Chapter 8 - Hawk's Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

"Hawk, you have a call." Lucy dropped her voice to a stage whisper. "I think it's long distance," she stage-whispered. The ancient gray corded phone on his desk was already ringing.

“Hi.” Diane’s voice had that hollow, open air sound. Hawk wanted to think it was because of the distance.

“Hi. How’s Maine?”

“I love it. Good to be back in New England again.”

“I know you always missed it when you were out here.” With me, he added silently.

“Yeah, I never realized how much I missed it til I came back.”

“Haven’t heard from you in a while. I miss you.”

“I know, I’ve been busy.”

“I’m sure. Getting used to a new place.”

“Yeah.”

“Right. So… have you been getting my messages?” He hated himself the second he said it.

“Yeah.” Diane sighed. “I’m living with someone, Hawk.”

A moment went by. “A roommate?” Hawk asked quietly.

“Yeah. And no. We’re… involved.”

“Involved... ?” He wanted to hear the explanation, and yet didn't.

“I’m with someone. Else.” Diane added the last word as if Hawk hadn’t already gotten the drift.

“I knew it.” Hawk had felt something ominous settling over him for weeks now. “I just had to hear you say it.”

“Of course you did. You know everything.”

Hawk considered this for a moment. “What does that mean?”

“You have the most highly developed conscience of anyone I’ve ever met. I think in a past life you died on a cross.”

“Who is he?” Hawk asked, digging the wound a bit deeper.

“An old friend. It just happened, Hawk. I didn’t come out here intending to do this.”

“You knew what you were doing when we went out for the last time, right before you left.” Hawk could feel her annoyance from down the line. “No one moves all the way across country, somewhere they’ve never been before, without already having a roommate lined up. I can tell when you’re lying, Diane. You’re awful at it.” Which is why you haven’t returned any of my messages before now, he thought.

“What do you want, an apology?”

Hawk made an incredulous noise. “You’re not sorry.”

“You know what? I guess I'm not. Yes, I found someone else, yes, it's over, and I shouldn’t have done it this way, but I cannot bring myself to feel a speck of regret for any of it. You should’ve known this is how we would end, Hawk.”

“What? How can you blame this on me?” Hawk could feel his blood rising, and Andy Brennan looked up from across the room.

"You ignore a woman long enough and she's going to find someone else."

"You're making excuses."

"Maybe. But let me ask you this: where were you on our five year anniversary?"

Hawk said nothing.

"Let me remind you. You were with the Bookhouse Boys, playing cops and robbers. Where were you for my sister's wedding?"

"That's not fair, Diane. I had to be somewhere else. It wasn't because I wanted to be."

"That's the thing, Hawk. You *always* had to be somewhere else. That was so sexy when I first met you, that you were always rushing off to save the day. But you know what? It was never my day you were trying to save. It was always someone else's."

"Maybe you could've mentioned this to me before moving to Maine to live with an old friend." Hawk's voice dripped acid.

Diane sighed. "Listen, this is what it boils down to. Six years together, no ring, no discussion of getting married, having children. I mean, do you not want those things at all, ever? Or did you just not want them with me?"

Hawk sputtered and began to form a response, but Diane had finally found her soapbox.

"No no no. Listen. You can't be with a woman, a living, breathing woman with normal biological desires, for six years and never discuss any of those things. Not if you're serious about her. Not if you're supposed to be her partner in life. Life includes those things. At least, I want mine to. I don't know about you."

"Again, something we could have talked about before you ran off with this hump!"

"But we didn't, did we? That's my point - if something like that doesn't come up naturally in conversation, there's a reason for it. And if we were ever going to talk about it, don't you think we would've done it when I was offered the position in Maine?"

Total silence ensued from both sides of the country. Hawk racked his brain trying to think of something that would change her mind, make her come back; but he knew, deep down, past the pain he felt like fire on the surface of his mind, that she'd already gone.

"I won't call you again." She paused. "I really am sorry for how I did this, Tommy." Diane hung up, and Hawk stared at the receiver for a few seconds before putting it down.

"Hawk? Are you alright?" Andy peered at Hawk from across the room, and Lucy tiptoed in. "You look sad." Andy was known for his perception of the obvious.

Hawk pulled his gun out of the holster at his hip, and Lucy gave a little gasp. He reloaded his weapon with a box of bullets out of a desk drawer. He started to put the box back in the drawer, but curled his fist around it instead. "I'll be downstairs," he said, referring to the small, but professional, shooting range set up in the basement of the sheriff's station.

After he'd stalked out of the room, Lucy sighed and looked at Andy. "I guess it's over with him and Diane," Andy said, rubbing Lucy's stomach.

"I didn't like her, anyway," Lucy said. Her lip curled a little.

"Hey! I know what we can do," Andy said after a moment of belly-rubbing. Belly-rubbing always seemed to clear his mind. "Let's invite that girl Hawk took to see the Log Lady. Let's invite her to the wedding!"

The Moran-Brennan wedding was only a short while in the making, but Lucy took pleasure in knowing that no one would ever say it looked thrown together. She had been planning her wedding practically since birth, not to mention she'd planned her sister Gwen's wedding five years ago. Since then, she had numbers for caterers, florists, photographers, disc jockeys, and makeup and hair stylists on the station's speed-dial, a fact she hid from Sheriff Truman. The only fly in Lucy's ointment was the fact that she was swiftly becoming hugely pregnant, which grievously limited her choice of wedding gowns.

"That's a good idea, Andy!" she exclaimed in her bubbly tone. "Since she's an honorary deputy and all, we can say we wanted to extend an invitation to her. And I know where she lives, so I can send her an invitation and everything! Although I don't know if she checks her mail at that address, maybe she's got a PO box or something in town, but that's not something you can ask someone when you're trying to invite them to your wedding to cheer up the groom's best man." Lucy tapped her pencil on her chin. "I know, we can just mail it to her at the animal shelter! I'll go address one to her now so it can go out in today's mail."

"Or I can take it by there on my way home, maybe," Andy quickly added. Lucy liked it when he was helpful. Her lip curled again, however.

"Andy, wedding invitations have to go through the mail," she said in a firm voice. Wedding etiquette was not something Lucy Moran compromised on.

"But punky, there's only two weeks until the wedding, and Casey might need to go buy a dress or shoes, and she might feel obligated to get us a present even though we're inviting her last minute and she doesn't know us real well. I know my momma always needed lots of time to get ready to go to a wedding, and I bet Casey is the same way. If I take it to her today when I leave, then she'll have it first thing in the morning."

"That's true. I guess you can do that. I'll have to make sure I write really fancy on the envelope, then." Lucy took a calligraphy class when Gwen got married, and writing out her own invitations gave her the opportunity to use her expensive black markers with the curvy tops.

Andy pulled her into his lap. "Then I'll take it over right when you're done with it, punky," he replied, nuzzling her shoulders.

"Hey you two, get a room or get back to work." Sheriff Harry Truman stood in the doorway, perpetual cup of coffee in hand, smiling to take away the sting of his reproach. He was glad for Andy and Lucy, but he sure would be happy when the honeymooning was over. "Where'd Hawk go?"

"He's downstairs. He got a call from Diane." Harry got the hint. He found Hawk emptying round after round into the paper target, creating a neat little circle in the middle of the chest. The paper zoomed back, and he tossed it on the ground, where a pile had already accumulated. He felt, rather than saw, Harry watching him from the stairs.

