched down onto one knee and took the young girl's hand in his, looking for all purposes as though he were about to ask her to marry him, and slip a ring on her finger. The intensity he exuded created a further uncomfortable pall upon the setting, and Sam shifted where he stood, an uncertainty growing within him. With precise, unflinching confidence, Agent Cooper plunged the tweezers deep beneath the fingernail of the dead girl, an action that sent a wave of disgust through the room and put even Sam's teeth on edge.\par
\par
Their disgust was immediately interrupted by the sound of clipped heels echoing into the gloom, and a sudden shaft of light burst in along with Annie, who shyly entered the macabre scene, her hands smoothing down the front of her skirt. "Sorry I'm late. That new copper was right distraught, I don't think he's ever seen a corpse before, let alone a murder victim. He's right devastated over her being a young girl and all. He was in hysterics in the canteen--Took me, Phyllis and a group of girls behind the counter to get him calmed down."\par
\par
"And here I thought you was curling your hair. Might as well have been for all the good we've learned here. Agent Cooper here has been kind enough to start mutilating a corpse while giving his girlfriend a play by play. Fascinating stuff, right up there with sodom and Gomorra."\par
\par
"He's just doing his job," Sam said.\par
\par
"Over here we calls it 'disgracing a dead body'."\par
\par
"As I keep saying, the FBI has some of the most brilliant minds in investigation. Just because you don't understand what he's doing doesn't mean it isn't valid."\par
\par
"Oh it figures Sammy Boy here is a poster child for the 'I Love the Yank' campaign. Look at him, all pressed and tidy and not a spot of muck on him even though he's digging into that poor girl's body like he's planting tulips. Wound up tighter than an alarm clock, if he ever had to take a crap he'd smash the toilet. He uses a damned tape recorder, too, he's your long lost brother, he is. You're both from the same planet, Sam. Uranus." \par
\par
Either ignoring Gene's outburst or concentrating to the point of deafness, it was impossible to tell for sure, Cooper suddenly grinned and held the tweezers close to his eyes for further, intense scrutiny. \par
\par
"Et Voila," he said.\par
\par
"Right, that's it!" Gene exclaimed.\par
\par
A fist caught Cooper square in the face. A trickle of blood seeped out the corner of Cooper's mouth, which he tested with his fingertips, the droplets smearing the underside of his thumb. He looked up at Gene, utterly shocked.\par
\par
"Oh my God!" Annie exclaimed. She embraced Cooper's shoulders and took a hanky out of her pocket which she used to dab at the blood at the corner of his mouth. "Are you all right?"\par
\par
"What the bloody hell?" Sam shouted.\par
\par
Testing his jaw and finding it wasn't broken, Cooper resumed talking into the tape recorder. "Diane, it is..." He checked his watch. "1:07 pm. DCI Hunt has just punched me in the face." He hit the 'stop' button on the tape recorder and turned to the stunned group standing in front of him. "Perhaps we should adjourn for a small break, and continue this venture in an hour's time."\par
\par
"I can't believe this, you hit him!" Sam shouted at Gene.\par
\par
"He spoke French, what did you expect me to do? This ain't fairyland, no frogs allowed!"\par
\par
"What kind of idiot are you??"\par
\par
The question went unanswered, for Annie had picked up the tweezers that Cooper had dropped and handed them back to him. "These are yours," she said, a look of disgust evident on her otherwise pretty face. The nail of the young girl was now bent backwards, exposing the skin beneath. Annie let out a visible, involuntary shudder.\par
\par
"Thank you, um...?"\par
\par
"Annie. WDC Annie Cartwright."\par
\par
"Annie," Cooper repeated, and gave her a winning and only slightly blood-tinged grin. He reached over and hit 'play' and 'record' on the tape recorder and spoke into it once again. "Hold on, Diane. My tweezers have just been handed to me by one Annie Cartwright. I'm sorry, I should say 'WDI' Annie Cartwright, as she is one of the investigative officers in 'A' Division."\par
\par
Annie actually blushed at this, a fact that irked Sam, though he couldn't quite figure out why. "You've just made me a higher rank than Ray," she said to Cooper, her face a furiously happy shade of red.\par
\par
"Within the grasp of these tweezers is the answer to this current puzzle. As it was with Theresa Banks and Laura Palmer, so too with this unfortunate young woman." He turned his attention back to Annie. "If you would be so kind, WDI--I'm sorry, I guess it is WDC Cartwright--as to hand me that magnifying apparatus that is laying on the counter to your right."\par
\par
"Thinks he's Sherlock Holmes, now," Gene muttered.\par
\par
"I wouldn't say a bloody word if I were you," Sam warned him. "You're about to get tossed out of here for that crack you gave him. I hope it was worth it."\par
\par
"This is my Division, no one throws me out," Gene said, though his voice did hold the barest waver of uncertainty.\par
\par
Cooper held the tweezers beneath the magnifying glass and, to everyone's shock, he bid Gene to take a look within it. Reluctant, Gene cast a glance within, only to frown in understanding.\par
\par
"It's the letter 'E'," he said.\par
\par
"To match the letters 'R', 'B' and 'T'--All of which have been found on three other women. The name it will eventually spell is 'Robert', the killer's name, an act which, in his own words, was simply a matter of casual game-playing, a whim. This is evidenced not only in his own words, but in how he prefers to be addressed. \par
\par
This is the clearly the work of Bob."\par
\par
"Bob," Sam said, testing the name on his tongue. It felt odd, the way it sat, a bitter irony against the blandness of the name. Bob, the serial killer. He seemed comical, in that context, almost like a clown.\par
\par
Sam shuddered.\par
\par
Blood lay smeared on Annie's handkerchief, which had been forgotten on the slab, the dead girl's hand seeming to take it in her grasp beneath the flashing, animating light. The door opened, sending the room into a thankfully steadier glow. Gene Hunt was in its frame, his bottom lip stern as he looked down on his crew, a crew that miraculously now included Agent Cooper.\par
\par
"Good job," Gene shockingly acknowledged. His eyes were steel as he glared at Cooper. "Now let's find this bastard Bob and rip his head off."\par
\par
============================================================\par
\par
Parallelogram--chapter four\par
\par
It was always beer o'clock at The Railway Arms, a fact that went over well with its mostly law enforcement patrons. The afternoon had progressed with the long, lazy arm of the law wrapping itself around various pints and bitters, the low grumbling that began around three p.m. now turning into a raucous row in the darkness of nine o'clock in the evening. From his rather precarious stance at his perch on the barstool, it was clear to Sam that Agent Cooper was having difficulty with the cultural phenomenon known to 'A' Division as the 'afternoon piss-up'. Cooper's request for coffee upon his arrival quite a few hours previous had been met with a blank, incomprehensible stare from Nelson who acted as though the agent had just pulled a gun on him. Sam set him to rights and told Nelson to just give Cooper a pint of bitter and ignore the rest.\par
\par
The request for a tall, cold glass of milk at seven o'clock earned him a good crack on the back of the head from Gene who had, unfortunately, overheard him. "What the hell do you think you are? Donny bloody Osmond?"\par
\par
"Don't pay him any mind," Sam assured Cooper, who reluctantly took yet another bitter into his grip. "Consider his concern for your drinking habits a sign that he's somehow found a way to warm up to you."\par
\par
"I'd be flattered if I wasn't currently feeling the debilitating effects alcohol has upon my person. Sam, I am going to admit this to you, and I am telling you this in the strictest confidence. Hell is a place that doesn't serve coffee."\par
\par
"Fair enough," Sam said, and downed his third pint. He waved at Nelson to hand him another and was thankful when the barman obliged. Conversations with Agent Cooper had already become a mixture of abject confusion and lingering unease. The bitter only took some of the edge off of what the Agent had to say, but only barely.\par
\par
"Do you think I came on too strong this afternoon?" Cooper asked him, genuinely worried. "Instincts tell me I may have been unwise in being so candid about my methods and purpose here."\par
\par
"Just doing your job," Sam mumbled, but he had far less confidence in that statement than he had earlier. He sighed over his bitter and eyed the clock above Nelson's collection of booze with something akin to longing. "It's just...Well, you should have figured out right off that you weren't dealing with philosophy buffs. To this lot, the meaning of life is a good shag once in a while and dulling the senses of the rest of it with liquor." Sam eyed Ray who woozily held a dart in his hand, and waved it vaguely towards the target. "Seems to work for most."\par
\par
Cooper unhappily pondered over his bitter. "Unfortunately, that is not enough for me."\par
\par
"Dreams," Sam said, raising his brow in pretended understanding.\par
\par
"Dreams," Cooper repeated, far more introspectively.\par
\par
///\par
The Railway Arms--earlier that day, circa 2:00 p.m.\par
\par
Cooper had decided that it was imperative that the entire crew have a meeting, a fact that Gene actually agreed with. The flying punch that had left a small mark on Cooper's otherwise flawless cheek had been forgiven in the name of 'understandable consequences of stress' and 'over-evolved expectations of said stress management'--Phrases which Sam understood to be suggestions that Gene find a way to properly manage his anger and resulting ill mental health, but which Gene interpreted as 'That fairy ass Agent Blunder being a right forgiving pansy moron'. So, in this apparent, uneasy truce that had miraculously grown between them, a meeting of minds had been arranged.\par
\par
Agent Cooper did not, however, expect to have this meeting in a local pub with most of those involved in the investigation quickly drinking themselves through the remainder of the afternoon while he blindly tried to reiterate the importance of working together. His top priority, in his words was to bring Bob to justice and in order to do this, Cooper had expressed that he possessed a specific method of investigation which had proven effective in the past. This technique had worked especially in regards to the case that had brought him to his fateful utopia known only as Twin Peaks.\par
\par
"It is my hope that the Zen investigative techniques I have employed in the past will assist us as we navigate our way through this most unsettling nightmare. As I have said earlier, I first had my epiphany in a dream."\par
\par
The large map of Tibet fluttered against a draft. It was suddenly locked into place by Ray's wayward dart, a rather dangerous side effect of his increased inebriation. Chris, misguided soul as he was, made copious notes as Cooper spoke, his pencil nearly worn down to the nub. The rest of the party, Sam included, were about as attentive as flies near bleach.\par
\par
"We must always pay strict attention to the hidden languages residing in one's dreams..."\par
\par
"Would that be Swahili or Russian?" Gene shot at him. A burst of laughter from the peanut gallery met this quip, but Gene silenced them with a wave of his hand. "Now, now, lads, we're the lucky ones in this venue. Let's just shut our gobs and keep ourselves nice and quiet while we let the nice little Secret Agent Man speak his speech." Gene took a swallow of his pint before continuing. "Let's just give him enough rope, lads. We'll cut him down from the rafters later."\par
\par
A patronising quiet overtook The Railway Arms and Cooper nodded at the various barbed glares that found their way to him from every corner of the pub. "It is evident to me that in order to properly cleanse the air of the negativity that has completely decimated all attempts to find an amicable partnership, I am willing to divulge some perhaps unsettling truths about my person for you, the investigative team of A Division, to contemplate. First," he pointed to the large, now dart ridden map of Tibet on the far wall, "As the result of a dream I have strong feelings for the beliefs of the Bhuddists of Tibet, and I am deeply moved by the exile of their king and religious leader the Dalai Lhama, who was forced to leave Tibet as a result of the 1959 conflict. I pray for the return of the Dalai Lhama to his people and I feel for those who are being crushed beneath the current oppressive climate of his country. Second, I have wandered through the inner dark heart of evil and I am not so fooish as to believe I have made it through that particular journey unscathed. There is a darkness that resides in the marrow of our human bones, and it longs to find a place to hide within it..."\par
\par
"Dally wha'?" Ray interrupted.\par
\par
"What's a boudin?" Chris asked, pencil nub poised.\par
\par
"Don't be stupid," Ray snapped at him. "It's a type of sausage made from a milk or pork rice dressing, with a bit of pork and heart meat typically included and stuffed into a pork casing."\par
\par
"What? Like breakfast sausage?"\par
\par
"He said 'Bhuddist' not 'boudin', it's a religion." Sam said.\par
\par
"How do you spell that, Boss? Bood..."\par
\par
"No. Chris...Stop writing this down, it's not important."\par
\par
"There might be a quiz..." Chris protested.\par
\par
"There's only one thing I hate more than geography," Gene Hunt glowered over his pint. "And that's some pencil necked, granola eating, hippie sympathising, Joan Baez listening Mormon refugee. Look here, Cooper, are you here to help us solve a murder or sell us a Bible, because if it's the latter, I've got dibs on doing some crucifying!"\par
\par
Cooper was silent a long moment after this outburst, the remainder of the patrons in The Railway Arms staring at him in hostile attentiveness, cigarettes poised as they waited for him to respond and hang himself with his own words. But Cooper merely shook his head, and placed his palms firmly on the bar in front of him, his fingers moistened by wet rings left on its surface from overflowing pints.\par
\par
"Perhaps it was a mistake to come here," Cooper said. "I'm used to a far more open reception to my ideas than what I have experienced here, but I cannot blame any of you for finding fault with it. I will even go so far that in my blind arrogance in searching out the evil known as Bob through methods I have deemed tried and true, I have gone so far as to ignore where I am and ignore that rules that govern such a setting. I did indeed deserve that punch to my jaw. I have wandered into this, as DCI Hunt has so aptly described, 'kingdom' with my own mind firmly shut as to the methods by which I will bring this foe down. I have forgotten the most basic of principals--I am no stranger to Bob. He understands my methods and can easily predict my next move. Perhaps, as you all seem to suggest, a more linear approach is what's needed."\par
\par
His voice was sad as he said this, Sam reflected. A steady meloncholy ebbed its way through his words, etching a furrow in his otherwise smooth brow. Cooper took a gulp of the bitter placed in front of him with more meaning than perhaps he had intended, and the action gave him a more tragic scope than the bumbling, foreign oaf that Gene had tried to paint him as. The Guv himself seemed troubled by this odd, humbling speech of Cooper's and he pursed his lips thoughtfully over his ale.\par
\par
"He's given you a lot of trouble, has he, this Bob?" Gene asked.\par
\par
A drop of bitter escaped from Gene's pint, its tumbling, elastic fall to its doom on the surface of the bar ending in a cataclysmic splash of molecular proportions.\par
\par
"I have hunted after this monster at a terrible cost to my life, my friends and at times my very soul."\par
\par
A sudden burst of feeling emanated from Cooper, and it was an emotion Sam understood all too well. Rage. Bottled, fiercely held in rage. Cooper held his anger back with a level of charged control that Sam was grateful for. Cooper's fury wove around him in a kind of psychic blanket, a psychic tension so pure it would wipe out of half of Manchester if he'd allowed it to ignite.\par
\par
"This is my last chance to stop him," Cooper warned. "If I am hampered in this in any way, if he manages to get free from the trap that has been set for him...I will turn my attention on that person who deigned to stop me from my goal." He cast a cold glare Gene's way, and Sam couldn't help but shiver beneath its black blankness. "Do we understand each other?"\par
\par
"I gather we do," Gene said, over his pint, his own stance wary of this sudden change in Cooper. "You better watch yourself, Agent Cooper. You're starting to sound like a proper copper. They teach you that in FBI school?"\par
\par
"No," Cooper said, evenly. "It's an unfortunate side effect of a place I lived in once. A place called The Black Lodge."\par
\par
Gene narrowed his eyes at Cooper. "Viet Nam, then?"\par
\par
"No. Far worse."\par
\par
"Tanks and bombs, then?"\par
\par
"Red curtains and the devil himself," \par
\par
There was a loud whoop in the background as Ray hit a dart home on the map of Tibet, and Chris eagerly read out the city he'd managed to point out. They were learning something after all, Sam mused over his pint, even if it wasn't exactly what Cooper had originally in mind. Sam raised his glass to both Gene and Cooper and brought its bottom on the top of the rims, sending two distinctively different notes careening across the bar. Their conversation had become a private one with Ray's geography lessons taking the fore of everyone's attention, and it had become clear to the trio that they were to be the binding force that took down the ghastly entity known only as a gagging one syllable name--Bob.\par
\par
"To the obvious route," Sam said, drinking half his pint in celebration. "To taking down the bad guy."\par
\par
Cooper was quiet, but he followed suit behind Gene.\par
\par
"As long as we remember...Nothing is obvious," Cooper said.\par
\par
He held up the glass, draining it.\par
\par
"Nothing is as it seems."\par
\par
///\par
\par
It was now a quarter to midnight, and the few that remained at the Arms were properly inebriated and in desperate need of lodging. Nelson kicked a couple of the more unconscious louts into a waiting cab, but others were content to snore loudly on the bar counter, their faces mopping up spilled drinks and peanut shells. Cooper had not been able to avoid this inevitability--He was utterly sloshed and arguing with Gene.\par
\par
"You don't understand, it is a true miracle of creation, a masterpiece of culinary artistry." Cooper sighed dismally over his half finished pint. "If your Sergeant wasn't passed out on the floor, I'd have a momentary kindred spirit."\par
\par
"What you on about now? Ray don't know nothing but bubble-gum and soccer scores."\par
\par
"The black brew," Cooper continued, unabated. He pointed to a delicate ceramic cup on display near Nelson's collection of mickeys. "So unlike its tepid, unassuming cousin, coffee is a bold statement, a stamp upon one's day that says 'I am here, and I am alert and ready for whatever you may give me!'. Couple this with Norma's incredible cherry pie, and you have all that Twin Peaks has to offer and more. Utopia in a cup and on a plate."\par
\par
"Bugger that, I say there's nothing like a good tub of gin to wash down an evening properly." Gene gave the Arms a quick overview before bringing Cooper into his confidence. "I got me a proper brew back at the office, one what one of the bastard drug dealers brought back from Mexico. Took it off his shelf as a bit of payoff for all the trouble he caused us. What do you say we make this a tequila sunrise? I promise you, pie will be the last thing on your mind."\par
\par
"No, alcohol poisoning will be," Sam said. "That stuff's barely legal, you'll kill us all with it or at least render us blind."\par
\par
"Coffee," Gene spat. "Give over, you're in England, we bloody well drink tea. And the only pies you get here have kidneys in them." He pushed his way off the stool, and made his way unsteadily out of the pub. "I'll be back with a bit of ole and some Mexican jumping beans--That is, if that old soak Eisner hasn't gone and found my stash. Bastard."\par
\par
Gene hobbled out of the pub, and into the night, leaving Cooper and Sam mostly alone in the dwindling hours of The Railway Arms. In just half an hour Nelson would shout 'Time!' and the pub would close up shop until mid-morning, bringing in the half awake breakfast crowd who gave a pint more concentration than their chips and egg.\par
\par
"I do believe your DCI is an alcoholic," Cooper said, matter of fact. \par
\par
"You're quite perceptive," Sam said, sardonic. He nodded towards the door. "Come on, it's late. We'll get you to your lodging."\par
\par
'Yes," Cooper said, frowning. "That will pose a bit of a problem."\par
\par
Sam raised a brow.\par
\par
"I never did get a chance to secure a place to sleep."\par
\par
"Not a worry, stay at my flat for tonight."\par
\par
"I appreciate your hospitality."\par
\par
"You might not once you see where I live."\par
\par
Cooper studied Sam for a long moment, an uncomfortable silence brewing within the space between them. He broke it by draining what was left of his pint, and stepping gracefully over the snoring form of Ray on the floor next to him. Tibet was covered in darts, with little snippets of history drawn in the margins in Chris's handwriting. It was quite an impressive lesson.\par
\par
"You're not what I expected," Cooper said to Sam.\par
\par
"How do you mean?"\par
\par
They were outside, the cool night air cleansing their bodies of sweat and booze and spent cigarettes. Cooper, however, didn't seem to find it all that refreshing, and he coughed loudly into his fist. \par
\par
