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.

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

Chapter 3 - Hawk Can't Decide

Casey found the walk back not nearly as treacherous. Moogie trotted beside the two of them, and a companionable silence grew as the trees closed in.

All day, Hawk had been trying to reconcile his growing feelings for Casey with the torch he still carried for Diane. She had recently left Washington for a professorship at the University of Maine. They'd left things ambiguous, too ambiguous for his liking. She'd called once or twice, when she arrived in Augusta, and lately his phone calls to her had gone unreturned. Diane had never been a clingy person, and he appreciated this about her. He was sure she would not appreciate long-distance clinginess from him.

Casey, for her part, was wrapped up in the mystery of Harold Smith. She had tried to get more information out of Margaret, but it was like trying to get blood from a stone. "I've told you all you need to know," she told Casey as she ushered everyone out. "Good luck," she added, before closing the door in Casey's face.

Casey decided to pick Hawk's brain about Harold. "So, do you know anything else about Harold Smith that might be useful for me?"

"Lived on the east coast. Grew up in Boston." The mention of Harold Smith did not improve Hawk's mood. His expression was stony, almost angry. Her faux pas made her too nervous to say another word as they worked their way back to the cruiser.

"Thank you for introducing me to Margaret," she said demurely as she got in the car. Hawk nodded just perceptibly, opening a back door for Moogie to climb in. Great, Casey thought. I should've said that when we were back at the station. What are we going to talk about the rest of the way back?

Her fear was confirmed. They both had to laugh when Moogie barked at a German Shepard riding in the back of a truck, but no more conversation was forthcoming. Something heavy settled in Casey's stomach, and she built a stone wall around it to keep the butterflies out.

"I don't think we need to file a report," Hawk said as the station came into view. She jumped at the sound of his voice, but looked at Hawk with blandness in her expression and glass in her eyes. "Good." She smiled in the way a parent smiles at their child's teacher. "Thank you again, Deputy Hawk."

"Don't think anything of it." He watched her bend over to attach Moogie's leash, strands of her ponytail flying into her face, and he wished he could proceed with a clear heart. Her guard was up again, and it saddened him. He waits until she's almost to her car before calling out, "Good to see you and Moogie again."

She looked up and smiled, but it was quicksilver and cheap. Waved once as she put the car in reverse, her head flipping back and forth to check for other cars. Moogie poked his horse head out the window and watched him as the small car pulled away.

-------

Sheriff Harry Truman came into the file room as Hawk pulled open a drawer, intent on finding a ten year old robbery write up. "Hey, Lucy said you took a girl to see Log Lady this morning? What was that about?"

"Her name is Casey. Just moved into Harold Smith's old apartment yesterday. She came in early this morning and said she saw a noose hanging from the rafters in that sunroom he had."

"Holy smoke." Harry perched on a dusty metal desk. "Did Margaret help her any?"

"Margaret told her to introduce herself to Harold, tell him her story, get acquainted." Hawk's voice was incredulous. "If I was her I'd be moving out."

"Yeah. Good thinking taking her up there though. So is Casey here permanently?"

"For the summer only. Grad student at WSU."

"Oh." Harry had also gone to WSU; his interest was piqued. "She going to Spokane or Pullman?"

"Didn't specify, Harry."

"What's she majoring in?"

"I didn't ask." Hawk finally found the file he needed and closed the drawer, using enough force to shake the whole wall of filing cabinets. Harry crossed his khaki arms, raised his eyebrows. He had been Hawk's friend through many a girlfriend, and many a subsequent breakup.

"This girl Casey, she's getting under your skin, isn't she?"
Hawk didn't respond.

"Hawk, she left." Harry's tone forgave Hawk for everything the deputy was beating himself up over.

"I don't know what to do, Harry." Hawk let his options hang in the air unspoken. It would be easy to drop by Casey's place, see how she was doing, ask if she'd like to get dinner or maybe take a long walk (on a straight road, he thought). Only problem was, he couldn't stand the idea of giving up on Diane. Not quite yet.