"Hawk."

He reloaded his weapon again and clipped a new target up. The sheriff went upstairs, but came back down again with a bottle of scotch and two rocks glasses filled with ice. He poured Hawk a double and handed it to him. Hawk drained it and handed it back.

"She was supposed to be mine," he said in a strangled voice.

Chapter 7 - Casey meets the enemy

Hawk led her straight into the Sheriff's office and stood beside Harry, thumbs hooked in his belt. Harry sat at attention at his desk and offered her no welcome as she came in the room. As before, Agent Cooper sat on the edge of Harry's desk, arms crossed, dark suit and expressionless face. G-man-esque, she thought. She took a seat and crossed her legs nervously.

"Casey Earle." Cooper scrutinized her. "You were a little girl last time I saw you."

"Yes." Casey clasped her hands on her lap.

"You've grown into a lovely young woman."

Casey said nothing, and after a beat Cooper continued. 

"Being an Earle might make someone in this town want to hurt you."

"I was trying not to let anyone know I'm an Earle. For reasons I'm sure you're all aware of."

"Cut the crap, Casey," Harry barked. Casey was shaken, but she understood why he was so scared. She could think of a few reasons herself.

"Sheriff, I'm a graduate student in the Nonprofit Studies department at Washington State College. I have a valid reason to be in Twin Peaks; I'm here for the summer completing a work-study position at a local nonprofit. If you'd like, I can give you contact information for both my boss and my WSC adviser so you can confirm this for yourself."

Casey began to get her purse, and Cooper held a hand up. "That won't be necessary, Casey. What I would like to know is, are you also in town for the purpose of investigating your uncle's activities of the past few months?"

"Yes. I am." Not very successfully, either, Casey thought.

"Casey, what do you know about the Black Lodge and its whereabouts?"

Casey blinked. "I know my uncle was obsessed with finding it. Seeing as that he disappeared while in Twin Peaks, I have to surmise it can be accessed from here. I've also researched the Black Lodge enough to know that searching for it is a death sentence. I have no interest in finding it, Agent Cooper."

Cooper nodded once. "But you've been digging for information concerning Windom's whereabouts."

That got Casey's back up. "Of course I have. We know nothing of what's happened to him. My family needs closure. *I* need closure, Agent Cooper. Your office has robbed my family of that." Casey was sure her heart had never beaten faster.

"I do not argue with you, Casey. The Federal Bureau of Investigation has treated the Earle family shamefully." Agent Cooper slid into the chair next to hers. "And I'm sure you don't have a good opinion of me, either."

Casey was too surprised to say anything.

"Casey, Windom Earle came to Twin Peaks about a year ago. He began to send me letters in the Twin Peaks Gazette -- moves in a chess game. As you know, he and I played a game every day when we were partners. Every time he captured one of my pieces, he committed a murder. He killed two people in this way, people who had qualities reminiscent of your Aunt Caroline. He also kidnapped and then killed a local resident he found wandering in the woods. You don't need to know the details of how your uncle killed them. I wish I didn't know the details myself."

Casey's eyes filled with tears. She silently covered her mouth.

"He then kidnapped the Miss Twin Peaks pageant winner, who happened to be my girlfriend, Annie. He took her to an area of Glastonberry Grove and disappeared behind the curtain into the Black Lodge. I was allowed to follow him behind the curtain, into the Lodge. In the Lodge, your uncle demanded I trade my soul for Annie's safety. I agreed. BOB then appeared - "

"BOB?"

"BOB is an inhabiting spirit who makes use of human souls for his own parasitic purposes. He preys on human fear. He possessed the soul of Leland Palmer, Laura Palmer's father, who sexually abused Laura from a young age and eventually killed her last spring. If Twin Peaks is his hunting ground, the Black Lodge is where he goes to enjoy his kill. Your uncle encountered BOB in the Lodge, may well have been searching for him long before now. BOB told Windom that he did not have the authority to ask for my soul. In punishment, BOB took your uncle's soul."

"He took my uncle's soul? Does that mean he's dead? Or he's possessed by BOB now?"

"Casey, that's a damn good question. Most certainly he's dead, and we have to assume BOB is possessing him." There was a pregnant pause before Cooper continued. "Whatever happened to the man is a fate worse than death. He's been paid back thrice fold for his psychopathic acts."

Casey could tell she'd be digesting this for the rest of her life. "Well, wait, how did you get out of the Lodge?"

Cooper sighed. "I don't know, exactly. Three days later I woke up on the ground, with Annie lying next to me unconscious. She has yet to wake from her coma." For a moment, Cooper's words were too much for his thoughts; he took a stick of gum out of his pocket and chewed it thoroughly.

"So the devil's name is BOB." She stared at the grimy carpet and then flicked her gaze back at Cooper. "Surely you're not supposed to be sharing this with me."

"The Bureau wouldn't approve of my actions in this case, no."

"Then why would you help me?" Casey asked, eyebrows knitted, perplexed.

Cooper's green eyes were deep and sad. "Because you need to know. I can't let you and your family hurt for this anymore."

Casey let out her breath, exhaling years of inherited tension, misery, failure. She gained color in her cheeks and light in her eyes. She could feel everyone in the small room reacting to the lightened atmosphere, chests untightening, hands relaxing out of fists.

"Casey." Cooper leaned further into her space. "It's very possible that BOB will be looking for you now, trying to hurt you with your uncle, or via your uncle. No more private investigating, no more putting yourself in danger. I don't want to arrest you, nor do I want to attend your funeral. You must stay away from Glastonberry Grove."

Casey smiled wistfully. "I think Margaret taped the map together wrong anyway."

-----------------------

Hawk leaned over as he closed the passenger side door of the cruiser. His eyes were sweetness and sadness and flecks of gold. Casey kept her gaze spacey and far away, and distracted herself with buckling her seat belt. Hawk walked around the front of the cruiser and got in the driver's side.

"What did the FBI do to your family?"

"You don't want to know."

"I don't ask questions I don't want the answers to."

"Special Agent Cooper can tell you all about it when you get back to the station." She smiled sardonically.

Hawk put the cruiser in drive and didn't say another word until they pulled into Casey's driveway. "I thought you were making a fool out of me," he said softly.

"Well, I could’ve been. Us Earles don't usually have good relationships with law enforcement."

Hawk's frustration felt like it was lined permanently into his forehead and upper lip. "Don't make a joke out of it, Casey. BOB is real. Leland Palmer went almost his entire life without realizing BOB was inside him, eroding his soul, his humanity."

"How did Leland get rid of Bob?"

"He didn't. Leland is dead."

"BOB killed him?"

"It's more complicated than that, but yes."

Casey sighed. They all looked tough, but the three men in the Sheriff's office were more scared than she'd been. "I've been run out of town on a rail before. I was trying to keep a low profile."

He nodded. "Humiliating Bobby Briggs in the Double R is very low profile."

"I thought so too." Casey rubbed her hand over her forehead. "I still can't believe I did that."

"Bobby's a punk."

Casey didn't want to talk about Bobby anymore. It was still early enough in the morning that the grass in the courtyard was covered with dew. 

"They arrested my father and my grandfather," she said quietly. "For some of the things Windom did."

