Chapter 1 - The Meeting

All right, here goes nothing. I'd say be gentle, but I know Peakers aren't exactly a gentle crowd, so I'm going to say this instead:


I can't tell you why Twin Peaks and the character of Deputy Hawk has generated such interest within me; part of it has to be the James Dean factor, the way the series was cut down cruelly after an especially intriguing last episode that left all us fans craving the next hit that would never come. And this is my fuck you to everyone involved who gave up on Twin Peaks. How dare you give birth to something so amazing and just let it wither on the vine, leaving a hack like me to pick up the slack. Don't you know I have absolutely no experience tinkering with a machine as beautiful and complicated as this? No one need enlighten me to the fact that I'm no Mark Frost or David Lynch. But I've been left no choice; the Double R has gone out of business, so to speak, and I am left with the choice of either learning to cook for myself or starving to death.


Turns out, being hungry makes me grumpy.


So here's the humble meal I've assembled. Please partake, compliment the chef (or at the very least don't insult her food to her face), and remember to tip your waiter.


Oh, and none of the characters within are my own creation (except of course for Casey); I have merely borrowed them for a bit, and I fully intend to return them once I'm done.


As for the tablescape - listen, I'm no web designer. I'm lucky I figured out how to post. Sorry. If you want bells and whistles, I'm not your girl.


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Deputy Hawk careens around the corner of a twisty Twin Peaks road in a Sheriff Department Bronco. He is almost past Harold Smith's house when he hears a woman's scream, sees a black dog run into the road. Hawk brakes in time to swerve around the dog. The Bronco has barely come to a halt when the dog jumps up to lick Hawk's face through the open window. He has to smile and rub the dog's dark head.


"Oh my God, you dumb dog. You took five years off my life." The dog's owner pulls him off the Bronco and smiles a slightly crooked smile. She is pretty, mid to late twenties, and sweaty from moving furniture and boxes in the heat. Her curly dark hair is gathered up carelessly in a ponytail, long strands escaping to glue themselves to her neck in the heat, and her face is flushed from exertion. Hawk nods to her and says, "Guess he likes to make friends."


"Well yes, we do, but not by running into the road! You'll get hurt that way!" She nuzzles the dog and looks up, surprised Hawk is still watching them. Small town cop, she thinks; wants to know what I'm doing here. "He doesn't usually run out in the road like that, really, I swear. We're just in Twin Peaks for the summer. I'm Casey and I guess you already know Moogie."


"Deputy Hawk." He looks beyond Casey to Harold Smith's old cottage, door wide open as it never was when he was alive, blinds pulled up to let in the rare Washington sunlight, boxes shoved just beyond the door. "You're moving in?"


"Yeah. My grant from Washington State won't pay for much but it'll cover the rent on that place." She suddenly feels the need to pull down her rumpled UConn t-shirt, push the escaped tendrils of hair behind her ears. Hawk looks intently at Casey for a second and says, "Yeah, that place has been empty for a while now."


Casey's eyes flicker behind small silver rimmed glasses. "Really? It's been kept up pretty nicely inside." That was a lie. She planned on painting all the dark paneling white the minute she figured out where she could buy paint in this town.


"It's the off-season for hunters." That wasn't strictly true either, but Hawk sets his square jaw and looks back at the road. "I need to be on my way. Good luck wrangling him in," he says, nodding towards the wriggling Moogie with a small smile. He wastes no time making tracks, his single minded focus returning once more. Casey glances at the Bronco before walking Moogie back towards the little house with tension in her shoulders.


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Casey finally pulls the door shut and lowers all the blinds so no light peeks through. She's got all the major living room pieces set up: couch - lightweight so she could move it herself - and desk, curvy antique wood painted bright green. The desk is behind the couch, but the matching chair sits in the corner with the television on it. After some searching, Casey realized there was no television jack anywhere. Apparently, the old tenant never had one. She laid her laptop on the desk, looking longingly at the matching chair across the room. They needed to be reunited again. She'd have to call the real estate agent in the morning.


