Thursday, October 15, 2015

Piecemeal Terror - Pt 5

Dedicated to Silent Hills. Kojima, Del Toro, Reedus

It had been a long day. Dwyer's shoulders slumped as she closed the door behind her. She was finally alone. There had been little rest since the day of Bordeaux's disappearance. Harley and her had locked themselves away from the prying eyes of a precinct, delving further and further into the depths of the archives. 

Old cases, new cases. There had to be something there that could give them that one, precious lead. Harley had lost herself, frenzied and wide eyed, frantically throwing file after file, each as of little use as the first. Her eyes had sunken deep into her cheeks, hollow and dark. There was an air about her that had changed. No longer was she the wise-crack officer. With every day that passed Dwyer watched her descend, withdrawing into herself. She muttered more, sometimes so indistinctly that Dwyer began to wonder if she was really there.

Staring into her lazy dinner, Harley's unconscious uttering swirled about in Dwyer's mind.  After weeks of searching, they still had nothing and yet that had not been the thing to perturb her partner. It was a deeper anxiousness. She remembered Harley's first words the evening Bordeaux was no longer there.

"Fuck! Every single fucking time! I tell her, don't turn round! Every, single, goddamned, motherfucking time!" 

"You mean this isn't the first time the detective has,"


What more could Dwyer say? After a few days, Harley had brought her a sad looking cup of coffee. Despite the harsh bitterness, Dwyer drank it gratefully. Pushing unruly strands behind her ear, Harley stared at Dwyer, not quite seeing her. It was as if she could see something Dwyer could not. It was the same look Bordeaux had given her when she first saw her; gaze intensely picking at her, as if she were a strange mark on her skin that had suddenly caught her attention. One that needed to be investigated, ripped open and put back together in a way that made sense. 

"You got a handle on what we do now?" Harley had asked nonchalantly. Dwyer nodded slowly, unsure of what words to use. 

"You're paranormal investigators." She said at last.

"In a sense. In that we go to crime scenes that appear off. Sometimes they're just weird people doing weird things,"

"And the rest?"

"The rest are like this." Harley looked delighted for a moment, flashing Dwyer a wide grin, amused at her quip. Dwyer could only stare at her blankly, not sure if this was something she should be chuckling at. Their superior had disappeared and Harley was alright with this? But then, this was clearly not the first time.

"The first case I remember freaking out! One second she's there the next she's gone! Of course this was because she was leading some bizarre alien creature down an alleyway. Should have heard her! Sounded like she having the time of her life!"

"An alien?"

"Yeah, I mean fuck I dunno. I didn't get a good glimpse of it,"

"What did you do?"

"I cried in a corner for a good two minutes. Then I gave chase flashing my badge like a maniac but by then they had disappeared. I think about two or three days passed and finally Bordeaux showed up, covered in shit. She had whatever it was, or at least what was left it, in a bag. The chief was off for two weeks after he looked inside."

"Did you...?"

"Nooope. Not going there!" Harley had laughed.

She had barely laughed since. 

As the weeks passed, Harley began to mumble, "... Got to look myself. Can't be sure, can't be sure,"

Harley had stopped responding to Dwyer's questions. Soon Dwyer stopped asking.


Don't trust anyone. 

Don't trust anyone. Don't trust the police. 

Harley laid awake in the dark, eyes unable to shut themselves as the helpful bag repeated itself. 

The gap in the door... it's a separate reality. The only me is me. Are you sure the only you is you?

Don't trust anyone. Don't trust the police. 

The only me is me. Are you sure the only you is you?