You know that feeling when it's late at night and you can't sleep because your head is too full? I get that a lot. Especially with story ideas. So I thought I'd create a space to explore them and write them. I love OCxCanon fics for a range of fandoms. I'll share them here for fun (and for my sanity). If you've found yourself here, thanks for reading!
Hide Your Fires. A little over a year after the events of the Dover-Birch case, Detective David Loki has a chance run-in with a former classmate. Equally lonely souls, burdened with pasts they would like to forget, the two reconnect in ways neither expected. Detective Loki x OC. Romance, Thriller, Comfort.
(Part 1)
Tuesday.
Helen Abbott-Howser. The fourth of twelve victims. Between October 1997 and March of 1999, the incongruously named Roadside Ripper had been active across the counties of Centerfield, Cambria and Conyer’s own Middlesex. A round dozen, the killer had proclaimed in a typed letter posted in rest stops across the state in the early hours of April 1st, 1999. Some called it a manifesto. In it, he attempted to rationalize the attacks. At the time, there was no word for a man like the Ripper. With the turn of the century and the rise of the internet, there now was. All of the victims were women between the ages of 25-40. In the letter, he cited years of rejection and humiliation as proper cause. It wasn’t until 2012 that similar attacks brought the Rippers killings back to light and gave him a more suitable label. He was an incel.
One of many men who practiced what they called “voluntary celibacy” due to the lack of romance or sex in their lives. In their minds, women were to blame and many of them believed that women should be made to suffer. As they had. To most, they were angry young men, dangerous and ruled by hate, but heroes to some. Sixteen years had passed since his last victim had been found off the interstate, ten miles outside of town. Despite the PSP and the FBI’s involvement in the case, there was no evidence other than the circumstantial. No leads. The few suspects the police had managed to find had all of them been disproved by DNA. The case was open, but practically dead in the water.
David could remember his foster mother, Teri (or was it Denise then? They all blurred together in his memory) watching the story play out on the news with equal parts disgust and fascination. Women were told to take caution driving on the highway alone. Some police departments advised against it altogether. Even after the manifesto had been found, in which the killer claimed he had been absolved of the shame and pain of living as “subsidiary male in a society that set him up to fail,” people were on edge for many of the years that followed. It wasn’t until the string of missing child cases grew more and more frequent that public focus shifted and the Ripper was more or less lost to time.
Shit. David thought, the weight of his offense still weighing on him. Maybe it’s too early. I should come back later.
He stood on the Howser porch, fighting the urge to pace. Sleep had not been easy to find that night and the lack of it made him restless. He blinked, his grip on the paper wrapping in his hand tightening. He had been up before dawn trying to craft an apology in his head, but anything he managed to come up with felt hollow on his tongue, lacking the sincerity he knew he owed her. It was a problem he had dealt with since childhood. Even now, he still struggled to engage with people outside of work. He couldn’t interrogate them. Couldn’t order them about or adhere to their orders. There were no such hierarchies in life, or at least, if there were, there shouldn’t be.
He took to observing from a young age, desperate for social cues and leads. He attempted emulation, but as a child often failed, leading him from home to home. Shuffled through a broken system that neither liked nor cared for him. Those years were not ones he wished to linger on, but he couldn’t deny that they had helped him build an arsenal of tools that allowed him to excel at his work. Being guarded and watchful were gifts professionally. But personally? So many relationships were shot before they could even properly begin. He convinced himself it wasn’t troublesome. That it made life easier. Easier to push through life from one day to the next.
He lifted his hand, to knock on the door one last time, when he picked up the sound of light footfalls behind him.
“Are those for me?”
David turned. Grace stood at the bottom of the small staircase leading up to the porch, having just returned home from a morning run. Her cheeks and forehead flushed red and a thin sheen of sweat covered her face and neck. She wore a loose grey t-shirt and leggings, a thin hoody was tied around her waist. Strings of loose hair clung to her temples or floated like a strange crown around her head. Small clouds of smoke escaped her lips as she slowed her breathing. He looked down to his hand, where her gaze was focused. An early morning drive, to help better his thinking, had resulted in, not the right words, but flowers. The market on the corner of Main and Bradshaw had been stocked full at opening and he had had his pick. It was a small bouquet; sprigs of white daisies and purple hoary stock in place of olive branches. He nodded, opening his mouth in hopes that the right words would just tumble out.
“I’m an asshole-” He felt his own cheeks go hot.
Grace shook her head, hitching her hands on her sides with a breathy sigh. She looked towards the ground. “David, it’s fine-”
“No really, I-wasn’t even...My head’s be so full of-”
“David!” She laughed this time.
He stopped, blinking twice before daring to look her in the eye again. They were light, almost amused. Yesterday they had looked hazel, but under the glow of the early morning sky they seemed almost green. She smiled and stepped up to meet him, snatching the flowers from his hand and holding them up to her nose.
“They’re nice,” She said, whole-heatedly. “I can’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers.”
David dodged her eye, the heat spreading from his face down his neck. A mixture of relief and nervous energy still broiling. It seemed too easy. All the officers at the station, they talked about their wives and girlfriends as if apologies were impossible.
“You…want to come inside? I have coffee.” Grace said, her voice lilting as she placed her hand on the door and pushed it open.
-
David settled into a chair at the head of a small oval table off the kitchen, waiting for Grace to return. After ushering him through the narrow front hall, passed the steps to the upper floor and into the family room off the kitchen, she had brought him a cup and excused herself to change. Out of habit, he began to appraise the home. It looked as though no work had been done to it since it had been built. The formal dining room across the hall had been converted into an office; stacks of papers and books were littered across a small folding table that doubled as a desk. A computer that looked to be older than anything he had come across in the precinct was already sitting in a box. The kitchen was small, with bulky walnut cabinetry and aging appliances. The family room was equipped with a small television, couch and recliner that seemed to have labored through the most use. There were few photos on the walls. A watercolor painting of a marina scene hung over a small electric fireplace in the corner next to screen door that led out to the backyard. There was a stale scent in the air. Dust. He could see it floating slowly, as if practically frozen in time, catching the light of the morning sun as it filtered lazily through the glass.
“Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” He said when she returned. She nodded, her eyes rolling back as she settled into the chair across from him. Simultaneously, they reached for their cups and drank. The coffee was black as night. Just how he liked it. Apparently how she liked it too.
After a moment’s quiet, Grace said softly, “I feel like I’m the one who should apologize.”
David sat up straighter. “No, Grace, I shouldn’t have-”
“It’s alright, really. I don’t know why I reacted that way.” She lifted the mug to her lips again, but paused before taking another drink. “I mean that was one of the reasons I left,” she took a sip and continued. “...And didn’t come back. Some people, that’s all they want to talk about. Martin never seemed to mind it but...I couldn’t stand it. Being the dead woman’s daughter. All that pity and nosiness...disguised as niceness. People I never knew would approach us about it. As if they had any right or reason other than morbid curiosity.”
David understood the feeling. It wasn’t often that he dated. Or even met with friends. They all wanted to talk about his work. Especially after the Dover case. He could sense when they were about to bring it up. Their eyes would take on a strange light. He could practically see the gear in their heads twisting and turning, trying to find a way to steer the conversation towards the case.
Grace set her mug down, exhaling. Her shoulder dipped down as if they had been pushed by some invisible weight. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear all of this. Hell, I don’t have time for it. The junk company is coming tomorrow and then the realtor and-”
“I can help.” David said.
Grace stopped, fixing him with a look of confusion. “What? No, I can’t ask you to do that.”
“No, really.” David said, leaning forward. He thought of his empty home across the road. The lack of errands. He thought of his desk at work and how he had been more or less banned from returning to it until the following Monday. “I know it won’t make sense, but...you’d be doing me a favor.”
-
It didn’t take much convincing, despite the oddity of the request. Once he was able to convince her that he wasn’t aiming to help simply out of guilt, they began to rifle through each room of the house. Boxes were filled, piles of papers tagged for lawyers, furniture pushed towards the center to account for the painters coming later in the week. To David’s relief, the day didn’t drag and before they knew it, the evening had home. Endlessly grateful and thoroughly exhausted, Grace put in an order for pizza. At David’s suggestion they crossed the street over to his house, where a refrigerator stocked with cold beer and a welcoming deck were waiting to be taken advantage of. They sat outside, watching a thin bank of clouds drift slowly over the lake, their colors shifting from a soft white to a pastel yellow to an alarmingly vivid shade of orange as the sun drifted further and further down.
“I wouldn’t have been able to do this all without you.” Grace said, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “But...I have good news and bad news.”
“Bad news?” David asked, reaching for his beer.
Grace squeezed her eyes shut, the corners wrinkling as she indulged in a playful wince. With a shake of her head, she buried her face into her knees for a moment before continuing bashfully, “There’s a basement.”
He smiled. It was small and fleeting. He wasn’t sure if she had seen it. They remained outside, talking softly and long into the night, until the all manner of sunlight dipped down below the treeline and the sky above became an inky blue sea of stars. As though they were, and always had been, old friends.
-
Wednesday.
David wandered over to her house at 12:15, after he saw the realtor pull out of the drive and drift down the road, out of sight. She opened the door at first knock, wearing a smile that was quickly becoming familiar to him.
“Afternoon,” She said breathlessly. She hitched one arm against the door, her hip jutting out in the opposite direction. A large box, filled with books and bearing the label Goodwill sat at her feet. Her hair was piled up on the top of her head, wisps and strings falling loosely around her face.
“Look at that, you have arms.” She joked, with a nod of her head. David looked down, feigning a laugh. The day was uncharacteristically warm and humid. A silver sun glared down through a layer of paper thin cloud cover, coating the land below with an odd, muted shadow. He left his jacket and button ups at home this time, instead sporting a jersey t-shirt and ravaged pair of jeans he pulled out when working on his own house. She was dressed similarly, wearing the same leggings as the day before and a cutoff shirt with thin, horizontal pinstripes.
“How’d it go?” He asked, following her through the narrow front hall.
“Oh, fine,” She said, making a hard left. “His dad was friend’s with Martin’s, so he’s going to cut me a deal which is nice. Now, I’m almost completely sure that everything down here can be trashed.”
She opened the door to the basement, absentmindedly pulling at a string of ribbon hanging just inside the doorway. A small bulb flickered on with a crackling snap, but it did little to properly light the wooden steps that led down.
“I’ve been too scared to look, but hopefully there’s not too much do-Ah!!”
A creak and a crash, followed by several smaller thumps and finally a sickening shatter, sent David rushing around the corner after her.
“Grace!?” He barked, bracings his hands against the frame of the door.
“Fine! I’m-I’m fine.” Came a garbled response from the shadowy depths below. David reached for the handrail.
“Wait! Stop!” She called, halting him in his tracks. “There’s a faulty step. I...forgot.”
“Are you alright?”
“-fourth one down, be careful.” She continued. “Ouch. Fuck me.”
He leapt passed it, taking the next few two at a time until he reached the bottom.
“There’s a switch. On the wall.” She mumbled, looking more like a mass of black shadow as David’s eyes attempted to adjust. He pressed his hand to the wall, flicking it on. A bank of old fluorescents buzzed to life. Grace was hunched over on her knees, her hair having fallen loose from the scrunchie.
He tried again. “Are you hurt?”
