Chapter 1: Opening
Chapter Text
“I don't know what to do now.” Gwen lamented, staring down at the liquid amber of her cognac. The buzzing of people whirled around her in tentative excitement, turning the bar’s atmosphere apprehensive as if no one was allowed to truly enjoy the moment. As if everyone was looking over their stiff shoulders for any sign of danger.
It'd been hours since Gwen had left the Mudaliar residence. Hours since her confrontation with Alejandro and Noah. Yet, she hadn't been able to think of anything else.
The way they’d looked at her, the way they’d treated her— like she was out of her mind for giving them an honest warning. It made her feel awful, like she’d done something wrong. Which she hadn’t , that much she knew. Alejandro and Noah were potentially in danger, and as their friend, Gwen was obligated to warn them about it.
Because they were in danger. Right?
Gwen sighed. Once again, she was questioning herself. To imagine resolution would be so hard to obtain.
From his seat next to her at the bar counter, Duncan hummed curtly. It was the first sound he’d made since Gwen started her retelling of the confrontation at the Mudaliar residence. “Let them be pissy for a while. Does them good if you ask me.”
“Do you think I should apologize?” Gwen asked, turning to look at the man.
“Absolutely not.” he said, curling his scarred fingers around his tumbler and taking a swig of his whiskey.
When he didn’t elaborate, Gwen muttered, “Helpful as always.” Gwen muttered when he didn’t elaborate.
Duncan rolled his eyes, “What do you have to apologize for? Being a good friend? If they don’t want to take your concerns seriously, then that’s their problem, not yours. And very much not mine.”
“Maybe. But what if I'm wrong-?”
“Darn it, Gwen, that's not important. You were worried, you expressed that worry, and Noah and Alejandro got pissy because lord forbid anyone points out that their precious wife is a bitch.”
Gwen couldn’t help but laugh at that— something between concord and bittersweet resentment.
Ever since Noah had started dating Heather and Alejandro, she'd felt their friendship begin to dwindle. They were still friends, just not as close as they used to be, and that hurt. Especially considering the person responsible.
Gwen didn’t mind Alejandro. He was a little too haughty for her liking, but in small doses, he was pleasant enough. And as an assistant professor in psychology could offer some interesting conversations at times. No, Alejandro wasn’t the problem; Heather was.
She was the one Gwen had known the longest out of the throuple. A typical childhood bully who moved on without properly apologizing. Just a half-hearted “I’m sorry” when they met again after high school. After they’d been apart for their teenage years.
As adults, Heather had never once treated Gwen like she’d done when they were kids. But that didn’t change the fact that she was a vile person. What Noah— and Alejandro— saw in her would forever remain a mystery that Gwen had no interest in solving.
She still remembered when she learned about their relationship. On New Year’s Eve, 1939, she had caught them kissing under the fireworks. A display of affection that left her stunned— and in a sense, betrayed.
It hadn’t been her intention to spy, nor had it been their intention for anyone to see. Evident by their startled reactions upon spotting Gwen. They’d explained how they weren’t ready to come out with their relationship yet, which at that point had been going on for a year. Gwen had promised not to say a word.
Still, there were a lot of things Gwen wished she'd told Noah then. That same need resurfaced when they eventually announced their relationship, and once again with their engagement.
But they were happy together, there was no denying it; so Gwen held her tongue. Let her thoughts simmer in her mind in hopes they’d one day evaporate. That day had yet to come. Having someone like Duncan to vent to at times was the closest thing to a blessing Gwen believed in.
“Thank you for being here,” she said earnestly, “I really needed this.”
Duncan hummed, “A little surprised you didn’t go to Trent.”
“Well, as much as I appreciate his ways of keeping me grounded, he was with me when I… expressed my worries. I need someone unbiased.”
“Then you came to the right place.” Duncan grinned, flashing his sharp canines and chipped incisors, and raised his glass. Gwen mirrored the motion, clinking their tumblers together.
She resisted the urge to make note of her lack of other options. There weren’t a lot of people Gwen trusted enough to open up to, only three: Duncan and Trent, and then Bridgette. The latter was currently out of town to visit family, though she was supposed to return sometime the following week.
Gwen wondered if the recent deaths in their town had anything to do with it. Given how anxious Bridgette had seemed, it was probably the case. And who could blame her?
“What do you think?” Gwen found herself asking. “About the murders and all that?”
Duncan remained quiet for a moment before speaking, “I know Heather did it.”
Gwen perked up. She leaned in closer, urging Duncan to continue.
Duncan glanced around them before speaking in a hushed voice, “I’ve got proof of her being involved not only in these latest cases, but in the murders from the past five years as well. I’m not going to reveal anything yet, and especially not here where anyone can hear. But believe me, it’s big and undeniable.”
“You won’t even tell me?”
He shook his head, “Don’t worry, you’ll hear about it soon enough.”
“So, you’re planning on releasing it?”
“Not me. Chris McLean.”
Gwen frowned, leveling Duncan with an unimpressed look. While Chris McLean had never done anything outrageous, she and Duncan both agreed he wasn’t worth anyone's time— fame-hungry and rotten as he was.
“Look, everybody in this town knows Heather is guilty, and like it or not, but McLean is currently the only one with the guts to call her out. With the proper ammunition, he can make people stop being sheep and actually do something.”
“Alright.” Gwen clicked her tongue, “Can I ask why you’re taking this to a radio host and not the police?”
“Easy; I don't like the cops. Tsk , that McArthur guy is way too soft, it's no wonder he hasn't solved any of these cases.”
Gwen shook her head— deciding it wasn't worth it to defend Brick to Duncan. She lifted her glass and downed the last of her cognac.
“Besides,” Duncan continued, “The only reason I’m not releasing the information myself is because my credibility is iffy at best. That and McLean is paying me for it.”
“I see.” Gwen clicked her tongue. There was a lot to be said about Chris’ reliability, both as a news reporter and a businessman. The promised payment was likely no more than peanuts. Regardless, Duncan had a point about his iffy credibility. “Probably could’ve figured that out myself.”
“ Heh . You said it, not me.”
Gwen lightly shoved his shoulder, to which Duncan laughed.
“Guess I'll have to tune in to that old man if I want to hear about your proof.”
“Correct, and trust me, you don’t wanna miss it.” he glanced down at the old watch wrapped around his wrist, “I’d better get going. Deal’s happening in an hour.”
“That soon?” Gwen questioned, and when Duncan nodded, she said, “Then I wish you good luck. See you on Saturday?”
“Always.” Duncan threw back the last of his whiskey, and then he was gone.
Gwen remained in her seat, her gaze transfixing on the ice cubes in her glass. They glimmered softly in the dim light of the crowded bar.
A sense of ease lulled just out of her reach. She wasn’t crazy— there was something off about Heather, and there was proof of it. She’d done the right thing when warning Noah and Alejandro.
So then why was guilt still eating her alive?
The police station lay almost vacant as hours ticked into night. Brick assumed he was the last on there, but he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t really been paying much attention to what was going on around the office. His full attention was on the report lying on his desk. It was horrifically barren; a short paragraph describing the state of the body, another to summarize the autopsy, and a few pathetic lines of additional information. It wasn't the first of its kind and far from the worst, but with each inconclusive report, a pit grew in Brick's stomach.
It had been five years, and not a single suspect was tied to the murders. Every time they thought they had something, it turned out to be a dead end. They didn’t even know how many culprits they were dealing with— any attempt to find correlations always faced uncertainty. There was always something that was off just enough to cast doubt on any theory they concocted. Leaving the idea of a singular culprit flimsy at best.
The latest case held a slim glimmer of hope in the form of a note from the autopsy; detailing how the culprit had gone out of their way to remove the bullets that otherwise would’ve been lodged in the victim's head. It was a small victory that, while not outright solving it, set the case apart from the other rifle-related murders and made it distinct. No muddied similarities to wrap it up in the five-year-old web that constantly hung over Brick’s head.
He sighed, and closed his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. Too many cases had gone cold; he couldn’t let this one fall to the same fate.
Right as Brick was about to drift away on his train of thought, he caught the sound of footsteps drawing near. He sat upright, just as the Chief, Courtney Sinaga, and Officer Jo Abrahamsdotter entered the office space.
“I thought you would’ve gone home by now.” Courtney said in light surprise.
“Ah, well,” Brick fumbled slightly with his words, “I felt I still had more work to do.”
Courtney hummed and looked down at the report on his desk. “Jane Doe gunshot victim.” she stated, more so to herself.
At her side, Jo furrowed her brows. “I thought we closed that case?”
“We were intending to close it after a meeting today. But…” Courtney lifted her eyes to Brick. Her gaze was pointed, filling in for what she didn’t say: how Brick had insisted on giving the case one final examination before it was closed.
“Think the solution is going to magically appear to you?” Jo snorted.
“Of course not.” Brick said, “But don’t either of you feel disappointed at all of this? All these cases we can’t solve, all these people who are without closure.”
“I do.” Courtney said, then scowled, “And it doesn’t help when people like McLean are feeding people nonsense.”
Brick sighed. It hadn’t even been 24 hours since Connor Bennett’s body had been found when the radio host had spread the news on his broadcast— alongside cheeky accusations of Bennett’s own daughter being the culprit.
“That man will do anything for a good story.”
“Well, maybe he's onto something?” Jo said, “What if Heather did kill her father?”
Courtney shook her head, “There’s no evidence for it. Only speculations and people convincing themselves out of paranoia.”
“There’s no evidence that we know of ,” Jo pointed out, “I’m just saying, the possibility exists that Heather is involved, and we shouldn’t ignore it because she’s a victim.”
“That is true,” Courtney agreed, “But we don’t even know the details of how Bennett was poisoned, and I know Heather isn’t strong enough to carry the dead weight of a grown man to dump him in the river.”
“Maybe she had help?”
“From who? Her husbands?”
Jo shrugged, “Always a possibility.”
Courtney was about to speak when she stopped herself. She shook her head again. “At the very least, McLean is sensible enough not to bring Masterson’s suicide into his speculations.”
“We count our blessings, rare as they may be.” Brick said.
Courtney hummed in agreement. “Well, I’m heading home for the day. See you two tomorrow.”
Brick and Jo bid her farewell, the latter’s gaze trailing after her as she vanished out of the building. Jo turned back to Brick with pointed eyes. It was just the two of them now— swept up in a tense air that, while familiar, Brick wasn’t particularly fond of. Jo began to walk toward him, her steps morphing the station into an arena.
“Between you and me,” she said, stopping right by his side to stare down at him, “I think your honor is getting in the way of your work.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re too soft. I’m not saying Heather did it, but your reluctance to investigate her might be what has left all those other cases unsolved. You’re so focused on helping people and being a hero that you’re too scared of making even the smallest mistake.” each word Jo spoke was loaded with scrutiny, and each came from a place of care. Even if Brick hadn’t yet learned how to decipher it, the slight softening of her cobalt eyes practically spelled it out.
“Brick, you can’t dismiss suspects just because they’re victims.”
Brick pulled his lips to a thin line. He wanted to argue— he wasn’t scared to make mistakes, he couldn’t afford to. None of them could. A mistake didn’t keep people safe.
Then again, neither did inaction.
Jo stepped back from his desk, offering a lazy shrug as she said, “Something to consider.” and then she was gone.
Brick ran a hand over his face. It had been an exhausting day, and by the looks of it, the coming ones weren’t going to be any better.
“I’m going to make it right. That’s what I have to do.” he muttered to himself, glancing down at the report one final time.
Two days passed, and Gwen was once again standing before the Mudaliar residence. It looked so different from the last time she’d visited— yet somehow all the same. Gwen assumed it was just the making of her mind recontextualizing the building to fit her emotional narrative. Last time, it had been a haunted house where an evil force resided. Now, it was nothing more than the house of the newlyweds.
Gwen swallowed. She was standing on the porch, staring at the front door. Despite what Duncan had told her, Gwen still felt the need to apologize; if only to stop feeling guilty over having done the right thing. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, back and forth. How long had she been standing there for, and how much longer could she stand there without looking suspicious?
“This is pathetic.” she muttered, and before she could stall any further, she knocked on the door.
Hearing the faint shuffling from inside, Gwen held her breath— releasing it in a quiet sigh when Alejandro opened the door.
He looked surprised at her presence, but before Gwen could explain it, he stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind him.
“I don’t think either Heather or Noah would be too happy knowing you are here.” he said.
“Ah…”
“I’m sorry-”
“No, no. I understand.” Gwen assured. “Heather… knows I was here?”
Alejandro nodded, “Yes. Noah and I were still upset by the time she came home, and with what McLean is insisting, she figured out what had happened on her own.”
“That…” Gwen cleared her throat, pushing back the knowledge of how that insistence would soon become loaded with proof. “That… must be hard to deal with. The McLean stuff, I mean.”
“It is.” there was a heaviness to Alejandro’s words, one that pulled Gwen deeper into her stupid guilt.