"You're very much in the background here, aren't you?" Cooper said to Sam. "You don't put yourself in the foreground, you're not the first thing visible. It's your DCI who takes the main brunt of all things, then there's Chris and Ray who you can kind of bounce off of."\par
\par
Sam shrugged, confused. He began walked, with Cooper following sharply behind him.\par
\par
"You're a bit too humble for a dying man," Cooper suddenly said.\par
\par
Sam stopped in his tracks, a bead of sweat forming just beneath the crook of his neck. "What did you...?"\par
\par
"If I was trapped in dreams, dying in a hospital bed in a coma, I'm afraid I'd be far too vain to allow myself to be secondary. I would be at the fore of the story, I would be its intrusive narrator." Cooper gave Sam a wide grin, one that looked far more Cheshire Cat than charming. Sam wanted to hide the terror brewing within him, but he couldn't help but stare at Cooper in wide-eyed horror.\par
\par
"I'm honestly impressed, Sam. I think this is going to go well."\par
\par
He gave Sam a cheerful thumbs-up.\par
\par
=======================================================\par
\par
Parallelogram--chapter five\par
\par
'A' Division was shrouded in darkness, a problem Gene didn't bother to rectify, especially since he preferred to keep his search for illegally confiscated booze to himself. Drawing attention to his presence here would only bring Eisner down on his head, and would probably result in him losing that precious tequila. It was better to stumble about in the dark.\par
\par
He bumped against Ray's desk, sending a stack of papers scurrying to the floor, along with the loud crash of a mug with mouldy contents. Gene unsteadily righted himself against Chris's desk, and frowned in the gloom as he looked on its surface. On a piece of lined paper was a rather creepy rendition of a young woman's face. It was surrounded by a red marker heart and a large disembodied grin to the left of it. Though Chris's artistic expression was clearly something to be desired, Gene couldn't help but feel a pang of envy for the young man's sentiments. He and the Missus had never had such lofty, childish notions of each other. In his day, you found a bird you liked, figured you'd spend some time with her, and when the first pregnancy scare came along you got hitched. Simple. None of this flowers and grins and hearts bullocks that Chris was messing his mind up with. Stupidity, that's what it was, an investigator like him clouding up his mind with that garbage, it's no wonder they were stuck with some FBI circus freak honing in on their investigation. One had to keep a clear mind to catch a criminal, that was the first lesson any good lawman abided by.\par
\par
He glanced over at his office, and felt the grin in he heart as he walked towards it in the dark. Ah yes, that bottle of tequila sunshine was waiting there, just for himself and a few good friends--one of which did include a FBI circus freak, can't be all party killer on the poor bastard, he'd already earned a crack on the jaw for no proper reason other than that Gene was pissed he was there. Then again, Cooper did make the mistake of speaking French.\par
\par
"No Francais, s'il vous plait," Gene growled into the darkness. \par
\par
Gene stumbled towards his office, and opened his door with a loud clang. He looked over his shoulder, telling himself to shush as he did so, wondering if that old soak Eisner had managed to sneak in and steal his prize when he thought everyone had closed up shop. Would be just like that bastard, Gene thought, to go in and steal his booty and call it a crackdown on corruption or such like while he drank his evidence on the plane to Hawaii. Bastard.\par
\par
A quick search in his file cabinet almost confirmed Gene's worst suspicions. There was no tequila, but there was an empty tequila bottle. He pursed his lips as he turned the bottle over his hands, a vague memory of last Tuesday hitting him in snippets. There was something about having a fight with Sam and then going home to have the Missus give him the business, and then he came back here to spend the night, and made a bottle of ole his heartfelt companion.\par
\par
Come to think on it, that following Wednesday wasn't all that clear in his memory, either. Sam was being a usual Alice, he recalled that clear enough, but otherwise...How did he make it up to the Missus? He frowned over the empty bottle, feeling a mixture of longing and puzzled betrayal.\par
\par
Figures, this would be how his day of hell would end. A dead girl and a brain dead team paired up with some clown from the Americas who was keen to wave a magic wand and bring back a corpse to life. Idiots, the lot of them. Their man was already long gone, Gene figured. If he jumped a continent, hopping over to another country's shore would be as easy as taking the tube. Their murderer had already slipped away from them, Gene was convinced of it. Agent Cooper would go home empty handed, and Gene and Co. would be win the awards for most incompetent, disappointing investigative team known to the world. The papers would make sure of that.\par
\par
Damn, did he ever need a drink!\par
\par
A gentle creak of a door opening just outside of his office made him pause in his fury. He frowned as he stared through the slats of the blinds holding his office in semi-privacy, a thin shadow standing tall inside of the mute darkness. He squinted to get a better outline, to see who it was. Phyllis, maybe, on the night shift. Maybe even Cartwright, covering a few extra hours.\par
\par
"Who is it?" he barked into the darkness, but the tall, slim figure refused to reply. Annoyed, Gene turned on the lamp on his desk, but it gave off only a sorry amount of light, and shrouded the rest of 'A' Division into deeper shadows. \par
\par
He could hear footsteps make their way towards his office, the click-clack of a pair of heels pointedly finding their way into his roost. A woman, then. He relaxed into this realisation, and crossed his arms over his chest. "What game are you playing at, Cartwright? When I ask who it is, you're meant to answer!"\par
\par
The door to his office creaked open.\par
\par
Gene chewed the inside of his cheek.\par
\par
Standing in its frame was a tall, svelte young woman with long, blond hair that flowed down her shoulders in Nordic perfection, her body encased in a sleek, black dress that hugged her to mid thigh. Her legs were clad in black stockings, which seemed to melt into a pair of black high heels. One knee was bent as she pressed her hip against the door frame, and Gene found his gaze took an upward climb as he took in the shoes, the bent knee, the angled hip, the slender waist, the curve of her breasts and the sway of her neck. His gaze stole her strong jaw-line and the gentle curve of her cheek, then the piercing blue that were her eyes. He sat mesmerised for a long moment as he stared at her, and when she smiled at him he couldn't help the small croaking sound that found its way out of his throat.\par
\par
"And just who might you be?" he asked.\par
\par
She held a Styrofoam cup and a takeaway box in her hands, both of which she now extended to Gene. He took them with a mixture of trepidation and annoyance--Just who had put this tart up to this? Surely, she had to be a tart, out at this hour, get up all like that, a prozzie no doubt, but a classy one. One what punters paid good money for. Suddenly sullen, Gene took what was offered him and placed the cup and box on his desk, eyeing them with renewed suspicion. \par
\par
"I didn't order no food," Gene said to her, but she merely smiled in response, a dazzling warmth within it that made Gene feel ashamed of judging her so harshly just moments before. He gave her gifts another wary glance before opening the plastic cover on the cup and giving its contents a sniff. Coffee, Gene discovered. He pushed it aside and opened the lid of the takeaway box. Pie. Cherry pie, to be exact.\par
\par
"Right. Agent Cooper set you up, did he?" Gene said, and he grinned in understanding. He picked up the small plastic fork that had been tossed into the box and dared to take a small piece of the pie onto it. He shrugged and popped it into his mouth.\par
\par
"Hmm," he said, in approval. He sat in the chair behind his desk and propped his feet up on a large pile of folders. "Not bad, not bad." He picked up the Styrofoam cup and took a sip of the coffee that had accompanied the gift, his mouth suddenly awash with wakefulness and the odd juxtaposition of bitter and sweet.\par
\par
"That's a bit of all right," he said between crumbs. He dug into the pie with the plastic fork, and he was halfway finished with it when he found a small, folded piece of pink paper folded into a neat triangle beneath the napkin the piece of pie rested on.\par
\par
"What's this?" he asked his hostess, but she was still silent. He waved the small pink piece of paper in the air before flattening it out onto the surface of his desk. The letters were messy, with large portions of the ink smudged in places, wayward fingerprints dotting the paper's surface. The triangular fold had created a star pattern on the small square, a worn point now a hole in the centre. Gene frowned as he read the note over, his lips moving with the words as he recited them and tried to glean their meaning:\par
\par
"Through the darkness of future past...The magician longs to see...One chants out between two worlds...Fire, walk with me"\par
\par
A sudden chill overtook Gene, and he attempted to douse it with a sip of hot coffee, only to discover he'd already finished it, along with the last bite of damned good pie. \par
\par
"Just what the hell is all this about?" he said, looking up from his desk.\par
\par
No soft, warm smile met him this time. Only a vast darkness remained outside of his office, a thickened abyss made by the dull light on his desk, the words on the note eerily illuminated. \par
\par
Gene Hunt was alone.\par
\par
///\par
\par
Sam awoke with a jolt, his eyes stinging from what felt like a bright light being shone into them. He blinked for a few moments to gather that it was, in fact, the sunlight that streamed into his flat that was the cause, and not some otherworldly echo from beyond. He sighed and ran his palms over his face, forcing wakefulness into his bland countenance. Another day pretending that everything was 'normal'. Another morning, afternoon and night where he pretended to be a man of the past and not of the future.\par
\par
A swaying shadow blotted out the sun at intervals and Sam squinted at the strange fruit that was currently hanging upside down in his kitchen entranceway. Agent Cooper had placed a metal bar across the top of the door, and was currently hanging upside down. How his weight was supported by said metal bar was yet to be determined, but it was no doubt some odd FBI gadget of ingenuity which, while not being Ray-Bans that spit out laser beams, was used to keep their agents in some odd semblance of physical fitness. The accessory seemed to be working--Agent Cooper expressed no ill effects from his previous afternoon and night of drunken wanton behaviour.\par
\par
"Is that how you sleep?" Sam asked. "Hanging like that, like a possum or some such?"\par
\par
"No, no, this is a form of tantric yoga," Cooper quickly explained. He bent at the waist, pulling himself up and unhooking his shoes from the small metal hooks that had been keeping him in balance. "It is said that in order to maintain the optimum performance of one's mind, one should get in the habit standing on one's head for at least ten minutes of every day. It inverts the blood flow of the body and forces more oxygen into the brain."\par
\par
"Fascinating," Sam said, who had absolutely no intention of hanging upside down for the better of his brain, ever. He was wary in Cooper's presence, and he kept his eyes on him while he slid out from between the sheets of his bed. Cooper was already dressed, his face cleanly shaven, his hair combed and sprayed in place to perfection. It was quite an irritating spectacle for a man who woke up every morning feeling like he'd just been mowed down by a speeding car. And why was that, Sam wondered...Oh yes. Because he had been.\par
\par
"About what you said, last night," Sam began.\par
\par
Agent Cooper held up his hand, stopping Sam in mid thought. "I'm sorry Sam, but I am afraid my momentary lapse last night was due to a large amount of alcohol consumption and should not be pursued further." He took a sip of the tea he had already made, and made a face that was akin to an expression of deep disappointment. "Overly sweet and without the benefit of fresh herbal ingredients. I will never get used to this." He took another unhappy sip and then put the cup into the kitchen sink with finality. "Sam, when the time is right, I will reveal all that I know. Until then, I am afraid the subject between us is off limits."\par
\par
"But..."\par
\par
"I know this is frustrating for you, Sam, but please be patient. I am doing all that I can for you."\par
\par
"The hell you say," Sam grumbled as he slid on his jeans. He stood up and struggled with the zipper on his fly, and cursed when he realised it was broken. "I want answers, damn you, and I want them now! You wander into my life, start making references to my worst nightmares, then you hang from the rafters upside down like you think you're bloody Batman...Pardon me if I want more than just 'Talk to you later'!"\par
\par
The door to his flat swung open, revealing a very large, very scruffy DCI Gene Hunt in its frame. \par
\par
"Oh, the perfect start to my day," Sam said.\par
\par
"I'm sorry, Sam," Cooper continued, in a softer voice. "What happened between us last night is not something I wish discussed at the current time. Let me just say that while our time together was wonderful, it was also an experience I am not willing to share again, as evidenced by my severe lapse in judgement."\par
\par
"Bloody hell!" Gene shouted. "I go off for a pint or two and the next thing I know me DI's gone fairy picking!"\par
\par
"What are you talking about?" Sam shot back, only to take in Cooper's inexplicable presence in his flat, his open fly and the rumpled, sweaty state of his sheets that was more about Sam's night terrors than what Gene was currently, horrifyingly, contemplating.\par
\par
"Oh come on, Gov, you don't actually think..."\par
\par
"My own DI," Gene said, shaking his head furiously. "I should have known you were a bit soft at the wrist."\par
\par
"DCI Hunt, I find your need to find a sexual innuendo in every personal dealings with others to be highly disconcerting. Have you ever considered finding the root of this propensity?"\par
\par
"Bloody fairy bastards," Gene grumbled. "Get your asses to the station. Last I looked we was here to get a murderer off the streets, not play pig in the hole. We got a lead on that bum named Tom Gordon, and word's out he's back at his usual haunt. Time to give him a morning tea and a breakfast of liver and onions--as in, we head out and drag him into the station and pound him into pudding until he tells us who she was and what she was to him. Come on, you fruits, squeeze together and get going like orange juice, we haven't got all bloody day!"\par
\par
Confused, but following the orders as best he could, Cooper marched out into the hall ahead of Gene and Sam. Sam, for his part, lagged behind his DCI, his eyes hooded and smouldering against Gene's back.\par
\par
"Getting a good look at my arse now, are you? Get a picture while you're at it, because it's the only way you'll ever get to properly enjoy it, you and your miserable little Fairy Boy Imp. And zip up your damned fly!"\par
\par
"It's broken."\par
\par
"Christ, spare me the details..."\par
\par
"The zipper! The zipper is broke...Oh for God's sake, I'm not a homosexual! Agent Cooper didn't get a place to stay, is all, and he was talking about when he was drunk." Sam shook his head as he attempted one last time, and failed, to fix the zipper on his jeans. Cursing, he pulled his t-shirt out to hang loose and hopefully hide the problem. "Come on, Gov, give me some credit."\par
\par
Gene munched on his cigarette as they made their exit out of the side of Sam's building, the Ford Cortina waiting in the bright sunshine of the morning. Agent Cooper was already there, his gloved hands moving over the hood of the car as though inspecting its health. \par
\par
"Why don't you ask it to cough?" Gene shouted at him. "Look, Sam, I guess you're right, you ain't no poof. There's no way that side-show act has sex with anyone let alone you." \par
\par
"Nice," Sam said, and rolled his eyes. He gave Gene a good once over, and frowned, noting that there was something different about his DCI, a missing aura that lurked around him at all hours of the day and night. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it had something to do with the robust colour of Gene's skin, and the way his breath fell in and out of his body with no visible wheezing or struggle. There was an uncharacteristically healthy glow about his skin that suggested a proper night's sleep and a nutritious breakfast. On anyone else this would be deemed a positive change, but it was so sudden and alien for Gene that Sam was momentarily taken aback.\par
\par
Sam, for his own part, had the sickening pallor of a man losing his fight for life. He had large bags under his eyes, and his breath was laboured as he struggled to breath the heavily polluted morning air. Manchester of 1973 hadn't yet heard of the Clean Air Act. He could feel all kinds of gritty poisons scraping along the sides of his lungs with every breath he took.\par
\par
"There's something different about you," Sam said once they were in the car. Gene scowled at the road ahead of him, and turned the key in the ignition.\par
\par
"Are you jogging or something?" Sam asked.\par
\par
"Are you a fudge-packer or a queer?" Gene retorted.\par
\par
"I thought that was figured out to be neither."\par
\par
"Well, I've been known to be wrong on the extremely rare occasion." \par
\par
Agent Cooper was in the back seat, his face turned towards the passenger window. Gene ignored the road ahead of him, and positioned his rear view window to get a better view of his back seat guest.\par
\par
"She was a right looker, your girl," Gene said. "But if you think pie and coffee is going to buy your way into completely taking over this investigation you're out of your tree." Gene's eyes flashed for a moment onto the road and then rooted back to the reflection of the stunned Agent Cooper in the back seat. "Have to admit, though, you were right. Damn fine piece of pie, never had the like of it 'afore."\par
\par
"DCI Hunt, I have no idea what you are talking about."\par
\par
"The bird," Gene insisted. "That gorgeous bird what you sent round my office after midnight, when I went back to pick up the tequila before Eisner found it. And he'd done and nicked it like I thought he would, the old bastard. Hawaii bound for a bender, that's what--Old coot, what does he think he's on about going there halfway across the bleedin' world for? Why not somewhere to retire properly, like Spain or Greece or Bath? No, he has to have some thing in his fool old head for coconuts. Idiot." Gene hit the gas and screeched around the corner, sending a few pedestrians running for their lives. "Still, she was a goer that's for sure. Hired her, did you? Can't imagine a good looking piece like that hanging about a suited up poofter like you." Gene sucked his cigarette dry and then tossed its corpse out the window. \par
\par
"I don't know any women..." Cooper began.\par
\par
"Well, isn't that a right shocker," Gene shot back. He shook his head in impatience. "And that damn coded message you sent...What the hell was that all about?"\par
\par
"Gov, I'm going to say this, and it's probably not the first or last time." Sam rolled his eyes towards Gene. "What the hell are you talking about? Agent Cooper was with me at the bar and then at my flat the entire night. He never made a phone call, he never sent anyone to your office. If someone showed up there, it wasn't on his cue."\par
\par
"Right, well explain the little love not left for me, then," Gene said, tossing a piece of paper at Sam. "See if you can figure out what Shakespeare was trying to say."\par
\par
"Is there a special course you took? A special level of training that I'm unaware of, because if being an arse-hole is an art, you've perfected it."\par
\par
"You know what, Sammy Boy, I do believe it is. The art of the arse-hole. Sounds right up your back alley."\par
\par
"Oh, give it up!"\par
\par
"Through the darkness of future past..." Cooper murmured.\par
\par
"Oi! Say that again!" Gene said, and nearly crashed their car into a telephone booth. He brought the Cortina to a screeching halt, the tires nearly bumping against the curb as it stopped. "Go on, ee cummings, spit it out!"\par
\par
"...One chants out between two worlds...Fire, walk with me..."\par
\par
A long, uneasy silence brewed within the Cortina, and Sam felt placed in the middle of it. Gene had a steady fury aimed at Agent Cooper who sat morose in the back seat, his face stubbornly set in profile as he stared, unseeing, out the passenger window.\par
\par
"It's a message about Bob," Cooper said.\par
\par
"Really? I don't see his current address anywhere here, do you? What's this shit supposed to mean?"\par
\par
"The woman who delivered that message is an unfortunate soul who grew to know Bob best of all," Cooper said. "I only knew her through others and through the confines of dreams, but she has left a lasting impression upon my soul and was the very catalyst that pushed me to pursue this case."\par
\par
He reached beside him and pulled his briefcase into his lap, opening it with a determined forcefulness that surprised Sam. He took out a neat, spotless manila folder and opened it, carefully taking out an 8 x 10 photo which he handed to Gene.\par
\par
"Is this the young woman who visited you last night?"\par
\par
Sam stole a look over Gene's shoulder and shared his DCI's astonishment at seeing a young woman who was clearly dead, a halo of plastic surrounding her beautiful face. The similarities between this case and the one they were currently investigating couldn't be ignored,and Gene turned his usual fury on Cooper.\par