“Uff,” She breathed, pushing her hair away from her face. “I mean, my pride is yeah...and maybe my knee. Ow!”
She hissed, drawing her hand away. The tips of her fingers were coated in blood.
“God...dammit.” She said, shifting up so that she could sit on the last step. The unmistakable sound of glass scraping against concrete filled the room. David knelt down in front of her.
“Language, Abbott, please.” He tutted, with a wry smile. Grace huffed a laughed, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip as she tried to shake off the shock and the embarrassment. God, I hope he didn’t see. She thought, as the fall played back through her mind. She was fairly certain she had looked as graceful as a penguin tottering off to sea. She watched as he assessed the damage, trying to push the image far away.
“Looks like you landed on something.” He said, finally, his fingers gingerly pushing at the now flattened box that sat where she had fallen. It felt necessary, if not useless to state the obvious.
“Looks like it.” Grace said, her hands hovering over her knee. Sure enough, a few bits of grainy glass had torn through her leggings and looked to be embedded in her skin.
David stood, offering her his hand. “Here.”
She looked up, her face flushed red. She took it and he pulled her up, winding her arm around his neck so that he could better help her hobble up the stairs.
-
Grace sat atop the kitchen counter next to the sink, situated so that David could tend to her knee. He pulled a chair in from the living room and set it in front of her. She watched quietly as he rifled through a first aid kit. Where he’d managed to find it, she didn’t know. It must have been older than the pair of them. He still looks so young though. She thought, her eyes drifting down past his face to his neck. Except for the tattoos. Did he have those in high school? I can’t remember. That she recognized him, or anyone, was a surprise to her. Her senior year and been a blur of grief and determination. Conyers felt more like a prison then. A barrage of whispers and glance she was desperate to escape. When she couldn’t sleep she studied, earning herself valedictorian status and a full ride ticket out of town. She promised herself she would never look back. It meant losing touch with long kept friendships and starting from scratch. But it felt worth it. Now it seemed a little dramatic, but she was a teenager then.
Maybe it’s because he seems...the same, in some ways, She thought. Quiet and sedate. Many girls in her grade had spent some time nursing a crush on David Loki. He was the ‘new kid’ after all. A broody boy from the outskirts of town. No one had known him before he showed up on the first day of school. He was a loner. A mystery. Grace understood the appeal then, but never enough to act on it. Very few of them had. Even then, as an underweight, seemingly insomniatic teen, he had a strange air about him. As if he were haunted. Or the one doing the haunting. Grace had never been sure which. He had filled out since those high school days, but he still looked saturnine, as if a good day’s rest eluded him entirely.
She leaned back, her head hitting the cabinetry behind her. She looked around the room, feeling suddenly impolite for staring. The kitchen felt so small, smaller than she remembered. Her legs dangled off the edge of the counter, her feet swaying gently from side to side, as if caught in a breeze. She felt very much like a child, having tripped in the backyard and come bursting through the door with tears streaming down her face and crying for a parent. She could practically feel the heat of the tears, the wobbly path they would make before drying against her skin. She had been holding them back. Fighting them really. Since entering the house after so long. Despite her best efforts, there were still memories here. Small signs of her mother that Martin hadn’t willed away.
“Grace? Do you mind if I-?”
“Oh! No, I can-” Her hands went to her leg, fingers pulling at the torn fabric of her leggings, until she gathered all of it above the knee. She winced as she could now clearly see the bits of glass, tinged scarlet.
“This might sting,” David said softly. With surprising tenderness, her carefully pulled loose the pieces of glass, before pressing a damp cloth to the torn skin. Grace’s hands balled into fists as the antiseptic sunk into the shallow wounds. He let it sit for several seconds, before pulling it away and letting it fall into the sink at his right side.
“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Grace said, trying to fill the silence.
“We all go through some basic training at the academy.” He explained as he began to wrap her knee with a thin layer of bandage. She felt his finger brush the back of her leg and deftly lift it slightly. Quite strangely, she thought of Cinderella with her leg poised to receive the infamous glass slipper.
Christ Grace! She thought to herself, feeling her neck grow warm. You are no put upon damsel and he’s no...daring prince…
She looked down at him again, her eye catching sight of a small divot just above his left temple. Were it not for the closeness of his cut, she may not have noticed it at all.
That must be...She thought. “The bullet wound.”
“What?”
Oh shit. Grace thought. Did I...say that out loud?
With a heavy sigh, she shook her head. I just keep digging myself deeper. Well...what is it they say? In for a penny...
“I may have, um,” She flushed, leaning her head back against the cabinet again and gazing up and away. “-looked you up. Last night.”
He didn’t seem surprised.
She shrugged her shoulders. “The Dover-Birch case? That’s...quite a story.”
Dammit. She thought, eyes flicking shut as she prepared for the backlash. Why’d I say that?! I’m going to scare him off. As if he wasn’t wary already. Being a cop and all. She had seen the way he’d blanched at the bar. It wasn’t much more than a blink but it was all she needed to draw the proper conclusions. She had enough dealings with cops to know how they felt about her work. It didn’t bother her if they despised her. But David was...well, not a friend but...he was something.
He exhaled, long and low, but the breath didn’t carry the disdain or annoyance she expected. He almost sounded amused. That can’t be right. She looked back down at him. Surprisingly, a wry shadow of a smile ghosted across his face.
“Force of habit?” He said, almost teasingly as he tucked the remaining wrappings back into the kit before snapping it shut.
“I guess, yeah.” She said, sheepishly, feeling well and truly chastised.
He paused a moment, a far away look in his eye before standing up. Instead of moving away, he leaned towards her, bracing his hands on the edge of the counter, each one positioned a respectful distance from her legs. His face was level with hers now. And close. Almost uncomfortably so. At least it should have been. But it wasn’t.