She sighed, “Look, I’m… I’m sorry for accusing your wife of murder. I could’ve handled it differently.”
“Indeed, you could have,” Alejandro said. “But I do appreciate the apology. I'll see if I can think of a way to let Heather and Noah know.”
“Thank you.”
“No need. Like I told you then, I understand the fear. We just need to be careful with who we might end up hurting through it.”
“Yeah…” she thought back to Duncan and the evidence he claimed he had. The same evidence he’d sold to McLean. Gwen bit the inside of her cheek. Apologizing wasn’t alleviating her guilt like she’d hoped.
It must’ve been visible on her face, because Alejandro’s own became washed in sympathy. “Amiga, I am so sorry about what happened to Duncan.”
Wait…
Gwen furrowed her brows. “What do you mean? What has happened to Duncan?”
“You haven’t heard?”
As she shook her head, Alejandro’s sympathy deepened with shock. He paused for a moment, a faint crease forming between his brows. Like he was carefully considering what to say next.
“Duncan has been reported missing.” he said in a calm and steady tone, “It was on the radio this morning.”
“W-What?” Gwen blinked at him, a cold chill running through her body. “When? How?”
“I’m afraid I do not know.”
Gwen took a step back. She hadn’t heard anything. Nothing on the radio, or in the newspapers, or even through word of mouth. Sure, she wasn’t the most attentive when it came to the news, but…
“How did I not notice?”
“Don’t blame yourself.” Alejandro softly said, “Here.” he took Gwen’s hand and helped her sit down on the bench they had out on the porch. “Do you need anything? Some water, maybe?”
Gwen shook her head. Nothing he could offer was of use. In her steadily growing flurry of thoughts, Gwen felt herself come apart. Felt how fear began to fester deep in her bones, and the Mudaliar residence loom over her.
Chapter Text
“ As we discovered yesterday, Duncan Osbourne has been reported missing. Authorities say he vanished without a trace, although if there’s one thing we know about that hooligan, it’s that he always lets you know he’s been somewhere.
“ My! I remember when he vandalized my car just for the fun of it! So gone without a trace? Unlikely, I suspect foul play. Maybe even from our very own Strychnine Darling, haha-! ”
With a quick turn of the dial, the radio went silent.
Courtney glanced up at Alejandro— he’d left his seat on her couch without her noticing, now standing by the foyer table across the room, glaring at the radio.
“I don’t appreciate the way he talks about her.” he said, and there was no need to specify who. Everyone in town knew ‘Strychnine Darling’ was Heather Mudaliar’s new and unwanted moniker.
“He’s certainly not afraid to speak his mind.” Courtney agreed.
“He should do it less.”
Courtney’s lips quirked to a half-grin. She refrained from laughing. As humorous as she found his comment, Alejandro was clearly not in the mood for jokes. Which wasn’t exactly uncommon for their after-work meet-ups— a moment of reprieve where they could brag about the minor accomplishments that other people wouldn’t understand, or else found inappropriate to brag about; and vent about the frustrations others found entirely irrational.
That being said, Alejandro’s mood had been significantly better when he had arrived at Courtney’s house. Bright and proud as they discussed mundane topics. It was when the familiar melody of Chris McLean’s broadcast sang through the radio that he soured; lost interest in their conversation to fix the radio with a dark stare like it had personally offended him.
Which, in a certain sense, it had.
Regardless, Courtney didn’t know why she hadn’t turned it off when he arrived.
Alejandro returned to the couch, huffing in bitter resentment. “Noah has tried to talk to him about it. He was threatened with being fired.”
“He was?”
“Not outright, from what I’ve been told.” Alejandro clarified, “But the implication was there.”
Courtney hummed. She pondered McLean’s actions over the past month, trying to discern if any of them warranted legal action. Unfortunately, nothing of what he was doing was against the law. It was unprofessional and annoying, yes, but not illegal. Yet .
“Depending on how things play out with his broadcasts, you could have a case against him for defamation.” she said.
Alejandro nodded, “I will keep it in mind.” he gave Courtney a cautiously curious look, “May I ask for your thoughts on the matter? About Heather, I mean.”
“I stand by what I’ve always said: innocent until proven guilty. And there is nothing to even suggest that Heather has anything to do with either her father’s death or Duncan’s disappearance. Or anything else that is going on.”
Alejandro’s face relaxed to a grateful smile, “Thank you. It’s nice to know some people still have their heads on straight.”
“Then I hope it feels extra good knowing I’m not the only one in the force who believes Heather is innocent. Although I think Brick’s too preoccupied with those missing bullets at the moment.”
“That is quite perplexing,” he hummed, “But yes, it does feel good to know.”
Courtney’s lips quirked to a small grin, “I’m a little offended you even questioned me, Alé. But I think people view all parricide the same, and assume money to be the motive.”
“Heather wasn’t in the will.” Alejandro mumbled
“I heard, but most don’t know that. They see a wealthy family lose its patriarch, and their minds jump to murder in the name of money. Just look at the case with your brother.”
On a night in early May, five years prior, José Burromuerto had killed their parents. Had hacked away at their father with an axe and strangled their mother with a wire. He’d tried to hide his tracks, but his hubris made him sloppy, and it didn’t take long before the evidence against him began to pile up.
Perhaps that was where people got the idea that Heather had murdered her father, even when no evidence could be found. It certainly wouldn’t surprise Courtney in the slightest. The general public wasn’t exactly known for being master detectives.
Courtney placed her hand on Alejandro’s shoulder. She smiled— kind and steadfast. “No matter what happens, I’ll have your back in this. Te prometo que.”
Alejandro placed his hand atop Courtney’s and squeezed it, “Gracias, mi amiga.”
Gwen hadn’t exactly thought of a concrete plan before acting. All she knew was that Chris was one of the last people Duncan had met before disappearing. So if anyone was going to help her find him, then it was Chris McLean. However unreliable he tended to be.
She excused herself from work by claiming a family emergency. All but Dawn seemed to have bought it— although she hadn’t said anything about it. Just looked at Gwen with that unreadable yet all-knowing gaze. While it put her on slight edge, it wasn’t out of the ordinary, so Gwen ignored it and left the morgue.
Lying to the lady at the front desk of the radio station was easier than Gwen had anticipated. All it took was claiming she was there for a meeting, and then she was being led through the building to McLean’s office. Judging by the lady’s skittish demeanor, there was probably a lot running through her head; better not to question someone McLean was supposed to meet with and risk upsetting people.
The lady knocked on the door before opening it, ”Mr.McLean, your 17 o’clock is here.” without waiting for a response, she gestured for Gwen to walk inside, closing the door once she had.
The office was far too extravagant for a radio host, yet perfect for a self-important man. Framed photographs of group pictures with famous people, some even signed, hung on the walls, and a variety of awards were proudly displayed on shelves. Two large windows allowed the room to be bathed in May’s golden light. Seated by the desk was the infamous man himself— Chris McLean. He was dressed in an expensive-looking suit, the jacket currently draped over the back of his chair. He’d been in the middle of work on his typewriter when Gwen walked in, his hands still hovering over the keys. He looked Gwen up and down.
“I don't recall ever agreeing to a meeting with you.”
“You haven’t,” Gwen said, pulling her shoulders back to mimic the authoritative stance Brick often carried himself with. It felt wholly unnatural to her, and Chris didn’t seem convinced by her display. So before he could tell her to leave, she added, “But I need to ask you a few things. It’s about Duncan Osbourne.”
“Osbourne?”
Gwen nodded, “He was supposed to meet you on the 25th, something about Mrs.Mudaliar. This would make you one of the last people he saw before going missing, correct?”
“And you know this, how?”
“Duncan told me so himself.”
Chris paused, the crease between his brows smoothing out as his hostility dispersed into curiosity. “I see. A little odd that you’re coming to me directly, this feels like something you’d tell the police and let them handle.”
He had a point, and Gwen admittedly hadn’t thought about it. It hadn’t even crossed her mind to tell them what she knew. She probably should have, but in the shock of learning one of her best friends had gone missing, she gained tunnel vision. Clinging to the few truths she was certain of while blind to everything else.
“Can’t the same be said about Duncan’s information?” Gwen said.
“I guess it can.” Chris snorted. He leaned back in his chair, “Sadly, there isn’t much I can tell you about Mr.Osbourne. He never showed up for our deal.”
“He didn’t?”
Chris shook his head slowly, “Which isn’t ideal for me, as you might guess, considering he promised indisputable proof that the Strychnine Darling has more blood on her hands than most would assume.”
“He didn’t even give you a sneak peek?”
“Bastard didn’t say anything more than that it was indisputable. He only agreed to share it after I said I would pay him. Something I probably only would’ve done if what he had to say was of any value.”
Gwen had to fight not to roll her eyes. Of course someone like Chris to refuse payment should he not feel satisfied. She briefly wondered if Duncan had thought about it before focusing back in on the conversation.
“Did anyone know you two were going to have a meeting?”
Chris fell quiet, like he was pondering the question.
“A few people here at the station knew there was going to be a meeting, my assistant and the lady at the front desk, to name a few, but not with whom or what it was about.” he said after a moment, “Mr.Osbourne requested to be anonymous, which I figured was fair.”
“And this meeting, how was it decided?”
“Duncan called the station. We allow people to call in with stories and whatnot, as you might know.”
“I see.”
“Anything else you wanted to know?”
Gwen thought for a moment. Naturally, there were tons of things she wanted the answers to, but Chris couldn’t give them to her. “No. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Chris turned his attention back to the typewriter, acting as if Gwen were no longer present.
Gwen lingered in place, quietly watching as he rhythmically— and almost hypnotically— hit the keys. She snapped out of the trance with a shake of her head.
Right as she was about to leave his office, Chris spoke up, “By the way, I’d suggest telling the police about what you know, so they can find Mr.Osbourne before… well.” there was no need to say it.
Gwen swallowed down the lump of anxiety slowly forming in her throat. She exited his office without a word.
Navigating her way through the radio station, she went over the series of events in her head. May 25th, she and Trent went to warn Noah and Alejandro— a disaster that probably did more harm than good. A few hours after parting ways with Trent, Gwen requested that Duncan meet with her at the bar. There, she learned of Duncan’s meeting and that he had proof of Heather’s involvement in the past five years of murders. The meeting was supposed to be held that same night, but something happened and Duncan never made it; and was reported missing on the 27th.
It could’ve been a coincidence, but Gwen’s gut told her it wasn’t. The timing felt too calculated, like someone wanted Duncan out before he could meet with Chris. And Gwen had a sneaking suspicion about just who that someone was.
The sun greeted her much too eagerly when she stepped outside. Gwen hissed, cursing the lack of nearby shade as she continued her ventures.
Gwen would tell the police everything she knew— should’ve done so the moment the news of Duncan’s disappearance broke. But better late than never, she supposed. However, before doing that, Gwen needed to see Trent. She needed to better formulate her thoughts to be as concise as possible before she relayed them to the police. Needed to clear her mind so she wouldn’t burn herself pondering just what it was Duncan knew.
It had also been a while, and she missed her friend.
Trent’s apartment wasn’t too far away from the main part of town. It only took about 15 minutes before Gwen was knocking on his door. She made no attempt to rehearse what to say while waiting. It was better to let the words come naturally when talking to Trent. He had a way of understanding even the most nonsensical of sentences— probably due to the hours he’d spent writing and composing music.
Deciding enough time had passed, Gwen knocked on the door again. It usually took a bit for Trent to let people in; courtesy of the writing and composing.
However, it never took this long…
Gwen glanced down at her watch. 18.09.
Trent should’ve finished his job by that point, and he always made a stop at his apartment before going anywhere else. He should’ve been home.
Gwen went to open the door, thinking maybe he was having a nap, but found it locked. So she knocked again, harder this time. She waited, then knocked again. And again— falling into a repeating pattern of knocking and waiting.
Trent never answered. Nor did he come walking up the stairs to explain his absence.
Gwen tried to think rationally, she really did; but panic gripped her tightly. Dug its merciless teeth into her and injected her with unbridled dread. She'd missed it when it was Duncan, she could've missed it with Trent, too. There was nothing to claim otherwise.
“I’ll come back later.” Gwen told herself and shuffled out of the building. “I’ll come back later, and he’ll be home. I’ll even call to make sure of it. He will be home.”
The bright sun mocked her where it hung smiling in the sky. The warmth on her pale skin reminded Gwen of all those times she’d been convinced by Bridgette to come with her to the beach— and Gwen couldn’t help but to wonder: Had Bridgette ever made it back to town?
Everything felt normal, and Leshawna couldn’t have been happier about it.
Laughter and the soft tunes of jazz wafted through Heather’s sunroom, pleasantly warm from the evening sun. The atmosphere was chipper, never once faltering to silence. The women— Lindsay, Anne Maria, and Sierra, alongside Leshawna and Heather— were seated in the wicker chairs that furnished the sunroom, drinking homemade cocktails and sharing gossip.