The real hassle of moving was always her books, which she could never bear to leave behind. The book boxes in the corner would remain there for tomorrow at least, but as she looks around the room an involuntary smile crosses her face. She loves the new apartment feeling, exploring all the nooks and crannies to find the hidden niches she will miss when she has to leave. Like the bookcase built into the wall, dark and masculine, heavy looking. The real estate agent had taken care to show her the secret panel that popped out when a knob on the side was tilted.


Casey flicks on the hall light and Moogie follows her to the bedroom obligingly. They curl up on the freshly made full size bed, just a mattress on top of a boxspring with metal wheels for feet. Just big enough for a girl and her dog. Of course, her mind drags up an image of the man she'd met earlier. She'd have forgotten him by now if it wasn't for his eyes, dark with the weight of having seen awful things -- yet somehow mercurial, becoming relaxed and crinkled at the corners when Moogie begged for his attention.


No room for him here, she reminds herself. We'll be gone soon anyway. Casey wraps her arms around her pillow and instantly falls asleep, Moogie pressed up against her back. The secret compartment in the bookcase falls open, but both are too exhausted to return from slumber.


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More rare Washington sunlight pours through the curtainless windows in the morning. Casey groans at the intrusion on her sleep. She'd been having a very nice dream, although damned if she could remember it now. Moogie whines and runs for the door. No way was she going to get any more sleep right now.


There was a very pretty view of the mountains behind the apartments to console her. Even at the end of May there was still snow at the base, reminding her that yesterday had been unusually warm. Washington was suicide country, her friends back east said. Casey never could bring herself to find the humor in that one.


She drags Moogie back inside, and goes straight to the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. She has things to do, not least of all get groceries at the Albertson's a few towns over. The tiny kitchen didn't have any furniture in it yet, and she takes her coffee into the greenhouse-like addition, thinking of perching on one of the shelves. The cup falls from her hand, shattering into a million tiny pieces.


If Casey hadn't already received the shock of her life, seeing the noose hanging from the rafters of the greenhouse might have been it. Moogie growls in a way she'd never heard before, muzzle tensed for something unseen, then yips, high pitched and frightened. Casey grabs her purse, and girl and dog ran for the door.


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Lucy was finding it harder and harder to just get up and do normal things, like water the plants in the lobby of the Sheriff's station. She felt huge and heavy most of the time now. "Everyone thinks these plants are fake anyway," she murmurs petulantly, filling the yellow watering can. She hears the door open and turns to see a pale woman with curly hair in jeans and sneakers. She looks nervous, Lucy thinks, and asks in her Betty Boop voice, "Can I help you with something?"


The woman presses her lips together and tugs on her purse strap. "I'm looking for, I think his name is Deputy Hawk?"


"Hawk isn't here yet, the boys had a busy night and they probably won't be in for a while. Is there a message you'd like to leave for him?"


"Uhhhhmmm..." Casey stares at the walls, wondering how to seem like less; smaller, with a smaller problem. She looks at Lucy's inquisitive face and wonders how fast it'll travel around town if she actually tells this woman what happened to her this morning. But leaving and coming back would be harder; she'd just be wound tighter by then.


"Is something wrong?" Lucy cocks her blond head, her green eyes sympathetic. "Are you sure I can't help you with anything?"


What the hell, Casey thinks. I'm only here a few months anyway. Maybe if I tell her what really happened, she'll make sure Hawk calls me. 
 



That, or she'll call the mental hospital over in Yakima... 
 

"Well, Hawk saved my dog from getting run over yesterday. I just wanted to say thank you." Casey tries on a smile and it doesn't feel as bad as she thought it might.


"Oh! Well, he might be in maybe at 9 or so. If you aren't in a hurry, there's coffee and donuts in the conference room, you can wait for him out here. Or there's the Double R diner a few miles up in town too."


Casey nods her head, up and down, until it feels normal again. "You know, I think I'll go over to that diner and get an omelette or something, swing by later, maybe everyone will be in by then." The smile is starting to feel genuine, much to her surprise.


Omelettes at the Double R were better left unordered, but she must not know any better, Lucy thinks. "Well, the pancakes at the Double R are really good. You should probably get pancakes instead. Or maybe just scrambled egg whites if you're watching your carbs? Doctor Hayward said I shouldn't eat too many carbs or the baby might get indigestion." She pats her stomach unconsciously in the way pregnant women do.