His eyes. She thought, pressing her lips together in a thin line she could only hope was unreadable. They were deep and dark, as blue as oceans. She could see fleck of brown in the irises. He was close. So close. But not close enough. She swallowed hard as the realization came slowly. She wanted him closer. Needed it.
“Your exposé on the DWP was good.” He said, finally. “Really something,”
Her brow shot up.
“I...looked you up, too.” He said, a knowing smile flashing across his face.
Grace reciprocated. “Really?”
“Really.” The smile remained, tugging at one side of his mouth. Grace felt the yearning in her chest begin to churn and warm.
“Guess we’re both a little too curious, huh?” She said, lifting her hand up. “...May I?”
He tipped his head down. Ever gently, her fingers brushed the longer lengths of his hair up and back so she could better see the scar. Instinctively, he drew closer as her legs slid further apart. She could feel his breath, slow and warm against her neck. Her own breath hitched as she took in the angry, craggy line. It had mostly healed over, but she knew enough about these sorts of wounds to imagine what it had been. He tilted his head up again. She could feel his hands dragging across the counter, drifting closer and closer to touching her. Almost. But not quite. She let her fingers slide through the tendrils of his hair. Back and down until they could more easily cup the back of his neck. It was all the encouragement he needed. He leaned in, his lips pressing against hers. Softly at first. Her fingers tangled in the hair and pulled. Closer. They thought, almost in unison. She could feel his hands on her thighs now, clamping down and drifting upwards. Her hips rocked against him. Once. Twice. The next thing she knew she his hands were underneath her, pulling her up easily. Her legs wrapped around him tightly. Her arms reached around his shoulders and pulled at his shirt. His lips pulled away from her mouth for only a second. Enough time for her to whisper the question they both knew the answer to.
“Bedroom?”
He drew her off the counter and her legs unhooked, but his arm stayed tight around her waist, keeping her mouth in line with his. Her toes barely made contact with the floor as they moved down the hall. He paused just before the doorway, spinning her round. Her back hit the wall. He muttered an apology as he peppered kisses up her jawline. His hands were splayed on either side of her shoulders, his body pressing up against hers. She could feel the hardness of his form, from his chest all the way down.
“Don’t be-” She heard herself whisper, her breath ragged and raw. “Just keep going-”
She fumbled with her shirt, trying to loose her arm free. He was there, his hands pulling it up over her head. She followed suit, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over.
They disappeared through the door, unable to wait any longer, the basement well as truly forgotten.
-
Just a little tease this time around, but there will be more soon! It’s been a while since I’ve written these kinds of scenes. I feel out of practice. >.< Thanks for reading! Hope to update very soon.
I’ll keep rebloghing posts like these until we stop shaming poor consumers for not going vegan or whatever and start pressuring COMPANIES with MONEY to start operating more sustainably
Physical things, like the twitch and stuff like that, that sort of began as an idea, early on. It really just felt right; I can’t exactly explain why at first. And then, as I realized that he had so much going on in his mind, so many pieces of information to hold onto, and, emotionally, he was repressing so much, that sometimes that comes out in strange physical ways and attributes and tics. And I found that to be a way in which it was like an expression of this emotional state; he just couldn’t emote, because it would hurt the case. It could hurt him in trying to figure out the case, it could cause great doubt. So he was just dealing with computing so much that it was almost like an overload. It was like a glitch.
Gosh, one of the things I love about Prisoners and Loki in particular is how much we can glean from the character just by the performance and the details in the character design. That, and hearing Jake talking about it and the backstory they created for this guy. There’s this conflict of Nature v Nuture in him where you can tell he is a good man. He feel it we know it, but the hair and the tattoos and the cursing and the small acts of violence suggest that he wasn’t raised in a good home. He had a bad time of it, but despite that he’s chosen to work on the side of the law. He was born into a life of chaos and has come out on the other side, but he still struggles with his childhood and who he was then. Ugh, it’s just too good. I know he didn’t get any awards credit or anything because in some ways it is a “quiet role” but it’s not really. There’s so much there. They make everyone of his scenes count. It’s as close to a perfect performance an actor can give.
Hide Your Fires. A little over a year after the events of the Dover-Birch case, Detective David Loki has a chance run-in with a former classmate. Equally lonely souls, burdened with pasts they would like to forget, the two reconnect in ways neither expected. Detective Loki x OC. Romance, Thriller, Comfort.
Monday.
Spring had come to Conyers, Pennsylvania. Winter had finally released its grip on the city, dragged away kicking and screaming by the force that was Mother Nature. Citizens braced for the warmth and the wet that the season would bring. The streets, once desolate and achingly monotone, took on new life as greenery flooded the landscape. Deer returned from the isolated centers of the forests, flowers began to bloom, children ventured out into the open finally free of heavy coats and worry-stricken parents. Soon summer would come and people would venture back in doors to escape the humidity. But for now, the city would revel in the pleasantries of the season.
“David?”
Detective Loki looked up from the trunk of his car. The first day of his HR-mandated paid time off had been decidedly mundane. He had his car washed, gone to the market for groceries, and taken care of the other errands he had been putting off. He stood in his driveway, playing with the idea of transporting all the bags in one trip, when someone called his name.
It was a woman. She stood in the drive across the road, a small but warm smile on her face. He hadn’t seen her before. So how did she know his name? His neighbor, as far as he knew, lived alone. His daughter, maybe? David thought. She looked to be in her early thirties, around his age. But David was under the impression his neighbor had no children. Or family. The only person who ever came to the house was an older man who always wore scrubs. A caretaker, most likely. There was something about her though, some shred of familiarity that tugged at the back of his mind.
