by Andrea Speed, A. B. Gayle, Jessie Blackwood, J. J Levesque, Katisha Moreish
Miles Sutherland, Carter “Gil” Gillespie, Aiden Parker, Flynn Archer, Henry Vale*
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Miles rolled over in bed. No way was he going to get to sleep with the damn dog whining outside. Maybe he just needed company. Was Aiden the type to let Dante stay inside at night? Americans tended to do things differently. Were they afraid of dog-nappers or something? Miles dragged on his gray tracky dacks and pushed his feet into an old pair of volleys.
As he let himself out of the back door, being as quiet as he could so as not to disturb Gil, Miles eyed the leads hanging nearby. Maybe a walk would settle the dog down. He lifted the two chains carefully to make sure they didn’t jangle.
According to Gil’s buddy, Lyle, there was nothing strange going on at the funeral home. Why then did he have this feeling things were just not right? Miles crouched down as he attached the lead to Dante’s collar, copping a big lick on his face as he did so. “Let’s go see what we can find. Hey?”
The childproof catch on the side gate released quietly, but the squeal of the hinge sounded abnormally loud. Miles checked his watch. Just after midnight, no wonder everything was so quiet, deathly so.
The two dogs seemed overjoyed to be out. No wonder. They’d probably spent all day sleeping in the shade. Miles felt as if he’d been awake forever. He chuckled as the dogs bounded on ahead. Just like his registration years. Forty eight hour shifts. Christ, the way Dante was straining at the leash you’d think the two dogs were having a race. Just as well his fitness level had improved since he got Roofie. “Slow down, mate. What’s the rush?”
* * * * *
Gil went to bed but sleep just wouldn’t come. He lay there, listening to the night sounds; crickets and those bloody dogs snuffling around. Just as he was finally sliding into sleep, a noise brought him awake again. He swore, rolled over and listened. Whatever it was, it didn’t come again. Just as he thought he’d been imagining it, he heard a metallic squeal. That sounded like the back garden gate. Gil was out of the bed in no time and across to the window, peering out into the darkness. Shapes moved about in the gloom. Was that Miles? It looked like he was taking the dogs out. Gil went back to the bed and peered at the clock. Just after midnight? What the hell was Miles doing walking the dogs at this time? Maybe he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. Something about the whole situation didn’t sit well with Gil right then, the whole thing about Stan’s notes, Flynn’s disappearance, Aiden’s dog, then the reference to Bratva.... He got up and reached for his jeans.
It took Gil minutes to dress and dash downstairs. He let himself out through the back door, wondering what Miles might say when he caught up with him. Then he realised he didn’t care what the doctor thought. If Haven Falls was turning into the murder capital of the county, Gil wasn’t about to let anything happen to Miles. In fact... he went back inside the house and opened one of his bike panniers, retrieving a small backpack he kept in there. It wouldn’t do to be caught out without supplies. He locked the door behind him and dashed off, following the sounds the dogs were making.
Miles turned, his heart threatening to break through his chest at the sound of footsteps closing in on him. Shit. A dark figure loomed up on him out of the shadow of some overhanging trees.
“Miles, is that you?”
“Gil. Thank Christ. I thought someone was about to jump me.” Miles panted as loudly as the dogs as he struggled to keep them under control.
“I might applaud their good taste. Seriously Miles, what the fuck are you doing out here? At this time of night?” Gil fell into step with the doctor.
Miles shook his head and pulled the leads, trying to slow the dogs down to a pace he could keep up with and talk at the same time. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought the dogs might settle better after some exercise, but Dante’s gone crazy.”
“Here, give me Roofie if you like. I couldn’t sleep either, these two were making too much noise. What the hell is wrong with Dante? You’d think he really had the devil on his tail.”
“Thanks. Here you are.” Miles passed over Roofie’s lead. That only seemed to make Dante pull harder. Miles hauled him back, lifting the dog’s front legs off the ground. “Look mate, I know Lyle is your friend, but I’m still not satisfied everything is hunky dory as far as that Funeral Home is concerned. It’s just around the bend here. I thought while I was out, I might see what’s going on.”
