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."

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

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."