She could feel Hawk's eyes on her and suddenly she wanted to grab Moogie and go for a long, long walk. Then maybe take a nap, and maybe make brownies for dinner.

"Want to go for a walk with me and Moogie?" She said it casually, but found once the words were out of her mouth that she meant it.

Hawk smiled. "Wish I could. Have to go back to the station. I'll come by later though."

His smile seemed to smooth out something inside of her, uncrumple a page in her secret diary. "Sure," she murmured, getting out of the cruiser and shutting the door.

-------------------------------

Casey was napping on the couch when she felt, rather than heard, someone at the door. She pulled herself up to answer it, and found Dale Cooper standing on her step.

Cooper's eyes were strange. It was as if a different person were looking out of them. Casey couldn't quite figure it out. But then again, she remembered thinking Cooper was odd even as a small child. And she'd slept for a long, long time after she took Moogie for a walk; maybe she was just groggy and seeing things.

Moogie sat up and growled, deep and low in his throat. Cooper glanced at the dog and smiled, showing every one of his bright white teeth. His lips disappeared up behind his gums. Moogie stood up and began to stalk Cooper.

"Moogie! Stop that!" Casey grabbed Moogie's collar, alarmed. She found herself too weak to hold her dog back, however, and she watched helplessly as Moogie launched himself at the FBI agent. Her dismay turned to fear in a bleak, mind-numbing second, as Agent Cooper sank his teeth into her dog's neck.

Casey screamed and woke herself up. She'd twisted her bedsheets all around her legs and torso, and she'd thrown her pillow across the room, into the closet. She fought with the bedclothes viciously for a moment and then collapsed, sweaty and smiling the biggest smile she'd ever smiled. All of it had been a dream and she had never been so happy to be awake.

Someone really was banging on her door, however; Moogie was out there barking at whoever it was. Her energy level plummeted at the idea of actually conversing with another human being. She dragged herself out of bed and searched the floor for her jeans.

At the door was Margaret. She was on a mission. Moogie eagerly nosed her hand and she rubbed his head as an afterthought. "You were dreaming just now."

Casey wanted to apologize to Margaret for her behavior the night before, but now she realized the older woman didn't care and didn't want to hear it. "Yes, I was."

"The planets currently are aligned in such a way with your psychic energy that your dreams have taken on a suggestive effect."

"Uhm. Really? Cause what I was just dreaming was..."

"Violent. Take it as all it's meant to be: a warning." Margaret kneeled to the floor to be at Moogie's height. She held his head with both hands and rubbed behind his ears, all the while staring into his black eyes. Moogie sat perfectly still; and when Margaret let go of him, he sat obediently at her feet and laid his head on his paws.

The conversation seemed to have saddened them both. Margaret stood up, her face drawn shut. "Your dog truly has your best interests in mind. Pay attention to your dreams and listen to him." She nodded to Moogie.

"I will. Thank you, Margaret."

Margaret nodded curtly. "I found your dark chocolate." A small smile curved her lips as she stepped out the door. "It was behind the baking flour."

Chapter 6 - Casey comes clean (a little)

"Sheriff, Casey is here. Can I bring her into your office?"

Bring her in? Sheriff Truman wondered. Then he saw Casey, and he understood.

The Casey Lucy led into the Sheriff's office was a shell of the fiery, mouthy brunette he'd met at the Double R the day before. This girl was fragile and colorless in a decrepit gray sweatshirt and baggy jeans. She put her hands in her sweatshirt pockets, clearly hoping to hide the shakiness in her hands from the sheriff.

"Thanks, Lucy. Would you bring Casey some water?" Harry put his hand on Casey's shoulder. "You must've just gotten discharged. Let me get someone to take you home. We can do this later."

Casey smiled weakly as Lucy closed the door. "Let me sit down and I'll be okay." She settled herself into one of the chairs in front of Harry's desk.

Lucy came back with a tall glass of water and a straw. Sheriff Truman pressed a button on the intercom and said into it, "Hawk, can you come to my office?" Casey shivered and looked down at her hands. Harry Truman didn't miss much. "Casey, I think I'm going to have Hawk take you home. You really should rest right now."

"No, Sheriff, please," Casey pleaded. "I'm here now, I don't want to have to come back. Can we just do this?" The door quietly opened and Hawk came to stand next to Harry's desk, eyes hardening at Casey's appearance. Casey looked down at her hands almost immediately, but Hawk continued to gaze at her, pushing the fierceness out of his eyes should she look back.

"Okay. How many drinks did you have last night, Casey?"

Her voice creaked as she spoke. "Three. Two beers and a Long Island iced tea."

"How long were you at the Roadhouse?"

Casey leaned back and looked at the ceiling, thinking. "Uhhhhh. Hour and a half, I think?"

"When did you start feeling like something was off?"

"I've been thinking about that. I'm not entirely sure. I felt like the first beer hit me pretty quick, but I hadn't eaten a lot that day so I blamed it on that."

"Did you stay seated in the booth the whole night, or did you go back up to the bar at any point?"

"I got the first round and then I was seated the rest of the time."

"Did you actually finish the Long Island iced tea?"

"I didn't finish it, no. I drank some of it, I don't remember how much."

"It's easier to hide GHB in a mixed drink. Whoever did this was probably watching you, waiting for you to order something strong and unbottled."

The door opened again and Dale Cooper entered the room, impeccable as always in his dark suit and slick hair. For a moment Casey's eyes became saucers, then she put her normal expression back on.

"Casey, this is Special Agent Dale Cooper, FBI. He's here for a bit on a special assignment."

"Hello, Casey." Cooper offered his hand and Casey limply offered hers.

Cooper perched on the edge of the sheriff's desk. "Can I ask a few questions, Sheriff?"

Harry leaned back and put his feet up. "Go right ahead, Coop."

"Casey, do you remember who bought the second and third round of drinks that night?"

Casey wrinkled her eyebrows and frowned. "I think Beth bought the second round, and... maybe Teresa bought the third."

"How well do you know Beth and Teresa?"

"They're interns at the shelter I work at. I see them every day. Teresa stayed at the hospital last night, actually."

"How many people were you out with last night?"

"Five."

Cooper nodded. "And did Beth and Teresa go up to the bar to order, or did your table have a waitress?"

"Waitress."

"Do you remember what the waitress looked like?"

"She was blond, my height, probably like a size two, brown or hazel eyes."

Cooper folded his arms, and all three men looked at Casey quizzically. "You remember all that about the waitress you had for about an hour and a half the night you were dosed with GHB?"

Casey yawned and wrapped her arms around herself. "You know how you never forget the guy who beat you up in middle school? Same thing with girls, we never forget who's prettier or thinner or whatever."

Cooper half-smiled and glanced behind his shoulder at Harry and Hawk. "Do you remember if your waitress was wearing a nametag, Casey?"

Casey shook her head and leaned her head on her palm.

"Well, I think I'm done for now. Harry?"

Harry shook his head and stood up. "Thanks for coming in, Casey. We'll probably have more questions for you later. Hawk can take you home."

"Well, wait a second. I thought you guys had Moogie here?" Casey stood up as if every bone in her body weighed a ton.

"Oh, yeah." Harry looked at Hawk. "Is he still out there with Lucy?"

"I didn't see him there when I came in." Casey looked confused.