“You’re not the only one. Look, Lyle was trying his best to keep me out of it. I think he has found something. Maybe not what you sent him out to do but something, never-the-less. He was too damned casual, but I don’t know him well enough to be able to say for certain. I might be jumping at shadows.”
In the dark, the light from a solitary street lamp threw a deep blackness around the edges of the funeral home. The white lilies growing in the garden made the large box-like structure almost a rendition of a giant casket sitting on top of the ground waiting to be lowered in. Miles would never have described himself as a man easily spooked but this place just gave him the creeps. “Shh.” He bent over and scratched Dante’s neck. The dog stopped whining and an uneasy silence descended. All he could hear now was Gil and the dogs’ quiet breathing. “Everything seems pretty normal.” He tried the front door but it was locked. No sign of light or life shone from inside. Dante started whining again. This time it was more like a whimper. The dog pulled hard on the leash and Miles followed him around the side of the building. Around the back, the dog stopped outside a slightly open door.
Gil followed Miles, Roofie sniffing at every available scent along the way. He fumbled in the front pocket of his back pack and retrieved a torch.
“Is anyone there?” Miles pushed the door open and felt around inside for a light switch. The memory of doing the same thing at Stan’s place not that long ago struck him forcibly. Too many conveniently open back doors to be a coincidence. Did that mean that Flynn was here? The dog started pulling at the leash again, his tail now wagging vigorously from side to side.
“Miles...” Gil wanted to go in first, he was by far the better equipped to deal with an intruder but he wasn’t about to challenge Miles. The doc would go ballistic if he suggested it.
Miles almost fell down some steps as Dante almost lurched himself into mid air. The leash escaped out of Miles grasp and he fell backward against the stairs. Partly from the sudden loss of forward momentum and partly from shock at the scene before him. The place seemed to be covered in blood. Bodies lay sprawled all over the floor of what looked like some sort of storage room. The only one that didn’t seem to be covered in red was Henry Vale who lay jammed up against the opposite wall with his head at an awkward angle. His lack of color and some blood stained implement jutting out of his eye didn’t look too good though.
Aiden glanced up at the sounds above him and managed a sigh of relief that was cut short when a familiar bark echoed down the stairs. A furry ball was in his arms a second later, licking at his face. “Dante,” he wheezed, happy to see his dog. The licks stung, but that was the least of his worries. “Down, boy.” He patted him weakly. The dog sat down and whined, still trying to get in desperate licks.
“Christ!” Gil’s expletive sounded loud in the silence. “What the hell happened here?” Gil dragged Roofie out of the way, back up the stairs and outside, tying him securely to a nearby fencepost.
Miles knelt beside the body of his friend, trying to feel for a pulse. Despite his darker complexion thanks to his Asian heritage, Flynn looked as white as a ghost. Blood had congealed on his face, his shoulder, his hands. A faint fluttering made Miles heave a sigh of relief.
Gil dashed back downstairs, intent on removing Dante but Aiden was cuddling the dog who was all over his master. Okay, not a bad sign, he seemed to be deriving comfort from the dog’s presence so Gil left them to it.
The loud clunking on the stairs made Miles look up. “You got a phone on you, Gil? We need a medevac unit here fast.” A deep gash on Flynn’s shoulder was s
till bleeding. Grabbing a tea towel that hung nearby, Miles made a quick pad and held it against the open wound and tried to straighten Flynn so his airway wasn’t impeded. He was lying at a strange angle and judging by the way his right hand was twisted, his wrist was broken too. Miles shouted in Flynn’s ear. “I’m going to check your eyes. Is that okay?” Crazy rule, but they were supposed to ask a patient’s permission before treating them even if out cold. At least this way he could test for consciousness at the same time.
Gil flipped his mobile out and dialed, waited for the response then rapidly gave his own designation, their location and a quick assessment of the scene, requesting the chopper be sent and to have Asher Bay prep to receive a patient with head trauma. Once Dispatch had assured him things were in process he rang off and turned his attention to their patients.
Still holding Dante against his side - the one that wasn’t in pain - Aiden looked up at the man. He looked familiar but he wasn’t sure he knew his name or not. Should he? “How’s Flynn? Is he okay?” he managed, coughing slightly and wincing at the pain in his ribs.