\par
"Found her this morning, did they? We should have been told!"\par
\par
"No," Cooper said, his voice as distant as the shores he came from. "She's been dead a long time."\par
\par
"She's got a twin, then, because she was in my office last night delivering pie and coffee!"\par
\par
"Have things been strange for you, DCI Hunt, since her visit?"\par
\par
Gene shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his teeth grinding.\par
\par
"Gene?" Sam said.\par
\par
"Look, it's nothing, all right? That pie and that coffee...I ain't had nothing like it before, is all. It's just...Everything I eat and drink feels off now, less, I don't know...Important." He scratched the underside of his chin as though his tense feelings could just as easily be appeased as an itch. "Had to be a sister, or something..."\par
\par
"She was an only child," Cooper said.\par
\par
"Got to be an explanation," Gene said. "Damn, I could use a drink about now."\par
\par
To Sam's own surprise, Gene didn't reach for the one always hiding in his camel coat pocket.\par
\par
"She is the reason I am here," Cooper confessed. "She has brought me here, and she is also reaching out to you. DCI Hunt, allow me to introduce you to Laura Palmer. I believe she has met you already."\par
\par
============================================================\par
\par
\par
Parallelogram--chapter six\par
\par
Tom Gordon's 'home' was little more than a collection of damp cardboard pieces and fragments of plastic garbage bags, but he still managed to keep some semblance of British dignity about him. A delicate tea setting using a couple of cracked, dainty teacups and saucers along with a standard brown betty was laid out in perfect order on top of a milk crate. Tom poured himself a fresh cup and then added hot tea to the other two chipped, flowery cups and bid both Sam and Gene to take them. Reluctantly, Sam accepted the offering, and tried not to notice the little black bits floating on the surface that were no doubt flash boiled flies.\par
\par
"So, tell us again," Gene said, a false grin meeting Tom Gordon's odd dignity. "How did you know her?"\par
\par
"Nice girl," Tom said, nodding sagely. "She brought me sandwiches. You got any sandwiches? Can't have a proper tea without 'em." Their Mad Hatter sipped at his bug strewn brew, his expression one of zealous bliss. "She works over there," he said, his head tilted slightly towards a red door in the circumference of the area behind him. Once upon a time, that being hundreds of years ago, the small area was no doubt a local market with a series of buildings surrounding it, coccooning in those who peddled their wares and purchased alike. It was an abandoned space now, with everything locked tight behind closed doors, and gritty, black dust being the only remains of that which had eroded the entire concept away. If Sam squinted he could see the old industrial smokestacks in the distance, still belching out their black poisons to anyone who dared to take a deep breath.\par
\par
Gene snapped his fingers. Ray and Chris were on the opposite end of the alley where they were both out of the car and leaning with their elbows on the hood. Ray was casually smoking his cigarette, brushing ashes off of his wide, bright blue tie and Chris was picking at imaginary dirt beneath his fingernails. \par
\par
"Raymundo! Take this, our esteemed guest to the palais royale. Quite the treat, Tom. You might even meet a couple of queens." Gene took a loud sniff of air as Ray grabbed the old tea drinking wino by the scruff of the neck and hauled him down the alley, his garbled cursing mixing with Ray's as he was unceremoniously shoved into the back seat of the car. Chris looked bored as Ray insisted he get in, and his hip didn't leave the hood of the car as he slid to the passenger door, his eyes riveted on the black dust that had settled on his fingertips.\par
\par
"Cooper's already gone in there," Sam said, eyeing the door Tom Gordon had pointed out with renewed suspicion.\par
\par
Gene shrugged. "Why bother with some crazy old soak if you don't have to? Could use a pint right about now meself."\par
\par
Sam felt a distinct unease at Gene's assessment, not only because it still hinted of his ire at the eccentric FBI Agent, but because he was utterly wrong in his assumption of Cooper's character. Cooper had immediately made his escape, not bothering to introduce himself to Tom, a fact that was wholly out of character for him. If Cooper was anything, it was personable, regardless of class or status. Sam pushed a cracked teacup towards the worn, soggy box with his foot. Tom Gordon's misplaced dignity would earn a special place in Cooper's interest. One madman looking after another.\par
\par
The fact Sam and Gene had been bypassed completely in their apprehension of the old man wasn't just rude, it was unsettling. Sam, though he was loathe to it, was beginning to get a slight understanding of what Gene was feeling in regards to being kept out of the Agent's loop.\par
\par
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Gene said to Sam.\par
\par
"Cooper's got inside information," Sam replied.\par
\par
Gene gave him a face. "No, you idiot, the bloody Mad Hatter, that Tom! How long do think it'll take, you reckon, before he starts looking for a way out to get to back to his bed and booze-up here? I give him two hours, maybe three. He'll be getting a good itch for a drink soon enough, and that's when we can start dealing, give him a bit of something to hang on. He'll say anything to get a bit of booze in. We can send our Fabulous Bastard Idiot back to his home shores and get cracking on the case properly."\par
\par
Sam rolled his eyes and headed for the red door, his head shaking at Gene's ignorance. "You heard him yesterday, this mission is like religion to him." He opened the door cautiously, and it squeaked loudly in protest. A pure, woolly darkness seemed to leak out of the opening. \par
\par
"Cooper's got something to prove, he won't give up." Sam said. He nodded into the black space just beyond the red door. "After you."\par
\par
///\par
\par
Expecting decadence, Gene Hunt was visibly disappointed. The patrons and the workers here were clean and scrubbed, not an ounce of ill manners or gauche behaviour seeping from them like the miserable ooze that exuded from most of Manchester's seedier population. These were upper middle class folk, Sam realised, their afternoons spent in a dark, but stylish space that was more piano bar than Club 54. Tall, fluted glasses held coloured sparkling champagne, fizzy blues, purples and orange thanks to the injection of a couple of drops of food colouring. The air felt clean, as though it had been filtered or was heavily oxygenated, a slight ozone scent to it as though it had been sterilised, but this was impossible. The very concept of 'clean air' wasn't a part of the 1973 psyche, and in fact had only just become a lesson for 2006. Sam gave the bar a good once over, and saw a small stage to its right, an odd mixture of jazz and rockabilly smoothing its way over the ozonated air and gently bumping against those who lazily sat at glass tables, and sipped rainbow coloured champagne.\par
\par
Cooper was seated on a transparent stool at the bar, and it was only after a couple of inspections that Sam realised the seats were actually moulded glass filled with water. Within each seat a goldfish swam, the poor fish privy to the asses of evolutionary progress. Cooper had a white ceramic cup in front of him, a black liquid within it that sent a mist of thin steam into the perfect air before him.\par
\par
Gene was instantly at Cooper's side, his wide bottom sending the tiny goldfish beneath him into a panic. Perhaps the fish thought the glaciers were moving, that the ice age had only just begun and he was an unfortunate casualty of shifting Teutonic plates. He'd never know it was merely the act of a human ass.\par
\par
"Is that coffee?" Gene asked.\par
\par
"Absolutely," Cooper said, grinning over his cup.\par
\par
"You!" Gene shouted, his fingers snapping at the wafer thin man who tended bar. "Give us what he's got, only add two cream and two sugar. And since here I am on official business you can keep the top brimming, got it?"\par
\par
Wordlessly, the white ceramic mug of coffee, prepared as Gene requested, was placed before him, a delicate napkin placed beneath it to catch any wayward rings. Gene grabbed the cup's handle and took a discerning sip before casting a glance Cooper's way. Cooper's eyes were filled with question.\par
\par
"Cor, that's bloody righteous," Gene said, and Cooper gave him a goofy thumbs-up. Gene set the mug down at the same time Cooper did, an action that left Sam open mouthed and more than a little off balance. "You're catching flies again," Gene said to him. "What, you've never seen a man have a cuppa before?"\par
\par
"You ordered a coffee," Sam said, still in shock.\par
\par
"And?"\par
\par
"You didn't order a pint. You didn't turn this into an opportunity for a free piss-up. You're drinking coffee and, God help me, you just might be completely alcohol free." Sam shut his mouth and then clenched his teeth in instant, suspicious caution. "Just what are you playing at?"\par
\par
"Policing, you ought to try it sometime." Gene pulled out the mug shot of their unfortunate corpse and waved it in the wafer thin barman's direction. The barman was wheezy and small, like a cough would make him disintegrate. "You!" Gene shouted at him again. "Get over here!" He waved the picture in the young man's face, the goldfish beneath Gene looking seasick thanks to the torrent of activity Gene's rough fidgeting caused within its bowl. "Do you know this girl?"\par
\par
The thin young man was pale, with only the tiniest bit of blush to his cheeks, his ghostlike demeanour increased by the white uniform he wore. Still, if it were possible to become paler in these circumstances he somehow managed it. The tiny blush of blood that dotted his cheeks melted away into stark white. All of his blood seemed to drain away from him, leaving even the watery blue of his eyes a paler hue.\par
\par
"That's Kim," he said, in a near whisper as he struggled to breathe. "She don't look right, what's happened to her?"\par
\par
"She's dead," Gene heartlessly replied. "Know anything about that? Where was you, yesterday morning, about six am or thereabouts?"\par
\par
The young man's wheezing became louder, his face a ghastly grey hue. He folded to the floor behind the spritzers in a fit of tears and lungs collapsing. He looked like a wadded piece of Kleenex in his white uniform as he lay in a crumpled heap on the floor behind the bar. \par
\par
"Hey! What's going on?" A young woman wearing a white pantsuit, the female version of the uniform and one that revealed a lot more cleavage, ran behind the counter, her arms going around the thin barman's shoulders as she propped him up. He was still wheezing, his Adam's apple fighting with every breath like a grape being choked on.\par
\par
"Give him this," Cooper said, handing over his cup of black coffee. "He's having an asthma attack. Caffeine will help open up the airways."\par
\par
Not entirely convinced, the young woman administered the cup of joe by small sips into the thin barman, his stark white pallor gradually changing into a hint of pink. She helped her friend to his feet, only to pause as she picked up the morgue photograph he had dropped, her forehead creased into a puzzled frown.\par
\par
"Kim," she said, under her breath.\par
\par
"Is that her name?" Sam interrupted. "You know her?"\par
\par
"Kim's dead," the reedy barman wheezed. He held onto the edge of the counter before him with a white-knuckled grip, his asthma attack still squeezing his lungs painfully.\par
\par
The young woman's eyes brimmed with tears. She pushed the photo back at Gene, her mouth twisted in sorrow and anger. "I knew this would happen."\par
\par
"Psychics abound," Gene shot at her. "So, tell me, how did you figure your friend was going to snuff it?"\par
\par
"You're a right bastard," the young woman observed. "Fuck off, I don't need to talk to any of you, you're all useless anyway."\par
\par
She began to storm away, and Sam felt deflated as he watched their one possible lead to their victim's identity and killer become an uncooperative witness thanks to Gene's bedside manner. "You're an expert on self-sabotage," Sam grumbled at him. "We'll never get the whole story now, thanks to you."\par
\par
Gene sipped his coffee, not listening to the astute assessment of his character behind him. "Like milk from an angel's tit, this," he said.\par
\par
"Excuse me," Cooper said, over Gene's shoulder, his grin wide and magical in its charm. He waved the angry young woman over, and though she still wore a deeply furrowed frown, she was softened to Cooper's scrubbed good looks and his intense, eager demeanour that held not even a hint of malice within it. "I'm terribly sorry about the loss of your friend. I can tell even from the small exchange between DCI Hunt and the both of you that you were good friends with the deceased. She was especially close to you, am I right?"\par
\par
The young woman shrugged, and slid onto a stool next to Cooper, the tiny goldfish within it barely even nudging the glass. "I guess so. I don't know, Kim had so many secrets, it's hard to say what she thought of me. All I can say for certain is that I cared about her, and I loved her like she was one of my family. Like a cousin or some blood relative, but not quite a sister--Do you understand what I mean?"\par
\par
"I think so. You wanted to be closer to her but she never allowed it." Cooper leaned closer to her, his voice softened. "Though the information of her death has come to you in a blunt and unforgiving manner, you must understand that in order for us to bring her killer to justice, we may have to ask some uncomfortable questions."\par
\par
"You don't need to ask nothing," the young woman replied, her mascara smudging and painting the centre of her cheeks as tears escaped. "Kim was my mate, see, she was my friend. She was a good person, no matter what else you might hear..." She sniffed, loudly, and Cooper reached into his pocket and took out a neat, perfect packet of Kleenex. He gave her one, and the young woman dabbed at her blackened eyes, mascara smudging across her temples.\par
\par
"I know who did this to her," she haughtily replied, the tissue wadded in a tight ball in her fist. "It was that bloody punter she was seeing. I warned her he weren't up to no good. I tried to help her."\par
\par
Sam took out his notepad and pen, his voice brisk and business-like. "Who was she seeing?" he asked, his pen poised over the virgin lined paper.\par
\par
"Bob," the young woman said, practically spitting out his name. "Bloody bastard Bob."\par
\par
A chill crept into Sam at this information, but Gene seemed unperturbed. He shifted the Teutonic plates of his ass on his stool and gave the tiny goldfish within a fatal heart attack. "Give us a hint, then, sweetheart, where can we find 'Bob'?"\par
\par
"Dunno. She never brought him round, so I can't tell you what he properly looked like. Even Danny never seen him, she kept him from us." The willowy young man behind the counter nodded at this silently, his wheezing under control.\par
\par
"Interesting, that," Gene said, and he took a noisy sip of his coffee, finishing it. He slammed the ceramic mug back on the countertop and violently pointed into it, insisting on a refresher. Danny, the wheezing young man, reluctantly complied. "He's the invisible man, then," Gene continued. "Half wonder how you know he killed her when you've never seen a hair of him yourself."\par
\par
"Didn't need to, did I?" she snapped back. \par
\par
"It was the way she talked about him," Danny said, his voice a near whisper, his lungs shocked at the attempt at speech. He wouldn't look at Gene as he wiped away spots of coffee off the glass countertop, leaving it streak free and gleaming. "He left bruises on her. She said she couldn't get away from him, that she was trapped with him. Carol couldn't put sense into her. We both tried, we both offered for her to stay with us at the flat, but she'd have none of it."\par
\par
The young woman known now as Carol hugged herself as she sat on the stool, as though doing her best to shake off an invisible chill. "She'd get all weird when she talked about him, like she thought he was listening over her shoulder. She was scared all the time. The bastard had threatened to kill her once before. With fire."\par
\par
Sam paused in his scribbling, a terrible feeling winding its way into his gut. "How's that?" he asked, his pen refusing to touch paper.\par
\par
"Just this weird thing he'd said when he'd kicked her around one time, Kim told me about it. I can't remember most of it, but one thing stuck out right enough. 'Fire, walk with me'. Yeah, that was it."\par
\par
Cooper's own cup of coffee was poised at his lips, his eyes far away on some distant point that only his consciousness could possibly define. He slowly sipped at his brew, his expression dreamy as he repeated what he'd heard: "Fire, walk with me..."\par
\par
"Funny, that," Carol said, looking Cooper up and down. "That's exactly the way Kim used to say it. Gave me the right creeps."\par
\par
///\par
\par
"He's been driving me positively mad."\par
\par
They were back at the station and in a quiet, clean cell, the wino known as Tom Gordon was waiting for them in unexpected comfort. Ray was watching over him, a fact that put Sam at unease. The last thing any of them needed right now was a beating put to an innocent witness in some misguided attempt to force a full confession. Sam pulled out his notebook, and checked and re-checked his notes, preparing himself for the interview room later on that afternoon. Right now, he was supposed to be taking a breather in the cafeteria while Gene had locked himself in his office, prepared to let their homeless friend 'stew in his own juice' for a while until the promise of liquor would draw him out and make him talkative. Sam checked his notes again, and this time saw that there hadn't been any liquor present in Tom Gordon's makeshift palace of cardboard. He let out a small sigh of relief at this--Gene's plan was obviously going to fail.\par
\par
Cooper was already in the canteen when Sam arrived, and Sam was surprised to see him there, a hot mug of tea warming the agent's hands and his demeanour considerably more alive and cheerful than it had been earlier at the bar. WDC Annie Cartwright sat across from him, her hands wrapped around a mug that had a brown and green mushroom etched onto its surface as decoration. She was smiling at Cooper with a shy understanding, her cheeks slightly blushed. A sudden pang of feeling not unlike anger washed through Sam's being, and he instantly quashed it, his body stiff as he sat beside Annie, pulling his chair close to hers.\par
\par
"He's been driving me positively mad," Annie said to Cooper. "Calling me all hours of the day, saying all this crazy nonsense. I should think he needs therapy or lithium or some such."\par
\par
Cooper was dreamily sipping at his tea. "People deal with stress in different ways," he assured her. He took another sip and his face illuminated from within. Clearly, Agent Cooper had just experienced a serious epiphany. "I do not believe I have ever had such a perfect cup of this particular tea. As you know, I am primarily a coffee man, but this...This just may make me convert to the finer tastes of Union shores."\par
\par
"It's all in the way it's made. You have to heat the teapot first with hot water, then spill it out. It's called 'scalding the pot'. Then, when it's all empty and steaming inside, that's when you add the tea and then the hot, but not boiling, water. Me gran always made it that way, and she knew best. Not a hint of bitter to her tea, ever." Annie gave Cooper a thoughtful grin, her fingers drumming against the etching of the mushroom on her mug. "As for that other issue, I have a feeling it's not just stress. Maybe it's something a bit more personal."\par
\par
Annie gave Sam a cursory glance over her mug, and Sam was immediately hit with a feeling of intense betrayal, illogical though it seemed. Had she really been sitting here, sipping tea with this gangly foreigner, spilling every secret he'd ever entrusted her with to him? A significantly awful feeling erupted inside of him as he thought over the words he'd heard her say to Cooper when he joined them. 'He's driving me mad', 'Saying crazy stuff'. So, that's how she saw him, then. She thought he ought to be committed. She thought he was utterly mad. \par
\par
Of course, it made sense for her to feel this way about him, but it didn't make his own reaction any easier. Sam slouched in his seat, his chair too close to Annie and yet their emotions tugged far apart from each other. He felt kicked. Crushed.\par
\par
"Do you know that Constable, the fresh one on the job?"\par
\par
Sam shook his head, confused at the sudden shift of focus in the conversation. "No...Who do you mean?"\par
\par
"You know," Annie said, clearly frustrated by his lack of understanding, "That new one. Constable Gary. He's been going through the loop-de-loop ever since he helped you find that girl's body. Here I am, Miss Kind and Considerate for all things Nutter--I gave him my home phone number and he hasn't stopped ringing since. I know he's upset, but my God, I wish he'd leave me be. He needs medication and a long holiday."\par
\par
"Constable..." Sam repeated, feeling a vast relief that the craziness Annie had been discussing with Cooper hadn't been his own. He sat up in his chair, his posture stronger, his hope renewed.\par
\par
Annie's manicured thumbnail dug into the mushroom on her mug as she held it in front of her. "He looks all of twelve years old, and he certainly acts it. I don't figure how he managed to get on the force, unless he has an uncle here or some such what vouched for him."\par
\par
"Interesting," Cooper replied. \par
\par
"Not really. Just annoying," Annie said.\par
\par