Normally, they would’ve gone to the supper club, but with how discreetly rude people could be without even realizing it, they’d decided to meet up at Heather’s house instead. Noah and Alejandro had even been so kind as to let them have the house for themselves— going off to visit friends and relatives for the night.
“I’m glad you guys wanted to come.” Heather said in earnest once the laughter had settled.
“Of course!” Lindsay chirped.
“Wouldn’t want to miss a chance to meet the Strychnine Darling?” Anne Maria said with a cheeky grin, sparking more laughter.
Heather shook her head, “That has to be the dumbest name I’ve ever heard.”
“Don’t worry, there are stage names that are leagues dumber.”
Lindsay perked up with eager curiosity at that; and upon her request, Anne Maria recounted a slew of idiotic stage names she’d come across in her career as a theater costume designer. Some were charmingly amusing, while others were downright outlandish.
Leshawna giggled along with the others. Most of the others, to be correct. Sierra kept to more restrained snickers.
At a first glance, Sierra seemed like her usual self. But her smile was a bit too tight, and she kept fidgeting with her hands when she thought no one was looking. Very little had been said by her since her arrival, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. To decipher the glances she sent Heather’s way.
Leshawna hadn't asked her friends’ opinions on the whispers spreading through the town regarding Heather; Sierra’s nervous display made her thoughts known either way. She had yet to comment on the speculations, which was unusual. However, Leshawna supposed it was the more favorable option, even if it was also the more concerning one.
As to be expected, Leshawna had had her own worries about the subject. A sinking pit in her stomach that grew worse and worse the longer she tried to make sense of it all. In the end, she’d cut it loose with Occam’s razor— her fears had simply toyed with her perception. Had given unfavorable answers to her many conundrums.
Heather wasn’t acting any differently than she normally did. Those who claimed otherwise didn’t know her enough to make the judgment to begin with; didn’t know that she rarely showed it publicly when she was sad. But in private, behind closed doors, Heather cried. And she had cried when the news broke about her father’s passing.
“I don’t understand,” Heather had sniffed, “We barely talked, and I know he didn’t care about me, so why… why does it feel like this?”
The memory’s whisper was enough to make Leshawna ache— and simultaneously boil with rage at the people who portrayed Heather as a murderer.
Leshawna made a mental note to sit down and discuss it with Sierra at a later date before moving on. She patted Heather’s arm to gain her attention, “Did you manage to fix things for the honeymoon?”
It had been postponed due to the upcoming funeral. From what Leshawna had heard, rescheduling it had been a near nightmare.
“After a lot of work, yes.” Heather said, “Carlos was a massive help in fixing our stay at the villa.”
“That’s good to hear. I’d hate for you to miss out on two weeks in paradise.”
Located in the Spanish countryside, a few miles away from Barcelona, lay the Burromuerto family villa. It had fallen into the ownership of Carlos, Alejandro’s oldest brother, after their parents had passed. He had been more than happy to let the newlyweds stay there for their honeymoon.
“I would too.” Heather said, “The only other time I’ve been there was with Alejandro’s family, José unfortunately included.”
A shiver of animosity swept through the group at the name.
“Let’s not talk about that man.” Anne Maria said.
Lindsay nodded, “Yeah, let’s focus on how romantic your trip is going to be!” she gave a dreamy sigh as she began listing various romantic scenarios— doing so with exaggerated gestures out of excitement. One such gesture ended up knocking her cocktail glass over and spilling the drink all over the table.
“Shoot!” Lindsay gasped, and when Heather rose from her seat, she quickly added, “No, no, I’ve got it.”
“You sure?” Heather questioned.
“Absolutely, I know where you keep your towels. I’ll be right back.” she hurried off into the house. Heather’s gaze followed her for a moment before she sat back down.
“To take a quick break from honeymoon talk,” Anne Maria said and turned to Heather, “How are things looking at that chemical lab, the…?”
“The Catalyst Laboratory.” Heather filled in, “Nothing of worth to report, unfortunately. Same old nerds as always.”
“No thoughts on quitting now that you’re married and all?”
“I mean, I could, but why would I? Those people would be nothing without me, and they know it too.”
“Don’t we all?” Leshawna grinned teasingly.
Sierra looked like she was about to say something too, when suddenly Lindsay's shrill scream cut through the house.
Not a second was wasted before they'd all left the table to find out what had frightened their friend. They rushed to the bathroom, where Lindsay stood with her hands covering her face; her shoulders trembling slightly. A white towel lay by her feet, stained in red.
“Lindsay? What happened?” Anne Maria asked, walking up to the shaken woman. Lindsay shook her head, only managing a slight whimper in response.
Leshawna’s brows knit tighter, and her eyes fell to the bathroom cabinet; the upper drawer of which having been pulled out. She walked over to it— and was plunged into cold dread as she saw its contents.
A collection of neatly folded towels inhabited the drawer. Upon one was a pile of sharp and chipped teeth, slathering in blood like an offering to the toothfairy. They had presumably been hidden by the towel Lindsay had picked up, leading to a horrible surprise.
Leshawna looked back at Heather. Fear and confusion had twisted her face into devastation as she stared at the unfolding scene.
That sinking pit manifested once more, and a horrible thought came crawling over Leshawna.
‘What did you do?’
Notes:
Chapter Text
Brick didn’t know what he’d expected when the call came in— but it was certainly not that a handful of bloody teeth had been found at the Mudaliar residence. He didn’t fully believe it until he’d reached the house and saw them for himself.
The people present all told the same story when questioned. They’d been enjoying the evening together when one of them left to fetch some towels after spilling her drink, whereupon she discovered the teeth hidden in the drawer of the bathroom cabinet. The house was searched, but nothing else like it was found.
Just a handful of teeth in the bathroom cabinet.
And then the results from the dental analysis came back; showing a match for Duncan Osbourne. Just like that, a simple disappearance turned into a kidnapping.
Brick ran a hand through his hair. He was standing with Jo in one of the meeting rooms where the evidence board was kept. They looked over it and all the pieces to a puzzle neither could make sense of. Despite the sunny weather outside, the police station was cold and bleak. Seconds warped to hours. Hours that felt wasted as they waited for…
Well, Brick wasn't exactly sure what he was waiting for. An epiphany, perhaps. The truth, preferably.
Jo clicked her tongue, “To be completely honest with you, I don't think we're making progress just sitting around like this.”
“I know, it's just… we must have missed something.” Brick insisted. “We need to figure it out.”
“That’s our job, Brick. But what exactly do you expect to figure out by reading the case files over and over?”
“Well, we’re at a standstill, so something to point us in the next direction. Duncan’s last known location, someone he talked to, anything. None of the people we’ve questioned have been very cooperative, unfortunately. And those who were didn’t have anything of note to say.”
“Did we ever question Gwen?” Jo asked.
“As far as I know, no. It’s been quite difficult to reach her, but we’re trying.”
Jo nodded slowly, pausing before saying, “I’m just giving us options to work with here. But what if Heather put those teeth there herself?”
“For what reason?”
“To hide evidence. Why else?”
Brick shook his head, “If you’re going to hide evidence, you don’t do it in your bathroom where anyone can easily find it. And what reason would Heather have to kidnap Duncan of all people?”
If anything, it made more sense to target someone like Chris McLean or Blaineley O’Halloran; people who were leading the discussions on Heather’s status as a murderer. Wouldn’t you want to silence the whistleblower before they potentially expose your true intentions? What role would even Duncan have played in all of this?
Brick looked over at Jo. She seemed to be contemplating something similar. Maybe even trying to find a counter to his rebuttal. The furrowing of her brows told Brick she wasn’t being successful.
“Either way,” Jo eventually said, leaning back against the table with her arms folded over her chest, “It doesn’t help that the news has already broken.”
Brick groaned, “Don’t remind me.” on one hand, it was good that the news was spreading. It meant more eyes were on the case, meaning more people on the lookout for Duncan. On the other hand, it was fueling all the wrong fires, bringing attention to all the wrong cases.
The sound of doors opening and determined footsteps approaching prevented any further conversation. Brick and Jo both turned around in time to spot Gwen marching into the room.
“Gwen!” Brick’s face lit up with a smile, “It’s so good you’re here. We’ve been trying to get a hold of you-”
“Duncan was supposed to meet with Chris McLean to talk about evidence regarding Heather being responsible for the murders that have been happening, but he never made it.”
Her sudden declaration caught him off guard— enough so that it took him a moment to process what she’d said.
Brick slowly took in Gwen’s frenzied state; an uneven blend of fright and determination coating her face. “How long have you known this for?”
“A few days. Duncan and I met up at a bar, which was when he told me, and it was also the day he was supposed to-”
“Why haven’t you said anything before? We’ve been trying to reach-”
“I’m telling you now!” Gwen interjected with a yell, “Listen to me. Duncan was supposed to meet Chris to talk about evidence regarding Heather being behind the murders that have been happening, but he never made it. A-And now his teeth show up in Heather’s house? Isn’t that suspicious to you?”
In all fairness, it was. But not to the extent Gwen seemed to think. The implied responsibility of Heather posed the question of how she’d even know of this evidence Duncan had against her. The answer to that could make or break the claim.
Brick gestured for the nearby chairs, “Let’s sit down so we can figure out what’s going on-”
“I just told you what’s going on: Heather did it!” Gwen insisted, standing her ground like she’d taken root.
Brick frowned. It had somehow never occurred to him that Gwen wasn’t immune to McLean’s influence— even with her rather tasteless joke about inheritance powder back when Heather’s father had been found. But it wasn’t her fault, getting caught in the wrong fire; Brick had seen the suspicions grow more and more with each passing day.
No, it wasn’t her fault. He hoped she knew that, despite her fears. And he hoped she could forgive him for questioning her. For trying to keep her from straying into conspiracy.
Then again… if Duncan really had proof on Heather, then that would be a reason to kidnap him.
Brick glanced over at Jo. She nodded once, giving him the push he needed.
“Alright, I hear you.” Brick motioned for Gwen to have a seat, to which she obliged. He fetched a notepad from a nearby desk and pulled his pen from the chest pocket of his shirt.
“Let’s take it from the beginning. When and where did you meet Duncan?”
“Evening of the 25th at Cold Moxie, the bar.” Gwen said.
“And on that same night, Duncan was supposed to meet with McLean, but never made it. Am I understanding correctly?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know about this part of the story?”
“I talked with McLean.”
Brick forced back the slight pang of hurt. Days spent trying to get in contact with Gwen so they could find Duncan faster, and she'd been off running her own investigation. Learning information that could be vital to the case.
Nevertheless, she was telling them now. Better late than never.
“What kind of information did Duncan say he had?”
“He… he didn’t tell me.” Gwen confessed almost diffidently, “He was going to give it to McLean so he could air it on his radio show. McLean was also never told what it was.”
Brick paused his writing. He raised his gaze to level Gwen with a puzzled expression. A myriad of questions echoed in his mind: Why didn't Duncan come to them? Why give evidence to a radio host?
He swallowed them all. Duncan's decisions weren't Gwen's. It wouldn't be fair to demand she answer for them.
“Can you describe Heather’s relation to Duncan.”
Gwen opened her mouth, but faltered— stumbling over an answer she didn’t seem to have. Still, Brick gave her the time to find it; only speaking once he deemed enough time had passed.
“Does Heather have any sort of relation with Duncan?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because how would Heather have known Duncan had information that would prove she was behind the murders and that he was going to tell McLean? You’re the only person who has told us about this.”
Gwen let out an agitated scoff, “She could’ve followed us to the bar or something, I don’t know! Alejandro talks with Duncan sometimes, maybe he told him, who then told Heather.”
“Let’s not implicate innocent people in our speculations.” Brick said, holding up his hand to pause any further ramblings of hers. He put down his pen and smiled.
“This is good and important information, and I thank you for sharing it with us. But please,” he leaned over, placing a well-intentioned hand on Gwen’s shoulder, “Don’t spread this as proof of Heather being involved in anything.”
Gwen stared at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” she shrugged off his hand and stood up from her seat. “I just gave you the answer to all of this, and you dismiss it?”
“Of course not!” Brick stressed, standing so he could see eye-to-eye with Gwen. “What you’ve told us is incredibly helpful and we will look into it further but-”
“But what? It gets in the way of your protection program for her?”
“Absolutely not, no such thing exists.”
“Then why aren't you listening to me when I tell you Heather did it?”
“I am listening, I promise, but there's no evidence to-”
“There's plenty of evidence if you'd just open your eyes for once!”
“Gwen, please, can you just-”
“Heather did it! I know she did and she-!”
“ Gwen! ” Brick yelled before he could stop himself, “I understand your concerns, but this isn’t proof of what you’re claiming. I need you to get your act together and not spread baseless speculations as facts!”