She was fairly lanky, with broad shoulders and long legs for her height. Her hair was a light honey brown, several pieces of it clipped back out of her face. She wore slim, black jeans and a somewhat crumpled denim blouse. A bulging leather messenger bag hung on her shoulder and a tan trench coat was draped over her arm. Odd, as it was a fairly cold day given the date. Patches of heavy, dark clouds hung low in the sky; a stark contrast to the traces of surrounding blue. The first of the spring rains could not be far off.
“David Loki, right?” She said, stepping across the road between the two lots, not bothering to look in either direction. She came to a stop at the end of the drive.
“Yes?” He said, still trying to place her. He let his hand fall from the raised trunk door and fit both of them into the pockets of his coat.
“Grace.” She said, gesturing to herself. “Grace Abbott? Georgia High, class of ‘99?”
The name sparked something in his memory, but the details remained elusive.
“I used to wear glasses.” She offered. Shrugging the coat up higher into the crook of her elbow, she lifted both hands up to her face, creating small circles with her fingers and planting them playfully around both eyes.
“Oh yeah,” He said, blinking as an image of a much younger girl flashed in the back of his mind. She had longer hair then, usually tied back in a long ponytail or braid and yes, a pair of round, thick-rimmed glasses. They had not been friendly in high school, he hadn’t really been friendly with anyone, but he remembered that they had shared several classes together. Algebra, Chemistry, Gov & Ec, Composition…
“Grace, Hello.” He stepped forward and took her outstretched hand, shaking it once. Her skin was icy against his.
“Do you live here?” She said, eyes shifting to his house. The two homes were similar in style. Both were crafted of white wood, with the same roofing and basic layout. While hers was a two-story, his was a ranch. He had chosen it mainly for its location. After five years of apartment living, he had grown tired of sharing his space, craving something of his own; both indoors and out. The street, Lakeview Drive, backed up against one of the states many gaming lots. Far from the main road, it was long and winding, the homes one each side were spaced several dozen feet from one another. It offered the privacy and quiet he craved. And, true to its name, the northern side of the street was set against Bonner’s Lake. One of his first improvements to the home was to build a deck in the back. In the warmer months, he would sit out there, taking in the calming atmosphere of the water below. It did mean a longer commute into town, but he did some of his best thinking in the car and the time it allowed him was more welcomed than not.
“Uh, yeah.” He said, following her gaze.
“For how long?” She asked.
“About four years.”
“The Browns used to live there.” She said, a nostalgic gleam in her eye. “I used to have such a crush on Wyatt’s older brother. You remember them?”
David nodded, even though he didn’t. High School had been...a failed experiment in his mind. Having spent most of his schooling days at the St. Francis’ School for Boys, he’d practically begged his foster mother for a chance at public school away from the rigors and rules of the private system. The culture shock proved difficult to navigate. He didn’t do well in most of his classes, choosing instead to focus his attention and energies into more unseemly ventures. It was a period of his life that he wasn’t proud of. One he was happy to bury.
“I’m surprised you’re still here.” Grace said. “In Conyers.”
“You are?”
She clasped her hands together in front of her and shrugged wistfully. “I don’t know. You just had that look about you. Wanting to escape or something.”
The comment struck a nerve. He could remember her more clearly now. She had been a nice girl. A good student with a close group of friends, but she was always watching people. Scribbling in notebooks. Most people paid him little mind, aside from the occasional sideways glance, thanks in no small part to the rumors that spread around school upon his arrival as a sophomore, but every so often he would catch her looking. Observing. Not just him, but anyone and everyone.
“Just visiting?” He asked.
“Um, well, Martin died.” She said, drawing the coat up in both arms to her chest.
Martin Howser. His neighbor.
“My step-father.” She clarified, sensing the question before he could ask it.
He hadn’t even realized the old man had passed. Was he even all that old? Of course, he had hardly been home in the last few weeks, choosing instead to focus on his work. It was what prompted HR to enforce his paid time off in the first place. The hours had been piling up, they said. If he didn’t use them, it could mean trouble. For them. Not for him. In David’s opinion, it was the last thing he needed. On the first of the month, word of Keller Dover’s sentence had finally come through. The trial had been a waking nightmare. Both sides had aimed to drag it out. It wasn’t uncommon for cases such as these. But it didn’t stop David from loathing the process. He had been forced to testify. As had the Birch family. And the Dovers. Reporters from all around the county crowded the courtroom. Sensationalists made themselves known. Even though the verdict was what he had been expecting, it still ate away at him. Gnawing at wounds that were still fresh, both figuratively and literally.
He had been lauded for his work on the case. The offer came down from PSP, even government recruiters had reached out to him. He had rebuffed them all. Anna and Joy were safe. For that he was tremendously grateful. But he could not forget Alex Jones or Bob Taylor. The case was over, the guilty party was dead, but the suffering would continue. David could not, would not, forget it. He should have pushed back on Keller. He should have searched the entire apartment complex at first suspicion. Procedures been damned. He could have found Alex Jones earlier. Stopped things from escalating as they did. His chief had told him not to shoulder the blame; had even taken the weight of the responsibility with the public. But David knew the truth. Work was the only thing that could keep him afloat. And now, to be denied even that...he knew he wouldn’t last long at home. But he had no desire to go anywhere else. He felt tied to this town in ways too strong to overcome.
“I’m sorry.” He said, leaning against the back of his car and crossing his arms over his middle.
Grace shook her head. “Don’t be. He had a heart condition. When he was a kid they told him he wouldn’t live to see his thirties. I think he always felt he was living on borrowed time.”
