The Hands

by Andrea Speed, A. B. Gayle, Jessie Blackwood, J. J Levesque, Katisha Moreish

  “Yeah, well, by the sound of it, this ought to go to the cops,” Gil said firmly. “I’ve no wish to end up like Randall and Hopkirk... Well, Hopkirk anyway - deceased.” At Miles’ blank stare, Gil shrugged “70s TV series, private investigators. Never mind.” He fixed Miles with a frown of disapproval. “That daft twat Flynn nearly ruined our night at the Steele with his paranoia. He thought Lyle was in on whatever it was and accused me of being in league with Vale too. Damn near tried to provoke me into a fight in the car park after hours. Although looking at this, I’m not so sure the paranoia is misplaced.”

  “At first I felt the same way, Gil, about taking it to the police, but in the end I promised Flynn I wouldn’t. Gil, I know you like to do everything by the book, but sometimes people have good reasons for staying under the radar and avoiding scrutiny. Sometimes their lives depend on it. Given the abysmal level of police presence in the town, I can see where Flynn is coming from.” Miles threw the empty bottle of ginger beer in the recycling, filled the coffee maker and started pulling out all the ingredients.

  “So what do we do now?” Lyle closed the diary.

  Miles sighed and took the diary back from Lyle’s outstretched hand. “The best I could come up with was that there’s something fishy about the weight of the urns. For some reason, Stan noted that some are heavier than expected. I’m not sure why or how that’s relevant.” He turned to Lyle. “Look mate, I know this is a big ask, but if you could try and see what Stan was getting at, without alerting Vale, I would be very grateful.”

  Lyle felt a little anxious on hearing Miles’ dubious suggestion. He heaved a sigh. “I’m not promising anything. I’ll see what opportunity I get...if any,” he muttered.

  “Thanks for your help.” Gil got up to see Lyle out, following him to the front door. He risked a quick peck on Lyle’s cheek in parting. “Call me?” he suggested, and Lyle nodded once before heading to his car.

  The sound of Roofie snuffling at the door made Miles pause. Looks like he was hungry. After adding some more dog food to the dish and cleaning and re-filling the water bowl, Miles opened the back door. “What the fuck?” Miles stepped back, nearly tripping over as two dogs burst in, tails wagging furiously. He managed to grab onto the smaller dog’s collar as it snuffled beside Roofie, pushing the bowl around the floor as they both tried to consume as much food as possible. He thought he recognized the mutt, and the dogtag confirmed he was right.

  Gil watched Lyle drive away and turned just in time to see Miles nearly bowled over by the two dogs. He laughed. “Sorry, Miles, but you’ve made a rod for your own back there. What possessed you, mate?”

  The mention of rods and backs brought forth a picture of the young man he’d treated at the hospital this morning. No he’d think about that later when he had more time. “It’s not my dog. It’s Aiden Parker’s. Flynn’s boyfriend. How did it get in?” Miles walked out the back door and quickly scanned the back yard. Yep, the childproof gate was still closed, and the fence was too high to jump.

  “How did they get in? They were both in the yard when we arrived. Saw them through the window. I thought you’d got yourself another mutt.” As if on cue, the interloper looked up and whined. Gil bent to scratch him behind the ears and noticed mud on his fur. Not just mud either. Grabbing his collar, Gil turned him round. “Miles, look at this. This fella’s been hurt.” There was a blood trail that matted the dog’s fur. “Okay, lad, let’s have a look.” The dog whined as Gil tried to examine him. “Not sure, might have been hit by a car. Do you think he escaped, ran off maybe?”

  “Well if he did, he’s some clever dog to be able to open a gate and let himself inside.” Miles scratched his beard. “You know, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  Haven Falls #189: Alone

  Aiden Parker

  (with mention of Flynn Archer)

  _______________________________________________

  Pain. That was all Aiden felt besides a cold, hard floor under his back. His entire body ached, but his head felt the worst. After slowly opening his eyes, he was alternately grateful for the dim light and lack of noise, and wishing he had more so that he could figure out what time of day it was and what was happening outside.