But Harry was right. She *had* left. Diane had always put her career first, and Hawk had never had a reason to find fault with that. He thought of himself as doing the same. Their relationship had burned hot and cold throughout the years as a result. But he couldn't deny that her latest career move showed him plainly where he stood on her list of priorities.


"You're already on the path. You don't need to know where it goes. Just follow." Hawk had to laugh at hearing Harry quote his own words to him. Harry clapped Hawk on the shoulder and walked most of the way out the door before turning to ask, "So you didn't tell me, did she find the noose still hanging when she got home again?"


Hawk wrinkled his brow. "I didn't ask. I should've come with her to look. My mind was... wandering." He looked at the dusty file, then at Sheriff Truman, who knew the look on Hawk's face too well. "Just go. I'll see you tomorrow. Tell her I'd like to talk with her about WSU some time."


"Thanks, Harry." Hawk handed him the file and took off at a trot. Lucy gave him an annoyed look as he passed her desk. "Let me know next time you're going to bang things around, Off-ic-er HILL. It startled me so much, I almost had the baby!"


Hawk turned away, grimacing. "Sorry, Lucy."


--------


Hawk pulled up behind Casey's blue Honda. Every light in the place was on. Can't blame her, he thought. He knocked at the door and was greeted by a dog howling. He could hear Casey shushing Moogie. She pushed aside the blue curtains on the door, smiled when she saw who it was. She's happy to see me, he thought as the lock clicked and the door opened. The thought centered him, made him feel warm inside. Right up until Moogie rammed his black head straight into Hawk's crotch.


Casey covered her mouth so Hawk, writhing in pain, wouldn't see her snorting with laughter. She managed to pull Moogie into the house and partially close the door to keep him inside. "Crate time for you, dude," she told him. She returned outside, knelt next to Hawk and said in a somewhat strangled voice, "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"No." He sat up, his handsome face still contorted in pain. Casey attempted to straighten her own face, pressed her lips together. It really isn't funny, she scolded herself. "He was confined for a while. I had to go shopping," she explained.

Hawk remained crouched on the ground, glared at her out of the corner of his eye.

"You know you'll laugh about this someday, Hawk."

"Not if I can't have children."

Casey felt her lower lip start to quiver and she squished her mouth shut again. She stood up and held the door open. "I made chocolate chip cookies," she offered.

Hawk mumbled something that ended in "bag of peas."

----------

Casey sat in her bright green chair at her bright green desk, stealing glances at the man sleeping on her couch. She felt like a kid on Christmas day, staring at a lit up tree and stockings heavy with presents. He'd been sleeping for about fifteen minutes, after picking himself up off the grass and eating most of the cookies she'd baked. She kept thinking she should've woken him by now, but his face, soft and relaxed in sleep, stopped her in her tracks every time.

She was also trying to write something, anything, in her journal. She didn't write in it everyday, only when she needed to sort out something confusing. She pushed the green chair back, set her feet on the edge of the desk and placed the laptop on her triangled legs.


Had the weirdest day ever... and I really mean it this time. A noose was hanging in the sunroom when I got up this morning. I didn't know what the hell to do, so I went to the police station to talk to Hawk, the deputy who gave me that bizarre look when I was moving in yesterday. Turns out, the man who lived here was some kind of shut-in, and he HANGED himself. In the sunroom. I felt bad for Hawk, he actually found this guy hanging from the ceiling and everything.

And it's not quite over yet either... Hawk took me to see this woman who talks with a log. She's some kind of seer or mystic... the log is supposed to be the soul of her dead husband. Grief makes us all do strange things, this I know. Anyhow, Log Lady told me I'm supposed to introduce myself to Harold, the dead guy, and tell him stuff about myself, I guess anything I want as long as it's the truth. This had better work... just being here is sort of creepy. I have all the lights on and Moogie will be sleeping in bed from now on, no more crate... although he just did a crotchshot on poor deputy Hawk when he came to the door, that got him some crate time.