Silence fell thick.
For a brief moment, Brick wondered if he had even spoken at all. Maybe he’d managed to bite down on the words before they could escape him. Maybe he’d managed to replace them with something more amicable. Gwen’s face told him the dreadful truth.
A thin layer of shock barely veiled a growing anger. Gwen gritted her teeth. A storm swirled in her midnight eyes, unable to be released.
“You are such a coward .”
“Gwen!” it was too late; she had already vanished out of the room. Brick flinched slightly at the sound of slamming doors.
“Didn't that go smoothly?” came Jo’s wry comment.
“You could've helped me.” Brick pointed out. Jo simply shrugged.
“You need to toughen up. That won't happen if I'm holding your hand.”
Brick scowled at her, yet couldn’t find it in him to argue— drained so completely. He dragged a hand over his face.
‘Gwen’s scared for her friend, and I treat her like that?’
It wasn’t her fault. But it was absolutely his.
“Let’s… Let’s bring in Heather for another questioning. Might be good to go over everything when she’s not as shaken. We also need to talk with McLean, to confirm what Gwen told us.” Brick said.
“Good call.” Jo said with an approving nod.
It was in that moment that the door opened anew, and Courtney stepped inside.
“Either of you know anything about why Gwen's cursing in the lobby?” she asked, eyeing the duo curiously.
Brick was about to explain when Jo beat him to it, “She came in for questioning. Talking about Duncan must’ve stressed her out, if I were to guess.”
“I’d figure.” Courtney hummed, casting a quick and sympathetic glance over her shoulder. When she turned back, her full focus was on Jo, her expression grim. “You’re needed at the university.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“They found a severed leg in the library.”
The promise of rain hung in the air. Owen gazed out at the dark clouds through the bakery’s windows. They'd been steadily rolling across the sky for the past hours and were now completely obscuring it, veiling the town in not quite darkness, not quite light. Creating an eerie serenity that reminded Owen of the hunting seasons. Especially now that the bakery was quiet after the rush hour.
Owen had been in the middle of tidying up after said rush when the clouds caught his attention. Offering respite to his anxious mind and all its made-up scenarios. Hopefully, things would calm down in time for hunting season; he really didn’t want to miss it.
The sound of baking trays clattering harshly against tiles pulled Owen away from his admiration. He heard DJ mutter tiredly from the kitchen. Going to investigate, he found the man kneeling down to collect the trays he’d tipped over.
“Are you doing alright?” Owen asked after a beat of silence, even though he already knew the answer. DJ had been casting anxious glances at the newspaper all day— the front page recounting how teeth belonging to the missing Duncan Osbourne had been found in the Mudaliar's house.
DJ sighed, placing the stack of trays back on the counter. “Not really.”
“Do you want to talk about it? It’s still calm out there.”
“I’d like that a lot. Thank you.”
Owen smiled and gave an encouraging nod. DJ waited a moment, likely so he could find his words before speaking.
“It’s… It’s not that I believe them when they say Heather did it. At least, I don’t think I do. I don’t want to but… the way things are unfolding… it doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”
“I know how you feel.” Owen said, “On one hand, I can’t help but feel it’s all just a bit too convenient. But then, on the other hand, the idea that my little buddy could be in danger… I can’t help but worry.”
“That makes sense. Yet I can’t help but feel bad about it. And Heather is my friend, so I should be worried about her too. I mean, she’s never struck me as someone who’s capable of killing her own father. It feels like I’m always betraying someone, no matter what I do.” DJ’s shoulders slouched, his face falling forlorn.
Owen’s restless optimism wanted nothing more than to assure his friend that everything would be okay. That the clouds were only temporary and would soon disperse for the sun to shine again. Owen just wasn’t sure if he believed it himself.
He hoped for normality to return in time for hunting season, still months away— but that didn’t mean it would. Similarly, Owen had hoped his anxiety regarding the rifle victim would’ve subsided by that point. Noah and he were supposed to go to the shooting range that same afternoon. That should be fun, not worrisome.
And yet Owen couldn’t help the sliver of dread at the thought of hearing gunshots.
Owen wanted to promise DJ that things would get better. But he feared it would be a lie.
All he could offer was a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder. It felt cheap in comparison. Still, DJ seemed to relax, even if just a little.
It had started to rain sometime during their talk. A rhythmic rattling on the storefront’s windows broke up the silence— and was then in turn broken by the chime of the bell. Owen gave DJ’s shoulder an encouraging pat before the two walked out to greet their customer, who turned out to be a familiar one.
“Alejandro!” DJ greeted with feigned ease, “What can we help you with?”
“Oh, I am not here to buy anything, just taking shelter from the rain.” Alejandro said sheepishly. He removed his suit jacket, which was covered in darker sploshes thanks to the rain, and draped it over his arm. “I will try not to stay for too long. Wouldn’t want to be a bother.”
“Oh, not at all!” Owen assured, “You’re welcome to stay until the weather clears.”
“Thank you, I greatly appreciate it. Had I known it was going to rain like this, I would’ve considered staying at the university for longer. Alas, the rumors about my wife having something to do with a severed leg aren’t particularly inviting.”
Owen grimaced, “I can imagine.”
“Luckily,” Alejandro said, “My students are reasonable and know not to discuss such sensitive topics with me.” his face darkened, “And then there’s O’Halloran’s lovely nephew.”
Radio host Blaineley O’Halloran was an infamous woman. Successful and prolific in her work with undeniable charm to boot. At the same time, she was pompous, sly, and without limit. Her nephew, Topher, was steadily climbing the ladder of being just as infamous.
“Is he causing trouble?” DJ asked.
Alejandro huffed, “Trouble doesn’t begin to cover it. Kid completely lacks any semblance of respect. He isn’t even in any of my classes, but takes the opportunity to sit in either way because of his friend. At the very least, I think she’s his friend; she seems to mostly just let him walk all over her. But of course, he doesn’t sit in out of interest for the subject, just so he can ‘interview’ me about what it’s like being married to a murderer and if I condone her actions and who I think might be next, and I just want to-!”
Alejandro cut himself off with a sharp, deep intake of air. When he released it, his entire body relaxed.
“Lo siento. My apologies. I did not mean to rant like that.”
“No worries,” Owen assured, “There’s… a lot going on right now.”
“Indeed.” Alejandro sighed. His gaze travelled from Owen to DJ, who was no longer able to hide his unease. The quick flick of his eyes to the counter, where the newspaper still lay, told Owen that Alejandro had connected the dots. Had found the source of his troubles.
“Amigo,” Alejandro said in sympathy, approaching the anxious man, “I could give all the assurance in the world of Heather’s innocence, but I can see that is not what you need. No, you’re afraid, and that fear is being exacerbated by all these awful rumours. It is not your fault, not at all. But you’re better than them, and you’ll make it through this with your integrity untouched. I know you will.”
DJ nodded; slow at first but gaining resolution. “You’re right. Heather’s my friend, I trust her more than strangers.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her that.” Alejandro smiled and patted his arm. When he did, the cufflinks on his shirt caught the light. They were simple metal plates, and despite not being able to make out the text, the embossing struck Owen as delightfully familiar.
“I like your cufflinks.” he said.
“Gracias,” Alejandro smiled, lifting his arm to offer a better view of the accessories, “They were a recent gift from Noah.”
“Do you know where he got them from?”
“Unfortunately, no, but I can ask him.”
“Please do. They remind me of .300 savage cartridges, so I think my grandfather would like them.”
“They do?”
“Yeah! Well, the embossing does.”
Alejandro examined the cufflinks with easy amusement— and a certain glimmer of fondness in his eyes. After a short pause, he hummed, “Interesting.”
Gwen didn’t like to admit it, but Duncan was right; Brick was too soft. If she wanted to find him— and Trent and Bridgette too— before it was too late, then she’d have to do it on her own.
It was because of this that Gwen found herself marching up to Duncan’s apartment as soon as her shift had ended. It was a long walk, seeing as it lay on the outskirts of town, but the overcast sky made it much more bearable. The pitter-patter of rain on her umbrella helped to calm her; the frustration from her talk with Brick only now starting to subside.
Gwen breathed in the clear air. She clutched the key in her pocket— the metal had become warm from the constant contact with her skin. Duncan had given it to her when he got his apartment, explaining how hiding it was something only a yuck would do.
When she’d made it inside the building, Gwen closed her umbrella and shook off the water in the entre way. The sound echoed through the vacant and unkempt stairwell. Both Bridgette and Trent thought of it as creepy; Gwen wasn’t as bothered.
However, as she ascended the stairs, a hollow lump began to swirl inside her. Not quite fear, but a very distinct kind of unease.
“What did you figure out, Duncan.” Gwen muttered to herself and turned the key to unlock his door.
Limbo awaited her on the other side. The familiar space of Duncan’s apartment lay untouched, showing only distant signs of life. Gwen felt almost dizzy being surrounded by it. She bit her lip, contemplating where to begin her search.
There had to be some remnant of Duncan’s discoveries that could once and for all prove Heather’s guilt. And hopefully, there’d also be something to prove that Heather knew of the evidence he had against her.
‘If I don’t find anything, then maybe Heather has already stolen it.’ she thought half-jokingly.
With no better plan, Gwen began to aimlessly search through the apartment. She scanned over the contents of the bookcase, looked under the couch cushions, checked every cabinet in the kitchen. Her search was thorough, yet careful not to disturb the organized chaos. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be found in the main area of the apartment.
So Gwen moved onto the bedroom, where she went for the obvious hiding spot first: under the bed. All that was hidden there were a few dust bunnies. She was about to leave when her gaze flicked up to the bed frame. Something was pinned between the mattress and the boards.
Gwen lifted the mattress with little effort and pulled out the mysterious object: a black and unlabeled binder. She settled on the bed and began flipping through it.
The binder was comprised of newspaper clippings and loose sheets of paper covered in Duncan’s writings. Going back to the start of the binder, Gwen went through each page more closely. There was a page listing murder cases from the past five years in chronological order; each with a number that corresponded to a separate page of notes. The newspaper clippings were either also numbered or glued onto the related page. There was also a handful of missing people posters, and the occasional autopsy report.
Gwen chose not to question how Duncan had gotten his hand on those, and instead began to read through the writing more thoroughly.
‘February 14th, 1942. The first major slaughter. Three victims were found in the forest, their kneecaps busted by blunt force and bullets. One had injection marks on her arm.’
‘ August 2nd, 1943. Unidentified body found in the lake, missing fingers and tongue, their legs broken.’
‘Missing person: Cody Anderson. Last seen July 15th, 1943.’
‘October 13th, 1944. Ezekiel Finch was found dead by cyanide poisoning, with blunt force trauma to the head.’
‘March 21st, 1945. Another body was found in the forest. They died of strychnine poisoning, with injection marks on his arm. The state of his attire indicated he’d been running before death.’
‘May 9th, 1946. Connor Bennett, Heather’s father, was found dead in the river, his death caused by asphyxiation from strychnine poisoning. No injection marks found.’
Gwen wrinkled her nose. Most of the writing she could barely make sense of— rambles written in hasty scribbles and incoherent wording. It was clear Duncan had written them with no intention of anyone but him reading them. Still, if she could figure it out, then she had the proof in her hands; the evidence Duncan was talking about. So she gathered up the loose papers and stuck them back inside the binder, which she then tucked under her arm.
Right as she was about to leave, Gwen paused. She looked back inside the vacant apartment. “Hang in there,” she told the memory of Duncan, “I’ll find you. Somehow.”
The door to the police car slammed shut behind Jo. She looked upon the stone building of the Catalyst Laboratory, to which she’d been called to investigate. The structure wasn’t all too exciting, though Jo had never taken an interest in architecture, so that wasn’t saying much. And besides, it was what potentially lay waiting inside that had her attention.
From the steps to the main entrance came a scrawny man jogging. Jo pursed her lips to keep from laughing at his horrendous form.
“Good evening,” the man said once he’d reached her. He extended his hand, “Cameron Corduroy Wilkins.”
“Officer Abrahamsdotter.” Jo took his hand, scoffing internally as he winced at her grip. Weak. “Are you the one who called about foul odor?”
“Correct.” Cameron confirmed and adjusted his large glasses, “It smells like something’s rotting in there; it’s absolutely horrible.”
“Rotting?” Jo hummed.
The leg found at the university a few days prior was only the first of many. There was even a group out combing through town that very moment. If Jo were to guess, then this was another such case, making them five in total.
It was different kinds of limbs, each found already in a state of long decay. An investigation into a series of vandalisms at the town's graveyards revealed several graves to have been dug up— the bodies within them desecrated. The dots were easy to connect on their own. Whatever sick bastard was responsible had yet to be discovered.
Jo cocked her chin toward the building, “Is anyone inside?”
“No.”
“Good.” she brushed past Cameron, signaling for the other officers to follow her as she marched up to the building.