  Was it Monday yet? If it was, then he would be missed at school. He really hoped they were able to find someone to replace him, but as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he realized how stupid it was.

  I’m in a hell of a lot more trouble than that. His job was not the most important thing at stake here. His life was. I hope Flynn is okay. And Dante. What had happened to his dog after he’d been brought here? Flynn was smart, he would know something was going on when he didn’t return home. Aiden was sure he would know Vale had something to do with it, too. He just hoped he didn’t get hurt.

  A small thought crossed his mind, though. Small thoughts flew all over the place, actually, but this one really stood out. What if Flynn didn’t try to find out what happened to him? Like before, he pushed that to the side. No, Flynn would. He wasn’t some jerk like Vale tried to make him out to be. Flynn cared. He would come, or do his best to. Of that, Aiden was sure.

  “Is anyone there? Hello?” It took a few tries, but Aiden was finally able to clear his throat and call out. He was parched, and needed water, but with his hands tied behind him - still - it was hard to begin a search.

  Pushing himself up into a sitting position, and then bracing himself against the wall, he managed to stand. It only made his head throb more, but he felt his way around to what he took as the door and banged against it with his foot. If he could just make enough noise.

  “Is anyone out there? Help!” he cried, using his shoulder against the metal door. Pain shot up his side. This was getting him nowhere.

  A few minutes later, his voice was gone and he sat slumped against the wall. How could he have gotten into this mess? What was he going to do? Closing his eyes against the dim light, he concentrated on happier things. Moving to Haven Falls, signing the paperwork for his new job, getting Dante. Meeting Flynn.

  Flynn may have considered himself trouble, but Aiden didn’t see it that way. In the short time they had known each other, Aiden had come to care for him a great deal. He was fun, exciting. He pushed Aiden to do things he normally wouldn’t. He dragged him kicking and screaming out of his shell, and God help him, but he liked it. His life would have continued down the same boring path if he hadn’t run into Flynn that one day.

  The thought of their first meeting brought a smile to his face. He wasn’t going to let himself cry. Hell no, he was stronger than that, but the memory was so fresh it nearly caused tears to spill. The one word he had come to dislike more than any other, the “L” word, floated through his word bank for describing Flynn and rather than passing through, got stuck in the web. Realization dawned on Aiden what it meant, and this time tears did pool in his eyes and slowly slip down his cheeks.

  He hoped he would get the chance to tell Flynn what he now knew.

  Haven Falls #190 - Dante’s Infernal Whining

  Miles Sutherland

  with mention of Aiden Parker, Flynn Archer and Carter (Gil) Gillespie

  _______________________________________________________

  “Shh!” Miles checked around. Roofie’s excited yapping sounded unnaturally loud in the still of the evening, especially seeing Haven Falls wasn’t exactly a lively town at night. At this hour most inhabitants were safely tucked up in their beds. Like he should be. Heck, as if the crap day at work wasn’t enough, he’d had to deal with Lyle and Gil as soon as he got home. Miles rubbed the back of his neck and kept on walking. In the distance he could hear the sound of a car starting up. Nearby, the bang of a screen door and what sounded like someone putting garbage in a bin. After that there was nothing other than the chirp of crickets. Everything seemed quiet, almost too quiet.

  Miles jerked on the second lead, cutting short another sniffing and ‘getting to know you’ session between his scruffy mutt and the Akita that ha
d been in his backyard when he arrived home. Maybe he should have accepted Gil’s offer to accompany him on his walk. That would have been easier than trying to keep the two dogs apart. Gil had eyed him suspiciously when he insisted on going alone, but Miles enjoyed his late evening walks with Roofie. He loved the solitude and quiet. Something he knew he wouldn’t get with Gil around. And it wasn’t that he wanted a chance to talk to the hot young teacher again, was it? No, Miles just wanted to make sure he wasn’t suffering any lasting effects of having his drink spiked at the Renegade Steele. Miles chuckled to himself. Yeah, right, Miles. Pull the other one.