"No, it is interesting," Cooper said, and he dug into the side pocket of his jacket, pulling out a baggie containing a piece of blank, lined paper folded into a triangle. He took it out of the baggie and dared to ponder it. "When you mentioned Constable Gary's name, this piece of paper came instantly to my mind," Cooper said. "The incongruity of the two pieces suggests to me that they may be linked in some way, and as a result I believe we should, together as this thought has arisen and presented itself to me as significant, consider this piece of evidence at the present time."\par
\par
Sam was confused. He picked the piece of paper up and unfolded it. It was a sheet of blank foolscap. "This was found in her purse. Shouldn't this be in the evidence file?"\par
\par
"I caught it before it was destroyed as being 'insignificant'. No fingerprints or otherwise identifying materials could be found on it. I do believe it is this very fact that makes this piece of paper far more important than anyone could imagine. It is a virgin scrap of blankness wherein no one, not even the victim's, hand had ever touched it."\par
\par
Annie placed her mug on the table and held her hand out to Sam. "Here, let me see it."\par
\par
Sam handed the piece of paper to her, and watched intently as Annie unfolded the sheet of foolscap and spread it flat on the surface of the table, forcing the folded lines into creased hints. It had been folded perfectly symmetrical, Sam noted, the creases so sharp it was as if someone had used a ruler to exactly map out the triangles. They ended in a severe point in the centre of the foolscap, like an invisible kalaidascope view.\par
\par
"It's strange, isn't it? A big piece of paper like this with nothing on it, and yet it had been so carefully folded and placed in her purse. Look at that point in the middle--It's like it's a message itself." Annie picked up the piece of ruled paper and held it above her head, towards the incandescent lights above them. "I got a right crazy idea. Here, give us a lighter."\par
\par
Both Sam and Cooper gave her a blank shrug. "I don't smoke," they said, in unison.\par
\par
"Pity, I'm dying for a fag myself," Annie said. As if in answer to her prayer, Phyllis marched into the canteen, her mouth a tight line, her movements clipped and angry.\par
\par
"Bloody bastards," she muttered under her breath as she sat across from Annie. "I'm getting sick to death of mopping up hacked up saliva off me desk. The next punter what spits at me is getting his ear yanked off, and I mean it!" She shoved a cigarette roughly between her lips and lit it with a silver lighter. She inhaled gratefully, and tossed her lighter onto the table in front of her. She let out a plume of smoke that was rich in Phyllis molecules and glared at the trio sitting next to her. "What? You never seen a woman smoke a fag before?"\par
\par
"Phyllis, I need to use your lighter," Annie said, reaching for it. A clawed, well manicured hand snatched it away before Annie could get a grip on it.\par
\par
"Oh no you don't, I'm getting sick to death of people borrowing my lighters and never giving them back. I paid damn good money for this one, and no offence to you Annie, but I'm not letting it out of me sight."\par
\par
"It'll only take a second, and since you want to keep it in sight, then you can be a witness too," Annie promised.\par
\par
"To what?" Phyllis asked. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable next to Sam and especially disconcerted with the way that odd Yank Cooper was studying her. \par
\par
"To a secret," Annie explained. She took Phyllis's lighter from her before another note of dissension could be spoken, and brought a dancing flame to life. She held the paper open with one hand, and brought the lighter's flame beneath it.\par
\par
"Oh my God, what are you doing? You're destroying evidence!" Sam frantically tried to blow out the flame, but Annie kept flicking it back into life and stubbornly held it beneath the paper. \par
\par
"Quit that, you're ruining it," Annie admonished him.\par
\par
"But..."\par
\par
"Look," Cooper said, his eyes wide as the smoke from the flame licked the paper, the heat and ash reacting to the chemical that it had been laced with. Ringed around the centre of the foolscap, a series of words began to emerge, a precise circle around the creased pinpoint of the paper's convergence. The letters were neat and rounded, printed rather than joined. In blackening clarity, the words leapt out at them, taunting in their mystery:\par
\par
"The owls are not what they seem"\par
\par
Annie wrinkled her nose as she made a face over this puzzle. Sam took the paper from her, holding it as though it were pure gold. \par
\par
"Just what is that supposed to mean?" Phyllis asked for everyone.\par
\par
"It means one thing," Cooper said, his voice dark. "Bob is far closer to us than we think. We don't have much time.\par
\par
============================================================\par
\par
Parallelogram--chapter seven\par
\par
His office was quiet thanks to both the lunch hour and the daily ritual of 'habitual absenteeism', as his DI Sam Tyler would complain. The wino was stewing in his cell, getting good and ripe for making a deal if a bottle was at the end of it. Gene sat back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head in smug satisfaction. He'd get a quick confession out of the old soak, he was sure of it, he knew how to play this particular game all too well. Tom Gordon would call himself 'Bob', 'Pope Paul' or 'Donny Osmond' if it meant he could get his alcoholic equilibrium back. Gene fished out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it, sucking its poisons deep. He held the smoke in his lungs for a good length of time before finally exhaling. It was a sign of a good health, Gene figured, to see just how long and deep a person could inhale. Hell, even his doctor had told him the same thing, and he chain smoked old stogies that left the room smelling of sweet tobacco and rum.\par
\par
Bugger DI Sam Tyler and his whining that they caused lung cancer and heart failure. What the hell word was it he'd used? Carson-Odgins? Gene shook the thought off, Sam was just being a nagging idiot who pushed some paper in Hyde and now thought he was a bloody doctor. Gene took another healthy puff out of spite.\par
\par
He was confident that the case was going to get wrapped up, at least enough to send that nutjob of a secret agent Cooper packing. That useless Yank was going to get a good taste of the Guv's expertise when it came to taking out scum in his city. Cooper ought to have realised he wasn't dealing with some backwater American soda town, this here was Manchester, a city that had seen more than its fair share of murder and torture in its six hundred plus years life-span. It was a gritty, dirty place and Gene Hunt loved every inch of its industrial revolution polluted bricks and black steel bars and pebbled refuse. He could feel the breath of his ancestors every single day as he walked its streets, he could sense where evil lurked and he was set to smoke it out. Such sensitivity might cow others, but Gene Hunt was no stranger to the muck that crawled in the miasma of Manchester's innards. He pulled a sense of strength out of putting bastards into jail where they couldn't harm his beloved citizens. Manchester's spirit rewarded him for this with an intense feeling of pride. Truth was, if he wasn't a copper, he wouldn't have a pulse. He was long since dead to any other kind of life.\par
\par
He reached for the drawer that held his brandy bottle, only to pause and sit back in his chair instead. No, there was no point in heading on *that* track again, not with the disaster that had been his last attempt. It was shockingly cruel, Gene mused, to take away a man's crutch only to leave the longing behind. He swore at the locked drawer of his cabinet and fingered the key sitting openly on top of his desk. It shone in the dim light of his office, a golden key that opened up all manner of emotional understanding. The gifts it promised were lost to him, however, all thanks to *her*.\par
\par
The door to his office eased open, and Gene was reluctant to answer the now familiar figure poised in its frame. There was the gentle swish what had to be black silk, along with something red flashing quickly in the corner of his vision. Her shapely legs were visible in the long slit cut in the centre of the skirt of her black dress, smooth silk stockings offering all kinds of illicit promise. "Touch me," her adorned flesh seemed to beg of him. "Make sure I'm real."\par
\par
"You," Gene spat at her, annoyed. Oh, he knew this game all right, and it was old the minute Cooper played it. "I ought to have figured you was in cahoots with him, slipping something into that coffee, making me a right..." He stopped, biting down on his anger because if nothing else, the sheer audacity of this plan was impressing him. "Look, sweetheart, I've been on this road before. His career is off track, he's losing points back home. His mates are getting sick of covering for him, they figure he's off the game and they don't want to be losing along with him. His career is in the shits and he's looking for a comeback. Here comes this murder investigation, puts him on foreign soil to boot, away from them prying eyes. I figured it right enough, he's got a chance to be a hero and leave DCI Gene Hunt his patsy boy. Well, tell your little partner in stupidity this: Gene Hunt the Sheriff of Manchester gets his man, and he's also not averse to pounding in a head or two what tries to stop him!"\par
\par
She smiled wanly at him, her golden tresses falling over her shoulders in angelic wisps, her blue eyes deep with an understanding that Gene found unsettling. Her black dress was far too formal for a sunny spring afternoon. She should have been in jeans or a pair of shorts, Gene thought. She should be out having fun and living life, not prancing about here trying to convince him to let Cooper take all the first prizes.\par
\par
"The gig is up, I don't cave for a bit of skirt. Not even one the likes of you." Gene stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray comprised of swirling coloured glass, the predominant colours being orange and brown. He kept his head down, refusing to look at her, and was thus shocked when he discovered she'd moved silently beside him, her fingertips caressing the side of his cheek.\par
\par
"I'm warning you," he said, but she pressed her thumb against his bottom lip, a smooth caress of skin that mimicked a cruel kiss. The touch was so soft and sensual that Gene found himself becoming lost within it, his own needs over-riding reason. By the time she captured his mouth with the sweetness of her kiss he had already decided that there were worse things in life than handing over a tiny bit of glory to Agent Dale Cooper. One of them was succumbing this easily to blonde temptresses who made a mighty fine cup of coffee.\par
\par
She bit the lobe of his ear, harsh enough to make it smart. The pain of it caused a thrill to course through Gene's groin, and he fought against the moan that desperately wanted to escape his lips. She swayed over him, her legs parting only slightly to sit on his lap, the cool touch of her black silk dress brushing ever so lightly against the bare skin of his arm. He gave her a sly grin, and dared to put his arm around her her shoulders, the outline of her body beneath the thin material as perfect as though she were nude in his arms. She pushed away from his touch only slightly, her eyes cast down on him from where she was perched on his lap.\par
\par
"Odd," Gene thought. "Her eyes are wolfish in this light. No, that's not it. They don't like right. They look unnatural. Strange."\par
\par
She opened her mouth in what was a mimic of a sensual sigh, but the words that spilled from it sounded as odd as her eyes, a distinctive accent that was indefinable. Was it Swedish? Danish? Whatever it was, her voice sounded as though everything was spoken backwards and had somehow been rewound for Gene to understand.\par
\par
"Through the darkness of future past...the magician longs to see...Come and see, come and see...Bobbbyyy."\par
\par
'What are you on about?" Gene asked, the eroticism of her touch slowly diminishing, changing, becoming something alien that sent a weird feeling into his gut. He recognised it only after he shoved her off of his lap. She'd brought with her a sensation he hadn't felt since he'd been a small child and his drunken father would stumble into their dark little house late at night. He'd lumber in like some unholy monster, loved and hated all at once, a creature that he knew had the possibility of being human, but was mostly monster.\par
\par
Laura Palmer pulled away from Gene, her icy eyes riveted on him, full of a malice and fury that only the violently dead could accumulate. Her soft mouth twisted into agony, her fingers curled and bleeding, splayed and broken backwards and forwards. A horrific scream erupted from a depth within her that Gene had only caught a glimpse of. An invisible entity pulled back her head by the hair, an unseen force pressing against the bruised outline of her pale, blood-soaked neck.\par
\par
Laura Palmer. She was here, being murdered right in front of his eyes.\par
\par
It was all Gene could do to stop from pissing himself in fear.\par
\par
///\par
\par
"I don't care what anyone says, that's not the proper way to make a Rueben sandwich."\par
\par
"It's all in the mustard," Ray agreed. "It has to be dijon, or it's just fit for the bin. In fact, I'll even say that no sandwich worth its bite doesn't have a bit of dijon thrown its way. It's just the right order of things."\par
\par
"Nah, can't agree there. Mustard and tea don't mix well at all. You got to have your blander stuff for a proper tea set up. Cucumber and butter, or simple egg salad, not too heavy on the pepper and just a little hint of onion. And nothing at all does it like a proper hearty fresh baked white bread. Nothing else is right."\par
\par
Ray nodded sagely as Cooper and Sam made their way into the interview room. The Mad Hatter, otherwise known as Tom Gordon, had commandeered the proceedings to his own liking. A perfect, highly civilised tea setting had been spread out before him, complete with cubes of sugar and whole milk in a small creamer. "Milk in tea, never cream," Tom had informed them, and Ray had made the proper arrangements.\par
\par
"Can you believe it? He used to be a master chef," Ray said to Sam, his head sadly shaking. "Said the job nearly done him in, the stress and all. Nobody understands the work involved, see, they all think it's just salt and pepper easy. He went crackers when they started serving ketchup with the chicken kiev. They ought to be arrested, doing something like that to him."\par
\par
Sam scratched his brow at this and gave the tea spread a quizzical once over. "What would we arrest the owners of the restaurant for, exactly? If tacky is a crime, I'm afraid your tie is going to give you ten to life."\par
\par
"It's not tacky," Ray said, peering down at his tie by pressing his chin close to his neck. "And it's not about style, it's about taste, and in his case, the taste of an amazing meal by a qualified cordon bleu chef. He's an artist, he's not some swill dumper like what we has in the canteen."\par
\par
"I'm sure Doris would be pleased to hear that assessment," Sam said. Then, by way of defence of the lovely ladies in the canteen. "Her treacle is a triumph."\par
\par
"That I'll give you, but the soup's way off. Too much carrot and not enough paprika." Ray nodded at Tom. "How's the tea, then?"\par
\par
"Stale, but it will do," Tom said with grave dignity.\par
\par
Cooper and Sam both pulled up a chair, while Ray remained standing behind them. His gum snapping was irritating, but as it was clear he had nothing else to do and had somehow forged a bond with their witness, Sam figured there was no harm in letting him stay. Sam pulled out his notebook and his neat arrangement of pens before him. To his surprise, Cooper did likewise, only with a far more slick looking black leather clad notebook, two equally stylish black and silver pens and his gold wristwatch. It was Cooper who placed the tape recorder onto the table and without waiting a heartbeat pressed 'record' and 'play'.\par
\par
"Diane, it is exactly 11:48 am, in the city of Manchester, located in England. I am currently in the A Division branch of the local law enforcement here, and am conducting an interview with one Tom Gordon, who may be a witness to the murder of our as yet unknown victim. As DCI Gene Hunt has not been available for the past couple of hours, it was deemed by DI Sam Tyler and myself that the interview could be performed without him."\par
\par
Sam could psychically feel Ray bristle at this news, and he knew the man would tattle on him a first opportunity. Fine. Sam willed Ray to be doomed to a life of chicken kiev served with ketchup no matter what fine dining establishment dared to let his loud blue suit in.\par
\par
"Diane, I have made a very significant discovery as of late. As a result of WDC Cartwright's recipe for proper brewing, as I outlined to you last night, I have found that I have a great affinity for tea. I have found I prefer it with milk and one sugar and most notably with a carbohydrate accompaniment, usually a butter biscuit. Mr. Tom Gordon, I would like for you to tell us what you know about a young woman by the name of 'Kim'"\par
\par
Tom Gordon frowned over his delicate cup of tea. "Are you off your cork?" he asked Cooper.\par
\par
Cooper handed him the brown paper bag he had been holding. Tom Gordon fished into it with a dirty hand and pulled out a rather mouth-watering sandwich.\par
\par
"Pastrami on rye. The only way it can be made," Cooper said.\par
\par
"Goes to show what you know," Tom gruffly replied. He took a bite of the sandwich and nodded in approval. "Not bad. Not New York deli good, but then very little is these days."\par
\par
Sam slid the morgue photo of the girl known only as 'Kim' towards Tom. He paused in his chewing to contemplate it. "She was a nice girl. She didn't deserve what happened to her, regardless of what was hanging around her. By the time I woke up she was done for, and there was nothing I could do about it." He swallowed what he had been chewing and looked up intently at Cooper and Sam. "Have you told her family yet?"\par
\par
Sam gave Gordon a noncommittal shrug. "We haven't been able to locate them. We don't have her full name, and no one has filed a missing persons recently so..."\par
\par
"Missing persons," Tom Gordon spat. "She's not missing, you twit, she's just *gone*. People do that, you know. They disappear, they just *go*." He took another healthy bite of his sandwich. When he spoke, he littered the surface of the table with crumbs. "Her name's Kim Underhill. She lives off of Drury, in one of the row houses there. Her dad's in construction."\par
\par
Sam scribbled this information down on his rather beaten looking notebook. To his surprise, Cooper's remained pristine and untouched. Where Sam was hunched over his notes, Cooper was sitting still and rod straight, his face an emotionless blank slate.\par
\par
"Mr. Gordon, are you saying you were a witness to her murder?" Cooper asked. \par
\par
Tom Gordon took two more large bites of the sandwich, finishing it off. He dabbed at his lips with a dirty tissue and swallowed down the remainder of the sandwich with a healthy swig of lukewarm tea. "Proper, that. I don't suppose you could get us another one?"\par
\par
"It's possible," Cooper said.\par
\par
"Hm. I wouldn't doubt it from the likes of you, you got that bit of odd to you, right enough. You're like that lad I used to know. He knew magic, real magic. He could make creamed corn disappear." He glanced over his shoulder at Ray who was now leaning against the stacks of files in a bored posture, a fresh stick of juicy fruit shoved roughly into his mouth. "You would have made a great saucier lad, I can see it in your soul. You would have been magic in a kitchen. The real thing."\par
\par
Ray puffed with odd pride at this revelation, a fact that inexplicably made Sam bristle in annoyance. He checked his watch and glanced at the door, wondering just where the hell Gene had got to and what was going to happen when he discovered they'd conducted the interview without him. Truth be told, they got a lot more out of Gordon without Gene's heavy handed agenda to blame the former chef turned homeless waif of murder. It was clear Gordon had known Kim, but he was upset at her death. He still talked about her in present tense, not past, a small indication that he hadn't killed her. The physical evidence stacked against the theory as well since there was no blood found on him or at his dwelling, and despite the filth of his skin there were no defensive bruises or scratches on him. Sam sighed and read over his notes, his pencil tapping impatiently against the surface of the green formica table.\par
\par
"You say she was a nice person regardless of what she had 'hanging around her'. What did you mean by that?"\par
\par
"Dark, like squid ink. Like burnt chocolate, bitter instead of sweet." He lifted the cup of tea to his lips and took a thoughtful sip before continuing. "I only saw him for a second, and then he was gone. Like a flash in a pan, a brief flamb\'e9 and then poof! Gone. All the same, I can't get that face out of my skull, it's sitting in here, all the damned time." He tapped the side of his head furiously, as though trying to poke a hole through the bone, to release some evil pressure that threatened his grey matter. "Pollutes me. Hates me because I cared, because I made her feel better, safer. He hates that, see, he hates it when people aren't afraid."\par
\par
"Mr. Gordon," Cooper suddenly said, his crisp diction giving a strange clarity to the interview room. "Do you mind if I show you a composite sketch of a suspect?"\par
\par
Sam felt a crawling sensation along the length of his spine. He glared at Cooper who was now opening his briefcase and taking out the rather pristine manila envelope, carefully shuffling through it as he searched for a perfectly preserved piece of paper that had a black and white drawing on its surface. Sam coughed, and took the composite sketch from Cooper's hand before he could give it to Tom Gordon.\par