She looked over her shoulder at the house, her feet shifting underneath her. Her hand went to her head, tugging absentmindedly at a loose lock of hair that curled up over her ear. David sensed that she was hesitant to go inside. He couldn’t blame her. Even after nearly eight years with the department, the sight and feeling of a dead body never grew easier to stomach. The weight of it always lingered, even after it had been taken away.
“Umm,” She glanced at a watch wrapped around her wrist. “I know it’s kind of early but, I just took the train in from the city and...I’m starving. Would you want to grab a bite? Catch up?”
David didn’t bother to look in his trunk. He knew what was there. Microwave friendly meals. Most either too bland or too salty. Nothing he was looking forward to. All that waited for him in the house was a television...and quiet. Neither of which could distract him from his thoughts, a barrage of “what-ifs” that haunted him day and night. From Keller Dover or Bob Taylor or Alex Jones.
He nodded. “Sure.”
-
He took her to The Mystic, a bar in the town center. It was situated below the only hotel in the city. The interior was all done in dark woods, with old Tiffany-esque lanterns hanging over each table. It was quieter than most of the places, especially given that a game was on that night. They sat themselves in the back corner away from the bustle and chatter of people at the bar.
“Boy, this town hasn’t changed at all.” Grace said, her eyes traveling from one side of the room to the other, taking it all in. “I remember Julie Dawes and I tried to sneak in here once when we were kids. Mitch chased us out so fast, I thought my lungs would collapse.”
She spoke with an expected fondness, but there was something hollow behind the words. As if they weren’t entirely genuine. Forced. David managed a smile.
“Thanks for this,” She said, hitching her elbows up on the table and resting her chin in one hand. The bags under her eyes were more prevalent in the low light.
She must have traveled far. David noted.
“I felt weird going somewhere alone and...I don’t know, it’s strange being in that house after all this time.”
“When was the last time you were here?” He asked, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass.
“Oh,” Grace said, her free hand went to her ear, tugging gently on the small ring of rose gold. A nervous habit. He didn’t mean to note it. Catalogue it. But he found it was harder and harder for him to turn off that part of his brain. He relied so heavily on it. To understand his work. And people. Was it irony? That he could so easily gauge the fault lines of a person’s soul based purely on their little ticks and peculiarities and yet connecting, truly connecting, with the heart of a person seemed like an impossible feat?
“Not for...ten? Eleven years maybe?” She said, just as their food arrived. “It’s not that I avoided it...completely. But work takes up so much of my time- Thank you,” She said, smiling up at the waitress.
“What do you do?” He asked after she had swallowed her first bite.
“I’m a reporter.” She said. “I work at the Inquirer.”
“In Philadelphia?”
“MmHmm.” She said, beaming with pride. “I was at the Daily News for a while, but my boss got an editor’s position and he brought me along with him three years ago.”
David fought the frown. She didn’t seem like the type. Usually, he could spot a reporter as easily as he could a lawyer these days. There was something about them, always searching for that story. It showed in their eyes. She was poised and articulate, but she was missing that aggravating verve that he was used to.
She’s note working now, though. He reasoned. And she doesn’t know that I’m a-
“What do you do?” She asked before taking another bite of her sandwich. Despite her best efforts, he could tell she wasn’t particularly interested. What could be interesting about an old classmate from Conyers? He almost wished he had another answer prepared.
“I’m a cop.” He said.
“Really?” Her attention shifted from her plate and back to him.
There it is. He thought. It was quick, like a bold of lightening, but he had caught it. That flash of hunger in her eyes. It bordered on desperation. Sometimes he hated being right.
“I wondered,” She said, suddenly reminding him of a fox. “What with your car and all.”
Normally he wouldn’t dive into a pool such as this, but after a few sips of beer (a rare indulgence for him) he was feeling more generous than usual.
“And all?” He asked, his own curiosity slipping past his carefully constructed walls.
“Well,” She started, mulling it over. “The clothes, the shoes, you have that look about you, I guess. All buttoned up. It’s surprising, don’t get me wrong. I mean if you told me David Loki would become a cop...you never seemed like the uniform type.”
“I’m not,” He said, the first genuine grin snaking across his face.
Grace nodded as she swallowed down another bite. “A detective?”
He nodded back.
“That...makes more sense.” Grace said with a wry wink. “Any interesting cases?”
In what way. He thought, but chose not to voice it.
“Here and there,” He said. The walls were rebuilding themselves. He never liked to talk about his cases with civilians let alone reporters. He made a note to look up her work when they were done here.
Surprisingly, she didn’t press him any further.
“So how long are you here?” He asked.
“Just a few days.” She said. “I have to go through all the stuff in the house tomorrow. I’m meeting with a couple agents on Thursday...hopefully, I can get the house on the market by the end of the week.
“Is there a funeral?” He asked. It seemed like the proper thing to do. He wondered if he was expected to attend.
“No. He didn’t want one, actually specified it in his will. He was cremated on Friday. His hunting buddies took the ashes up the campgrounds off Mayberry. They’re going to spread them around their usual spots. It’s...all he asked for.”
“Were you close?” David asked.
“Not really.” She said, running a hand through her hair before attempting to wave down the waitress. “I mean, he really loved my mom. They got married when I was seven. He was nice and all, but I don’t think he ever planned on having kids. He never really knew how to talk to me. But, he’s got no family left so...someone’s got to clean up the house.”
“What about your mother?”
She swallowed hard. Her body shifted in her seat, going stiff. She folded her hands in front of her, her eyes boring into the table. All manner of ease and warmth faded away.
“Well...she passed.” Her voice was flat but charged. As if it was obvious. As if he should already know. “A long time ago.”
“Right.” He said, blinking. Did I know that? He thought back. No. Why should I?
She stood suddenly, sliding out of her chair and reaching for her bag. Her free hand went to her hair again, tugging and twisting.
“I’m ready to go.” She said, her eyes still directed towards the floor.