Harry pressed the intercom button. "Lucy, do you know where the dog is?"

"Sheriff, you remember the Log Lady took him home late last night?" Lucy's disembodied voice dashed Casey's hopes of cuddling with Moogie in front of the television.

"Oh, that's right. Margaret came by last night. She must have him at her cabin, Casey." Harry looked up from the intercom to see Casey's crestfallen face. She only came here to get her dog back, he realized.

"They were really happy to see each other," Harry added.

Casey flicked doleful eyes at him for a second before smoothing the disappointment from her face. "I guess that's good then," she murmured as she pulled herself up from Harry's chair.

"Casey, go get some rest. Moogie will be just fine with Margaret, you don't need to worry about him." Harry put his arm around Casey's shoulders and led her into the lobby. "We're going to have a deputy outside your place for a while, until we've solved this. We'll let you know if we need anything else, okay?"

Casey nodded, face bland. "Thanks, Sheriff," she said as Hawk held the door open for her. She shivered as she brushed by him.

-----------------------

Casey stared out the window of the cruiser, scenery flitting by, eyelids growing heavier and heavier. Hawk said something and she missed it. "Hmmm?" she murmured, turning towards him.

"Moogie is fine with Margaret. You know that, right?" His voice had authority, but his eyes begged her not to be upset.

Casey sighed, and opened her hands in a 'can't do anything about it now' gesture. "I just want to sleep anyway, so maybe it's for the best."

Hawk didn't respond, and Casey began to drift off again.

"You're wrong about that waitress."

"Huh?" Casey wrinkled her nose. "Missed that."

"You're wrong about that waitress."

Casey raised her eyebrows. "How's that?"

"She wasn't prettier than you."

Casey snorted. “But she *was* skinnier.” Her voice dared him to deny it.

Hawk exhaled in annoyance. "More like stick figure."

Casey looked at Hawk intently for a moment, her face unreadable. She rubbed her forehead with two fingers and turned to look out the window. "I don't know what to do with you, you know that?"

Hawk pulled the cruiser to the right and parked in Casey's driveway. She started to get out of the cruiser, but Hawk laid a hand, warm and strong, on her forearm. "Stay for a minute?"

Casey examined his face, looking for clues as to what the conversation might hold. She pulled the door shut again. Hawk left his hand on her arm for a moment, then pulled her cold little hand from her lap. He exhaled as he felt her hand begin to relax, mold to his grip.

Casey sat very still as Hawk started to rub his thumb over her pointer finger.

“What happened to you last night scared me. What scares me more is the game you’re playing.”

He can’t possibly know, she thought. Unless he went through my purse while I was unconscious. That could've happened...

“Bobby is going to get even with you. I don’t know how or when, but he will. You have to be more careful.”

Oh. That. “You heard what he said to me. Was I supposed to just ignore it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then what? I’m supposed to not live my life because that immature little macho man has a passing knowledge of high school chemistry?”

“We don’t know for certain Bobby is responsible. He’s got motive, but he’s also got an alibi. Shelley Johnson says he was at her house all night. ”

Casey shook her head.

“There was a squad car outside the Johnson house all night. His car was there.”

“That doesn’t mean Bobby was really there.”

“Casey, that’s all we’ve got right now. No one at the Roadhouse saw him and we haven’t found a link between him and any of the employees working last night.”

Casey leaned back in her seat. Hawk squeezed her hand.

“Can you listen to me without saying anything?”

She turned her face towards him. He stared out at the mountains beyond Twin Peaks, his profile half in shadow as some rare Washington sunlight filtered through the small courtyard.

“Six years ago, I fell in love with a woman. We dated, we moved in together. I never questioned our relationship and I didn’t think she did either. Then, three months ago, she accepted a position at a university in Maine. She left a month ago. She's returned four of my phone calls since then.”

Casey put her feet up on the dashboard and chewed her lip.

"You say you don't know what to do with me. I don't know what to do with you, either."

Casey sighed. "Then why are you holding my hand, smart guy?"

Hawk looked down at their hands, hers lying beneath his in the most innocent of missionary positions. Because you almost died last night, he thought. Because you didn't. Because I want to kiss you so badly and it'll break my heart if I do. "That's complicated."

"Heh, no shit." Casey closed her eyes and flexed the knuckles of her left hand. It reminded him of a kitten yawning.

"Hey, you know what, I don't know your real name." Casey giggled. "Unless your mother named you Hawk."

"Tommy."

"Tommy... ?"

"Hill."

"Tommy Hill." Casey smiled wide, showing all her little white teeth. "Tommy Hill, I am officially not sorry my dog rammed you in the crotch."

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Casey turned her key in the lock and heard Moogie's excited bark from the inside. Huh? she thought. She opened the door and poked her head in. The black lab frantically turned in a circle and jumped on Casey's shoulders. "Moogie! You're home!" Casey happily buried her face in Moogie's fur as he wriggled and woofed.

Log Lady sat on her couch with her arms crossed. "It's about time you came home!"

Casey carefully sat down next to Log Lady and poked her in the arm. Log Lady snatched her arm away. "Why would you touch me?"

"I wasn't sure if I was hallucinating you or not." Casey took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "Thanks for watching my dog, Margaret."

Margaret smiled. “I’ve been having some interesting conversations with Moogie. And with Harold."

"Really? You guys have been talking about me?" Casey got up and went to the kitchen. “Would you like some iced tea?”

“I helped myself.” She said it as if Casey was already a bad hostess. The pitcher sat on the counter amidst the detritus of Casey’s kitchen cabinets. Cereal boxes, baking supplies, teabags, mugs, glasses -- strewn all over the counters in no discernible pattern.

“What the hell happened in my kitchen?!”

“Oh yes, that.” Margaret came into the kitchen and poked Casey with some papers. “I found this on your kitchen table.”

Casey gasped. Margaret had found the map of Glastonberry Grove she’d gotten from one of her Seattle contacts.

“The owls will not protect you in the Grove.” Margaret shook her head sadly. “You know not what you do.”

“Margaret… you don’t understand. Windom Earle was – is – my uncle. I’m not trying to get to the Black Lodge; I’m only trying to figure out what happened to him.”

“I already know all that.” Margaret replied, irritated. She spit her pitch gum into the sink, where several pieces had already accumulated.

“Margaret! That’s what I have a trash can for!”

Margaret sighed loudly. "Close your eyes and you'll burst into flames," she muttered.

"Why on earth did you do this to my kitchen?" Casey felt like the fish in the Cat in the Hat - this mess was so big, and so wide, and so tall...

"My log told me you had dark chocolate somewhere in your kitchen."

Casey thought her eyes might bug out of her head. "You ripped my cabinets apart to find dark chocolate?"

"That's not the point." Margaret took the map from Casey. "Moogie and Harold both have told me they doesn't want you to go in the Grove. Moogie in particular says this obsession with your uncle Windom is something that should've died with your father and grandfather. I happen to agree. I've met your uncle. I don't see the family resemblance."

Casey glanced at Moogie, sitting by her feet, gnawing on a rawhide. "You told Margaret that, Moog?"

Margaret scooped her gum out of the sink, mooshed it into a napkin and threw the napkin back in the sink. She turned to Casey with her held her chin high. "The three of us have decided this is the best thing to do for you." She held the map up, hands at ten and two, and suddenly Casey had a terrible feeling.