\par
"Agent Cooper, a word," Sam said, and he shuffled out of his seat to dive behind a stack of file folders. Just nearly out of earshot he heard Tom Gordon remark to Ray: "Just what kind of peanuts do they pay you coppers, anyway? That poor bastard's got a busted zipper on his pants. Can't he afford a new pair?"\par
\par
Doing his best to retain his dignity at this, Sam threw the composite sketch at Cooper, who smoothed out its new wrinkles with his palm. "What the hell do you think you're playing at? You had a suspect in mind and you never handed this over to us?"\par
\par
"The opportunity wasn't right..." Cooper began.\par
\par
"To hell it wasn't. I'm starting to think the Guv's got some sense in this after all. You are trying to bring yourself some thunder in this, and you're doing it by with-holding information. I'm having it out with you now, Cooper, either you tell me what the hell is going on, or I'm going to go over your head and have you yanked out of this city so fast you'll have ink-stains from your passport."\par
\par
"I'm not working against you," Cooper tried to assure him. "I don't know how to make you understand. This case relies on strict, precise timing, otherwise we could be overheard..."\par
\par
"What the devil are you talking about?"\par
\par
Cooper sighed and shook his head. "We can't waste any more time discussing the semantics of my methods. At present, Bob is infiltrating every crack of this building, and if we don't act quickly he could slip away, undetected. I already have my suspicions of where he may be, but I have to ensure that Tom Gordon is not another of his pawns." Ignoring Sam's furious glare, Cooper marched back around the stack of files and into the interview room. Tom Gordon had just poured himself a fresh cup of milky beige tea.\par
\par
"Mr. Gordon, I would like you to look at this," Cooper said, and he placed the composite sketch on the surface of the table and pushed it towards the old man. The picture was a fairly good ink drawing of a wild looking man with fierce, animal eyes and long, shoulder length hair that wound messily around his head in an unholy halo.\par
\par
"A hippie?" Ray said, cracking his gum as he looked on the sketch. "He don't look nasty so much as messy."\par
\par
But their guest Tom Gordon was suddenly quiet, his demeanour no longer proud or dignified. He reached out to touch the picture, only to draw his fingers back as though the very paper would burn him. He began tapping the side of his skull again, his mouth pressed tight against saying more even though he was compelled to. "He's in my head...all the time..the way he smiles, the way he dances, the way he cries and laughs..." Tom's shoulders began to shake, his head bobbing back and forth in involuntary tremors. "He's...His name is Bob...His name is..."\par
\par
A sudden choking sound erupted from the man's throat, and a thick, drooling foam seeping from the corners of his mouth. Tom Gordon's eyes rolled back in his head as he trembled in his seat. He began rocking violently back and forth, his head swinging backwards as he tumbled to the floor. Ray ran towards him, but Cooper held both Ray and Sam back with outstretched arms, forcing them to give Gordone a wide berth.\par
\par
"He's having a grand mal seizure," he said to them. "He may be epileptic which, unfortunately, also explains his current lack of viable employment. The best thing to do right now is wait it out, as interfering could cause injury."\par
\par
"Bloody hell, what have you done to him?" Ray shouted at Cooper. \par
\par
Sam found himself on Ray's side, a situation that disturbed him greatly. "That sketch certainly caused a reaction, is this the 'wait and see' approach you were looking for? I'll say it again, if you had a suspect in mind, we had a right to be informed. What other information are you holding out on us?"\par
\par
Cooper actually wrung his hands, a deploring expression etched in the delicate lines on his brow. "I'm sorry, Sam. You have to trust me, I know what I am doing. This investigation..."\par
\par
"Has been compromised by your emotional involvement," Sam finished. He leaned on the green formica table, his hands splayed on its surface. He had the sickening feeling in his gut that Gene had been right about Cooper all along, and this sat ill with him indeed. "What happened to following proper procedures? I know you have certain unorthodox 'methods', but you'll have a hard time convincing me that with-holding evidence was 'best' for this investigation. We could have put flyers up with this guy's face on them, we could have shown it to people at the bar where the victim worked. Someone would have recognised him!"\par
\par
"No one will. No one has seen him," Cooper assured Sam.\par
\par
"Are you mad? Just what did Tom Gordon see, then?." Sam grabbed the composite sketch and held it in a crumpled grip in front of Cooper's face, his grip so tight he was offering Cooper more of a fist than a slip of paper. "What the hell is this?" Sam shouted. "Prime suspect, black and white ink!" He tossed the sketch back on the table, his body shaking with rage. "We could have had him in custody by now!"\par
\par
"I very much doubt that," Cooper assured him. "I've told you, Sam. Bob is not a person. Bob is a terrible *thing*."\par
\par
"I don't care if he's a rotten apple, I want him arrested and off the streets before he kills again! Obviously, this is of no concern whatsoever to the likes of you!"\par
\par
Cooper's head snapped back as though he'd been slapped. His pained expression was now one of pure torture, his eyes glassy, as though he were ready to weep. "You have no idea, Sam Tyler, just how deep, and how much, a concern that Bob is for me."\par
\par
"That's the problem, isn't it?" Sam said. "You are way too deep into this. I'm calling your superiors. I'm going to tell them to take you off the case."\par
\par
"You can't," Cooper said, and he was soft-spoken, apologetic. \par
\par
"I can and I will."\par
\par
"It's impossible."\par
\par
Tom Gordon's thrashings had ceased, and he was slowly coming back to consciousness. Ray eased him up off the floor and to his feet, his shoulder heavy with Gordon's burden. \par
\par
"Come on, Chef, we'll get you taken care of. Get you another sandwich, a Ray Special. Chicken and mango with a mayonnaise curry sauce, ain't nothing like it on Earth." Ray shot Cooper a whistle. "Here, Special Agent Bastard, call him up an ambulance since you've got now't to do but give old bastards a heart attack. And call yourself a travel agent while you're at it. You can make yourself part of the mile high club and get the fuck out of here!"\par
\par
There was considerable mixed cursing as Ray helped his charge out of the interview room, most of it aimed at the dietary ignorance of the American gastronome and the horrors of the concept of 'fast food'. Sam shook his head as he watched them leave, and wondered exactly how much of their investigation had now been rendered unsalvageable. Gene was right, by this time Bob could be long gone, well into any country in the world. Cooper had given him plenty of freedom to do so.\par
\par
Cooper made a motion to speak, but Sam stopped him. "You aren't my favourite son," Sam said to him. \par
\par
The lights above them began to flicker and sputter, much like they did during their time in the morgue. Cooper hit the 'stop' button on the tape recorder. He appeared broken in the shards of light that illuminated him in sporadic intervals.\par
\par
"I don't expect you to understand," he said.\par
\par
A flash of red met the corner of Sam's eye, and though he wanted to respond to Cooper, to give him a lot more than just a piece of his mind, he had been silenced. Cooper faded into the background until he didn't exist, the malfunctioning light above them focusing into a spotlight on the surface of the formica table. Sitting there, in the suspect chair, was the Test Card Girl, her clown doll playfully set up across from her in the chair Sam himself had occupied not ten minutes before.\par
\par
"What are you doing here?" he whispered.\par
\par
"I have a purpose," he heard Cooper's voice answer back, it seemed, from a vast, impenetrable distance.\par
\par
She smiled at Sam, and produced a packet of crayons, which she then used to begin colouring in the composite sketch of the suspect known only to them as 'Bob'. "I know him," she said to Sam, and gave him her eerie, childish grin. "Bob has *red* lips. Red as blood, red as days dying. His hair is *grey. It's pale grey, like a corpse's skin." She cocked her head to one side, the red and grey crayons held in her grip as though indecisive. "I know Bob. We all know Bob. But Sam doesn't, and what Sam doesn't know will hurt him. You should get to know him, Sam. You should get to know him soon."\par
\par
"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam said to her, his voice a harsh, terrified whisper. "Why should I know him?"\par
\par
"Poor Sam," the Test Card Girl grinned. "He doesn't know where he is." She made her decision and began to colour. She pressed hard and deliberate on the paper, leaving vicious, messy slaps of colour on the sketch. Red. Red lips. Red eyes. Red blood.\par
\par
///\par
\par
"Sam?"\par
\par
"What?"\par
\par
"Are you feeling all right?"\par
\par
Annie's concerned face was in front of him, and he nearly bolted from the shock of seeing her there. It took a few moments for him to reconnect to his surroundings, and he discovered to his horror that he was no longer in the interview room with Cooper, but had somehow managed to jump from there to the canteen. He checked his watch, but the time told him little save the fact that he'd been elsewhere for forty minutes.\par
\par
"I...Annie..." He swallowed, doing his best to keep his inner panic at bay. "How did I get here?"\par
\par
"Don't be daft, you've been here for forty minutes, you even had a cup of coffee. You haven't touched it, though, too bitter is it?" She made a face as though she understood this to be true. \par
\par
"I don't know how I got here," Sam confessed. "The last thing I remember was the interview room, and..."\par
\par
"That poor old man," Annie said, and tch'ed. "He's headed off to hospital now, poor thing, and Ray is heading in the ambulance with him. They seem to have made quite a connection, those two. I think Ray has adopted him."\par
\par
"Might be the other way around," Sam said, frowning. "Annie...I'm sorry. Where was I at that time?"\par
\par
"I told you, you were here, with me." She gave him a puzzled smile. "Sam, we've been talking. You were telling me about your problems with Cooper and I was telling you about how that nutter Constable is about ready to make me head explode." A flicker of real concern flashed over her. "Sam, you don't remember any of that?"\par
\par
"Wait, yes, right. Right. I'm so sorry, Annie. Not getting enough sleep, my mind's all over." He didn't like lying to her like this, but at present all he really wanted to do was to hide somewhere, get his thoughts back into some semblance of linear order. He'd travelled through time all right, and he'd damn well lost some of it, too. The fact he'd been here, in some other fashion, talking with Annie in a conversation he couldn't recall...That was more terrifying than simply not being in the present. "I don't feel well...I'm...Look, I'll be back in a few minutes, I'm just going to go and clear my head, is all."\par
\par
"Take all the time you need," Annie said, and the words felt prophetic as they settled uneasily into Sam's consciousness.\par
\par
He had to find a place alone. A shred of solace. He headed for the one spot he'd found when he'd had his last crisis, when the real world came barrelling into his brain, deafening his thoughts.\par
\par
He headed for the loo.\par
\par
===============================================================\par
\par
Parallelogram--chapter eight\par
\par
A public washroom, despite its obvious purpose for disposing of human waste, has several uses for the emotional well being of its patrons. For one, with its cubicles and clear advocacy for privacy, the public loo is a private space set apart from the rest of humanity wherein a person can go in, lock a door, and have some reasonable expectation of solitary confinement. With the cubicle door closed, a person can quietly cry, contemplate one's woes or in some cases hide paperwork from prying eyes. The public loo is not a place for airing one's issues for all the world to see, nor is it a gathering ground for discussions, moreover it is a place designed specifically for the troubled mind and gut to reach certain conclusions that will result, one would hope, in a better balance within body and soul.\par
\par
So, it was not without a great deal of consternation that Sam found he was not alone with his thoughts in the loo, but was forcibly thrust into the din of Gene Hunt's demons, which were currently being emptied one by one from their bottles into the sink, the emptied bottles left to shatter with its mates as the shards clogged the drain. With the last two bottles, the sink was filled to overflowing, and the smiling face of Captain Morgan rolled over the edge of the beige porcelain to shatter on the dark green tinted linoleum below. The demise of the good Captain was as violent as it was unexpected, and through a mixture of disappointment over not finding himself alone and utter shock, Sam could only exclaim, "What the hell are you doing!"\par
\par
"Cleaning house," Gene said.\par
\par
"There's got to be twenty bottles here!"\par
\par
Gene emptied the Crown Royal of its last drop and tossed the bottle onto the floor where it smashed into crystal shards at Sam's feet. "That there's twenty-three, so what's your trouble?"\par
\par
"In all honesty, Gov, I should be happy for you about this. It was only a matter of time before you succumbed to the after affects of alcoholism, cirrhosis of the liver at the fore along with alcohol induced dementia at a later stage of life."\par
\par
"Dementia," Gene said, the word rolling around his mouth like a bitter candy testing his tongue. "Demented."\par
\par
"I wouldn't go that far," Sam said. "It's just so, I don't know, strange is the word that comes to mind."\par
\par
Gene finished emptying the last bottle, a golden liquid of indeterminable strength. He clasped his hands on either side of the sink, and stared at his cloudy reflection in the rusted mirror above it. "Strange," Gene repeated, his voice a harsh whisper and clearly meant only for himself. "Odd. Weird."\par
\par
"I'm not saying this isn't a good thing," Sam said, nodding at the bottles and doing his best to be cheerful about it. "It's fab, it really is, that you got a handle on things, that you aren't being run by the bottle any longer. It's just...I have to ask, Gov, what the hell is going on?"\par
\par
Gene eyed the partially open main door of the loo with instant suspicion, and taking his cue Sam quickly shut it. He stood in front of Gene expectant and giddy with the idea of being so intimately in Gene's confidence. Gene bent low to Sam, his eyes darting the perimeter of the loo for possible hidden listening devices.\par
\par
"I don't want to bloody talk about it," he whispered to Sam.\par
\par
He stood up and straightened his dishevelled tie with the aid of his cloudy reflection and then made his way to the door. \par
\par
"Hold on! You can't leave me here with all this mess and no explanation!"\par
\par
"I believe I gave you one, Tyler. Or is the concept of minding your own business one they frown upon up there in Hyde? Bloody nuisance, you are, a body can't even get a second alone with his thoughts in the loo for Christ's sake."\par
\par
He attempted to leave, but he had touched a rather poignant nerve in Sam with that last statement. "I'm sick to death of being left in the dark," Sam said. "Open communication is the key to any working relationship, you ass. For your information, not that it's possibly any of our 'business' according to your code of conduct, Agent Cooper just sprang a composite sketch on our witness."\par
\par
Gene let the loo door shut in front of him and he backtracked his way to Sam.\par
\par
"I thought that might get your attention," Sam said. \par
\par
"That bloody bastard. What else has he got that he hasn't been telling us?"\par
\par
"Good question."\par
\par
Gene was quiet a long moment, his arms crossed, his expression even more so as he stared down at the indignant form of Sam in front of him. "And what about you?"\par
\par
Sam felt a momentary lapse of reason weasel its way between them. He shrugged, not understanding.\par
\par
"I thought you and Yankee Doodle was best bosom pals."\par
\par
"He's not my 'best bosom pal'."\par
\par
"He was at your flat this morning."\par
\par
"He got pissed drunk and had to dry out. I lent him the couch."\par
\par
"You never have a bender with *me* and lend me your couch."\par
\par
Sam shrugged again. "I always had you figured as a man who had a perfectly good couch to pass out on at home."\par
\par
"A bloke should always be able to depend on his mates," Gene loudly sniffed. He pulled the waistband of his pants up beneath his gut and kicked an empty amber bottle out of his way. It clanked against the dark green ceramic tiles lining the walls. \par
\par
"It can grate on a body's nerves, it can, a good friend tossing you over for some over-the-top crystal gazing foreigner with more flash than sense. So, you've discovered this Agent Moron is, in fact, a complete douche. Bravo for you, Sammy boy, I'll be sure to get you that sticker you've earned." Gene's mouth was twisted in tight lines. "I suppose you think it's easy, getting back in my good graces after what you've gone and done."\par
\par
Sam shook his head. "I...Gene, I don't know what the hell you are talking about. Am I missing some strange male bonding ritual component here or are you simply mad?" He blinked, thinking over what Gene had said. "Wait a minute...You aren't...You're not *jealous* of Cooper?"\par
\par
"Of course I'm not bloody jealous you rat's ass twat, I'm telling you that things have been stinking since that Agent showed up and it keeps getting ranker." \par
\par
Gene paused as he stood over the sink, where glass and booze intermingled in a glittering, yeasty soup. "Nothing's sitting right," he mumbled at Sam. "It's all upside down, all wrong. I can't bring myself to drink a drop, it makes me bloody sick. Just looking at it all, there, makes my stomach churl. It's that Secret Agent Man. There's something off about him and I can't explain to you exactly what."\par
\par
"Try me," Sam said.\par
\par
Gene placed a meaty hand on the door of the loo and pushed it open. "I don't give a rat's ass about his possible suspect. I don't trust a thing he's offered us, but one. I don't care if I have to bring a shovel with me and turn over a few long dead graves...I want to know everything there is to know and more about that Laura Palmer."\par
\par
///\par
\par
They were having a busy afternoon in 'A' Division, a fact that made Phyllis all that more irritable. She sighed over the stacks of papers in front of her, her pencil madly scribbling in names and offences and complaints. There were always lots of complaints.\par
\par
A steaming white mug was placed in front of her, and Phyllis looked over her shoulder to see Annie waving cheerfully as she hurried off. "Thanks love, I was ready to murder for a cuppa!" Phyllis shouted after her. She picked up the mug and took a sip only to find it too hot, and nearly dropped it. A soggy beige splash found its way onto the pile of papers in front of her. She might be killing someone today after all.\par
\par
She was so busy mopping up the spill between her curses that she didn't notice the shadow that had fallen over her desk. Phyllis ignored the sound of someone's throat politely clearing, and kept her head down and concentrated on the mess in front of her. Whoever the bloody punter was he could wait a few minutes, or if he kept up that blasted throat clearing a few hours.\par
\par
"Good afternoon," a precise male voice said, and even those two simple words she could discern the calm, almost sleepy demeanour of his person, a confident, polite air to his accent that had all the intonations of an American military man. She looked up and was not surprised to see what she had deducted standing before her, but more-so that such a person would be here in Manchester, specifically in 'A' Division and on her shift and her without her hair done the day before.\par
\par
"Good afternoon," he repeated, the cap of his uniform neatly tucked beneath his arm respectfully as he addressed her. "Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Major Briggs, and I believe I have an appointment with one Agent Dale Cooper." Even without the obvious uniform she would have figured him out, Phyllis thought. There was no mistaking that certain confident air of an American military man. He was bald and older, maybe in his fifties, with a stout muscular build, not a handsome man in some circles, but at the same time not uneasy on the eye. He was mature, Phyllis thought. An honest, good soul that shone through whatever physical shortcomings he might have and that shine seemed to polish his various medals.\par
\par
"So he's conjured you up with his crystal ball, has he?" Phyllis replied, thinking, 'I'm not so easily swayed, not now not never, even if he does look the part of a right charmer.'\par
\par
"I am not about to discount any possibilities," Major Briggs said, cheerfully. "Though I will say that the controlled chaos within these walls has a resonance that moves me in ways I had not expected. I do believe I have a sense of nostalgia over the presiding hope of order and stability within the wheels of humanity in this point of time. I imagine this is no easy feat, keeping the machine of justice within these walls so neatly oiled, and it would take a person of great fortitude and strength to keep that kind of chaos held together." He nodded at Phyllis in acknowledgement of her powers. "You have my deepest respect, ma'am. It is no easy task to filter the tumultuous waters that crash through here on a regular basis."\par
\par