Not sure why Hawk is here, to be honest... it seemed like there was something going on between us on the way to Log Lady's, there was some bantering and I'm pretty sure he checked me out when I took my sweater off... then when we were in her house he grabbed my knee to stop me from saying something stupid. It wasn't supposed to be a sexual touch, but it sure felt that way to me, I'm pretty sure to him too. It was like an electric shock. Oh and he kinda took my arm at the sheriff's station too... same thing, although I'm not sure if that was just on my end. I was pretty upset at the station. Anyhow, that's a lot of touching for two people who are almost complete strangers.


But then on the way back, it was like a switch got flipped. No banter, no smiling, and a facial expression he stole from the Washington Monument. So then we got back to the station, and Moogie and I ran some errands, bought some groceries and stuff, and then came back... to the home of the noose. Nothing was here. Of course. But I know that it *was* there. And it could be there again, that or something else I wouldn't appreciate. So I talked to Harold for a while. Didn't tell him anything you don't already know though.


She glanced at the couch again and saw Hawk blinking himself awake.


"What did you put in those cookies?" Hawk sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Carbs." Casey flicked a small smile over her shoulder and kept typing. From inside his crate, Moogie picked his head up and yipped, soft and sad. "Too bad, Moog. You're dangerous tonight," Casey murmured.

Hawk peeked over the couch arm and lifted his eyebrows at her. "Thanks for putting him in there. How long have I been sleeping?"

"You're welcome, although I think he's pretty sorry about what he did. You were conked out for maybe fifteen, twenty minutes. Should I have woken you up?" She laid the laptop on the desk again and turned to face him. Hawk smiled and shook his head for what seemed like the fourteenth time that day.

"So did you introduce yourself to Harold?"

"I did." Casey crossed her legs into a lotus position on the green chair. "I talked to Mr. Harold Smith for probably about an hour after I got back from Albertson's. I swear I heard a pen scratching as I was doing it too."

Hawk gave her a funny look. "There's a grocery store in town. No reason to drive all the way over to George."

Casey shrugged. "I like big supermarkets better anyway. And I needed some time to process things, you know? I wasn't really eager to see, you know, the sunroom."

"Was anything there?"

"Oh no, of course not. My broken coffee cup was, though."

"And then you talked to Harold and baked cookies." Hawk's voice had a smirk in it.

"Not just cookies. I made shepherd's pie too. And iced tea. I was thinking about making brownies when you knocked." Casey started listing brownie ingredients in her head and realized she had no idea where the vanilla extract was, although the almond extract was out on the counter, and that might work too, although she'd never used it in brownies before...

"You're holding out on me." Hawk hopped up to go to the kitchen, Moogie whining as he passed the crate.

"You have to be kidding me. You can't be hungry." Casey closed the laptop and followed him into the kitchen. "Didn't unpack silverware yet. There's paper and plastic next to the sink." She pulled a beer out of the fridge as Hawk cut himself a large piece of the shepherd's pie. "You better leave me some of that."

"Your dog tried to neuter me. Consider us even. *Almost* even." He looked around the mostly bare kitchen. "Didn't get too far in here?"

"Nope. I have a little table that attaches to the wall and a couple of stools. Maybe do that tomorrow after work." Casey yawned and stretched her arms over her head. Hawk used the moment to snatch the beer out of her mostly outstretched hand and pop the cap off against the counter. He smiled broadly at her look of annoyance. "Did you want one, deputy?"

"Yup. That one." He took a swig and went back into the living room with his loot, leaving Casey to take another beer out of the fridge for herself. She looked around and thought about putting things away, cleaning up a bit, but just the thought of domestic chores made the heaviness of her day descend on her.