“The doctor is with him. Let me see to you. My name’s Gil. I’m a paramedic. What’s your name?”
“Aiden Parker,” he said, leaning over to watch as the doctor worked with Flynn. “How did you find us?”
“Walking the dogs, Dante was left at Miles’ house. Now, can you tell me what happened to you?” Gil listened to Aiden’s recounting of his injuries and the events leading up to their arrival. He shone his pen light into Aiden’s eyes and asked him to look up, down, left, right and Aiden obediently followed his instructions.
“Gil, I think you better come and take a look at this. Flynn’s out cold. There’s a lump the size of an emu’s egg on the back of his head and he doesn’t look good. Probably a subdural haematoma. They’ll need to get some hypertonic saline into him quick smart as his blood pressure seems low. His pulse is only just there.” Miles glanced at Flynn’s boyfriend who seemed to go a shade or two lighter at his words.
Gil patted Aiden’s arm gently. “Stay still for me, don’t get up. I’ll be back soon.” Gil transferred his attention to Miles and Flynn, moving over to assess the patient. “Okay, medevac is on its way. I haven’t got too much with me. We’ll have to wait for them, only thing I’ve got on me is painkillers and basic dressings.
“Maybe if we ease him out straight and raise his legs. That will get the blood pressure up without endangering his spine.”
“Hang on then.” Gil ran his hands down Flynn’s body, over ribs and round his back, feeling for anything out of place, rocking his pelvis and checking both legs before he sat back. “No damage there as far as I can see.” Gil checked Flynn’s arms and found the damage to his wrist. “Broken wrist, be careful of it.”
Miles watched as the young teacher swallowed. He wasn’t sure which was shaking the most, the man or the dog. “Listen, mate. We need someone to keep a look out for the helicopter. Could you go up top and let them know where we are?”
“No, I need to stay with Flynn.” Aiden shot him an angry look. “I can’t leave him.” He shifted down off the last step and moved closer to Flynn, hoping just being near would help somehow. Dante followed close to his side.
“I told you not to move, anyway,” Gil said. “I’ll go up when I hear them. Door’s open, we should be able to hear the chopper arriving. Unless by some miracle the cops get here first.”
“Gil. Every second is going to count. If he can drag himself upstairs and show them where to go, it will be quicker. Before we came in the back way, we couldn’t hear anything down here, and the front door is locked.” Miles glared at Gil and tried to soften his voice when he turned to Aiden. “I know you’re hurting. I know you want to be with him, but if you can get upstairs it would be great. Find the light switches. Get the front door open. You’ll be helping him.” He waited for a second. “Please.”
“Aiden, stay put. Just tell me, you said Vale punched you?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“On a scale of one to ten, one being none and ten being the worst pain you can think of, how would you rate yours right now?”
“Fuck it, Gil. The guy’s not doubled over in agony. He seems to be breathing okay, so his lung hasn’t been punctured.” Miles turned his head and stared at the teacher. He looked as if he was about to pass out, but that could be from shock as much as anything. He needed to do something positive, distract himself from the trauma here. “Just get the fuck upstairs and open the place up. Flynn’s dying here.” Miles twisted so he could keep the pressure on the shoulder wound. The blood flow seemed to have eased, possibly thanks to the shard of something that was buried inside. He wasn’t pulling that out in case he increased the bleeding. More blood loss would only make things worse. “I wish I had a bloody sling or something, then I could tie up this shoulder.” Miles scanned the room but couldn’t see anything useful. Gil was glaring at him, his lips locked in a thin white line. He hadn’t appreciated Miles contradicting his instructions. Stiff shit. “Get his legs elevated. Now!”
Gil rummaged in his pack and found the box he needed. Flipping the lid and extracting a sling, he tossed it to Miles. “There you go.”
“Thanks. ” Miles gave a brief nod. “I don’t suppose you have two by any chance?”
“Here, take what you need,” Gil handed the box over and looked around. What the hell to use to lift Flynn’s feet? Fuck this...there had to be something. Vale...how ironic. In death he might just save Flynn’s life. Gil could imagine Flynn appreciating that, if he lived. He grabbed the dead man and hauled him over, catching Miles’ eye in the process.