A distinct and putrid air hit Jo as soon as the doors opened, causing her nose to scrunch up in disgust. Something was definitely rotting in there.
They moved into the investigative routine; being swift yet thorough as they moved from room to room. The first floor was cleared rather quickly, and after giving the second-floor hallway a quick overview, Jo opened the doors to a large room.
It looked like how most would imagine a chemical lab to look; storage cabinets stocked with books and binders, neatly organized glass beakers and Bunsen burners, and several spotless tables. It was warmer in there, and the expected sterile scent was drowned out by the sour stench.
Jo walked inside, scanning the area for anything that seemed to be out of the ordinary. The smell became worse the further in she got, reaching its unbearable peak once she stood under the ventilation grate. Jo tilted her head back to look at it. Slim patches of dried red stained the wall beneath the grate. The untrained eyes might’ve mistaken it for rust, but Jo knew better.
She pulled out a nearby chair, using it as a stepping stool to be at eye level with the grate. She was able to pry it off with a bit of force. It clattered sharply when it fell to the floor— and Jo made her discovery.
Stuffed inside the ventilation shaft, lying in a puddle of dried blood, was a severed arm missing its ring finger. With the watch attached to the wrist, it was clear straight away that it wasn’t like the limbs previously found— this one had been freshly dismembered.
Notes:
Slowly but surely we're getting into it...
Chapter Text
It was a surprisingly calm day at the morgue, and Gwen was taking full advantage of it. She’d holed herself up in the small space by the breakroom people seldom visited. It was mostly used for extra storage, and now also housed the wooden board Gwen used to better display the contents of Duncan’s binder. Having everything laid out made it easier to keep track of it all. And being at the morgue meant easier access to any autopsy reports she might need.
There were also notes written by Gwen herself— pointing out bits and pieces of each case she found important. Drawing the same connections Duncan must’ve made. There were 12 cases in the collection, and while they weren’t identical, far from it, they shared similarities. Some where the bodies were found: The forest, the lake, and the river. Some what had been used to damage the bodies: Poison, bullets, and blunt force.
There was a pattern slowly emerging— Gwen just couldn’t make it out yet. And that frustrated her.
If Duncan’s writing wasn’t just cryptic chicken scratchings, then she could’ve handed the binder over to the police as is. And hope that someone there had a spine, unlike Brick. Of course, nothing could be that simple, and Gwen had to decipher the notes in order to understand what Duncan had figured out. Which was easier said than done.
Gwen tapped her pencil against the notepad staring back at her. She was halfway through translating one of the notes, currently stuck on a line that was little more than a jumbled mess of graphite not even context clues could help her understand. In any other circumstance, Gwen would’ve given up, having no patience for riddles and puzzles in the slightest. But this was different; life and death in the most literal sense. Gwen needed to solve it in order to solidify Heather’s guilt. In order to find Duncan. Trent and Bridgette, too.
Why wasn’t anyone talking about those two?
Perhaps not as sensational as the appearances of body parts. Gwen had paid very little mind to them at first, until she heard about the arm.
In an attempt to calm the fires, the police had decided not to reveal any information about it to the public for the time being. That didn’t stop the talk at the morgue. That didn’t stop Dawn from casually commenting on how the limb had been severed from a living person, unlike the rest.
How Dawn’s intuition worked was a mystery— but she’d never been wrong. Perhaps it was just the workings of the placebo effect; of people making whatever connections they wanted to fit their preferred narratives.
Gwen was cautious of the claim. So long as it hadn’t been revealed who the arm belonged to yet, the possibility existed that it was Duncan’s. And Gwen didn’t know how to handle that fact. Because if Dawn was right, then that meant Duncan was alive and suffering and-
“I have to find him.” Gwen muttered.
The ticking of the clock in the lobby was too loud. McLean’s voice from the breakroom radio was grating. Time was running out; and everything around her was a reminder of it.
If Gwen could just nail down that unclear pattern, then maybe she could figure out where Duncan was being kept. She’d already gone to the few places she knew of. Nothing in the forest, as far as she could tell, and the same went for the river. The lake… well, there wasn’t anything by the lake either— only the unexpected resurgence of a vivid memory.
Summer of 1937.
When the last day of June was pleasantly warm, and their whole class had run off to the lake once their junior year of high school had ended.
Gwen had reluctantly agreed to come with them after several pleading eyes from her friends. She expected very little of the trip, but as she sat there under the shade of an oak tree— watching her classmates splash around in the water and shouting with joy— she felt the heavy melancholy of the last teenage years.
“Do you think we’ll do this next year? After we’ve graduated?” Gwen asked the only other person with her by the oak tree: Noah. He answered her without looking up from his book.
“Do you want to plan your excuse ahead of time?”
Gwen snorted an exasperated half-laugh and turned to Noah. “No. But you know how it is: things change. This is just one fleeting moment among many. I just wonder how many will stick around when it passes.”
Who would stick around for her when the moment was gone?
Gwen had never been good at making or keeping friends. This was the first time she felt seen and understood and treated kindly. Like she was a part of something. Who knew when that would happen again if it ended after graduation, when the class had dissolved.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Noah muttered, his voice a mix of sincerity and dismissal.
Gwen frowned, “You’re telling me you won’t miss anyone here?”
At that, Noah finally turned to her. His perpetual indifferent expression had gained an unimpressed edge. “Like who?” he said, lazily cocking his head toward the lake, “Mister doll dizzy?”
“Oh, god no. Cody I’ll be glad to never see again. I meant more people like Owen. Won’t you miss him?”
Noah softened at his best friend’s name. “I would, but I’ve also known the guy since we were kids. I wouldn’t be able to get rid of him even if I tried. Which, I won’t.”
“Wow. I can’t believe you actually have a heart.”
“I know. Shocking.” Noah flatly said and returned to his book.
Gwen’s lips curled to a teasing smirk. She poked at Noah’s cheek, “And what about that darling you’ve been exchanging letters with since freshman year?”
Noah swatted her hand away, “Which one?”
Right, Noah had somehow managed to strike the fancy of two people; however that was possible.
“Besides,” he continued, “It’s nothing serious. Just acquaintances with shared interests.”
“But you’ve all met each other?”
“Several times, yes. What of it?”
“Is it really just acquaintances then?”
Noah let out a deep sigh, using exasperation to hide the tell-tale signs of his blushing face. “You’re worse than Owen.”
“I’m sorry. But I do think it’s only fair considering you made fun of me for liking Trent.” Gwen said matter-of-factly.
Noah scowled at her, “Not a fan of the implications here.”
“That you definitely like these people you’ve been writing with?”
“I hate it here.”
Gwen laughed, “Well, whatever happens, I’ll be happy for you.”
“Thank you. I guess.”
A beat of silence passed between them. Gwen expected it to last longer, not really having anything else to add. But then Noah said, his voice low like a mumble,
“And… if it means anything, even if you’ll lose contact with most of these people after graduation, I’ll still be around.”
“Really?”
Noah shrugged, the slight smile at his lips betraying his nonchalance, “I’m going to need someone to be cynical with, that’s all.”
In the present, Gwen’s grip on her pencil tightened.
‘Cynical. Yet you only ever see her in the best light.’
She should've told him back when she learned who he was writing to. Maybe then she wouldn't have lost her friend…
Gwen shook her head, forcing her attention back to her investigation— using the sound of McLean’s voice to drown out any remnants of the memory and the lingering ache accompanying it.
She wasn’t getting anywhere with deciphering the notes, so she moved on to the reports. The latest case was quick to catch her attention. The gunshot victim from May 21st.
Gwen read through the report, even though she was already familiar with most of it. Then came the limited description of the victim, and anxiety began to build heavily in her gut.
Blonde hair.
Bridgette was blonde.
“ Tension has swept the town as body parts have begun showing up! Who could’ve done this? And why are the police so tight-lipped about who they belong to? Who knows. However, I happen to know that one of the locations was the Catalyst Laboratory, where our very own Strychnine Darling works. And just days after Duncan’s teeth were found in her own home? How peculiar. But I’m not making any claims!
“ Though, one can’t help but wonder: How many cases of strychnine poisonings have we got so far? All coincidences, surely. Everybody knows what strychnine is and where to get it. Surely, this isn’t the work of a single woman, who now seems to be dismembering her victims to hide the evidence. Not at all.
“ I suppose we’ll just have to sit back and wait for the next move. Will the police make a break in the case? Or will the Strychnine Darling strike again? Stay tuned to find out! ”
A charming yet impish grin was carved onto Topher’s face as he strutted down the university’s hallways. Whispers were fluttering all around him— wary, inquiring, and alarmed. Topher knew exactly what they were talking about; could still hear the crisp words that sang through the radio.
It may not have been appropriate to say Topher was excited about it, but that was precisely what he was. Granted, there was a sense of fear haunting him, as to be expected when there was a killer on the loose. But glee overshadowed it more often than not. His parents thought of it as a coping mechanism, especially after he stumbled upon the leg in the library. Topher wasn’t about to correct them any time soon.
Days had passed since his discovery, and the library had reopened. Naturally, there were several students who weren’t too keen on entering right away. Amongst that group was Topher’s fair friend Sammy, whom he was in the middle of tracking down.
He found her rather quickly— seated with Jasmine in one of the smaller study halls. Sammy smiled brightly when she spotted him walking up to their table.
“Did you hear on the radio?” Topher asked in lieu of a greeting, sliding into the seat opposite of the girls. Without waiting for a response, he said, “A limb was found at Mrs. Mudaliar's place of work!”
The girls’ faces dropped at his announcement, Sammy even going a little pale. She shrank in her seat, a hand reaching up to cover her mouth. The complete opposite of Topher.
Jasmine’s eyes flickered quickly between the two, registering their stark contrast with tightly knit eyebrows. “Are you seriously finding enjoyment in this?” she asked Topher— her cadence that of flexible assertion, allowing him to dispute her statement should it not be accurate.
“You’ve got it a little twisted,” Topher said, “I’m not enjoying that people are being killed, that’s obviously no fun. It’s the drama I’m loving.”
Jasmine gave him an unimpressed scowl, “As if that’s any better.”
Topher rolled his eyes. Of course they didn’t understand. Luckily for them, he was more than happy to explain.
“Look at it this way: A serial killer’s empire is about to crumble; it’s inevitable. Even if the police aren’t doing anything right now, the people have already made up their minds. They know of her true colors.
“Then you have her husbands who are so adamant about defending her. My aunt told me that she overheard Chris arguing with his assistant, Noah, about it way back when Heather’s father was found. Apparently, they were threatening each other too. So imagine when the truth finally gets revealed. Oh, the betrayal, the drama! How heartbroken they must be when they find out they’ve been defending a serial killer.
“It is going to be spectacular, I just know it will!” Topher laughed.
From the other side of the table, Jasmine and Sammy stared at him. The latter in uncomfortable horror, the former in annoyance.
“You need to stop hanging around your aunt.” Jasmine said.
“What for?”
“Because you’re treating very real tragedies like they’re the latest films.”
Topher scrunched up his nose in distaste, “ Ugh, you make me sound like Leonard.”
“Maybe that's an incentive for you to stop?”
He huffed, folding his arms over his chest and upturning his nose.
“I-I also think you should be a little nicer to Professor Mudliar.” Sammy said, as if this had suddenly turned into an intervention.
“I am nice to him.” Topher insisted. Then he paused. “Well, compared to other people, I am. But I just want to know what’s going on behind the scenes. That’s all.”
“Still doesn’t mean you have to chase him down over campus.” Sammy lowered her voice, “And, we don’t know how Heather picks her targets, so-”
“Wait? You think I could be next?”
Sammy nodded faintly, as if scared someone would see.
Topher shook his head in amusement. While it was true that the victims were seemingly picked at random, he felt confident that he wasn’t on the list. If anything, him being next would be way too obvious.
That being said…
Topher leaned forward, pinning Sammy with a curious gaze, “Hasn’t your sister been gone for a while? Who’s to say she didn’t go for her instead?”
“That’s not funny!” Sammy shot back, and her eyebrows knit together in worry, “Amy isn’t missing. She’s visiting her friends.”
“And you know this to be true how?”
“I…”
“Alright.” Jasmine’s hand suddenly appeared between them, shielding the other's face from their view. “That’s enough, Topher.”
“Oh, come on, Jasmine, don’t you think Mrs.Mudaliar did it?”
“Of course I do. But that doesn’t mean you get to scare people like that.”
“Sammy started it.”
“I did not!”
“You so did.”
“Guys.” Jasmine’s stern voice bit through, “There’s a murderer in town that the police are doing very little about; the last thing we need is infighting. That will only make us easier prey. Alright?”
Topher sighed, “I guess you’re right.”
“Thank you. And just so you know, that includes not treating it seriously.”
Topher wanted to argue that he was taking it seriously, just not in the way Jasmine was used to. Him finding it entertaining had nothing to do with trivializing murder— it was about cheering the defeat of a criminal. Shouldn’t that be admirable?