"Oh, I hadn't heard that." The little voice that had nagged her the whole way to the Sheriff's station begins its chant again: You just want an excuse to see that man again. You're imagining things. Even if you aren't, who would believe you?


"Casey." Hawk's voice behind her is steady, quieting the negative inner voice. She turns and is reminded of the face she couldn't quite put together the night before, the high cheekbones and forehead, the dark eyes with light behind them. "What can I help you with."


Not a question, she thinks. He already knows. "Thanks a lot," she says to Lucy, who smiles and lifts her ears as Hawk leads Casey towards one of the interrogation rooms.


"Never been in one of these," she says nervously.


"It's private." Hawk sits backward in a chair, long legs wrapped around the front. "You want this to be private."


Casey seats herself in one of the hard plastic chairs. It could've been an overstuffed couch, she feels so warm and relieved. "Something happened in my apartment." Hawk shifts weight slightly, begins to say something, but then the words pour out of her.


"I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it myself," she begins. 

"There was a noose hanging in that, I don't know what it is, a sunroom? Greenhouse? I know how that sounds. I don't say things like this, I don't believe things like this happen, but there's something in that place, I don't know what." Casey's voice cracks and she finds herself incapable of picking her gaze up off the concrete floor. She wants to stand, thank him for listening to her, march out and deal with the thing in her apartment all by herself. She can hear the other deputies filing in and she knows they must have a lot to do today. But she cannot make her legs move. They would not support her weight right now, no matter her desire. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I don't even know you. But I don't know anyone here and I can't move again and I don't know how I can go back to that place when only God knows what else I'm gonna see while I'm there."


Hawk hasn't moved, yet his eyes are a completely different landscape, stoic and full of sadness. "The man who lived in your apartment had been there untold years. He seemed like a young man, but he was very sensitive and very fragile in spirit. He hung himself." Hawk's eyes become clouded. "I found him."


Hawk watches Casey's expression change from fear to understanding, to a mixture of both. She pouts like a child, then tears shine briefly in her eyes and she presses the pout shut. She holds a hand to her throat, a small hand with short nails, no rings or nail polish, no adornment at all.


He stands and pulls himself straight to full height. "Would you like some coffee?"


"No thank you." Casey's voice is small and hollow. She stares at a place Hawk cannot see, at a scene painted with colors he cannot name. Her vulnerability is appealing, but he knows she won't want sympathy or sweetness. She simply sits, and stares; the longer she sits, the stronger his desire to help her.


"How about tea? You really should drink something."


She comes back to the present, away from the dark drawing being illustrated in her mind, and smiles at the handsome man offering to help. "Tea would be nice."


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Hawk wasn't sure he could offer any real consolation to the poor girl in Interrogation A. He did not believe in exorcisms or cleansings; acts such as those only provoked the dead. Above all, he tried to convey respect to all spirits in all forms. But Casey also deserved to exist without fear in the home she was starting to make for herself.


He also wasn't sure if there really was any tea in the station's kitchenette. He was about to ask Lucy when he heard the familiar click of the interrogation room door. Casey closed the thick door gingerly as Hawk stepped into her path.


"You shouldn't go back." His voice was stern and there was no softness in his eyes anymore. He means to stop me, Casey realized. Her heart swelled. He wants to keep me safe, she thought.


"I'm sorry. I don't know why I got you involved in this. You don't know what to do, either. Please believe me when I tell you I don't usually involve perfect strangers in my personal problems." She smiled, but this time it did feel false.


However, suddenly Hawk did indeed know what to do. "Do you have time to meet someone? I don't think it'll take long." He stepped forward, perhaps a step too close, and took Casey's elbow.


His scent was... what? Casey couldn't place it. It wasn't cologne or hair product or even soap. He smelled like the woods on a sunny day, before you got too deep to turn back, while daylight still filtered through the trees but somehow kept the forest shady and cool...


Careful not to lick her lips before she spoke, Casey asked, "Can Moogie come? He's waiting in the car. Unless he somehow wormed his way out the window."


Hawk smiled, and Casey couldn't help but flutter her lashes a little. "Let's put him in the back of a cruiser and see what he does."


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