"One does one's best," Phyllis said, and despite herself she fiddled with a lock of her hair between her fingers, then pushed up a curl or two with a gentle wave of a delicately placed hand. She melted slightly, allowing the briefest whisper of a smile to beautify her otherwise stern face. "Agent Cooper is currently in DCI Hunt's office, upstairs in A Division." She pressed her lips together, hoping to make them blush a bit since she couldn't be sure she had on enough lipstick. "I've always had a deep respect for the military man," she said. "I take it you've seen service."\par
\par
Major Briggs gave Phyllis a warm smile and placed his cap on his bald head, tipping it to her in respectful acknowledgement. "That, I'm afraid, is classified."\par
\par
Phyllis kept her eyes on him as he walked up the stairs, his air one of humble confidence, no hint of arrogance present in any step.\par
\par
A young face was shoved against the counter, a regular customer brought round for another batch of misdemeanour charges. "Kiss my arse you copper bitch!" he shouted at her.\par
\par
But Phyllis had her hand on her heart and her eyes on Major Briggs as she thought to herself, "My word, an officer and a gentleman." She broke from the spell and turned to the young punk spitting on her counter.\par
\par
"Oi, you little shit prick, get your horking off this counter afore I make you lick it back you little pus mite!"\par
\par
///\par
\par
Most people would rather French kiss a cod than be placed in the maw of DCI Gene Hunt's office, and Sam still had the bruises on his back from his first altercation with his superior officer. It wasn't the simple presence of violence which was most unsettling in DCI Hunt's office, but the overall smell of stale air and rotting things in the bottom of a desk drawer. Gene's office had a dank, basement feeling, like one had hit rock bottom by coming here and there would never be hope of crawling out of Gene's primordial Manchester copper ooze. One couldn't help but become infected by some unpleasant revelation given about the state of life and the policing profession. Being on Gene's comfortable turf was always a dangerous place for those under his scrutiny. Sam knew for a fact that Gene knew what buttons to push to make a grown man cry. He'd had the treatment himself, after all.\par
\par
Perhaps it was pure ignorance, then, that kept Agent Dale Cooper so carefree as he sat in the hot seat in Gene's office, a steaming cup of tea in his hand and a goofy smile on his face that suggested he was actually *happy* in such a vile environment. \par
\par
"Are you all right?" Sam couldn't help but ask him.\par
\par
Cooper took a tentative sip of his brew. "Darjeeling," he said, madly grinning. "Amazing."\par
\par
Gene sat across from Cooper, his fingers tapping impatiently on the surface of his desk. "You're in an awfully good mood for a man what's going to get his head kicked in," Gene observed.\par
\par
Cooper's pleasant smile never wavered. "DCI Hunt, it would be in the best interest of your health and happiness if you could understand the futility of violence." Instinctively, Cooper smoothed his hand over the spot where Gene had hit him during their first meeting. He took another sip of tea. "There remains no doubt to me why the great Brittania had extended its power across the globe with such seemingly effortless ease. There is truly magical healing properties in a good cup of tea."\par
\par
"Drink up. You'll be needing those 'healing properties' what with my fists being so itchy to meet that smug face of yours. I'll come right out and say it: You ain't been straight with us, not from the second you got here. Maybe we don't have fancy labs or shrink doctors getting under the skin of evil bastards, and neither I nor my city is as pretty as you--But I know enough to gather when I've been lied to and my men have been onto you since time began. So if you don't start spilling something other than quotes from Timothy Leary I'm going to start hitting you. Hard. Preferably in the groin area since the crack to your head didn't do the trick the first time."\par
\par
"I can see now why he's found it so comfortable here," Cooper replied, his expression grim.\par
\par
"I take it you're talking about Bob," Sam said, and Cooper nodded in reply.\par
\par
"This here is where we differ most, Agent Cooper," Gene said, his voice dark, menacing. "I don't give a rat's shit about Bob. The only thing I want to know about is this." He tossed a fat, cream coloured file at Cooper, papers spilling from it like shards of exploding glass. The papers were all colours and sizes, some smooth others well worn and wrinkled. Photographs were interspersed within the notes and official reports. A yellow sticky note wafted down in front of Sam to cement itself on the floor in front of him. 'Fire, walk with me' was scrawled on its surface in red ink.\par
\par
Sam shuddered.\par
\par
"You stole from me," Cooper said, his words supposedly meant for Gene, but his dark eyes were riveted on Sam as he spoke. Sam looked away, proven guilty.\par
\par
"Is that what they call it back in the U.S. of A? 'Round these parts we call it 'with-holding evidence'. I figured it was me duty as an officer of the law to confiscate the contents of your briefcase. Interesting reading, if you're a delusional nut-job." Gene folded his arms over his chest and glared at Cooper, the air in his office suffocating. "Guess what I got out of it?"\par
\par
He leaned forward, his face level with Cooper's, their noses just about touching. For his part, Cooper was expressionless, proudly standing his ground while Gene openly snarled in his face. This stand-off might not end well, Sam thought. Someone was bound to get their nose bitten off and Sam wasn't so sure Gene would be the victor in this match.\par
\par
"Fuck all. You and your bits of paper full of scribbles and incomprehensible little notes and abbreviations gave us nothing, and you know it. So, friend, you are going to start opening up and break this little code of yours, starting at the most important point."\par
\par
Cooper nodded, his eyes narrowed at Gene. "Bob," he said.\par
\par
"No," Gene said, surprising him. "I want what you got on Laura."\par
\par
A wallet sized photo of the young woman was tight in Gene's grip as he showed it to Cooper, her hair spilling around her face in golden wisps that teased the halo of plastic that her body had been wrapped in. The partially open door of Gene's office gave Cooper's reply pause, and understanding this, Sam pushed the door shut with his foot. The dark, cramped space of Gene's office was now close to suffocating the three sombre men within, each of whom had a tale to tell that no other one would believe. The stale, rank air felt weighted as Sam breathed it in. He wondered how his body was doing, wherever it really was.\par
\par
"Laura Palmer's father was the one officially arrested for her murder," Cooper said. "He died while in custody."\par
\par
"Interesting," Gene replied. "I wouldn't have given a thought that you blokes in the FBI understand the term 'heavy handling', if you get my meaning."\par
\par
"Loud and clear, DCI Hunt, but the force was not exerted by those who held him in custody. Leland Palmer purposefully smashed his head against a steel door causing sudden, severe cerebral haemorrhaging. He only lived a few minutes after the initial blow."\par
\par
"Crushed his head in himself while in custody. If I tried that crack in here I'd be in the gaol so fast my arse-hole would take a week to catch up with me. You got a funny set of rules there in the New World. Clearly the wild west hasn't been so tamed we here in Mother England think."\par
\par
"If the man who killed her is already dead, then why is he here in Manchester continuing the killings?" Sam asked. "There is no mistaking the killer's signature, the plastic wrapping of the bodies, the insertion of letters beneath the fingernails, all of this is a clear distinction of one particular killer. Unless, Agent Cooper, you are suggesting we have a copycat..."\par
\par
"There is only one Bob," Cooper said to Sam. Sam shifted in his seat, unease creeping into his marrow at Cooper's rather dreamy expression when discussing the man he believed to be a murderer. There was an understanding akin to respect in his voice that was unsettling to an outsider to the case, as Sam and all of them were. It was clear from the far away look in Cooper's dark eyes that Bob was the Moriarity to his Sherlock. \par
\par
Gene sat back in his seat sloppily, a heavy sigh weighting down the already oppressive air of his office, filling it with a frustrated despair. "Which brings me to the most obvious point, Agent Cooper. If the man who killed Laura Palmer is already dead just what the devil are you doing here?"\par
\par
"It may have been his hands that killed her, but Leland Palmer did not murder his daughter." Cooper steepled his fingers and pressed them firmly against his lips, his mind focused on some dark point in time that had never truly left him. "As you have seen in my notes, Laura Palmer talked extensively of a man named 'Bob'. It was both his name, and a strange phrase that reverberated over and over throughout the investigation, and it was this that finally led me to her true murderer."\par
\par
"Fire, walk with me," Sam whispered.\par
\par
The air was charged by this phrase. It hung above the trio like a living thing, a winged owl poised to strike. Though he couldn't be sure, Sam thought he witnessed an involuntary shudder pass through Gene.\par
\par
"So, this Bob. He's the real bastard, then?" Gene asked.\par
\par
"Absolutely," Cooper replied.\par
\par
"Very nice. Did he leave a forwarding address in Manchester?" Gene leaned back in his chair, so far back that Sam half wondered if he'd snap it in half. "Seems to me if he did we'd be knocking on his door, or maybe, that's the last the thing you'd want. Just maybe, you're going vigilante on this thing, and you want to take him out personally."\par
\par
"Nothing would please me more," Cooper said. "But unfortunately, though I am very close, I haven't quite found him yet."\par
\par
"I appreciate you trying to take our your own trash," Gene said, "But as I've said before, this here's my turf. How did you figure him on being here on our doorstep?"\par
\par
"I was given a set of clues, a map in other words."\par
\par
"Bob dropped you a line, did he?"\par
\par
"No." Cooper was quiet a long moment, his concentration turned inward, a sense of betrayal leaking from every pore in his brow. "It was Laura who told me."\par
\par
"Laura. As in dead Laura Palmer."\par
\par
"Yes."\par
\par
Sam shrank in his seat, waiting for the inevitable diatribe from his DCI. Conversations from the nether-world were hardly things that any respectable cop would take seriously, especially when coming from an outsider like Agent Cooper. The poor man was now dead in the water, Sam was sure, a floating target for Gene Hunt to pummel into nothing with fiery words and a good kick to Cooper's arse sending him back to his continent with a doctor's note and a round of shock therapy to cure him of his delusions.\par
\par
"Spill it, then. What does she want?"\par
\par
Sam blinked. He gave a puzzled look from Gene to Cooper and back again, but they were both impenetrable, both of them keeping him in the dark from their separate yet connected nightmares. "Gene," Sam said, astonished. "He's talking about communicating with spirits. I hardly think..."\par
\par
"That's the whole trouble, Tyler, I keep telling you. You don't think. It's not a skill they keep up in Hyde. Go on, Cooper, I'm all ears even if Sammy Boy here's a profoundly narrow little atheist..."\par
\par
"I'm an agnostic..." Sam protested.\par
\par
"Really? Don't you need thick glasses, then?"\par
\par
"It was in a dream," Cooper said, his discomfort quickly ebbing. \par
\par
"Myopic. You mean myopic."\par
\par
"Shut up, Tyler, the man is speaking!"\par
\par
"She was in the Black Lodge," Cooper continued. "A place I shall not discuss in further detail other than to say it is the most disorienting, evil and incomprehensible place known to this life and any other. She was standing in a hallway, which was lined with red curtains. I could hear the sound of a heart monitor and there were two lines of intravenous racks against the curtains on either side of the hallway. There was a strong smell, not unlike urine, or maybe it was formaldehyde, I'm not sure. I heard the phrase 'He's in a coma' echo from a place behind the curtains, but no matter how I tried I could not go past them beyond the veil that had been presented to me."\par
\par
A bone cold had invaded Sam as he listened to Cooper, his neck crawling with goose-bumps. He swallowed back the lump of fear that had found its way into his throat and kept silent, though he couldn't suppress the tension he felt throughout his muscles, his fear so intense he was ready to spring through the door of the office in terror at any second.\par
\par
How could he know any of this? Sam thought. He'd mentioned it once before, last night when drunk, in fact, but Cooper's observation had seemed more philosophical than literal. Formaldehyde...Now there was an unsettling detail...\par
\par
"It was at this point that I saw Laura Palmer. She handed me a cup of tea, which I noted because she is far more associated in my mind with coffee. You see, the best coffee in the world is made..."\par
\par
"...in Twin Peaks," Gene impatiently finished for him. "Get on with it, and give us the bones. If you want to fatten it up, hand it to Tyler. He's the one what likes to gorge himself on details, isn't that right?"\par
\par
"There's not much more to tell, since there aren't many details, DCI Hunt. I suspect Laura gave me this information in this way specifically so you could understand it. In any event, when I tried to take a sip of the tea, I discovered the mug was empty. It had a strange pattern on its otherwise white surface, a game of x's and o's and a rather sinister looking clown face. Beside this was a stick drawing of a girl in a red dress."\par
\par
"Fascinating stuff, this. Note well that the name 'Bob' hasn't shown up once, and since it hasn't I've lost patience. Here, Tyler, what's wrong with you, you're so pale of a sudden... If you're sick, go upchuck on your own desk and leave mine alone."\par
\par
"I'm not finished," Cooper said, with significant confidence now. "At this point in the dream, Laura held up a large, white teapot which had the words 'A' Division printed on it in large black letters, like an advertisement. When I looked back at the mug in my hand, the picture on it had changed and there was now the same ad on its surface along with a picture of a grinning man holding a steaming mug."\par
\par
"A picture of Bob?" Gene asked, hopeful.\par
\par
"No," Cooper said. "It was a picture of you."\par
\par
Gene scratched the underside of his chin. "Adverts on mugs. Now there's a career for my handsome profile."\par
\par
"What I still don't understand are the words above your head, written in an old fashioned script from the fifties, the kind you see in diners in America. In blue letters, right above you, was the phrase 'The coffee's so good, I'm off the booze'. I haven't been able to decipher what she meant by that."\par
\par
"Give over," Gene said, suddenly pale. He turned on Sam. "Tyler, you little maggot, why don't you get on the loudspeaker and make a formal announcement!"\par
\par
"We've only just got here, and you and I have been like glue since our meeting in the loo. There's been no opportunity for me to tell anyone anything."\par
\par
"Since the mug was empty, I turned it over." Cooper made a motion with his hands as though he was turning over an invisible mug, his expression concentrated as though he were reading small print. "On the bottom, in blue letters, it read 'Made In Manchester'. Bob is here, DCI Hunt, there is no question. He is not on the streets of Manchester at this moment, he is nowhere else in the world. I came here, and specifically to 'A' Division because this is what Laura herself told me to do. He is inside your building right now, inside one of your officers."\par
\par
"I beg your pardon?" Sam said, incredulous.\par
\par
"Bob is not a person," Cooper said to them both, his voice a dark whisper. "He has no flesh and blood, no pulse no breath. He is a parasite. He is a cancer. Bob is and always has been a terrible *thing*."\par
\par
==========================================================\par
\par
Parallelogram--chapter nine\par
\par
"A thing," Gene repeated. "Well, I guess we've narrowed down the search, then. Get on the horn, Tyler, tell the boys that we're on a hunt for a 'thing'. Check all trash bins, locker cabinets and arseholes, that thing's got to be here somewhere. Don't look so worried, Sam, we all know you lost your thing ages ago."\par
\par
"I'd feel sorry for you," Sam said to Cooper, "but you have left yourself wide open for ridicule, and I'm still smarting over that with-holding of evidence."\par
\par
Both Gene and Sam waited expectantly for an apology, one that had little chance of coming. Agent Cooper stood up, and gathered the papers that had flown out of his neatly arranged manila folder, his movements precise and organised, the papers and photos and bits and pieces gently being arranged back into their home in the manner of a magician's puzzle, a feat that was routine to the job, an arrangement that had been made thousands of times before.\par
\par
"I should have known better than to expect anyone here to understand," Cooper said, his voice betraying disappointment, and though he wasn't looking at him, Sam knew the words were meant for him alone. He nodded curtly at Gene. "Gentlemen," he said as he put his hand on the door to leave.\par
\par
"Who said you could head off?"\par
\par
A halo of smoke surrounded Gene, his small, narrowed eyes focused on Cooper. "I believe we are done here," Cooper said to him, shrugging in defeat.\par
\par
"We're not done till I says so, sit your Yankee ass down." Gene violently stubbed out his cigarette in an already overflowing ashtray. "You got a plan for him, then, this Bob?"\par
\par
A miasma of stale air, cigarette smoke and sweat assaulted Cooper as he tried to form an answer. Though his own demeanour remained cool, it was clear that Gene's willingness to persue the enigmatic Bob had unsettled him. "I did," Cooper said. "But now, I'm not so sure my plan of attack will work."\par
\par
"And why's that?" Gene asked. "If he's some spirit-thing, like you say, then I gather we just exorcise him and pop him in the genie bottle. Done."\par
\par
"You amaze me, DCI Hunt," Cooper admitted, giving his contemporary a wide, disarming grin, all cold discernment lost. "For this had been my exact plan of action, my modus operandi. However, it became quite clear to me after this morning at DI Tyler's apartment that I was wrong in my assumption that I would be able to trap him so easily. You see, even though steps can be made to pinpoint exactly whom he is possessing right this moment, there is an added difficulty. While Bob is not operating in his own universe, which gives us an advantage, I, too, am not operating in my own universe." He cast a glance at Sam over his shoulder, and Sam's heart quickened at the revelation he was presenting. "Bob is already in a bottle but, unfortunately, for all involved it is not an empty one."\par
\par
There it was, almost deafening in its clarity, the sudden 'beep, beep' of a heart monitor, the suck and pull of a life support system forcing air into and out of his body. Sam felt cold, frozen. The backs of his hands ached, and he rubbed at them, his fingers smoothing over the veins that had been pierced by IV needles somewhere in that other world, outside of this tiny container he'd been placed in.\par
\par
"There's only one thing to do with all this talk of bottles," Gene replied. "Pub."\par
\par
"That's your answer to everything," Sam said.\par
\par
"It's the only one worth abiding," Gene replied.\par
\par
///\par
\par
He was desperate for a place of quiet, and since the loo had proven to be a poor place for such solitude, Sam purposefully strode into the one area of A Division that wouldn't have a single soul daring to disturb its somnalescence. The evidence room.\par
\par
A stack of boxes with withered labels were on the floor between the third and fourth aisles, and Sam sank onto them, his head resting uncomfortable in his hands. He took a deep breath and was rewarded with the gritty taste of dust on his tongue, mildewed paper fragments lining his throat. The files and folders of the guilty and innocently slaughtered were arranged in haphazard piles on the makeshift wooden shelving. Labels were curled at the edges if there was a label at all. He squinted in the near darkness, and made out the name 'Quinten, A.' on one box, and beside it 'Fox, Beatrice'. If there was a cataloguing system in place here, Sam was at a loss as to figure out what it was. Clearly, the alphabetising method had been tossed ages ago.\par
\par
Dust lay thick in the gloom, what little light there was fully infected by it, the cobwebs that lined some of the boxes thick with the grey, gritty matter of abandonment. Alone with his thoughts, Sam suddenly realised that this was the last place he wanted to be, that he really didn't want to inspect all the nooks and crannies of his brain after all. Within his mind was one refrain: "I'm starking mad." It was the only explanation for the current events, for Cooper and Gene's sudden mutual understanding.\par
\par
"I'm mad," Sam said aloud.\par
\par
"That depends on one's perspective. The ancient people's believed that those affected by what we consider 'madness' to be great soothsayers, to be prophets. Those touched by the gods had one foot in this world, and one in the next. One can't help but be tainted by such experiences..."\par
\par
Startled, Sam looked up to see a man in military uniform standing near aisle three, his cap tipped to him in acknowledgement.\par
\par
"This is an evidence room, only authorised personnel are permitted in here."\par
\par