However, he relented. It was more fun to talk with his aunt about this anyway.
Topher raised his hands in a sign of surrender, “Fine.”
“Good.” Jasmine said, and at her side, Sammy relaxed.
They fell into more mundane conversation after that; talks of schoolwork, plans for the summer, and stories of friends who didn’t attend the university. All the while Topher was reeling in the ever-present tension that had enveloped the university.
They walked down the avenue: Alejandro, Noah, and Heather. The latter in the middle, holding onto her husbands’ arms. Kissed by the sun of June, they looked straight from a painting. If only the reality of it were as romantic.
At first, Leshawna thought she’d imagined it, but no. They were there, clear as day— drawing the eyes of everyone they walked past for all the wrong reasons. Antagonistic stares followed them, whispers fluttered in the air; questioning how one could stay devoted to a murderer, how they could dare be out in public. Even from a distance, Leshawna could tell it was bothering them more than they let show.
“Do you think she saw us?” Lindsay asked in a hushed voice.
Leshawna thought for a moment, her gaze lingering on the throuple as they continued further away. “No.” she said, then turned back around in her seat to face Lindsay and Anne Maria.
They were situated at the outdoor seating of a cafe downtown. Their outing was intended to be an easy and fun one— a small break from mundane life and the relentless claws of paranoia. What levity they’d managed to scrape together was now fading quickly.
“I guess we have to talk about it, then.” Anne Maria said with a heavy heart.
Lindsay's expression turned pleading, “Do we really?”
“Yes. As much as I’d like to, we can’t ignore it. There were teeth in her house.”
Sapphire eyes widened at the reminder, and Lindsay twisted uncomfortably in her seat, bottom lip captured between her teeth. Anne Maria looked more composed, but far from unbothered. And Leshawna knew she was no better off herself.
Spotting the infamous throuple in her peripheral had been like catching a glimpse of a ghost. A terrible fright traveling like lightning to fuel her adrenaline that had yet to subside. Watching the throuple from afar felt wrong— an act of cowardice instead of vigilance. Leshawna couldn’t say in good faith that she was scared of Heather. Rather, it was the ambivalent air surrounding her that Leshawna feared. How it infected everyone who got too close, obscuring each path to make it impossible to reach a conclusion.
It seemed only Alejandro and Noah were immune to it.
Taking a steadying breath, Leshawna squared her shoulders, “Then let’s talk. What do you girls think about it?”
“I don’t know…” Lindsay said, rolling one of the pearls of her necklace between her fingers, “I don’t want to think of my friend as a murderer.”
“None of us do.” Anne Maria sighed. “But it’s like every time you think you’ve got it figured out, something new comes out and you have to reevaluate the whole thing again.”
“Exactly.” Leshawna said. She thought back to Josh Masterson’s suicide, and how it had seemed so puzzling in the beginning. Looking back on it, Leshawna felt horrible for ever having questioned it, but things just weren’t adding up back then. Clarity had come with time, and she suspected the same would be true for Heather’s guilt.
Having to wait was driving her mad.
Anne Maria’s head tilted slightly to the side as she regarded Leshawna with inquiring eyes. “You went to her father’s funeral, correct?” she asked, adding when Leshawna had nodded, “How was she?”
“Normal.” Leshawna said with slight dejection. “Completely normal.”
Heather had said very little during the funeral, but her bottom lip had trembled each time Leshawna looked at her. Her posture was pulled tall and stiff, save for those few times she faltered and almost seemed to shrink. Heather had been sad and had tried— and almost failed— to keep her composure.
Anne Maria frowned, “Just as I expected.” she mumbled with not a trace of pride.
“Please don’t hate me for this,” Lindsay said, her hands falling to lay on the table, “But if it isn’t Heather… then who?”
That was the worst mystery. Who else was there to blame for the death of Heather’s father? Sure, the man had enemies, but none of them had been labeled as suspects for whatever reason. And what about all those other cases people were convinced Heather was guilty of? Bodies riddled with bullet wounds, veins full of poison, and shattered bones. There was no way Heather could have caused all that. At the very least, not by herself.
Leshawna knew Heather. Had watched her transform from a troubled girl, raised on cruelty and shallow affection, into a remarkable woman, resilient and intrepid. She was by no means an angel— her tongue was vicious, her judgement harsh, and she was no less sly than a fable’s antagonistic fox.
But having a mean streak and being a serial killer weren’t the same thing. Had the story ended there, Leshawna would’ve known where she stood. And she would’ve called out the entire town for latching onto some semblance of truth to regain control.
But then there was Duncan, and things became muddied once more. Because even if Heather barely knew Duncan— they were acquaintances through Alejandro at best, if Leshawna were to guess— the only trace of him was found in her house.
So if it wasn’t Heather, then who?
Gwen's mind was reeling as she walked home from the morgue. With most of Duncan’s notes being more or less unintelligible, her investigation of the evidence had come to a standstill. The very last thing that was allowed to happen.
‘There has to be something else.’ Gwen thought, ‘Something I’ve missed, somewhere I haven’t looked.’
There existed the possibility that Duncan had split the evidence— something he tended to do with personal and important stuff to ensure they’d remain safe. The only problem there was that Gwen had no idea where any of these hiding spots were located. She supposed she could ask his close friends about it, but they had never been too keen on her thanks to her friendship with Brick. It was almost guaranteed they wouldn’t trust her, even if that friendship was more or less over on her end.
There was always Zoey. She was close with Duncan, and friendly enough not to be bothered by Gwen’s relation to Brick. Although that friendliness was abnormal among Duncan’s inner circle. He might’ve taken that as a sign not to tell her about his hiding spots.
Alternatively, Gwen could search Duncan’s apartment again. Maybe she missed something on her first visit-
A hand suddenly landed on her shoulder. Gwen shrieked with fright and whirled around— almost smacking Alejandro in the face while doing so.
He managed to jerk away just in time to dodge her hand. “I am so sorry, amiga. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It… It’s fine.” Gwen said, the fright slowly ebbing away, “Where did you even come from?”
“Across the street,” Alejandro explained, “We were out on a walk, my darlings and I, when I saw you. You don’t seem to be doing too good.”
Gwen frowned. Of course she wasn’t doing too good. One of her best friends was kidnapped and most likely being tortured as they spoke. She held back the urge to snap at Alejandro for making it seem so trivial— instead casting glances around him, noting the absence of his aforementioned ‘darlings’.
“Where are Heather and Noah?”
“They continued walking after I told them what I was going to do.”
“They’re still not…”
Alejandro shook his head, “I’m afraid so.”
Gwen’s chest fell heavy. Noah still didn’t want to talk to her. She really had lost her friend then.
Before she could venture further down the path of self-pity, Gwen felt the hand on her shoulder return. She looked back up at Alejandro, meeting kinder eyes than she’d expected.
“It’s not your fault.” he told her earnestly, like he understood her every doubt and worry, “Just give it time and-”
Time.
“I-I don’t have time.”
Alejandro blinked at her, “Pardon?”
“I don’t have time. Duncan is being kept somewhere, I need to find him before it’s too late, I- I have to.” Gwen's assertion did little to ease the man’s confusion.
“That’s the job of the police, is it not-?”
“They’re not helping! I told them what was going on, but they didn’t believe me. But I know, I know Heather did it.”
“You…?” Alejandro shook his head, “Gwen, I think you need to calm down-”
“I can’t!” Gwen stressed, “How could I? I mean, if Courtney was kidnapped, wouldn’t you want to find her as soon as possible?”
“Of course I would. But I wouldn’t be of much help if I let myself spiral into lunacy like you are.”
Alejandro’s words felt like a slap to the face— a jarring difference from how comforting they’d been before. “… Excuse me?”
He must’ve realized his mistake, for Alejandro retracted his hand from Gwen; offering her space back as a sign of remorse. “That… was not the right words to use, I’m sorry. What I meant to say is that you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep going at it like this.”
“And what do you suggest I do instead?” Gwen huffed.
“That you focus on something else for a bit. Something that will make you happy.” Alejandro smiled, “Who knows, maybe you’ll find you’ve been tackling it all wrong.”
With that, they parted ways; Gwen lingered in place for a little longer before she returned to walking home. Right now, there was only one thing that could make her happy, and that was to find Duncan.
But maybe Alejandro was right. Maybe she was tackling it all wrong.
A sudden sense of clarity swept through Gwen’s mind— realigning her thoughts and connecting them to shape ideas she’d previously struggled to scramble together even a fraction of. She was tackling it all wrong.
What she’d found at Duncan’s apartment was his findings; his collection of evidence that, while useful, was also cryptic because he’d never intended for anyone else to read it. Without him to explain it became a game of telephone. If Gwen wanted a chance to find her friends and solidify Heather’s guilt, then she’d have to go directly to the source: the Mudaliar residence.
Notes:
Fun fact, Topher and Sammy initially had a different role in this story, but I changed it to keep the story more concise.
Chapter 5: Conflict
Notes:
I've made a choice with this fic to not specify which warning applies to which chapters, but I'm making an exception for this one because it's not in the tags.
This chapter features strangulation. Enjoy !
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Unsurprisingly, people were already whispering by the time Sierra arrived at the radio station. Fearful conversations about limbs found scattered all over town were held wherever she turned.
“They found a foot in the fountain.”
“There was a tongue strung up in the park.”
“Fingers in the flowerbeds, I mean, who does that?”
“ Tsk, I think we all know who.”
Sierra quickened her steps toward her desk. Normally, she loved gossip, but now… she was scared. There was no better way to put it. Sierra was scared— plagued by sleepless nights and a jittery mind, pulling endless scenarios from her overactive imagination. The kind that turned her throat dry and doused her in cold sweats.
The kind that refused to leave her alone.
With each passing day, it seemed more and more people were convinced. Heather was a murderer. Sierra hadn’t even taken the time to give her own judgment on the matter. Instead bombarded with the opinions of the masses, overwhelming her to where she couldn’t think straight.
Sierra liked to think of herself as observant. It was even one of the traits Blaineley O’Halloran praised her for and cited as the reason for hiring her. But she had never noticed anything being off about Heather. Not a single thing that could be interpreted as out of the ordinary. So when people began to whisper, and claimed she wasn’t acting like she ought to— it gave Sierra pause.
Had she missed something? Something so obvious that everybody in town seemed to have caught it.
The last time they’d met, the same night Lindsay found the teeth, Sierra had tried to discern what that something was. But once again, she’d ended up empty-handed. Permanently stuck on square one.
What she wouldn’t do for a clear answer.
Sierra entered the large space where several of the station’s staff had their desks, including her and Noah, who were placed right next to each other.
Noah was already in his seat, pouring a cup of coffee from the thermos he brought every day from home. Sierra had asked him about it once, and he’d explained it was because the coffee offered by the station tasted the same way a corpse smelled. She’d laughed, finding the comparison nonsensical.
As with almost every morning, Noah was staunchly ignoring everyone else in the room. What was different was his signature nonchalant air— now replaced by a sharp-edged exhaustion. It poisoned the room’s atmosphere, turning the other people present tense. They cast wary glances Noah’s way as if worried one wrong move would set him off.
Sierra bit her lip, still standing idle in the doorway. As she'd learned at a young age that the best way to get answers was to go to the source. Over the past days, she'd been too anxious and caught up in her questioning of her own perception to do so. But if she wanted that answer, then there was only to swallow the doubt and go in strong.
Surely it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Sierra walked over to her desk and sat down. “What a week, huh?” she said, turning to Noah with a friendly smile. All she got in return was a quick side-eye glare. Which was more than she expected. Easing him into answering her would be child's play.
Sierra glanced down at the typical semi-mess on Noah’s desk. He was currently going through some kind of schedule for upcoming interviews. Next to him was a neat stack of papers covered in printed text.
“What are those?” Sierra asked, reaching over to tap on the stack.
“Things Chris has to sign.” Noah said without looking at her.
“Ooh, anything exciting in the works?”
“Meh, I wouldn't say so.”
“Bummer.”
“If you wanna call it that.” he paused his work to take a sip from his cup. Sierra watched him, making sure her curiosity could be felt through her gaze.
“Can I ask you something?”
Still not looking at her, Noah replied in a monotonous tone, “Make it quick.”
So Sierra made it quick.
“Heather hasn’t been acting weird lately? Like, I haven’t noticed anything, but I’m not with her quite as much as you are, so maybe you’ve noticed something?”
At that, Noah finally turned to her. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Look, I know it’s a weird thing to ask, but I genuinely want to know and I thought that-”
“I’m really not in the mood for this.”
“No, I know, I just-”
“Sierra. Stop.”
A response was ripe on her tongue, and as much as Sierra wanted to bite, she let it shrivel. Noah was looking at her with fires raging in his eyes— spitting vulnerable embers pleading for Sierra to listen and stop.