Casey flicked the kitchen lights off and took her beer into the living room. Dare I sit on the couch with him? she thought. She decided she did - and then sat at the extreme opposite end, legs folded beneath her. She sighed, sipped her beer, and thought to herself, I am never gonna get laid again. I'll go write *that* in my journal, maybe.

Hawk looked over at her, eyes glowing in the lamplight. "Want help setting up that table?" His voice had something besides helpfulness in it, and Casey wondered if perhaps she had spoken too soon.

He scooted over, close enough to touch, and then extended his arm around her shoulders, like a high school boy at the movies. Her heart beating so fast she imagined Hawk must be able to hear it, she tilted her chin up a bit, and let her lips part just a little. As she had imagined, his big hand felt good tangled up in her hair... just enough aggression, just forceful enough. Her body began to tingle with that special brand of anticipation reserved for new lovers and first kisses. She slowly let her eyes close.

Hawk then mussed her hair and flipped it over her face, much the same way her older brother's friends used to. Perplexed, Casey pulled away, flipped her eyes open. Hawk had not moved, but he somehow seemed infinitely further away. He squeezed her shoulders. "Where's your toolbox, Casey?"

Disappointment had not washed over her quite this thoroughly in a long, long time. She mashed all her emotions down deep and took a moment to think about where her toolbox might be. I'm gonna need a different kind of tool later, she decided.

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

About half an hour later, Hawk got in his truck and watched the light in Casey's bedroom go out. The distance she put between them after his little stunt on the couch could be measured in Grand Canyons.


He had fully intended to kiss her, wanted to kiss her, still wanted to kiss her, for that matter; but at the last second Diane's face popped up in his mind. He'd panicked. And then he had actually messed up her long brunette curls, softer than he would have imagined and smelling like some kind of exotic fruit, and flipped the entire dark cloud over her face.

He laid his forehead on the steering wheel. The look on her face had been almost heartbreaking. The power of regret made the memory of her body all the more compelling. He could still feel the softness of her hip and thigh, the sharp dip of her waist, the weight and roundness of the small perfect breasts he'd admired earlier in the woods.

And on top of that, she made a mean shepherd's pie. Which he'd probably never get to taste again.

There's no word for the kind of idiot I am, he thought as he turned the key in the ignition. He was sure he'd see the chastisement in Casey's eyes as he went to sleep tonight.

Chapter 2 - The Ride

Casey had never been in a police cruiser before - at least, not with a beautiful Native American deputy driving her to parts unknown. Not to mention the ecstatic black lab in the backseat, frolicking from one open window to another. Hawk rolled the windows mostly down for Moogie and he was in doggie heaven. She couldn't help but turn around and watch him for almost the whole ride. Something very special about a joyful dog, she thought.


Even though her hair was probably completely ruined by now, Casey was still grateful for the wind pouring in from the back of the cruiser. It meant she didn't have to try to make small talk, which she had never been good at. She had a feeling Hawk wasn't good at it either.


Moogie's energy didn't give out when Hawk parked the cruiser on the edge of the woods. He galloped out almost before Casey could get his leash on, and pulled her towards the trees. "Moogie, no tug." She abruptly stopped walking, and the dog stared back with pleading puppy dog eyes. "Well, don't pull me then." She looked up for Hawk, who was already in the woods waiting for them. He gestured for her to follow.


"Where is this person?" she called.


"She lives in a cabin deep among the trees." He looked questioningly at her, and Casey knew she'd lose brownie points if she said another word about the woods. She piled her hair up high with an elastic and set her eyes on the ground, watching for tree roots and branches. Cracking my head open would probably be less than impressive, she thought.


The dog, of course, had differing ideas. After the ride in the cruiser, Moogie had decided Hawk was his new best buddy and relentlessly pulled Casey forward to the deputy's side. In no time at all Casey had tripped over branches, tree roots and rocks, and slipped in a pile of leaves. Hawk tried to keep his face impassive, but Casey noticed a smirk forming when she stole a look at his profile.