Margaret had ripped the map right down the middle before Casey could scream. She layered the pieces on top of each other and ripped in half again, and again, and again. The colors Casey was seeing behind her eyes just made her more tired.

"I can't handle this, Margaret," Casey said. "I threw the town quarterback under the bus at lunch yesterday, got a GHB colada at happy hour, woke up in the hospital time forgot, got the 'let's be friends' talk from Hawk, and now you rip up my only lead on finding my uncle's cabin. I can't handle this!"

"You have to trust me."

"No no no no no no. Margaret. I'm gonna go to bed and sleep for about 16 hours. When I wake up, you will have cleaned up my kitchen and taped my map back together." Casey prepared to stomp off to her bedroom, but another thought made her stop in her tracks.

"Actually, wait, no. I cook a lot and if you don't put my stuff back exactly where it was, then I'll be annoyed when I go cook something. So just tape the map back together. Okay?!" Casey turned sharply on her heel towards her bedroom. "Wanna sleep for 16 hours, Moog?"

------------------

Sunday afternoon found Casey feeling more like a human being. Moogie was pressed up tight against her and she'd mooshed her face into his back. He whined and pulled away when Casey moved, already running for the door. Poor dude has to pee, she thought, pulling herself up and looking for the leash.

She noticed the map sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor when she returned. Margaret had taped it back together, and she'd left a note next to the map as well.

Casey,
As you know, my husband died on our wedding night. He died in Glastonberry Grove. Fire sleeps in the Grove and bides its time until its damage can be felt by all. When it wakes, there is no telling who it will attack and when it will stop.

Windom Earle is like this fire. You might remember him as being a good man when you were young. Perhaps he was. You should keep these memories as the good things your uncle left you. The danger is not yet past. In looking for him, you may find him.

Margaret

And then she'd scrawled something hastily at the bottom:

Deputy Hawk came to see you while you were sleeping. You seem to need things spelled out for you, so I will tell you this: you can trust him. He will do what's right.

The phone rang, and she pushed herself up to go answer it; but after taking two steps, she just couldn't face picking it up. She let the call go to the machine. Hawk's voice filled the room.

"Casey, it's Hawk. I came over last night, but you were sleeping. Margaret and I talked. I understand now. Call me back."

A good night's sleep had given Casey some perspective on Hawk. She'd allowed him to hold her hand yesterday and it had hurt her. His words and his actions did not line up, and her heart ached as a result. He hurt too, but he needed to hurt by himself. She pulled out her laptop and opened her journal application, but she didn't have the heart to attempt words on a screen.

She picked up the map and stared at it. What the hell was she doing? She couldn't find her way through Glastonberry Grove by herself. She couldn't read a map, she didn't know how to use a compass, she could barely put one foot in front of another on any kind of rocky terrain and she didn't even have hiking boots. She was pretty sure this place didn't have a parking lot. She growled at the thoughts in her mind.

And Dale Cooper. In the flesh. She'd been preparing for the day she would see him again, but she could never have imagined this. Eerie how he hadn't aged a bit in all that time, he still looked as much the boy wonder her uncle had described him as. Her blood ran hot and cold at the thought of him. She couldn't imagine he would remember her, she'd only been a small girl at the time, but what if he did?

Her father's old enemy, casually perching on the sheriff's desk, personable and charming. He would've eaten this up, she thought. He waited his whole life for this moment and now I'm living it for him. Too bad I'm not half the detective he was. He would never have taken a drink dosed with GHB. He would never have shot his mouth off to a total stranger in a diner. He would've gone into the Grove with no fear.

Casey grabbed her comforter from the bed and dragged it into the living room. She flopped down on the couch and flipped the television on. She settled in only to drag herself up and to the kitchen again. She picked up the phone, started to dial Hawk's number. Fuck that, she thought. She hung the phone up and switched the ringer to silent. She put the answering machine on silent, too. After that, she had more strength to tackle her kitchen.

------------

Casey pulled herself out of bed early Monday morning and toddled to the bathroom. As always, Moogie followed her into the bathroom and sat beside the sink, waiting for her to come out. She turned the shower on and stepped in. My first shower since Friday, she thought. That's kinda gross. The stream of water had never felt more wonderful to her. She slicked her hair down to her head, soaped herself up with her favorite jasmine scented soap, and moaned in happiness as her feet started to warm up. Her wood floors were still chilly in June.

Her head suddenly started to spin and she grabbed the shower curtain for balance. She planted herself under the water and bent her head low as if in prayer. She quickly washed her hair, then carefully stepped out of the shower and padded to the kitchen. She picked up the phone and remembered she'd left the ringer off all day yesterday while she slept. She flipped it back on and made a short call to the shelter.

"You don't even have to ask," Maureen said. "Sleep all day and feel better tomorrow, okay?"

"Thanks, Maureen. See you tomorrow." Casey hung up as her doorbell rang. As always, Moogie ran to the door and barked his head off.

"Goddamit Moog, I'm in a towel!" She went to the door and pulled down the blinds. Of course it's Hawk, she thought. She pulled the door open a crack. "Hi."

"Hi." Hawk's face changed at the sight of her wet hair and bare shoulders. He looked down at the ground and grabbed his weapons belt. "I need to talk to you."

"Yeah... Just give me a minute," Casey replied. She left the door open and darted into the bedroom, feeling his eyes and wondering what part of her he was imagining under the towel. She pulled on the faded sweatshirt and jeans, scrunched some gel into her hair and started to dry it with an elderly towel stained with hair dye. She could hear Hawk throwing a tennis ball for Moogie in the living room and had to smile. Moogie didn't quite understand the idea of fetch yet; he would bring the ball back but refuse to drop it. Now Hawk was trying to cajole Moogie into dropping the ball, which she knew he wouldn't do unless he saw you had another ball in your hand to throw. She grabbed the tennis ball in the corner of the bedroom.

"He won't drop it unless he sees you've got another one to throw," she called. She tossed the ball down the hallway; it bounced twice before Hawk caught it with one hand. She came out of the bedroom and his eyes, smoldering with an emotion she couldn't define, fastened on her figure as if he knew what was beneath her baggy clothes. His face was all-cop authoritarian.

"I wondered why you never told me your last name." His voice had an oddly neutral quality. "You didn't think that you being an Earle is something we should know?"

"I was trying to keep that quiet. It's sort of my thing." Casey traced a knot in the floorboard with her toe.

"Is staying alive your thing too?" His boots thumped against the scratched wooden floorboards and stopped six inches from her bare feet. His anger made her nauseous. "Just being in Twin Peaks is dangerous for you. You're mad at Margaret for ripping that map up? You should be thanking her."

Casey folded her arms over her chest. "Care to enlighten me as to how dangerous Twin Peaks is for me?"

"Agent Cooper can tell you all about it at the station." Something in his voice made her feel like a suspect.

Casey sighed, pushed her hair out of her eyes with shaky fingers. Her father would've been thrilled at such an encounter, but Casey just felt weak and beaten.

"Let me get my shoes."

Chapter 5 - One step forward, two steps back

I'd like to apologize for the long wait between chapters. Won't happen again, I promise. KV

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Teresa grabbed Casey's arm conspiratorially as the girls left the Double R. "So can I call you deputy now?"