“Alright.” David said, rising as well.
-
The drive home had been quiet. Almost painfully so. Grace had kept her eyes trained on the view outside the passenger seat, her elbow hitched up on the door, her chin in hand. She didn’t say a word until they had reached Lakeview. Even then, she only managed a quiet ‘thanks’ before drifting across the street and up to the Howser door. David had watched her go, unsure of what to do or say.
He stood in his bathroom, brushing his teeth and avoiding his reflection in the glass above the sink. He couldn’t understand it. Why should be expected to remember details about an old classmates family? If they had been friends, maybe...but he couldn’t remember socializing with her outside of school; aside from the occasional class-wide party.
Something. There had to be something he was missing. Grace Abbott. He thought, running the name through his head again and again. Do I even know her mother’s name? Abbott...Martin Howser was her step-father so...she remarried. Grace Howser. Abbott....Howser. An image flashed through his head. Abbott-Howser. A newspaper. And a headline. He caught his own eye in the mirror as he scrubbed at his teeth before spitting a large, foamy glob into the sink.
“Shit.” He hissed under his breath.
After washing his face, he headed into his room, searching the sheets for his phone. After finding it, he typed in the name, scrolling through the results until he found what he had been searching for. His heart dropped into his stomach. The date on the archived article was May 28th, 1998. In bleak, black bold print, the headline read:
Helen Abbott-Howser, Beloved Mother & Teacher at Conyers Community Center, Latest Victim of Suspected Serial Killer.
-
Thank you for reading! I hope to post the next bit very soon. I’d love to hear from you! I used a gif for now cause I’m still working on the title card but I was too excited to wait! >.<
Me: Okay, brain, this Detective Loki fic is going to be fun, just don’t go crazy with the research. Just write it.
Brain: Uh huh, got it.
Also, Me: *spends too much time scrolling through the street view of Conyers, GA where they filmed the movie to find the house that it looks like it would best fit as his home so I can properly describe it*
“People think that intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth. When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you stand in front of them and their response is “you’re safe with me” - that’s intimacy.”
— The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo: A novel by Taylor Jenkins Reid
Summary. Louis Bloom needed a change. Alone in a new city, he is ready to make his mark as he had in Los Angeles. Sadie Sims is alone, too. But she knows San Francisco in ways he doesn’t.
Introduction l Chapter One
Chapter Two.
Rain pounded against the windows of Lou’s car. Small waves of water slunk from the roof, morphing the neon lights outside until they looks more like strokes of paint. Inside, it was close to deafening. Sadie say in the passenger’s seat, a paper bag in her lap with her phone balanced on her left knee. Lou was lounging in the driver’s seat, gnawing on his thumbnail as she answered in detail the questions he posed.
Most were about the various districts that made up the city. The demographics. Which areas she felt safe in. Which were home to families. To loners. It seemed to her, all basic stuff, but perhaps he was more interested in a first hand opinion opposed to what he could look up on the internet. After the first hour, she had excused herself to the nearest sandwich shop, her rumbling stomach having caused one too many interruptions. She had offered to get him something too, but he had politely declined. She was certain she could feel his eyes on her as she raced up the block, her jacket pulled up to keep her head covered from the downpour. When she returned, he was gazing at his phone and didn’t look up. She unwrapped her dinner, a half of a meatball sandwich, and waited for the next question.
“What about Bayview?” He said, after a moment of silence, right when she had dared to take her first bite. She wondered if he would object to her eating. His car was immaculately clean and still held traces of that familiar new car smell. But he hadn’t told her to stop or tuck it away.
He was a strange man. To say the least. His eyes, as blue as the oceans in the north, seemed to be watching always. Never straying from their current focus. They reminded her of a hawk or some other bird of prey. Sharp and fixated. His face was sallow, no doubt from working mostly at night. The mixture of shadows and the dim glare of neon only heightened the deep bags under his eyes and the definite lines of his cheek bones.
He could stand to gain a little weight. Sadie thought, swallowing. It was something people used to say to her, but she hadn’t heard it since moving to California.
“You’ll probably spend a lot of time there,” She said, taking another large bite. “Or across the bay, in Oakland? Lots of people want to know what’s going on there. And visa-versa. Everyone who lives there really wants to live here.”
He didn’t take notes as she spoke, but seemed to be cataloging everything away in the folds of his mind. She guessed he would remember every word. He pulled at sections of his hair, drawing them into place. It was wet from the rain and looked better slicked back.
“Do you ever think of cutting it?” She asked between bites, fingering the napkin in her lap.
“What?” He asked.
“Your hair,” She clarified, gesturing with her free hand. “Just a trim maybe. It would look much better.”
“I’m not concerned with such things.” He said simply, his eyes on the road ahead.
“Oh,” She said. She lifted her foot up but paused, looking to him. “Do you mind if I-?”
He met her eyes, not understanding at first. “Not at all.”
She smiled and hitched her feet up onto the dash. Curling inwards and settling into a more comfortable position. She was like a cat in that way, always wanting to be smaller than she already was. Yet still poised. When he sat at Whitney’s he could see her watching people. Observing them. She seemed fascinated by even the most mundane patrons. Sometimes she would be listening in on conversations, scribbling into her pad before tearing the page out and pocketing it so as not to tip off her bosses. It was amusing. Made even more so because in practically every case, people had no clue she was doing it.