This could go on all day, Casey thought. She pulled Moogie's leash tight and planted her feet. "Hawk."


He turned with arms crossed, not even trying to hide the smirk anymore. "Yeah?"


"Who the hell is out here this deep?!"


"Her name is Margaret. She's known to most as Log Lady." Hawk ruffled Moogie's fur roughly and the dog stared up adoringly. "The log tells her things. She says it's the spirit of her dead husband."


"I see. So I guess Log Lady isn't much for condo living, then." Casey had figured Hawk wouldn't be taking her to someone quirky, but a woman who communed with a log?


"You guess right." Hawk smiled widely at her.


"Okay, well I propose one of two things here." Casey handed Hawk the leash and pulled her sweater over her head, revealing a fitted purple t shirt underneath. Hawk let his eyes roam over the shirt once, figuring he might get away with it in the dappled shade of the woods. The sweater and jeans are well suited to her in a way he doesn't quite understand. She was wearing makeup as well, but he would never have noticed if he hadn't seen her without it the day before. "You can either walk more slowly, so city girl here can keep up, or you can take Moogie so he doesn't make road rash out of me trying to follow you."


Hawk slipped the leash handle around his wrist, then he held out his arm, as if asking her to slow dance.


"Are you sure I can't offer you some assistance through the woods?" he asked politely, trying to keep the smirk off his face.


--------


Abandoned by both dog and deputy, Casey picked her way along Hawk's trail. When the terrain became smoother, she allowed herself the pleasure of watching Hawk walk. He was far enough ahead that she could easily watch his long, sinuous frame dividing the distance footstep by footstep. He moved silently as far as Casey could tell -- although Moogie was making enough noise for all three of them, making it hard to know for sure.


Over the top of the trees a sturdy log cabin appeared, lawn slightly overgrown. Casey noted with some surprise the lack of a driveway. Maybe the log takes her into town, she thought.


Suddenly Moogie was barrel-assing back towards her for that thrilling reunion only dogs experience on a regular basis. She grabbed the leash, expecting him to keep running, but Moogie stopped at her side and panted openmouth, his pink tongue hanging out in an unmistakable doggie smile.


She watched Hawk adjusting his weapons belt. She noticed he had not only a gun on the belt, but what seemed to be throwing knives. Her heart beat a little faster, but not out of fear; in fact, the fear that had gripped her all day was totally gone. She somehow felt as if she was just were she needed to be.


Although a normal person might worry about those throwing knives, she thought.


"The funny thing is, I almost wore a dress today. With sandals." Casey looked down at her dirty jeans and sneakers, wondering how her high-heeled sandals might have fared in the woods.


Hawk raised his eyebrows -- perhaps imagining the dress and sandals -- and replied, "I would've had to carry you here."


Her cheeks burned and she laughed like a schoolgirl. "The way I'm going, you might end up carrying me back." She wriggled her foot in the air. "Somehow I've gotten gravel inside my sock. That takes talent, right?"


Log Lady marched out of the cabin, right up to the patch of lawn where Moogie was happily gnawing on a stick. Casey stepped forward to introduce herself, but Hawk held up his hand by way of telling her not to speak. Moogie chewed the stick for a few tension-filled seconds before sitting on his haunches to give Log Lady his puppy dog eyes, dropping his snout a bit.


"That's right. I don't come to your house and chew your bones, do I?" Margaret patted Moogie on the head and he smiled beatifically, all forgiven and forgotten.


If only humans were so easy.


"I have water brewing for tea." Margaret turned and headed back to the cabin, Moogie obediently at her side. Casey shook her head. It was indeed a day of firsts for her little boy.


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


"You don't waste time, do you?" Margaret asked as the four of them crossed the cabin's threshold. It looked perfectly normal inside, if a little antiquated: bookshelves full to the brim, table and chairs next to the picture window, a well-used rocking chair with a bag of knitting beside it. Casey didn't realize Margaret had been speaking to her until Hawk nudged her. "No, I suppose I don't," Casey replied.