"Oy." Casey shook her head. "Not proud of what just happened in there, Teresa."

"Are you kidding? You kicked ass! You got deputized!"

"Whose ass did I kick? Shelley's?"

Mickey caught up to them after fluffing her hair in the ladies' room. "That waitress was having a fit in there," she informed them, giving Casey a sideways look. "Really hyperventilating."

"I'm going to feel awful the rest of the day if I don't go talk to her," Casey said with a sigh. "Tell Maureen I'll be back as soon as possible."

Casey pushed open the door of the diner again, this time alone, the bell jangling over the door. Norma was wiping down the counters, and caught Casey's eye with a warning. Casey walked over to the Double R's owner with lead in her feet. "Norma, can I say something to Shelley? Or is that a bad idea right now?"

Norma pursed her lips. "Depends on what you want to say." She continued to wipe the counter, as if Casey wasn't there at all.

"No, she can say what she wants, Norma." Shelley appeared behind Norma, eyes red but lipstick and face powder freshly applied. Norma wordlessly handed her the dishrag and retreated into the kitchen. Casey felt apprehension starting to pull her face inwards, and noticed out of the corner of her eye that the table full of deputies was still lingering over pie and coffee.

"I'm sorry," she murmured to Shelley. "There's no excuse - I could've said anything in the world to him, I didn't have to say that - "

"No, it's okay. It is." Shelley smiled ruefully. "I know Bobby is bad for me. I just had to hear someone else say it." She shrugged, but her lip trembled as she spoke. "I heard rumors about him and Audrey Horne too."

Casey had only been in town a month and she'd heard those rumors as well. "There's always rumors with someone like him. The bad boys aren't half as attractive if they don't uphold their reputations."

Shelley laughed mirthlessly as she rubbed the dishrag over the yellow countertop. She bit her lip and nodded. "Problem is, I like the bad ones."

Casey shook her head in agreement. "I used to, too. Probably why I'm still single." Commiserating over men unites all women, she thought, pouting her lips to her nostrils. Shelley giggled at that, but her face suddenly turned serious. She leaned over the countertop to whisper.

"You know Bobby might, you know... try to get even with you now?"

Casey's eyes widened.

"I know he did some stuff to this guy James. I don't know everything, but I know Bobby put cocaine in the tank of his bike, got James tossed in jail for a day or two."

Casey nodded. "I'll be careful. Thanks, Shelley."

The other girl waved off Casey's gratefulness and replied, "One good turn deserves another, right?"

---------------

"You gonna be at the Roadhouse tonight?" Teresa poked her head in the storeroom, where Casey was unpacking bags of cat litter.

"Yeah. I think so." Huffing and puffing, Casey started stacking the bags on top of each other. Feeling eyes still on her, she turned to find Teresa still standing there. "Gonna stare or gonna help?"

Teresa picked up a bag and started to push it towards the back of the stack. "What if Bobby's at the Roadhouse, too?"

"What if he is?" Casey hugged another bag to her chest and hauled it to the stack.

"Aren't you worried that he'll, you know, retaliate?"

"Would Ferris Bueller be?" Casey pushed sweaty strands of hair behind her ears and went for the last bag.

Teresa took it from her with a serious expression. "He was *pissed*, Casey."

Shelley's warning bubbled up in the back of her mind. She'd been trying to ignore it all afternoon, but there it was, sending cold shots of fear to numb the rational side of her brain. She shrugged it off. It wasn't the first time she'd pissed off a local and it surely wouldn't be the last; and at any rate, if she allowed someone to make her afraid of exploring Twin Peaks, she'd create her own roadblock to finding out what happened to Uncle Windom.

"I'm a deputy now, remember? I fear no high school quarterback." She stuck her tongue out at Teresa. "Besides, I don't need to tell you how much I need a drink or five tonight."

-----------------

Casey was always surprised how the Roadhouse attracted everyone from bikers to families with small children. It seemed to her like a pretty tough place, not exactly family friendly. Then again, there weren't a lot of options for eating out in Twin Peaks, and it seemed like no one ever tired of Julee Cruise. That's another thing, Casey thought: how on earth do they get her to play here on a regular basis?

Her stomach swirled with nervous anticipation at the idea of seeing Hawk here tonight. Of course he would be here with his buddies, and she was here with some of the interns. But she'd still gone home to change into a tight top, put on more eye makeup and spray some of her favorite sexy perfume (which would probably go to waste in the cigarette smoke, but oh well).

The Roadhouse was a fairly big bar; they could conceivably go the whole night without noticing each other; but if he wanted to find her here, he would. And if he didn't want to find her, then she'd just have some drinks and go home. No huge loss. At least that's what she kept saying to herself. She crossed her legs, stirred her drink, took a sip, uncrossed her legs, stirred the drink some more. Her eyes hunted the crowd.

Teresa grabbed her shoulder and Casey just about spilled her drink. "Who are you looking around for? Bobby?" Teresa nodded sympathetically.

"Bobby?" Casey asked. "Pfffffft." The idea of Bobby was suddenly hysterical. She giggled and poked Teresa's hand, still on her shoulder. "Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke." She snorted with laughter. "What're ya looking at me like that for?"

"Cause I think something is wrong with you." Teresa pushed out of the booth and tried to yank Casey to her feet, but her friend swayed and collapsed on the dirty wood floorboards.

"Casey! What the hell is wrong with you!?" Casey tried to push herself up but suddenly found she could not control her own movements. Her mind seemed slower somehow, and her hands simply would not do what she wanted them to do.

"Come here, Case." Teresa put Casey's arm around her neck to pull her up on her feet, and someone was quickly on her other side doing the same. "Who gave you that drink, Casey?"

Casey's lips wouldn't work right, either. "Tha barrtenderrrrr," she slurred. Her vision was going in and out, fading to black and blurring back to the scene at hand. Everything is really pretty, she thought, making a mental note to tell Teresa she looked pretty later, when she wasn't so sleepy.

"Who's gonna drive us to the hospital?" Teresa asked the table full of interns as Casey's vision went black for good.

----------------

Why am I sleeping on my back? Casey wondered. I never sleep on my back. Casey tugged her arm and felt something attached to it. She slapped at it and bolted upright from the pain.

Calhoun Memorial Hospital had not been updated in quite some time. The walls were yellow tile and the floor was a dirty, scuffed linoleum of indeterminate color. A nurse briskly walked into Casey's room and yelled over her shoulder, "She's awake."

Teresa came in and sat in the hard metal chair in the corner next to Casey's bed. The nurse checked Casey's IV and tut-tutted. "Hon, be careful with that or we'll have to put in another one."

"What the fuck happened to me?" Casey turned to Teresa, but the nurse answered her instead. "Someone drugged your drink last night. Do you remember any of it?"

"Not really. I remember falling on the floor and not being able to move." Slowly it started sinking in. Bobby. Shelley told me he'd get back at me. What was he gonna do after I blacked out?

"The sheriff is gonna come over later to talk to you. They already took statements from all of us last night. It was a pretty bad scene. They shut down the Roadhouse and interviewed everyone in there. The bartender said he didn't do anything to your drink, and they didn't find a bottle or pills or anything like that." Teresa had bags and dark circles under her eyes, and she stopped to yawn. The nurse patted Casey on the shoulder and left the room.