In all actuality, he did mind, but he was quickly discovering that things Sadie did didn’t bother him in ways that they would with most other people. At first he wasn’t sure why this was. But he had his theories. The topmost being that, she wasn’t averse to his mannerisms in the way that most people were. He wasn’t stupid or immune to it. He knew he was different. He just didn’t particularly care. He let his work speak for him. People like Nina and Robert, they cared more about his output and that was all that mattered to him. Still, it was strange to meet someone that didn’t seem to mind his idiosyncrasies. Richard had. The other interns had. They put up with it. But he could sense the side long glances and the whispers. She was nervous around him at first. Especially when he asked her to get in the car. But this was their third night together and she had begun to relax. Whatever her misgivings, he was starting to think they had more to do with him being a man that with him principally.
“Did you get that picture?” He asked, suddenly remembering what he’d meant to ask her that first night.
“Hmm?”
“Of the statue.”
“Oh! Yeah, you wanna see?” She asked, excitedly. She reached for her backpack, not waiting for an answer. She pulled a slim folder from it’s depths and handed it over. “I just got it developed yesterday, actually. It’s going to be perfect for my portfolio.”
He opened it. There were at least a dozen shots slipped into the right side pocket. On the left, a sealed, plastic envelope of negatives was pinned down. Feeling her eyes on him, he began to slip through the shots. They were all taken at night and aside from the statue, each was taken of a person. None of the subjects faced the camera, but Louis could sense the emotions in each shot.
“These are…”
She leaned in, fist tucked under her chin in an attempt to seem cavalier. It wasn’t often that she sought outside opinion, but she felt as if she owed him something for his assisting in her trespassing attempt. Even so, her heart was hammering in her throat. Criticism wasn’t something she had yet learned to handle. She was certain that, even if there was only a single negative reaction in a sea of positives, she would be awake the whole night through obsessing over whatever he said next.
“Really good.” He finished, slipping another page free to inspect it.
“You think so?” She said, breathless.
“I do.” He nodded.
“I like to play with light,” She explained, watching him carefully as he inspected each piece. “Man-made light mostly. It’s really fascinating you know, how the angles can change your face. You can look like a totally different person depending on-Oh, geez, I forgot that one was in there.”
Her face turned scarlet as he pulled out the second to last one. It was a picture of him.
“Sorry,” She said, though she sounded more apologetic that he had caught her rather than for the act itself. “It was the first night you came in. I didn’t think- I mean -you didn’t seem like the “regular” type. So…”
He was sitting at the corner booth. It had been the first and only time he’d managed to acquire it. He was leaning back against the chair, looking much like a disinterested teenager with his headphones crammed into his ears. The waitress, whether it was Sadie or one of the others he couldn’t remember, must have just brought him his coffee for slivers of steam were still wafting from the surface. Spread out before him were several papers and a notebook. He had been learning the San Francisco codes that night. Although at the time it had been unwelcome, it was a flattering shot. He looked...concentrated. Like an artist in his element. There was something almost maniac but engaging about the way his eyes were trained on the page. A direct contradiction to his lackadaisical form. He held the photo closer to his face, unable to look away.
“I like it.” He said. It was the truth.
“You do?” She breathed, sounding relieved.
“Can I keep it?” He asked, turning to her.
“Keep it?” She considered. “Well, I guess. If you don’t mind me using the negatives. There’s this gallery in the Mission that takes amateur submissions every other month...I’m hoping to get in this year.”
“It’s a deal.” He said.
He held his hand out to her. Surprised, Sadie pushed her feet off the dash and twisted around to face him. She took his hand with a grin. It was cold like ice, but he held firm. He held it for a moment longer than she expected, his thumb running along the curves of her knuckles. He didn’t even seem aware he was doing it.
Sadie slipped her hand away. “You’re, uh, welcome” She said, drawing her hand into her others. It felt hot all of a sudden. Her traced her own thumb over where his had ghosted and felt sparks. She looked up, watching him smile as he took in the photo and felt herself beginning to smile too. She purposely tried to photograph people when they didn’t realize it. And, aside from a spare photo of a friend here or there, had never received feedback directly from a subject. Usually out of fear of critic or backlash.
But...that wasn’t bad. She thought to herself. Not at all.
The police scanner shoved in between them whirred to life, causing them both to start.
“All available officers please converge on-”
Louis didn’t need to hear the rest to know it was a call worth responding to.
“Get out.” He said, not unkindly but with a jarring firmness.
“O-Okay-” Sadie stuttered, grabbing for her pack and shoving her stuff inside. As she zipped up her bag, she felt his hand on her shoulder pushing her towards the door.
“Alright, alright, I-” She stumbled out of the car and into the rain. He was gone before she could even right herself. She watched his car speed off into the night, showers of water spraying on either side of the car.
“B-bye…” She said, lamely raising her hand has rain began to soak through the hood of her jacket.
-
He was glad she had been so quick to exit the car. A minute later and he would have lost his place as first to the scene. And what a scene it was. The building looked to be abandoned. From the front, it was windowless and covered in a forest green paint that was chipped and peeling off in long, loose curls. Four police cars were parked out front. They had only just begun to cordon off the area. Sensing his window was closing, Louis held tight to his camera, and snaked past an officer talking to a local and into the building. It was low lit inside, but he could feel that the ceiling stretched high above. Despite the coolness of the evening, there was a stale, heavy warmth permeating the room. The first thing he registered was the smell. It was one he had come to recognize. Blood. Not fresh blood. But rot and sweat and salt.
“Hey! You can’t be in here.” An officer said, stepping towards Louis in the hopes that his sizable form would be enough to chase him away.
“What happened here?” Louis said, ignoring him. He kept the camera steady, trying to at least get a good sweep around the room.
“Sir,” The office said, “Get out. Now.”
Louis began to back towards the door slowly. “Is-that…”
“It is was it is.” The officer said, “Now stand back please, behind the line.
Certain he had gotten at least enough for a tease, he stumbled out and began to search for a proper interviewee.
-
Thank you for reading! Things are going to pick up next chapter, I promise. ;0)
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