"My apologies," the man replied, and Sam realised the man was American. He had taken his cap off, and was now smoothing back imaginary hairs on his bald head. "I was originally looking for Agent Dale Cooper, but it seems I have been led down a far different path." He extended his hand in greeting. "Major Briggs, US Army Intelligence. Pleased to meet you, Mr...ah?"\par
\par
"Tyler. DI Sam Tyler." He didn't shake Briggs' hand. He stood up, and wiped dust from his jeans instead.\par
\par
"Your fly is undone," Major Briggs informed him.\par
\par
"Zipper's busted," Sam answered, and he self-consciously adjusted his shirt to cover it. He frowned. "How do you know Cooper? Wait, let me guess." He swallowed deeply before uttering the mantra that had so transformed his superior officer. "Laura Palmer?"\par
\par
"In a sense," Briggs answered. "I worked with him on that case in Twin Peaks, a place where I had been living at the time. Best coffee and ch--"\par
\par
"Cherry pie," Sam finished for him.\par
\par
"Ah, so you've been there."\par
\par
"Never."\par
\par
"A shame. It's a fascinating place, one I think you could grow to love." Major Briggs gave the dusty, disorganised evidence room a cursory inspection. "Though, I suppose, there's no accounting for one's perception of what Heaven is."\par
\par
"If you are looking for Cooper, he's headed to the pub across the street," Sam said, inexplicably annoyed. He attempted to push past Major Briggs, but was stopped by a meaty, yet oddly tender, hand on his shoulder.\par
\par
"It is always an honour to meet a fellow traveller," he said.\par
\par
Sam felt his blood run cold, his breath shallow as he spoke. "What the hell do you mean? Just how do you know me?"\par
\par
"Are we not all men in a coma?" Briggs answered. "Our souls are like flour in a sifter, some of us finding the truth as we are forced through the mesh, while others remain above, waiting their turn for the inevitable. Time is such a filter, Sam. Some of us just get sifted through it sooner than others." Major Briggs let out a sad sigh. "It doesn't surprise me that he would hide himself here."\par
\par
"Who?" Sam asked, only to answer for himself. "Bob."\par
\par
"It is no accident, DI Sam Tyler, that you and I have met. It is my greatest hope, and perhaps humanity's, that you heed my advice."\par
\par
"I don't even know you! I've never met you before in my li--"\par
\par
"Believe me, DI Tyler, I am no novice when it comes to keeping the doors of Hades firmly shut against those who aim to fling them open. For this reason, you cannot trust Agent Cooper. His intentions are good, but he has been corrupted by his time spent in the Black Lodge and thus, a terrible darkness still lurks within him. If I can give you an important piece of advice, it is this: Do not allow him to lead you into the red room."\par
\par
Sam shook his head, trying to clear it of cobwebs and alternate realities and the sound of an IV beeping as it dripped, dripped morphine into his broken body. "Red room? What are you talking about?"\par
\par
Major Briggs was unmoved by Sam's confusion. He gripped Sam firmly on the shoulder, deep enough to bruise and tender enough to be that of a father instructing a wayward son. "Cooper's judgement is clouded, he will do anything to destroy Bob, even if this means bringing him back to a place from which that demon can easily escape. In the red room, you will see yourself as you truly are and Bob will find his window through your half-open eye. He will be set free to kill again, and what catches his fury first will be his prison. You."\par
\par
A low bellow hit the corridor outside the evidence room, Gene's voice shouting him out into the open. "Tyler! Get yourself a compass, you nit, the pub's this way!" There was a series of unintelligible grumbles met with the cool precision of Agent Cooper's voice. \par
\par
"Perhaps it would be best if I simply meet you both there," Cooper said.\par
\par
"Don't be a moron. We're a crew here and we're a crew there, and that's how it is."\par
\par
"You are saying there are no lines between work and pleasure."\par
\par
"If you go by what the prozzies who enjoy it say, yeah."\par
\par
Sam remained behind the boxes of evidence, his breath shallow as counted the seconds before Gene and Cooper found them out, and broke the spell of conspiracy between himself and Major Briggs.\par
\par
"Who are you, really?" Sam asked. \par
\par
Major Briggs' smile was warm, trustworthy.\par
\par
"I've told you. A fellow traveller."\par
\par
He stepped out into the corridor, and Sam watched as the Major's serious countenance melted into one of genuine affection and camaraderie. "Agent Cooper! Now, this is a pleasant surprise!"\par
\par
///\par
\par
Sam and Cooper flanked either side of Gene at the bar, while Nelson continued to dry a glass that didn't have a spot of moisture left on its surface. A bead of sweat lay within the folds of Gene's brow as he contemplated the glass of bitter in front of him.\par
\par
"You don't have to do this," Sam said.\par
\par
"Like hell," Gene said, and downed a thick swallow as fast as he could. Unfortunately, the drink spewed back just as quickly.\par
\par
Nelson wisely refused to comment as he got a clean rag and wiped the bar off. He automatically poured a pint for Sam, who wished he hadn't.\par
\par
Gene stubbornly turned the remainder of his pint in his grip, the circular motion leaving rippled streams of moisture on the bar. "Right. Here we go," he warned. He raised the pint of bitter to his lips, ready to enjoy its heady taste. The effort was in vain as his hand rested the pint back onto the bar, his tongue not even catching a droplet.\par
\par
"I can't," he said to Sam, his heart breaking. "I bloody well can't."\par
\par
"What's the trouble, Gov?" Nelson dared to ask. "Feeling a bit off colour? If you don't mind my saying so, you're looking a bit mash-up."\par
\par
"I do mind," Gene growled. He pushed the pint away from him with enough force to topple it. Nelson sighed as he mopped up a new mess.\par
\par
"That was childish," Sam said.\par
\par
"Keeping tabs on my behaviour, eh 'mother'? I suppose you're right, I ought to get on with sitting up straight and having a nice cold glass of milk and refrain from fucking cursing." He growled over the spilled pint in front of him, the amber liquid seeping over the edge of the bar and onto his knee in soft droplets. "I likes me life to make sense. I like my living space to make sense. I like it when people around me make sense. But ever since that thing..." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Cooper, who had left his perch beside Gene to sit with Annie and Phyllis at their table. "He just waltzes into our world and starts picking off bits here and there until all that's left is the blood and guts of what was normal, leaving it all a big mess. I hates him, Sam. I hates him in ways what's unnatural."\par
\par
"Odd, I'd thought you'd called a truce." Sam took a sip of his own pint, enjoying the way the golden liquid went warmly down his throat. "You didn't have any issues with the Bob business, as he'd presented it."\par
\par
"I got my reasons," Gene replied. He narrowed his eyes at Sam. "All I want is to catch a bloody murderer, not reconstruct the universe."\par
\par
Annie's laugh broke into Gene's gloom, Cooper's goofy grin at her outburst only serving to cement Gene's misery. Sam took another gulp of bitter, and slid off the stool, pint in hand. \par
\par
"I'm going over to sit with them," Sam said.\par
\par
"You didn't hear what I'd said?"\par
\par
"I heard you fine, I just don't agree. Cooper might be crazy, but he is onto something, so I'm not discounting everything he says, either. As for your current issue, if you want me to be miserable that you've been miraculously cured of alcoholism, I'm afraid I can't do that any more than you can drink that pint."\par
\par
"Traitor," Gene spat. "You should hang."\par
\par
Sam ignored him and left Gene alone at the bar with his gloomy thoughts and abandoned pint. The laughter that ensued when he sat at Cooper's table cemented the feeling of betrayal. Gene took out his car keys and began scratching lines out of the rings of water left behind by Sam's pint. Everything was letting him down, lately. From mates to fate to his own damned gut.\par
\par
"Perhaps a cup of joe would be more suitable."\par
\par
Gene closed his eyes, willing the helpful voice at the end of the bar to shut up and mind his own. The method didn't work.\par
\par
"There is no question that certain soulful ailments are in need of medicinal cures. Alcohol has served its purpose for myself in the past, but I have found that it is also a meddlesome cure, one that often causes more problems than it is capable of solving. No, I have found that for the purest, most clarifying purging of one's spiritual ills it is the steaming embrace of a hot cup of coffee that does the job best. Some prefer it black, its innards uncomplicated by the murk and substance of the world spilled into it. I, and I suspect you as well, dear sir, would add a bit of sweetness to that bitter brew. A measure of kindness in an increasingly harsh and dark realm."\par
\par
Gene nodded at the source of this speech, an American military man Cooper had introduced as Major Briggs. Though he desperately wanted to put the man in the same nutjob category as Cooper, he simply couldn't. Major Briggs exuded an aura of respect and understanding, a kind of fatherly calm that Gene had always wished for from his own patriarch when he was a child, and now as a grown man he envied for himself.\par
\par
Major Briggs had a white mug filled with coffee in front of him, its steam curling away from his breath. He had a second, identical mug beside it, which he pushed towards Gene, who took it with no small amount of hesitation. Strange, he hadn't known Nelson to offer coffee on his menu before, let alone have mugs to put it in. \par
\par
"So you and the Mad Hatter are bosom pals?" Gene said, nodding in Cooper's direction. He brushed his thumb against the side of the white mug as he took it into his grip, his flesh smarting from the heat of the ceramic.\par
\par
"We became acquainted during the Laura Palmer murder investigation," Briggs said.\par
\par
"I take it he was crackers back then," Gene said. He took a sip of the coffee. Damn, but it was *good*.\par
\par
"I suppose one could consider that a side effect," Briggs said. "But then, you are aware of this yourself."\par
\par
Gene put down his mug with care, his face reflected back in the small, circular, black surface.\par
\par
"Cooper, you, myself--we are those who fight against the darkness that threatens the equilibrium of our existence. Out of all of us, however, it is you who has taken the most risk in the methodology you use against those forces. Your weapon is that of moral rage against those things that threaten to engulf us in their midnight grip. It is a dangerous weapon, rage, for while it is effective it is also self-destructive. You could very easily be consumed by it, even as you are destroying your enemy."\par
\par
Gene took another luxurious sip of his coffee, his hands warmed by the mug, a relaxing sensation coursing through his veins in ways that pints of bitter had never been able to accomplish. "I've met her," he confided to Briggs.\par
\par
"That's unfortunate," Major Briggs said, genuine in his understanding sadness. \par
\par
///\par
\par
"He's done a right three-sixty," Annie said around a gulp of a pint. "From pest to prince, I'd say. I guess all he needed was a bit of time to get over the shock." She grabbed her purse and fished around its contents before pulling out a small card. There was a tacky picture of a teddy bear on the front, and inside were the words: Thanks for being a friend! printed in pink ink. A couple of 'x's and 'o's marked PC Gary's thoughtful initials. \par
\par
"Isn't that cute?" Annie remarked.\par
\par
"It's revoltingly sentimental," Sam replied, only to figure out too late that honesty was probably not the best policy.\par
\par
"Spoilsport," Annie said, cross. She showed the card to Cooper. "What do you think?"\par
\par
"I'm sorry, Annie," Cooper said, his hands held away from the card as though warding it off. "As a person concerned with the environmental issues plaguing our planet, I cannot condone the use of cards to express sentiments that would be better heard face to face. Our landfills are full to bursting with paper products."\par
\par
"A tree died for that water-colour teddy bear," Sam said, faking morose seriousness. "He should have just sent you an email."\par
\par
"E-mail?" Annie asked, her nose scrunched up at the puzzle of it. Her mouth suddenly rounded into an indignant 'o'. "EROTIC mail? Oh, you cheeky bastard! Shame on you for saying that, it's not like that!" She punched Sam playfully on the arm, and he laughed even though it smarted.\par
\par
"There's a bit of devil in you after all," Phyllis said, her eyebrow raised at Sam. She wetted her lips with her drink and nodded in the direction of the bar. "What's the story with the Major? Good friend of yours, Agent Cooper?"\par
\par
As Cooper began to relate his adventures with Major Briggs, Sam felt himself detach mentally from the group, his concentration edging back to the conversation in the evidence room with that strange military man. He seemed to have an intimate knowledge of Sam's own odd journey. He was hunched close with Gene now, two mugs of steaming coffee between them. Secrets were being revealed, Sam thought. Gene was now wrapped up in the trap laid out for him, spiralling into his own private mystery.\par
\par
"Falling through the flour sifter," Sam said.\par
\par
He turned, wanting to pull Annie into his confidence, to see what she made of all this jumble that Cooper and his presence had suddenly thrust into their formerly simple lives. She was laughing at something Cooper had said, but she sounded far away, a distance that was a soul's journey. Sam felt words fail him, his mouth go sandpaper dry. For behind Annie, where there had been a small, dirty window with cobwebs in its corners that had let in a dusty shaft of afternoon light, there was now a partially transparent red curtain that swayed against a non-existent breeze. \par
\par
He reached out and touched the curtain, its heavy velvet texture becoming more solid with the contact of his flesh. The entire wall behind Annie was now enshrouded with this thick red curtain, and it cast a bloody pall over the interior of the pub. He looked over his shoulder at Gene and Major Briggs and saw that their white mugs now had a pinkish hue. Gene was in mid sip, his actions in severe slow motion as he raised the cup to his lips. The coffee spilled onto his tongue in a thick, muddy consistency not unlike cold molasses. When he turned to face Annie once again, he was surprised to see she had disappeared, as had Phyllis, and everyone in the pub save for himself, and Agent Cooper. Cooper, for his part, did not seemed surprised by this setting, and was instead oblivious to it.\par
\par
The ceiling of the pub had disappeared, leaving a vast darkness above where the red curtains hung upwards past infinity. Time had slowed down for all of the objects remaining within the pub, a fact that Sam tested by taking out his pencil and releasing it from his grip. It bobbed in the air before its slow descent, as if it had been thrown into deep water, its body partially buoyant.\par
\par
Through the darkness above him, Sam could hear a woman's dying scream. Instinctively, he knew it to belong to Laura Palmer, her suffering echoing across the cosmos.\par
\par
He'd been warned about this, Sam suddenly realised. Cooper remained solid in front of him, his head bent and lips pursed, as though he had found a complicated thought. His attention focused on Sam, and instead of his usual goofy countenance, his eyes had become a frosted, icy blue that held all the cold darkness of the infinite black above them.\par
\par
Agent Cooper was not to be trusted.\par
\par
They were in the red room.\par
\par
====================================================\par
\par
Parallelogram--chapter ten\par
\par
The lights in the pub were now extinguished, a pitch black covering Sam in a suffocating blanket of darkness. The only colour visible in the gloom was the deep hue of red that swished back and forth from the massive curtains that lined the far wall, the darkness now so deep that even this vibrant colour had been subdued and left as a whisper of a backdrop, a mere hint of what its power could truly represent. The chairs and tables of the pub had slowly faded into this black nothingness, even the pattern of the carpet beneath his feet had slipped away, leaving a solid black lacquer beneath the soles of his shoes. Nothing was now left save the seat he was in and one object that had no business being here in Nelson's pub. A few feet away from him was a table that Sam recognised from the interrogation room. Seated in a red plastic chair in front of it was a small man suffering from some form of dwarfism, his body shifting where he sat in time lapsed convulsions. \par
\par
Cooper was nowhere to be seen.\par
\par
"Hello?" Sam dared to venture. His voice felt strange on his tongue, as though it had a physical texture that he could taste. What it was, he couldn't quite fathom, though his subconscious gave the solid suggestion that it was disappointment. Whatever the case, the odd little man in front of him was oblivious to Sam's feelings, and was now caressing the surface of the table with his palms in long, loving strokes. It seemed to Sam that he was treating the table as though it were a living thing, some tame, stray animal that he'd brought in to care for.\par
\par
When he spoke, it was as if his voice were played backwards and then forwards again, a strange congruity with the twisted nature of what he'd had to say. "This is a Formica table," the misshapen dwarf informed him, giving Sam a backwards wink and grin. "It's colour, it is green."\par
\par
Formica. Green. \par
\par
Bugger this.\par
\par
"I'm not that good with puzzles, so the cryptics can end now. If you got something to tell me just say so!"\par
\par
The man shook his head, impatient with Sam's outburst. "The table is green..." he continued.\par
\par
"I don't fucking care if it's orange with purple spots, who the hell is Bob!" Sam shouted. He stood up, knocking over the chair he had been sitting in, his fists clenched tight, his knuckles white. "Tell me something I can use!." \par
\par
The darkness of the room had absorbed his violence. leaving a hopeless impotence in its wake. Sam sighed, and righted the chair, though he was still too upset to actually sit back down. "I don't like this," he said, a form of admission to the darkness cloaking him. "This isn't my place. I don't understand any of this. All I can say is, I just want to know what the hell this Bob is, that's all."\par
\par
The small man rolled his eyes at Sam, his mouth twisted in strange shapes as he spoke to someone who wasn't there. "He just wants to know who you are. But he already knows."\par
\par
Sam frowned. Though there was no one there, an odd familiarity began to dawn on him as the pitch darkness began to give way to a room that had a very familiar shape and dimension. Which was odd, because he knew for a fact that he had never been here before, not in any conscious way that he could understand. \par
\par
In the corner of the room, against a row of swaying, shadowed curtains, stood a wild haired man wearing jeans and a jean jacket, his grin wide, his expression one of an insane predator. Sam recognised him immediately, and though his mouth was dry enough to be desiccated he spoke the man's name.\par
\par
"Bob."\par
\par
"Sam."\par
\par
He frowned. No, it wasn't Bob who had said his name. Bob stood silent in the corner with his psychotic grin, his body shaking in those same time lapsed spasms that had wracked the form of the dwarf who had seemingly brought him here. If anything, Bob was frozen where he stood, unable to leave that corner and rip Sam's soul to shreds as he was clearly longing to do.\par
\par
Sam searched for the small man who had brought him here, but both he and the table were now missing. In its place was an empty hospital bed, the beeping of a heart monitor next to it so loud that the curtains swayed against its vibrations. Shadowed against the wall where the small man had been seated was now an IV, with digital numbers measuring out the proper dosages of medication.\par
\par
"Sam."\par
\par
Behind him, in the chair, her clown doll clutched close to her heart.\par
\par
Terrified, Sam felt his knees buckle.\par
\par
"Quietly, Sam," she said to him. "He's a very nasty man. He stands in the corner and thinks he knows everything. I know he wants you, but he can't have you, Sam. You are mine and you know you always will be." She grabbed his hand, sending a jolt of pain cascading through his arm. "Bob has no business here." She turned in her seat to glare at the madly grinning intruder, but he was gone. A nurse stood in his place, filling an invisible needle.\par
\par
"He's not smart. He's just lustful. He's not one of us." She turned her horrible attention back on Sam, a cold emanating from her that spoke of the reaper's blade. "Turn him off, Sam."\par
\par
Light flooded the room, blinding him. It took a few moments for him to regain his breath, along with the realisation that he'd been holding it. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of a shaky hand, and seeing that the pint of bitter in front of him had been untouched, he remedied that problem in two swift gulps.\par
\par
Annie was giggling. "Here, Sam, what's with you? You've gotten so quiet of a sudden."\par
\par
"It's nothing, I'm...I'm not feeling all that well."\par
\par
"Flu," Phyllis said, nodding sagely. She blew a thick plume of smoke at Sam's face. "Gets right in the lungs it do, most of 'em round here catch it this time of year. You'd do right to go home and get yourself a hot toddy." \par
\par
Cooper, however, did not look entirely convinced. "If you don't mind my saying so, DI Tyler, you have the appearance of a man with troubles that aren't of this world."\par
\par
"How so?"\par
\par
"You look as though you are haunted."\par
\par
Annoyed by his insight, Sam tossed a few quid onto the table to cover the drinks. "Sorry, Cooper," Sam said. "But I do mind what you say."\par