“Good thinking.” Miles used his left hand to drag out another sling. Using his elbow he kept the pad in place as he quickly twirled one triangular bandage so it was narrow and wound it around a few times. Lifting the pad for a second, he placed the improvised ring so it surrounded the protruding jagged piece of steel, placed the pad on top and using one hand and his teeth strapped the blood-soaked towel to Flynn’s shoulder with the other sling. “There.” Trust Gil to have brought a medical kit with him. What was the guy, a psychic? Miles glanced over at the teacher. His wide-eyed gaze was darting back and forth from Flynn’s inert body to the stairs. “Shit man, don’t just sit there, move!”
Aiden didn’t appreciate the way he said it, and he wanted to stay with Flynn... but if it really would save him... He managed to stand with Dante’s help and slowly started up the stairs. “Easy boy. Slow,” he gasped, holding on tightly to his collar. He was glad his dog had grown, because he seemed to pull him up the stairs with ease.
“Double him over before rigor mortis sets in.” Miles helped Gil struggle with Vale’s dead weight. The rippling of the young man’s muscles under the tight T-shirt snagged Miles attention for a second, but he forced his thoughts back to what he was doing and gently eased Flynn’s legs up so Gil could manoeuvre the dead body underneath.
Glancing back down the stairs once he made it to the top, Aiden saw the scene from another perspective, and it looked much worse. Flynn still wasn’t moving, and the two men worked on him, using Vale’s body for something. At least he can be useful in death, Aiden thought grimly. The loud sound outside and above the building shifted his attention. Dante barked and he let the dog pull him to the door. He opened it to see the bright lights of the helicopter shining down on the building.
*Rest in Pieces and Rot in Purgatory.
Haven Falls #202 - Shovelling it Under the Carpet
Carter ‘Gil’ Gillespie and Lyle Ashley Tate
with mentions of Flynn Archer, Aiden Parker, Miles Sutherland and Henry Vale (RIP)
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Lyle kept trying to work out how Vale knew about him. Either Vale did have the sort of senior contacts he had claimed to have, or he was a better IT boffin than he or Richard had been, or someone in the Agency had sold him out. Unfortunately the last option seemed the most likely, and the someone in question wa
s probably his handler, Agent Tyler.
He didn’t like the woman much, but why the hell, after so many years, would she decide to sell him out? And if she had sold him out, why to Vale and not to the people who were actually after him? They would have paid a lot more than Vale, he was pretty sure. Maybe the circuitous route looked less likely to implicate her than a straight deal with the mafia ?
It was a mess, whatever had happened. Vale effectively owned him now, except he wasn’t prepared to be owned. So instead he was about to lose yet another identity and be thrown once more into the spin cycle of witness protection and relocation. He was feeling miserable, defeated, helpless and alone. At least he had Tyler before, the one constant in his life since the court case that had ended his previous reality. Now he didn’t even have her, just her boss, Senior Agent Breslaw, who he had met only twice before.
Breslaw had given him a four hour ETA, so Lyle eventually decided to get some rest. Experience had taught him it was worth creating a well appointed ‘panic room’, so he had a bed-chair and most of other essential home comforts to hand.
Around ten-thirty the door bell chimed, its sound relayed to Lyle’s bolt hole along with camera feed from the front porch. Agent Breslaw posed for his shot like a pro. Lyle spoke to him briefly via the intercom, making sure he sounded like who he said he was as well as looking like him. When he was satisfied he went to let him in.
*****
Breslaw strode in like he owned the place. His eyes slid over Lyle’s meager belongings and a hundred judgements seemed to form before he even said hello. Lyle ran through the niceties, Breslaw ran through the formalities and then they adjourned to the sofa to discuss what could and might happen next.
“I haven’t been able to contact Agent Tyler. Whatever she has going on is off the books. There are notes about your move here, some observations she’s made since you moved, the details of background checks you asked her to make, but nothing at all about this possible Bratva thing. There was a file mentioning Flynn Archer, though; you said he’s mixed up in this somehow?”