Casey looked down at her arm. "I don't remember a damn thing. All I want to do is go home and sleep."

"Hopefully it'll come back to you a little. I think the doctor said you would be discharged later today. But." Teresa smiled. "I gotta tell you what this guy did last night... the Native American deputy?"

Casey fixed her eyes on her friend. "Hawk."

"Hawk, yeah... I sure hope his mother didn't name him that. We were trying to carry you out of the bar, Leslie was gonna take us all over to the hospital in her truck. I don't think we got three feet before Hawk swoops in - sorry for the pun - picks you up, and throws you over his shoulder all caveman-bride style. It would've been hilarious if it wasn't, you know, not hilarious." Teresa rubbed her eyes. "Or did cavemen drag their brides home by their hair?"

Casey shook her head impatiently. "I don't know. What else did he do?"

"Well, your skirt was riding up of course. He actually pulled your skirt down so you wouldn't be flashing the whole bar."

"No!" Casey's face burned with embarrassment.

"Oh yeah. We were all standing around him, so it wasn't like everyone saw. Then he takes you outside and very gently puts you in his truck, like you were a baby or something. He buckled you in, pulled your skirt down again, pushed your hair out of your face. Not that you were conscious to see or anything." Teresa looked at her inquiringly, as if trying to find the answer to a question. "I thought he was going to kiss you for a second."

Casey twisted the blanket in her fingers.

"He wasn't going to let any of us come with, but I got in before he noticed and I guess he figured it was more important to get you to the hospital than to argue. He took out this siren from under his seat, put it on the dashboard and turned it on, then told me I should've gone with someone who wasn't going to drive like hell. And then I wished I had gone with Leslie. I thought he was gonna get us killed before he could save you. I think my fingernails ripped holes in the upholstery!"

"He's not still here, is he?" Casey tried to peer around the doorway.

"No no, he had to go take statements from people at the bar. But I'm pretty sure he's going to come back to visit if you don't get discharged first." Teresa smiled mischievously. "Are we evading him or waiting up for him, Casey?"

Casey leaned back in the hospital bed. "Honestly, I really just want to get out of here. I want to go home and sleep in my own bed. Were you here all night, T? You didn't have to stay..."

"Eh, I slept in the waiting room. Not so bad. I can sleep just about anywhere." Teresa's red eyes told a different story, but Casey was too tired to press the issue. She laid back in bed and almost immediately bolted upright again. "Oh my God, did someone take care of Moogie?"

Teresa's eyes lit up. "Oh yeah, that's the other thing I wanted to tell you. Hawk took him to the sheriff's station because the shelter is so overloaded right now and none of us could keep him in our apartments. I'm pretty sure everyone there is spoiling him rotten."

Casey nodded. "Okay... So. They have no idea who drugged my drink, huh?"

Her friend shook her head slowly. "Nope. Not a one, Casey."

Chapter 4 – Casey Shocks the Double R

Much to Casey's relief, the next few weeks passed uneventfully. Her position at Raining Cats and Dogs, Twin Peaks' no-kill animal shelter, kept her and Moogie busy seven hours a day, five days a week. It was a fun place to be sometimes, and of course it was nice to be able to take Moogie to work. She did anything and everything her bosses asked her to do, but when there was downtime she and her group of interns often 'socialized' pets waiting for homes. After almost two years of graduate classes in the rainiest state known to man, she found it somewhat ironic that her job description now included playing with kittens.

Much of her free time was spent in a more morbid pursuit, however.

She made sure she spent some time each day talking to Harold Smith, telling him stories, as the Log Lady had told her to do. At first it felt strange talking to a dead man, but lately she had started to feel some sort of kinship with Harold, imagining him as a misunderstood Boo Radley-type who meant no harm. Sometimes she would tell him about her day, about her coworkers and the shelter animals waiting for homes. Sometimes she talked to him about her childhood in New England, family vacations in Maine and Cape Cod. She thought maybe he would like hearing about that, as Hawk told her Harold had grown up in Boston. Other times, however, she spent telling Harold about the real reason she was spending a summer in isolated Twin Peaks.

"It destroyed him, Harold. He was never the same person after that. Everyone knows about the monster he became, but no one ever wonders what he was like before he lost his mind. He was my favorite uncle. He understood human nature very well, especially children. He knew what it felt like to be small and powerless." Casey paused to grab Moogie around the neck, rub his head. "Of course, maybe that's how he turned into Windom Earle, wife-murdering psychopath extraordinaire.

"No one really told us exactly what happened to Uncle Windom after he murdered Aunt Caroline. My father investigated it for as long as he could, but he died two years ago and all I have to go on are his notes and my uncle's journals. Those journals are scary, Harold. He was into really dark, evil things by then. And the thing is, that's not him. That's not who he really was. The man I knew as my uncle is either dead and gone forever, or buried deep inside a monster in an agony so deep I can't begin to comprehend it."

Was it just Casey's imagination, or was there a faint scent of flowers in the room?

"The FBI wants to pretend he never existed. Their investigation is a joke… all they want is to catalogue and destroy all evidence of him. They arrested my father and my grandfather for some of the things my uncle did because it was more convenient, we were easier targets, we could be put away and forgotten about. My father was fraudulently arrested for murder by the FBI at least twice, my grandfather at least once. I don't even remember how many times it happened. Thank god they could never make the charges stick, but it didn't matter." Casey pressed her lips into a straight line. "They tried to ruin our lives. They almost did. My father lost his job after that and no one wanted to hire him. Maybe the FBI had a hand in that, too.

"After that, my father and grandfather started a business as private investigators. And repo men. Never a dull moment." She smiled thinking about all the adventures her father had told her about when her mother was out of earshot. "One time the two of them repoed a trailer and didn't realize the skip – that's the person who skips out on their payments – hadn't actually vacated the trailer yet. They were usually meticulous about where the borrowers actually were at the time of the repo, but that one took them by surprise. They had the trailer hooked up to this huge six wheel truck, the kind you see horse trailers towed on, and the skip busts out of the trailer with a sawed off shotgun. That one's only funny in hindsight." She shook her head.

"The two of them taught me a lot about intuition, researching, investigating the small details that add up to the bigger picture. From what I can tell, there's this patch of woods called Glastonberry Grove that I need to go look at. It makes sense that Uncle Windom's cabin would've been up there. I have a map of the Grove from one of my father's contacts in Seattle. Been putting off investigating that for a while. I hate to waste a good Saturday or Sunday futzing around in the woods. I really should've learned to enjoy hiking by now.

"Hawk would be able to help with that. If I could tell him about this. Which I can't. If I could actually look him in the face, which of course goes without saying."

Casey and Hawk hadn't spoken since the day she came into the sheriff's station. The awkwardness of that night burst afresh in her mind every time she thought about it, yet she found herself searching him out whenever she was in town. She was often in the Double R at lunchtime or the Roadhouse on Friday and Saturday nights, usually with her coworkers but sometimes by herself. Sometimes she would see him first, during the Double R's busy lunch hour, or in a booth at the Roadhouse, and feel privileged at having a moment to enjoy him, without his knowing, before having to turn away to avoid discovery.