  After dinner, he and Gil waited for a while to see if anyone was coming to pick up the dog. The identification tag around its neck at least provided the name, Dante. On closer examination, once they cleaned the blood out of its coat, the injury had not proved too serious. There would be some bruising, but after the application of some antibiotic cream and heparinoid ointment on the intact skin around the cut, the dog had seemed okay. Of course it had tried to lick the area clean. One instinctive response that, fortunately, his human patients didn’t share.

  When Miles mentioned he could also talk to Flynn Archer about the diary, Gil seemed less interested in tagging along. The young paramedic’s lip had curled at the mention of Flynn’s name. Understandable probably as in some ways they were chalk and cheese. Gil, a stickler for following the rules, while for Flynn rules were for other people. It was strange therefore that Miles liked them both. Their ‘my way or the highway’ attitude appealed to his warped sense of humor. Life should be lived somewhere in the middle.

  One thing for sure. There was no way the dog could have got into the backyard by itself. The side gate wasn’t padlocked, but the child-safe latch would also be dog-safe no matter how intelligent the mutt.

  Roofie was showing signs of wanting to hump the teacher’s pet. Miles chuckled. Like master, like mutt with about the same degree of success, Haven’t you heard of foreplay mate? Not that Miles would go about it quite so blatantly.

  It was a wonder he hadn’t met either Aiden or Flynn. Surely they were wondering where the dog was by now. Dante started pulling on the lead the closer they go to Aiden’s place. No lights shone in the windows, but that wasn’t too strange as it was nearly midnight.

  There was a dark shape near the door. When Miles got closer, he blinked in surprise. It was a bunch of flowers. They were just lying on the porch as if someone had thrown them there. Not left at the door by a delivery person.

  Miles rang the doorbell. He could hear the chime echoing inside, but no footsteps followed. Dante’s low whines and snuffles at the door reassured him that he had the right house. He rattled the knob, but the door was locked. The more he thought about things lately, the more he found it strange that Stan Riley’s door just ‘happened’ to be open that night. Maybe Flynn had some other talents he wasn’t aware of. Talents other than annoying people like Gil and Lyle. Although he could annoy Lyle as much as he wanted as far as Miles was concerned. What had been the phrase Flynn used? Something about “thinking like a thief".

  Maybe they were both over at Flynn’s house. Wherever that was. Miles picked up the flowers. A small envelope fell out. Miles read the note inside. Hmm, Seemed like Flynn had come a’courting. There was nothing else on the card apart from the name Savannah Jensen and the logo for Falls Flower Shop. Perhaps if he called in on Monday, Savannah would let him know where Flynn lived.

  In the meantime he supposed he’d have to take care of Dante. Maybe he should stick some ‘Lost Owner’ pamphlets on the poles around town. Miles sniggered.

  Haven Falls #191: Ramming Speed 2: Fists of Fury

  Flynn Archer, Aiden Parker and Henry Vale

  ________________________________________________

  No matter how glamorous your city, there was always a bad part. An ugly part, if not in appearance at least in spirit. It was the part most people avoided if they could at all help it.

  Even Haven Falls had a bad side, although it was small. Also, from the looks of things, even the crack house had taken a page from the Martha Stewart catalog and tried to match their pastels. It was probably a fascinating bit of psychology, but Flynn didn’t much care at this point. What he needed, and what he could only get here, was anonymity. And answers.

  What he’d discovered at this point was Vale was known by the local scumbags, and avoided at nearly all costs. He was apparently bad news, aligned with some group powerful enough that even what passed for the local drug lords gave him a pass. That raised several ugly questions, but confirmed that Vale’s threat about not being alone was probably true.

  Vale’s home address wasn’t listed anywhere legitimate; all he could turn up in a search was the funeral home. But talking to some of these shady people that most of the rest of Haven Falls avoided or pretended didn’t exist pointed him in the right direction.

  Vale lived in almost perfect isolation, in a house at the outskirts of town, surrounded by tall trees and about an acre of scrub grass. He could see someone coming from a long way off, and if you dared to climb the chain link fence, you might find it electrified.

  That’s why Flynn waited until dark, and cut the wires. He climbed the fence and had his knife ready in case a guard dog came to greet him, but that never happened. The house was unlit, and it looked abandoned. There was no car in the driveway, but it did have a garage.