"Deputy Hawk is in tune with many things that others - such as yourself, I suspect - would never notice, or even have cause to think about." A big cast iron stove sat to one side of the cabin's main room, and Margaret poured water from an ancient black kettle into a very delicate pink-flowered tea pot. She brought the pot to the table, which was already set with saucers and cups. Three settings, Casey noticed. A bundt cake with white icing drizzled down the sides sat in the middle of the table, on a matching pink-flowered cake stand. Log Lady must enjoy throwing tea parties, she thought.


"Not just cookies this time. I remember this one has a sweet tooth." She looked disapprovingly at Hawk, as a nun might at a pupil. She laid one of the delicate cups at Moogie's feet, filled with plain water. Casey stood up, sure Moogie would destroy Margaret's china. Margaret did not appreciate Casey's concern. "You can sit," she said pointedly. Casey's jaw dropped as she watched Moogie carefully lap water out of the cup, taking pains not to knock it over.


"You cannot trust anyone to take care of anything if you aren't involved somehow. As if the owls don't fly every night and see into your shriveled little soul." Casey plopped back in her seat as Margaret poured the tea. Owls? What the hell do owls have to do with anything? she thought.


"You fear so little and yet the wandering spirit of Harold Smith sends you scurrying. Well, obviously, you were looking for a reason to scurry." Margaret sipped her tea loudly and took an oversized serrated knife to the cake. Casey leaned back, concerned about the trajectory of the blade, as Margaret hacked through the cake.


"I know Harold quite well," said Margaret, giving Hawk an especially big piece. Where the hell does he put it? Casey wondered. Margaret dropped a piece for Moogie, who snapped the piece up in one gulp. "Harold knew most of the outside world wasn't important. He formed a barrier to all forms of atmosphere that tried to break in." Log Lady laid a petite piece on a plate and handed it to Casey. "But like many, he let a she-wolf in and look what happened. She ate him alive and tried to steal his most prized possession." She cradled her log to her chest and stared at Casey with an undecipherable expression.


"It is very simple what you must do. Harold did not invite you into his space, which is all that protects him from the living and the dead." Margaret sipped her tea and put a huge bite of cake in her mouth. Casey forced herself not to giggle. "You must let him know that you can share his space without stealing it from him."


Casey wrinkled her brow. "I don't know how, how do I do that?"


Log Lady took another huge bite and dropped the fork on her plate. She took her teacup again and glanced at Casey's anguished face. "So quick to give up when fear does take you." Margaret placed the log gently beside her chair. "Introduce yourself. Tell him a story. He collected others' stories because he made so few of his own."


She glared at Casey and shook her finger. "And if it's not a true story, he'll know."


Casey narrowed her eyes at Margaret and was about to say something retaliatory when Hawk's hand clasped her knee under the table. Her eyes opened wide at his unexpected touch. She could almost feel that strong, quick hand on the small of her back, or tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. Hawk took his hand back and contemplated sitting on it.


"Shyness is for little creatures in the woods, scared they'll become prey." Log Lady began to gather the flowered plates. Moogie came to sit at Casey's feet, seeming to know she needed comforting, and she rubbed his ears and hugged his neck. Hawk took the moment to go out on the deck, pretended to check his compass. He no longer found Margaret to be unnerving or strange, as many did, but he was as ready to leave as Casey was.


"Beasts have better senses than us. Better even than yours." He turned to find Margaret standing behind him. She wasn't wearing socks or shoes, and her dress came to her calves, revealing dirty white feet with pink painted toenails.


"He's a good dog though, isn't he?" Hawk attempted to smile and Margaret changed the subject with bewildering ferocity. "You think he's a prankster, a Pan? The animal risked his life to make sure you and that girl would meet. He is nobler than either of you give him credit for." She handed Hawk his deputy jacket and stalked back into the cabin.

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.


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

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.


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


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.


--------


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.


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


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."


---------


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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