“Right. Sorry.”
A strained silence slithered its way around them and choked out any attempt to build courage. Noah seemed content with it; Sierra resented it. How was she supposed to figure it out now?
Her scheming would have to wait, because it was at that moment Chris McLean chose to saunter into the room— and Sierra could feel how Noah’s mood worsened.
“The right-hand man and woman of the stars!” Chris said with a wide grin, stopping by the duo. “How are you doing?”
“Good, all things considered.” Sierra said.
“Uh-huh.” Chris hummed with little interest and instead turned his full attention to Noah. “And what about you?”
“I'm fine.” Noah said— cold and curt. Chris seemed more amused than offended by it. His grin twisted to something more nefarious, like he knew exactly what Noah was upset by. Though that was more or less common knowledge at the station nowadays.
“Isn’t that good.” Chris said, “I was a little worried you were going to be all down in the gutter.”
Noah glared up at his boss, lips drawn to a deep frown that clearly ached to split open and spit poison. Sierra was almost impressed that Noah hadn’t done so thus far. He instead picked up the stack of contracts.
“Could you sign these-” Noah didn’t get to finish his sentence before Chris snatched the papers from his hand.
“Are these some legal papers to stop me from spreading the word on your wife, the Strychnine Darling?”
“No.” Noah sighed heavily.
“I bet you wished they were.” Chris chuckled, and scribbled down his signature on the dotted lines under his assistant’s hateful glare. “I think you should see this as a blessing, Noah. I know lots of men who wouldn’t live long if they were married to a serial killer. That’s gotta be a sign you’re doing something right.”
He handed back the papers to Noah, leveling him with a challenging grin. “Or maybe you’re just a doormat.”
Sierra braced herself— expecting Noah to clap back like he so often did, especially when in a bad mood. But to her surprise, he didn’t. Without uttering a single word, Noah took back the papers. Though he was no less upset than before. So before Noah could be pushed to actually clap back, Sierra asked Chris,
“Have you heard anything new about the disturbances in your neighborhood?”
She remembered him complaining about it a few days ago; about strange and loud sounds that continued to interrupt his sleep.
Chris turned to her as if he’d forgotten she’d been there the entire time. He waved his hand dismissively, “They’re guessing it’s foxes, but so far none have been found.”
“That’s good.”
“Not really. Since none have been found, the noises are continuing.”
“Ah. Yes, that makes sense. Heh.” Sierra chuckled awkwardly.
Chris gave her one last look before turning back to Noah. “Don't forget about the meeting at 2 o'clock. It's very important, so you better be there.”
Noah only gave a sharp nod in response.
“Aren’t you talkative today. I’d suggest dropping the attitude, wouldn’t want to upset the wife now, would you? Who knows, she might end up going after you next.” Chris burst into lonesome laughter— not that he noticed, or cared, that he was the only one laughing.
The sound lingered behind even as he'd left the room. Haunting like a bad memory.
Sierra glanced over at Noah. Though his face remained idle, ire radiated from him like smoke. Sierra couldn’t fathom how he’d managed to stay calm when he was known for cursing out their colleagues for way less.
“That sure was… something.” Sierra muttered.
Noah didn’t reply.
“I… I really am sorry about before. A lot is going on, and I don’t know what to make of it.”
“It’s fine.” Noah said with a heavy sigh, “However, I think we just got a wonderful example of why I don’t like talking about it. No one listens.” a slight smile pulled at his lips, “Except for Owen, but… I know he’s scared, too. We went to the shooting range a few days ago, the one by the woods, and he told me he’s still shaken from that rifle victim.”
“I could try. Listening, I mean.” Sierra offered.
Noah’s anger seemed to subside— and be replaced by a look of consideration. Sierra held her breath throughout his short pause, readying her persuasion skills should they be needed. Because although she did want to help ease Noah’s troubles, she also saw the opportunity to coax information out of him without directly asking. And if she failed, hearing his side might at least help to finally cement her own opinion.
“I don’t understand where the accusations came from.” he finally said, “She doesn’t act appropriately to the death of her father? What does that even mean? And who decided it to be the case? They don’t even know her yet they somehow think they've got the authority to judge her. Well, sorry to break it, but not all of us are good at shoving it when we’re sad. If that's all it takes, then persecute me too, because I guess I also killed my father.”
Sierra listened carefully to his every word like she had her ear pressed against a safe. It felt right what Noah was saying, and the points he raised were good. Sierra was almost embarrassed that she hadn’t thought to question the claims earlier herself. Where did the accusations even come from? She didn’t remember.
“I know Heather; she's only as flawed as any other human being. As I, or Alejandro,” Noah turned to look at Sierra, “Or you. Does that make us villains?”
Sierra shook her head lightly, “I wouldn’t say so.”
“No, but so does everybody else. They’re painting her as some kind of monster, when that’s so far from the truth.” Noah sighed, his gaze falling to the side. “I just wish people would see her the way Alejandro and I do. Flawed and beautiful.”
A rare kind of softness caressed his features at that; his entire body relaxed as if it’d been alleviated of a tense ache.
Sierra’s brows knit faintly. She could almost hear the memories swaying in Noah’s mind; the voices of his spouses and the chime of wedding bells. Barely two months had passed, yet the wedding seemed so distant. Part of a world not yet plagued by doubt and fear. Sierra wondered if that world would ever come back, or if their town would never know peace like it used to again.
Did Noah wonder the same?
Obviously he did. Obviously he longed for the chaos to pass so his wife could be left alone.
“You really love her.” was her quiet conclusion.
Noah huffed, “Is that really so surprising?”
“No, no!” Sierra waved her hands for emphasis, “Just an observation. I assumed these kinds of situations would put strain on a relationship. I’m glad it’s not the case here and that you still love her.”
“ I do. ” Noah said with indisputable resolution, “And I'm tired of people trying to make me feel deplorable for it.” he turned away, going back to whatever he’d been occupied with before Sierra had arrived— marking the end of their conversation.
Sierra pulled up her own work, settling into the flow of it rather quickly. Her tasks were monotonous enough that she could keep thinking about what Noah’s words meant. It seemed rather simple; the fear said Heather was guilty, while logic said she was innocent. It made sense, too, with the first option being the more appealing to the masses. Having someone to blame was always easier and offered a semblance of control.
Sierra’s conclusion was thus that: Heather was innocent.
So then why did something still feel wrong?
Noah had once trusted Gwen enough to show her where they kept the spare key. She wondered if he still would’ve done so if he’d known that one day she’d use it to break into their home.
Well, technically, she wasn’t breaking in; she had a key, after all. Still, the house didn’t seem to view her as a guest when she opened the door and stepped inside. It greeted her with an eerie silence, barely acknowledging her. Not that she needed it to.
Gwen walked with her head held high. The teeth had been found in the bathroom, so that was where her search began.
She didn't tread with much care— tossing out carefully folded towels and disturbing neat line-ups of various containers. Nor did she bother putting everything back when her search ended up fruitless.
Gwen huffed in mild annoyance before moving on to the bedroom; where the first thing she did was check under the mattress of their bed. Nothing. The same could be said about the bedside tables and the small bookcase. The closet wasn't any better either; storing only unremarkable clothing, and white gloves she assumed to be Heather’s.
She searched room after room. Opened every closet and drawer and cabinet. Turned the entire house upside-down.
And yet nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Nothing.
Gwen stormed out into the disarranged living room, hands raking through her hair. There had to be something, there had to. Something to prove that Heather was guilty; that she’d poisoned her father, strung up Josh by his neck, shot that woman who might’ve been Bridgette, and kidnapped Duncan. That she’d been behind every murder that plagued their town.
So where was it?
Gwen began to walk in circles around the house, keeping her eyes peeled to the extreme so she wouldn’t miss a single oddity. Perhaps she should’ve done so to begin with, before flipping the house into disarray. But what was done was done.
With each identical tread through the house, Gwen grew more and more restless.
Where was it? Where was it?
She could feel it somewhere in the house, mocking her attempts to track it down.
And that was when she saw it. Down the hallway she’d paused in, framed by two wall sconces, was a door. It fit in perfectly with the room it resided in, but Gwen didn’t recognize it. She conjured every memory she had of the house— none included that door.
Gwen narrowed her eyes and stalked toward it. The metal of the handle glimmered invitingly. She reached out for it, and-
“Gwen?”
She whipped around in a start— and immediately locked eyes with Heather. When had she arrived?
“How did you get in here?” Heather questioned, her brows furrowed in bafflement.
A thousand excuses brewed in Gwen’s mind, but she quickly shut them down. She had nothing to hide. “The spare key.”
“Okay, and what are you doing in my house? Why is it a mess?”
“Having a look around. And it’s not just your house.”
Heather huffed, folding her arms over her chest, “I am well aware, thank you.” she paused, head tilting slightly to the side as she regarded Gwen. “Did Noah or Alejandro invite you over? Are you guys doing something they haven’t told me about?”
“Maybe. Though, is it really a surprise they didn’t say anything when you don’t let them have friends over?”
“Excuse me? Where on Earth-”
“You heard me.” the slight twitch of Heather’s eye was infinitely more satisfying than Gwen could’ve ever imagined.
“You know what?” Heather threw her hands up, “If you were invited by my husbands, then they can tell me so later. Get out of my house.”
“You don’t trust them?”
“Of course I do. It’s you that I don’t trust, so please get out of my house before I call the police.”
“Why are you so insistent that I leave?” Gwen questioned, “Scared I’ll find something incriminating?”
“What?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’re secret storage room of spare body parts, perhaps?”
“Is this a joke?”
“Is either of us laughing?” Gwen scoffed, “Bet you do when you’re killing people, you sick bastard.”
Heather’s lips pulled tight, clearly holding back from snapping. “Why does everybody believe what McLean is saying?” she grumbled through clenched teeth.
“Because it's true.” Gwen asserted firmly. Heather’s reaction only cemented the statement. The way her expression darkened, eyes growing sharper— revealing the monster lying underneath the facade of a beautiful woman.
Once upon a time, Gwen had feared that look. Now, it fueled her. Urged her to pull the truth from the other woman, no matter the cost.
“Get out. Now. ” Heather hissed.
Without breaking eye contact, Gwen pointed towards the mysterious door, “Tell me what's behind that door and I will.”
“The basement.” Heather said as casually as she could, despite her ire.
“You don’t have a basement.”
“Yes, we do. We always have. You can go look if you don’t believe me. But then I want you to leave.”
Gwen scowled. She was about to turn around to open the door before stopping herself. Remembering just who was with her.
“Do you really think I’m that dumb?”
Heather blinked at her, “What?”
“Do you really think I’m so dumb as to turn my back on you?”
Heather’s face relaxed into exasperation, “I was mean to you when we were kids, but-”
“You know that's not what this is about.” Gwen interjected sharply, “This is about all the lives that you have taken, every person you’ve murdered for whatever sick power trip you're after! If you think I’m dumb enough to fall for your lousy attempts to whack me in the head and kill me then you’re gravely mistaken. I know what you really are, you vile bastard!”
Heather’s face began to twist in alarm. She raised her hands like one would when dealing with a wild animal. “Gwen, please listen to me-”
“Drop the act, Heather. I know you’re behind Duncan’s disappearance! And I know you’ve got something to do with these past five years of death!” while speaking, Gwen advanced toward Heather— step by weighted step.
Heather backed away, an alarmed gaze locked on Gwen. Her hand reached behind to guide her away from any obstacles.
Gwen had expected her to stand her ground. To stand by her innocence with all her might. Though she most likely understood that Gwen couldn’t be persuaded. With nothing left to do, Heather cowered.
“You killed them, didn't you?”
Heather shook her head adamantly. “I have never killed anyone.”
“Liar!” Gwen shrieked, “What did you do to Trent? To Bridgette?”
“Nothing! Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do, I know you do! You killed them! You may have fooled some people, but not me. Not this town. You are a depraved monster, everybody knows it! I hope you rot in prison because the death sentence is far too merciful for you!”
There was something so indescribable about it— the sight of Heather backed into a corner, unable to utter a single word of either attack or defense. Stripped of her guards and rendered powerless; her guilt written plainly on her face.
For the first time in a long while, Gwen felt completely in control.
“Gwen,” Heather said, her voice uncharacteristically small, “Please leave. You’re scaring me.”
“ I’m scaring you? ” Gwen laughed bitterly. It was frustrating, the way Heather tried to play the victim when she’d never been close to being one— frayed the edges of Gwen’s already thin patience. “What did you do to Duncan?”
“I haven’t done anything-”
“ WHAT DID YOU DO TO DUNCAN? ”
Gwen leaped forward, knocking Heather to the floor. They wrestled each other, and Gwen was surprised to find how easy it was to overpower the other woman. As kids, Heather had always been the stronger of the two. Now she was practically defenseless against Gwen’s slaps and punches.