\par
///\par
\par
Thanks to the kindness of Major Briggs, Gene was brutally wired on caffeine. Sleep wouldn't come even if he begged for it from the sandman himself. There was only one cure for a man of Gene's nature when sleep wouldn't come and that was to putter in his office until the wee hours of morning. \par
\par
He took a hopeful bottle of scotch out of a hidden compartment in his drawer and read its label with longing before putting it back. This was usually his best sleeping pill, but now...Damn, it would be a hell's walk before he finally made it home to the Missus--There was nothing she hated more than when he couldn't sleep, especially since his pacing about ended up involving a team effort, with her waking up and cooking him up a bit of something at two am or earlier. Which wouldn't be so bad if she didn't have to be so damned furious about it.\par
\par
So, here he was. Sleepless in 'A' Division.\par
\par
He took the bottle of scotch back out of its hiding place and grabbed a clear glass from the top of one of his filing cabinets. He unscrewed the top of the bottle and poured the golden liquid into the glass, watching it as it slid into its new confines, the pour of it like liquid poetry. He placed the glass in front of him and then put his bottle back into its hidden spot, slamming the drawer shut good and tight. He simply stared at it, then, figuring if he couldn't drink it he could at least admire the booze in other ways. A man was more than just his gut, after all, wasn't he?\par
\par
A fat fly buzzed over the drink and then landed in it. The insect struggled drunkenly, its wings and legs flapping in disorganised glee. Hell of a grand way to go, Gene thought. He didn't have the heart to rescue it.\par
\par
His office was suddenly colder, so cold that he could see his breath when he sighed over the plights of drowning flies and sleepless men. Gene felt a bead of sweat furrow its way down the back of his neck, sending further chills into the very marrow of his bones. Of course, she was here. She was always here, when he was alone with only his thoughts for company.\par
\par
"Bugger off," he said, but fear kept him from being too convincing.\par
\par
He could feel her crushed fingers brush against his shoulders in a mockery of intimacy, her splintered bones digging into his pectoral muscles as she kneaded her crushed hands against his flesh. He could feel her head pressed against his cheek, the soft sensuality of her silky hair ruined by the misshapen crushed skull that covered it.\par
\par
It weren't fair for her to torment him like this, he weren't no high brow dickless intellectual like Sammy Boy and his Flew-The-Cooper best friend.\par
\par
"Look, I just knows what's right and what's wrong. That's as far as you get with me for philosophising. If you want some mind-bender freak show, Sam Tyler's your man, not me. The only blood and guts I deals with are the kind what gets mopped up, got it?"\par
\par
A squelching sound could be heard outside of his office, and though he should have known better, Gene peered through the blinds of his office to see its source. Candace, Bob's newest victim, was crawling along the surface of the desks, her arms bent backwards at an appalling angle, her legs spidered out behind her like a crab's. She crawled towards his office like some unholy demonic insect, grey matter oozing out of the hole in the side of her head, where she had been hit by a blunt instrument. It was probably this that had finally killed her, Gene realised with some grim acknowledgment of his own coldness at the situation. He was getting used to the mangled corpses of women visiting him in the wee hours of the night. \par
\par
That couldn't be good for the soul.\par
\par
"This place is getting all sorts of bastard stupid since your man Cooper showed up," Gene said to Laura, who gave him an affectionate kiss on his neck, her blood-soaked breath iron against his skin. Her lips brushed against his ear, sending goose-bumps in their wake.\par
\par
"The man who killed us is laughing," she said.\par
\par
He tried to physically shove her off, but the effort was moot. Both Laura and Candace were gone. Gene blinked into the daylight that had flooded his office, and he checked his watch with no small amount of surprise. Eight am. He'd managed to doze off after all.\par
\par
He could have easily discounted it all for a nightmare save for the fact that directly in front of him, politely waiting, was a white mug, the contents of which were, no doubt, some damned fine coffee. Even now he longed to pick it up and drink it, but its unpredictable side effects made him take pause.\par
\par
Laughter suddenly tore into his office, and he smarted against its revelry. Laura herself had told him what this meant, and Cooper had warned not twelve hours earlier that Bob was an invading spirit, a demon that possessed the living. So, if they were both telling him the truth...There were two or more beautiful women dead, and there, in DCI Gene Hunt's 'A' Division, was a bloody murdering bastard laughing.\par
\par
The door to his office completely fell off of its hinges from the force he'd used to fling it open. DCI Hunt stood in its frame, a large bull of a man with fury as his one weapon of choice.\par
\par
Chris was frozen where he stood, a soccer ball held tight in his grip. He stared back at Gene with mute terror, his bottom lip clenched beneath his top teeth, his shoulders already hunched against possible future blows from his DCI's massive, meaty fists. The other DI's in the vicinity were all laying low over their desks, pens and pencils pretending to work despite the fact there were no papers in front of them. Ray dipped into the room chomping on gum and whistling, only to instantly feel the air of impending doom and thus wisely dove out of it, running to freedom down the corridor. Annie was trapped against Sam's desk, her face frozen into an uncertain smile, her blue eyes wide with the knowledge of Armageddon.\par
\par
So, this was it, Gene thought. This is what we've been hunting for.\par
\par
Beside Annie was a young man. A PC to be exact. Annie's frozen smile was fixed on him, while her eyes darted from his laughing mouth to Gene's red-faced fury with an increasing expression of alarm. "It's good to see you're doing better," she said to the young man, with a significant amount of uncertainty.\par
\par
"I just needed some time," the young man replied. "What is that old saying? What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger." He laughed, loudly, at this.\par
\par
"PC Gary," Gene growled.\par
\par
PC Gary turned, his hand now on Annie's shoulder, his grin strangely, horribly familiar.\par
\par
"You know, Annie, I heard the most lovely poem the other day. I should have written it on that greeting card I gave you. Did you like the card?"\par
\par
"Yes. It was a nice gesture."\par
\par
"I thought so. I knew you'd love it. It was so..." PC Gary's grin widened further into ingenuous proportions. His hand tightened on Annie's shoulder, causing her to wince. "You."\par
\par
There was an audible click, and Annie gasped as she found herself staring down the barrel of a handgun. It took her a few moments to realise it wasn't actually aimed at her, but at PC Gary who had finally released his grip on her shoulder. She rubbed at the spot he had held, knowing it would be bruised.\par
\par
PC Gary remained calm despite this open threat to his life. His grin was unwavering. "Now, now, Gov, what's the trouble?"\par
\par
"Shut your yob," Gene replied. Sam and Cooper walked in, practically arm in arm Gene thought with distaste. Cooper held a shocked Sam back with the back of his hand, his tall, pale forehead creased into tight lines.\par
\par
"Bloody hell," Sam breathed.\par
\par
"Indeed it will be," Cooper said, calmly. "It seems DCI Hunt has found Bob."\par
\par
///\par
\par
The interrogation room felt crowded to Sam, despite the fact that there were only four people present. PC Gary was calm, holding the same strange grin he'd had for Annie just a couple of hours earlier. He fidgeted in his seat, not out of nervousness Sam felt, but out of a squirming sense of mirth that bordered on hysteria. Every now and then old tunes that no one save ancient barbershop quartets and ragtime aficionados would recognise would erupt from his lips in full crescendo. His happiness made Sam uneasy, but Cooper remained as cool as ever, his fingers steepled as he spoke to the creature known only as 'Bob'.\par
\par
"You killed her," Cooper said.\par
\par
PC Gary contemplated the green Formica table in front of him, his smile never faltering. He was tied up in a chair that had steel backing in an effort to prevent their prisoner from injuring himself. The last person Cooper had met who had known Bob had offed himself by smashing his own head against a steel door. Thus, two rolls of duct tape now mummified PC Gary into his steel chair, and the only way he was going to injure himself would be if he could cause himself an aneurysm by the sheer force of will.\par
\par
The hockey helmet was Sam's idea.\par
\par
"We don't have evidence," Sam interjected, and Cooper held up his hand, as though to prevent the passage of Sam's lack of faith.\par
\par
"Bob," Cooper said to PC Gary. "You won't escape this prison."\par
\par
PC Gary started to giggle, his grin twisting into a grotesque parody of mirth. "You, yoo-hoo, youuu killed her...Oh, when I'm calling youuu-hoo-ooo-oo..." Tears of laughter streamed down PC Gary's cheeks, his hysteria so intense Sam half wondered if the man would asphyxiate himself this way. His face was certainly purple enough.\par
\par
The giggling tirade was stopped abruptly by Gene's fist smashing against the Constable's face. \par
\par
"I'm sick to death of your chortles you little twat-rag. Go on, tell us since you're so bloody proud and happy about it--How many have you done in? I want names and I want them now!"\par
\par
PC Gary cracked his neck and gave Gene a wide, manic grin which erupted into another fit of uncontrollable laughter. When he finally calmed down enough to catch his breath, to everyone's shock he began to sing:\par
\par
"OHHHH...Theresareesa-bopesa--bananafana-bobesa-fefiforesa--Theresa. Then there's Laura! Lauralaurabopaura--bananafana-bobaura-fefifoaura--Laura." He choked halfway through the middle of the song, his lips leaking blood. Red spittle stained the green surface of the table. "Let's try Candace! Candaceandace-popandace..."\par
\par
"He's biting off his tongue!" Cooper warned. "Quick, get me something to prevent it!"\par
\par
Gene's fist arrived out of nowhere and slammed neatly against the side of PC Gary's head. The singing abruptly stopped as PC Gary slipped into unconsciousness. "I hate that bloody song. Annette Funicello can kiss my beautiful ass."\par
\par
"DCI Hunt," Cooper said, carefully. "Violence is not the best policy when dealing with a creature such as Bob..."\par
\par
"Seems to be working enough," Gene sniffed. "He ain't dead and he hasn't scooted off--I'd say violence is working a right charm on him." He relaxed into his chair and took out a cigarette. One had to reward oneself with little things when the occasion presented itself.\par
\par
"There's no way he's guilty of any of these crimes," Sam said, spoiling Gene's good mood. "Spirit or not, there's no way we can get any of the charges to stick. PC Gary has never had a passport, in fact he's never travelled further than London to visit his mother and gran."\par
\par
"But this isn't PC Gary," Cooper reminded him. "This man is possessed by Bob."\par
\par
"You still need evidence to convict the devil. There's no proof that he killed Candace other than his mad ramblings, which will be easily enough thrown out of court. Even your eyewitnesses didn't see PC Gary, they saw the monster 'Bob'. There's no way we can convict him."\par
\par
Gene gave PC Gary's slumped figure a good once over, taking in his neatly trimmed red crew cut, his freckles and the small round shape of his eyes. He was on the side of short and pudgy, his physique heading in Ray's direction should he ever be so lucky as to get a desk job. Gene took the composite sketch of Bob out of Cooper's folder and held it in front of him, comparing it to PC Gary's unconscious form.\par
\par
"Give me a cataract or two and I'll see a resemblance," he said.\par
\par
"We can't do this," Sam insisted.\par
\par
"Finally," Cooper said, not listening. "I can take you back to the that place from whence you escaped." Cooper's voice became uncharacteristically sinister. "The Black Lodge is waiting."\par
\par
Sam frowned. "But...That's where he escaped from in the first place. You can't put him back there, he knows how to get out."\par
\par
"He's right," Gene said. "Sounds to me like they gives evil free weekend passes in that place. I say lock him up proper, send him somewhere he absolutely can't get out of."\par
\par
"Like where?" Sam asked.\par
\par
Gene shrugged. "I dunno. Hell, I guess."\par
\par
"The Black Lodge *is* hell," Cooper said.\par
\par
"Can't be, can it?" Gene replied. "Hell's a place you don't come back from, and you did, didn't you? It can't be all that bad there, not with Bob hanging with his other evil cronies, cooking up ways to crawl through a window here and there. No, I don't think it is a place for him...And I have to wonder why you insist it's where he needs to be."\par
\par
Cooper's mouth was a thin, angry line. "DCI Hunt, I have spent years in that horrible place, and I can assure you, it is..."\par
\par
"...So terrible my imagination can't conjure up now't of it. I got you, you had a nasty time of it when you was trapped there. But I'll tell you something else, my friend--Just how sure are you Bob isn't manipulating *you* in this? You spent time there in his house, after all." Gene glared at the now groaning and giggling figure coming to in the chair in front of him. "Something tells me he just might have corrupted you in ways you don't even figure on."\par
\par
"I assure you, DCI Hunt, that is not the case. Laura..."\par
\par
"Laura Palmer warned me," Gene said, his voice grim. "I'm just a simple copper, I'm not into philosophising or riddling over the universe. I know what's right and I know what's wrong, and that's the sum of it. So, she sought me out for a reason, right? And maybe that reason is that she just don't trust *you*."\par
\par
Cooper did his best to remain impassive at this suggestion, but an involuntary tick above his left eye hinted to Sam that the agent was infuriated. "If you are suggesting that I am subconsciously sabotaging this investigation..."\par
\par
"I'm not suggesting, I'm saying so."\par
\par
Sam sighed and sank into his seat, only half listening to the argument that festered and twined its way around the room. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, and then opened them to see the Test Card Girl standing beside PC Gary.\par
\par
She grinned at him. Triumphant.\par
\par
"Good work, Sam," she said.\par
\par
She placed her small hand on PC Gary's shoulder, and to Sam's horror the man began to convulse in his seat, far more violently than the stop-motion actions he'd displayed in the red room. The lights in the interrogation room flickered and sputtered into sparks, and through the shadows of light and darkness Sam could see the facade of PC Gary's body literally melting away from his face and and torso like liquified wax. The burning wax cut through the duct tape that held him in the chair and within minutes Sam was sitting directly across from the madman-thing known only to his universe as 'Bob'.\par
\par
"He's not one of us, Sam."\par
\par
The sudden realisation hit him, and all terror ceased. \par
\par
Sam stared at Bob, at his shaky, uncontrollable movements that seemed shifted out of time, and with shocking clarity he *knew* what had happened. He *knew* how to solve this puzzle.\par
\par
He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze unemotional save for vague annoyance. This was so clich\'e9, Sam thought. So bloody obvious.\par
\par
In the distance, against a vast black horizon, the blip of a heart monitor echoed across the cosmos.\par
\par
"Through the darkness of future past/The magician longs to see," Sam said to Bob. "So, what is it, then? I come from the darkness of the future into the dark ages of my career's past. One illusion into a delusion. I suspect this makes me the magician. Am I getting warmer?"\par
\par
Bob's insane grin turned into a grimace, his body contorting as though he were in terrible pain. Through the transparent ceiling of the interrogation room, through the layers of plaster and beyond the upper floorboards and support beams a vast darkness floated above them. It was a quiet, shadowed place lined to infinity with the aurora borealis of red velvet curtains that swayed gently in an incomprehensible breeze. Major Briggs had been wise to warn him of Cooper's plan. Bob had stumbled into Sam's mind, and found a prison far more constrictive than the one he'd originally been placed in.\par
\par
The Test Card Girl still had a firm grip on Bob's shoulder, her hideous clown doll hugged close to her body with her free hand. She playfully nudged Bob, and gave him her childish, demonic smile. \par
\par
"I know you," she said to him, and winked. She giggled and took her hand from his shoulder, and then tapped him with her index finger in the centre of his chest. "Tee-hee, Bob, you're IT."\par
\par
Bob's shimmering grimace opened wide. As the Test Card Girl laughed, Bob let out a blood curdling scream.\par
\par
///\par
\par
Sam stumbled out of his chair, suddenly awake, his body shivering from the clammy clutches of sweat that had overtaken him. The quizzical looks of his colleagues in 'A' Division brought him back to what at least on the surface seemed reality. For this, he was grateful.\par
\par
"You all right, boss?" Chris asked him.\par
\par
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Sam wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. How had he ended up here, at his desk? "Where's Agent Cooper?"\par
\par
Chris gave Sam a lopsided, disbelieving smile. "He's gone, boss."\par
\par
"Gone?"\par
\par
"Back to America."\par
\par
Sam frowned, his breath not quite catching up with him. "When did he leave?"\par
\par
"You know that better than any of us, boss," Chris said, confusion evident in his voice. "You was the one what drove him to the airport."\par
\par
Behind Chris, Ray was making circles with his index finger against his temple and mouthing 'koo-koo, koo-koo'. Sam took a deep, cleansing breath, and nodded towards Gene's office. "Is the Gov in?"\par
\par
"Awaitin' confirmation that the Yank has gone and the Loyalists has won," Ray said around a chomp of gum. He pointed to a small bouquet of flowers on Sam's desk. "Seems you got the admiration of someone for cracking up that case, but it sure as hell ain't from Eisner. He's right pissed you didn't send that Agent off with his quarry and preferred to keep him here at home. There's been some quarrel about it this morning, and Eisner has to put off his retirement for one more week."\par
\par
"The sun and sand of Hawaii thanks us," Chris said around a grin.\par
\par
"I still can't believe it," Ray said around an aura of spearmint. "One of our bloody own. Who'd have thought PC Gary had it in him? He looks too Howdy Doody for bloody murder."\par
\par
"Howdy Who?" Chris asked.\par
\par
"Kiddie show."\par
\par
"An *American* kiddie show," Sam said.\par
\par
"Howdy Doody ain't no American."\par
\par
"Are you serious? He's a paper mache cowboy puppet, you can't get any more American than that!"\par
\par
"He's no Camberwick Green," Chris offered.\par
\par
Sam picked up the white card that had been nestled within the bouquet. Written on it in neat, black script was this message:\par
\par
To the continued success of a fellow traveller. Sincerely, Major Briggs.\par
\par
Sam tapped the card in the palm of his hand as he walked to Gene's office. The door had been newly repaired by someone who wasn't exactly expert, and the hinges held the door in place with crooked hope. Sam gently knocked on the door, sending a screw clattering to the floor.\par
\par
"Get in here Tyler," Gene bellowed.\par
\par
Sam eased the creaking door open and walked into Gene's office. He nodded at Gene's frowning face.\par
\par
"He's gone," Sam assured him.\par
\par
"About bloody time," Gene said, opening a side drawer in his desk. He rummaged about in it before taking out a large bottle of scotch. "It's about time things got back to normal around here."\par
\par
Normal. Now there was a word with a whole variety of meanings for Sam.\par
\par
"It did get a little crazy," Sam said, willing Gene to open up.\par
\par
"I guess so," Gene said.\par
\par
"You don't want to talk about it?"\par
\par
"About what? Spooks and exorcisms? Not my cuppa, Sam. And you'd best not make it yours, either."\par
\par
Sam stood uncertain in front of Gene, wondering just how much was he meant to reveal to the man. He'd lost an entire evening by the look of things, he had no memory of driving Cooper to the airport and nothing remained of PC Gary save a few inaccurate pop culture references by a moustached boob. He'd blinked his eyes and everything had shifted focus and his dreamscape had broken down. \par
\par
Then again, that was the whole point. Right?\par
\par
Sam knew a few basics of Zen thinking, mostly because of an ex-girlfriend who'd forced him to go to a Dalai Llama conference in London when he was in college. The main crux of it all was that everything is illusion. The world is a delusional trap meant to hold us prisoner within it.\par
\par
In the distance, the ventilator sighed.\par
\par
"I guess there's no way out of it, then," Sam said to himself.\par
\par
"Don't worry about it," Gene said. He unscrewed the cap of his whiskey bottle and filled the clean white mug in front of him to the brim with the golden liquid. He took a long, satisfying gulp, and then another.\par
\par
"Ahh," he said, sitting comfortably back in his chair, his face the picture of bliss. "That's bloody gorgeous, that is."\par
\par
END\fs28\par
\par
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\fs20\par
}