  He broke in the back kitchen door, which had a decent lock but not a deadbolt, which most of the other doors had. That might have taken him a couple of minutes, but this lock only took seconds. Sloppy. If Vale had so much to hide, he should have thought it out more.

  The house was more or less abandoned. It had furniture, it had clothes, it had vestiges of a life, but he wasn’t here. He had no idea when he’d last been here, as he was clearly a neat freak and kept everything as sterile as an operating room.

  But that was okay. Flynn had time.

  He sat at Vale’s kitchen table, not bothering with lights so his eyes got accustomed to the darkness, and used Vale’s kitchen knife sharpener to hone his own butterfly knife.

  This thing was going to be so sharp, Vale wouldn’t even feel it when he cut his fucking throat.

  ****

  Aiden’s arms ached from being tied behind him, and the rest of his body ached from the hard surfaces available to lay or sit on. He’d tried walking around for a while, but the lack of food and water left him weak and eventually he gave up on that and tried to sit still.

  Hours of yelling - or what seemed like it - left his throat raw and his voice a hoarse whisper. There was no bathroom and that was another cause for discomfort. All that he could do was let his mind wander. He tried to keep it from thinking about the situation he was in, but somehow it always ended up back there.

  Funny, he thought, how movies where people are held captive rarely show their need for a bathroom. I mean really, at some time or another, you have to use it. Suspension of disbelief, I guess.

  That thought only led to his remembering how thirsty he was, and also the gnawing hunger in his stomach.

  Vale discovered that the teacher was still awake, and he wondered if he ever slept. Maybe he’d need to give him a little something to put him out for a while. There was no danger anyone would hear him, this room had been soundproofed so no one ever heard the whine of bone saws in the night, but he was finding Mr. Parker extremely irritating. “You do realize none of this does you any good, yes?”

  Aiden hadn’t even realized Vale was there, and he jerked towards the sound. His lips pulled down into a frown as he concentrated on the man. “I’m not going to just lay here with nothing to do,” he countered, his voice hoarse. He sounded like a man who had spent the last fifty years of his life smoking, and it made him cringe.

  Vale smirked at him, and tossed him his one concession to good manners: a bottle of Gatorade. “Shall I bring you a book? Perhaps The Gulag Archipelago?”

  “Could you untie my hands, first? It’s kind of
difficult to do anything with my hands tied up. Unless you want to help me drink...” Not that he wanted the man touching him.

  Vale pulled out the old fashioned metal handcuffs he had in his coat pocket, and let them dangle from one finger on his left hand as he pulled out the scalpel. “If you play nice, I won’t cut your hamstring and cripple you for life. Understood?”

  Aiden nodded uneasily. There went his plan of using the last of his energy to take Vale out. He’d have to try another tactic. Maybe play nice, show how harmless he was. He was good at that. It was what he had been his entire life; the harmless English teacher who liked his books.

  Vale tucked the cuffs back in his pocket before turning the teacher around and using the scalpel to slice through the plastic ties on his wrist. He deliberately let the scalpel cut across the soft pad of his hand, just to remind him trying anything at this point would end up with him bleeding out on the concrete floor. He then handcuffed his right wrist to a special loop of metal in the autopsy table. It was your typical autopsy table in all respects, save for one. The built in holders for the restrains. Because not everyone who had been on this particular table had been dead at the time.

  Once this was done, he stepped back and did a visual once over, just to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. There wasn’t anything he could use to escape, but you had to make sure, otherwise you were just a stupid supervillain in a bad movie. “Better now?”

  Not really, but it was the best he supposed he was going to get. “Much, thank you.” The polite words stung to say, even more than his now cut hand, but maybe if he played docile... “I need to use the bathroom.”

  Oh yes. Living people were sometimes just as messy as the dead, weren’t they? He checked one of the upper cabinets on the far side of the room, and found an empty jar, one he ostensibly used to hold organs. (Although what had been in it last? He couldn’t even remember, but he wouldn’t have been surprised it was coleslaw for the fourth of July picnic.) He took off the lid and set the wide mouthed jar on the floor. “There. Be a good boy, and maybe we’ll upgrade to a bucket.”