Being stared at came with the territory when you were surreptitiously investigating the whereabouts of your psychopathic serial killer uncle while trying to complete a Master's degree, and Casey was no longer bothered by locals sizing her up in public; but there were times she'd feel eyes on her while she was doing something no one should've been interested in watching. Like touching up her lipstick in the rear view mirror. Or answering the phone when it was her turn in reception. Sometimes she would swivel her head in the direction of the stare, just to see if she could catch whoever it was in the act. Usually it was a coworker lost in thought, or Moogie just waking up from a nap; but once in a while she'd spot the back of a brown sheriff's deputy jacket and a pair of long legs in brown Dickies.

She sighed and looked up at the ceiling, as if the answer might be up there somewhere. "We lost Aunt Caroline and Uncle Windom a long time ago, and that wound never had a chance to heal. You probably know the feeling, Harold."

She flipped on the television, hoping to forget her problems for a bit. Besides the evening news, Invitation to Love was all that was on. God, I hate this show, she thought.

----------------

Hawk pressed Casey against the wall and she wrapped her arms around him, letting her inquisitive hands travel to his weapon belt. She found the pair of police issue handcuffs he kept there at all times, the metal icy and unyielding. "Where's the key?" she murmured, nipping his earlobe with her small white teeth, her fingers working the clasp on the cuffs.

"Where you can't get at it," he growled, a carnivorous look in his eyes. She giggled and he kissed her hard and deep, forcefully penetrating her smiling mouth. He pushed his knee between her legs and felt the heat there. Casey moaned into her pillow, sunlight beginning to filter through her bedroom curtains. She mauled the pillow with both hands, moaning now because she knew she'd been dreaming. Goddamn it, that's the second time in a week and a half I've had a dream about that schmuck, she thought. And he never does get to use those cuffs on me, either. She pulled the covers over her head for a moment, then got up to get ready for work.

----------------

It wasn't Casey's day. She'd already talked to Leah once for forgetting to push the night button on the phone but she'd done it yet again, creating more work for whoever had to answer phones that day. Then she'd found out right before lunch that Jessica had decided to just ignore the 22 voicemails logged the night before. Her recurring dream didn't help. She left for the Double R with Teresa and Mickey at noon, hoping a slice of peanut butter pie might cheer up the rest of the afternoon.

The diner seemed more crowded than usual. Casey and the girls had to sit at the counter, which she always hated because there was no controlling who was sitting on either side. Today, Casey happened to be sitting next to Bobby Briggs, Twin Peaks High School's former QB. Mickey whispered that her cousin's friend bought pot from Bobby, but still couldn't keep her eyes off him. Teresa, lucky enough to be seated next to a trucker intent on his meal, kept leaning over to get a better look - or just trying to get him to notice her cleavage, Casey thought. She rolled her eyes and just hoped Bobby would keep his mouth shut. He had a reputation for hitting on the interns and Casey knew she wouldn't be able to ignore his comments today.

"I think he's looking at me," Mickey whispered, tossing her hair back and furtively applying lip gloss.

"Nuh uh," Teresa hissed, smiling like the Cheshire cat. "I think he's looking at Casey."

"T, you have an evil streak," Casey murmured, hoping she was wrong.

Their plates came and the waitress lingered over placing Casey's down, staring lustfully at Bobby and biting her lip. He raised his eyebrows and mouthed "later" to her.

The minute the waitress's back was turned, Bobby covertly turned his attention to Casey and purred, "Have I seen you somewhere before? Roadhouse, maybe?"

Oh lord, Casey thought. Not today. "No. You haven't." She stared ahead, sipped her water and took a vicious bite out of her sandwich.

"Don't be that way with Bobby, baby. I know I've seen you and that skirt before. That's pretty short to wear to work, isn't it?" He leaned in and smelled her neck, exhaling hot air on the nearly translucent skin there. "I bet you've gotten a talking-to about that skirt before."

Other customers at the counter were starting to stare, and snigger at her obvious discomfort. Casey slammed her fork down and glared at Bobby. "Let me spell this out for you. Leave me the hell alone."

Bobby's nostrils flared. "You see that waitress over there?" He pointed at her, delivering plates to - was that a group of sheriff's deputies? Casey's eyes scoured the booth and her eyes met Hawk's at exactly the same moment. Chills ran down her spine, and she resented Bobby's intrusion all the more.

"I've been fucking that waitress for ten months straight. Go ask that waitress if I'm worth fucking behind her husband's back. Ask her how Bobby makes her feel good all night long. Go ask Shelley if I'm worth mouthing off to, baby. You might learn a few things about me." He licked his lips and nodded in Shelley's direction.

Casey could see Hawk starting to get up out of the booth, and decided interacting with Hawk was more trouble than dealing with Bobby. "Can I ask you a question, little boy?" Her voice rang out loud and clear throughout the diner, and she had everyone's attention.

Bobby raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"I know you can hear me, I'm sitting right here." Casey's voice was sweet and demure. She opened her eyes wide and tilted her chin down a little. "Has that ever worked?"

Bobby stared at Casey for a full ten seconds before throwing his hands in the air and demanding, "What? Has WHAT ever worked?"

"Trying to pick up girls with lines like 'go ask that waitress if I'm worth fucking behind her husband's back'." The diner collectively gasped and went completely silent as Shelley's plates crashed to the floor. She ran to the kitchen in tears. Bobby wiped a hand over his face and followed after her, yelling Shelley's name.

"Oh shit, Casey," Teresa whispered, a smirk stealing across her face. "Ferris Bueller, you're my hero."

Casey could feel the stares of everyone in the diner. No way is this going to end well for me, she thought. I can't leave Twin Peaks yet, I haven't investigated Glastonberry Grove, and I still have another two months of my job to get through. Casey had forgotten the most important rule her father taught her: boldness had consequences in a small town.

"About time someone told her what a sleazebag he is," someone said from the corner. Singular voices from different booths made their agreement known in the sort of chorus that leads either to a parade or a lynch mob.

Another voice piped in. "Shelley didn't deserve to find out like that. And her poor husband dead and everything." A threatening buzz started to fill the diner. Casey's anxiety became a cold sweat. She wanted nothing more than for the earth to swallow her whole.

A man in a matching khaki shirt and pants stood up from the deputies' booth and came to stand next to Casey's stool. The buzz instantly dissipated. His curly hair and pretty brown eyes made him look younger than he really was. "Can I ask your name?"

Her voice came out tinny. "My name is Casey."

"Casey, I'm Harry S. Truman. I've been Sheriff of Twin Peaks for almost fifteen years now, if that means anything. I have to say, I'm not sure if what I just saw was bravery or stupidity, but whatever it was, you must have a steel pair under that skirt. I'm not sure if you realize what you've just done, but I'll tell you one thing, I've got half a mind to deputize you right here, right now, on the spot."

The goodwill inspired by Harry's speech turned to laughter as Hawk silently came up behind Harry, making a show out of unpinning his deputy badge. Was it just her imagination, or did he make sure to sweep his fingers over her wrist as he placed the star in her hand?

Casey looked down at her palm, her heart marching to a tune she was familiar with, and kept her face stoic as she handed the badge back to Hawk. He cocked his head and everyone went quiet again, listening for their exchange.

"I can't accept this."

"Why not?"

"It's got your name on it." Raucous laughter broke out in the small lunchroom, but Casey hardly paid it any attention. Hawk was smiling at her, and it felt like an oasis in a desert.

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