That wasn't to say Heather didn't fight back. She pushed at Gwen, tried to jab her knee into her sides and stomach. But her movements were uncoordinated; hasty, as if she truly was afraid. Although she was doing a poor imitation of it— exaggerating her helplessness like a parody.
Gwen growled. Her hands wrapped around Heather’s throat, pressing down. “What did you do? What the fuck did you do?”
Heather’s hands quickly latched onto Gwen’s wrists; her sharp nails digging into pale skin as she tried to pry the hands from her throat.
“Let- go!” she demanded through short and shallow breaths.
“Tell me what you did to my friends!”
“N-Nothing, I-”
“ LIAR! ”
Gwen squeezed harder, and Heather let out a strangled cry. She roughly yanked at Gwen's hands but they barely budged.
White noise began to fill Gwen's ears. She had no idea what her plan was with this, but she didn’t care. Gwen was angry. Angry at Brick for not listening to her, at Alejandro for being delusional enough to think he could comfort her. Angry at Noah for siding with Heather over her.
And Gwen was furious at Heather. For the bullying, for the nothing apology. For hurting her friends and then feigning ignorance. For always getting out scot-free.
But not this time. This time, Gwen was in control, and the revenge she’d dreamed of as a kid was finally a reality.
Tears were starting to line Heather’s glossy eyes, her fair complexion tinting in blue. Her movements began to slow, and her pleas were no more than breathless gasps that were surely fading.
Beyond the dissonance, Gwen could just barely make out the front door opening. Could just barely make out the sound of alarmed shouting and people running across the hardwood floors.
She was promptly pulled away from Heather by a pair of strong arms— presumably belonging to Alejandro. While he dragged her out to the entré hall, Noah knelt by Heather’s side. He helped her as she pushed herself up on shaking arms. Her coughs were hoarse, and once they'd become fixed into slow breathing, she curled up against Noah. He wrapped his arms around her; spoke soft words that Gwen couldn't make out.
Yet they still enraged her.
‘He’s falling for it!’
She wanted to scream— to break free from Alejandro’s hold so she could rip Heather away from Noah and-
“Gwen.” a firm hand on her jaw pulled Gwen’s attention to Alejandro. His face was pulled taut to hide the rage storming in his jade eyes.
“What happened here?” his voice was low and strained, like he had to hold back so he wouldn’t scream at her.
Gwen gritted her teeth; if Noah was falling for it, then guaranteed Alejandro was too.
“Why don’t you ask your bitch of a wife?”
Lightning struck, but Gwen didn't care much for it. She roughly shrugged off Alejandro’s hands and stomped out of the house, slamming the door shut behind her.
Halfway down the small path, she heard it open again, and Alejandro called out to her with thinly veiled rage. Gwen ignored it. She half expected Alejandro to run after her, but he only called after her two more times before giving up, and the door was slammed shut once again.
As she got further and further away, Gwen’s mind began to conjure up images of what was happening inside the slaughterhouse that very moment.
Heather playing the perfect victim; sobbing as she recounted the events with neither Noah nor Alejandro questioning her. Instead, they offered gentle assurance while embracing her and wiping away her tears.
The scene made Gwen's blood boil. How could they not see they were comforting a monster? How could they not see how rotten she was?
Well, Gwen had tried to help them, and they evidently didn’t care about their own safety.
Gwen vowed then and there to never step foot inside the Mudaliar slaughterhouse ever again.
Alejandro and Noah could die for all she cared.
Notes:
YEAAAHHHH !!!! UNHINGED WOMEN AND EMOTIONALLY CHARGED VIOLENCE HELL FUCKING YEAAAHHHH !!!!
Chapter Text
The arm belonged to Duncan Osbourne.
The possibility had lingered in the back of Brick’s mind ever since it had been discovered. Ever since it had been made clear that it was different from the other limbs they’d been finding. Now it was indisputable.
Brick sat with Jo and Courtney in the chief’s office; the report from the coroner was lying on the desk between them. The texts it contained explained the state of the arm; how it had been severed at the middle of the upper arm, with no further injuries beyond the missing ring finger. There were no fingerprints to be found either. Not on the arm nor the old watch that had adorned it.
That watch had been their biggest clue as to who the arm belonged to. The more cooperative of Duncan’s friends had been brought in, each identifying it as belonging to Duncan. The coroner’s report solidified the identifications.
“Whoever did this must’ve wanted us to figure out who the victim was.” Courtney concluded, “Otherwise they wouldn’t have left the watch.”
“And they must’ve had access to the Catalyst Laboratory.” Jo added, glancing over at Brick. He knew exactly what she was implying. “Based on what Wilkins told me, there hasn’t been a break-in in the last months. That he knows of, at least.”
Courtney nodded, “Then I want you to look into it. Question everyone who works there, figure out who goes where. You know the drill.”
“You can count on me, chief.”
“Good, in the meantime.” Courtney turned her attention to Brick, “You will focus on Duncan’s case.”
“What about the other limbs?” Brick asked.
“They’re unrelated and will be handed over to someone else.” she explained, “Those limbs are all in much later stages of decay, and those who have been identified belong to deceased and buried people.”
“Can’t believe someone’s been digging up dead people.” Jo muttered.
“It’s certainly something.” Courtney agreed, “According to Dawn’s testimony, it’s a man with an arrogant aura. No clue what that means. But based on the evidence, they’re unrelated.”
“The workings of a copycat?”
“Most likely. My theory is that someone heard about the teeth and decided to add some flair to it. I’ll get a group to patrol the graveyards. You two focus on your tasks.”
“Right away, chief.” Brick said. He followed the two women as they stood from their seats and walked out of the office. Courtney was, as per usual, a bit quicker in her steps, leaving Brick and Jo to trail behind her.
“Gotta say,” Jo said, low enough so only Brick could hear her. “I’m impressed you’ve been able to stick with the Duncan case like you have.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“I thought you’d be trying to balance his kidnapping with the rifle victim and who knows how many other cases.”
“Well,” Brick frowned, “Unless we find those missing bullets, there’s not much we can do, is there?”
“Good, you’re learning to accept defeat.” Jo said, “Now you just need to toughen up, and you’re golden.”
Brick opened his mouth to retort, but was stopped when he almost collided with Courtney’s back.
“Alé?”
Looking over Courtney’s shoulder, Brick found Alejandro Mudaliar standing in the lobby, shoulders slouched and head lowered in an uncharacteristically downtrodden manner. He looked closer to a kicked puppy than a charming gentleman; a rather jarring disposition.
Brick and Jo shared a quick, puzzled glance as Courtney walked over to her friend.
“What's wrong?” she asked him.
Alejandro lifted his gaze to her. “I…” he paused, clearing his throat to rid its hoarseness. Roughness still lingered as he continued, “I apologize if I'm interrupting your work, but I have to put my foot down.”
“I’ll always have time for you.” Courtney assured, “What seems to be the problem?”
“Someone broke into our home yesterday and attacked Heather.” shock swept cold through the lobby at his statement. “I understand what times we're in, but she's innocent, I can assure you. This whole thing feels like a witch hunt, and I would like for it to stop. Please. ”
“I understand.” Courtney said, “Alé, you come with me. Brick and Jo, get to your tasks.”
“Actually, I think I would like for them to be present too. If that’s alright.” Alejandro said.
Brick questioned what use he’d have, but he followed Courtney’s signal without protest. They returned to her office, with Courtney settling by her desk once more. Brick mirrored Jo, and the two stood on either side of the chief while Alejandro sat before her.
“Okay,” Courtney said once everyone had settled, her full attention on Alejandro, “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”
“Of course,” he nodded, “Noah and I met up at the park to walk home together after work. When we got there, the door was unlocked, the inside was in disarray, and the intruder was trying to strangle Heather. I got her away from her, and the intruder stormed off.”
“You didn’t run after her?”
Too far away to jab at her, Brick fixed Jo with an intense glare— silently scolding her for what he deemed to be an inappropriate comment. She met his gaze with a questioning raise of her eyebrows, clearly not agreeing with his sentiment.
Fortunately, Alejandro didn’t seem to have taken offense and answered calmly, “I understand why you’d ask that, and maybe I should’ve done so. But my wife had been harmed. Making sure she was safe was more important.”
“Did Heather tell you what happened before the attack?” Courtney asked.
“Sí. The intruder had broken in when no one was home, and when Heather arrived, they had a confrontation. Heather tried to get her to leave, but the intruder just accused her of horrible things and then attacked.”
Brick narrowed his eyes in contemplation as the conversation continued. There was something about the way Alejandro spoke of the intruder that felt off to him. It was almost personal; too personal to be just a random intruder.
“I apologize for interrupting,” he spoke up just as Alejandro had finished answering a question, “But the way you say ‘the intruder’ when referring to the culprit, do you perhaps know who she is?”
Alejandro eyed him with near remorse, and unease began to fester within Brick. Like he crossed the line of no return.
“Yes. I know who she is but…” Alejandro trailed off, pausing to recollect himself. He sighed, “She’s a friend of mine, and I know she’s just scared, so I do not want to make a report or ask for an arrest. But she hurt my wife, and I know there are other people caught up in this mess who are both willing and capable of doing the same. I want to keep my wife safe, but I don’t want to make my friends suffer because of it.”
“Difficult situation, I take?” Courtney softly said.
“Impossible.”
“I won’t do anything unless you ask me to. But may I please know who this friend is?”
Alejandro hesitated before speaking with mild reluctance, “Gwen Liljeroth.”
The name hit like a bullet; clear aim for Brick’s vital organs. He let out a silent gasp, choking on the tense air that filled the office.
“It is not Gwen’s fault that she's afraid.” Alejandro asserted hastily, as if what he’d said had caused great distress. “But things have gone too far. We should feel safe in our home. A-And if Noah and I hadn’t gotten back when we did, I….” pure dread washed over Alejandro’s face, and his breathing began to tremble.
Courtney’s office chair screeched as it was pushed back, the woman rounding her desk to reach her friend’s side. She mumbled something in Spanish and placed her hand on his shoulder. Alejandro placed his hand atop hers, holding it tightly.
“Is your wife okay now?” Courtney asked.
“She’s still shaken and doesn't want to be alone in the house. But the doctor said her injuries are minor and that she’ll be fine.”
“That’s good-”
“But it’s not just the attack.” Alejandro’s breath hitched in dismay, “It’s the cruel people on the street and the awful letters. This… this has gone too far. It’s following wherever Heather goes. She doesn’t feel safe anywhere, and she keeps blaming herself for it following Noah and me too.”
Brick watched frozen in horror as reality pulled him under the surface. His inaction had caused this. He had caused this.
“If you’ve kept those letters, bring them to me,” Courtney said, her resolve unwavering. “We’ll do all we can to ensure none of you are harmed again.”
Alejandro looked at her in vulnerable gratitude. “Gracias, amiga.” he stood from his seat and pulled his friend into an embrace.
As soon as Alejandro had left the office, Brick collapsed onto the now vacant chair. He hid his face in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. Everything was going wrong, and he couldn’t help but feel responsible for it. He was supposed to keep everyone safe, and he was failing spectacularly. Maybe Jo was right; maybe he did need to toughen up and stop worrying about making mistakes.
A comforting weight on his shoulder brought Brick out of his thoughts. He lifted his gaze, finding Courtney looking at him with sympathetic yet serious eyes.
“You need to talk to Gwen.” she said sternly. And even though she was leaving no room for objections, Brick could only sigh dejectedly.
“I've tried. She doesn't want to-”
“ Then try again. ” she asserted, “I'm going to follow Alejandro’s request and leave Gwen alone because he's my friend, but on the condition that you try to talk some sense into her instead. She’s been uncooperative in Duncan’s case despite having valuable information, and now she’s doing this. That is unacceptable.”
Brick swallowed. Courtney was right, and he’d known so for days. So why hadn’t he done anything earlier? Why had he just let Gwen run wild when that very likely could’ve led her to being harmed? When that had led her to harm others.
He should’ve done better.
“I’ll… I’ll see what I can do.”
Courtney nodded— giving Brick’s shoulder a final squeeze before stepping back from him. “We also need to do something about Chris.” she said, turning to Jo, “Whether Heather is guilty or not is irrelevant to the fact that he’s spurring on the paranoia in this town, which is interfering with our job. A statement to the public might be good, too.”
The two started discussing a potential statement. Brick might’ve been included in their conversation, but he couldn’t hear them. All outside noise bled together into a monotone ringing. He felt completely hollow, like someone had scraped out his insides, leaving him a husk.
It didn’t matter what he did; it always ended up wrong. It always ended up not being enough.
Gwen’s face was set tight in a perpetual scowl; the scene from yesterday played over and over in her mind. It didn’t help that the weather was too warm, and the wind blowing in through the open kitchen window was hot and stuffy. Or that the lines of her painting were uneven and the colors were a muddied mess.
Painting was supposed to be a calming pastime— something to help Gwen get her mind off unpleasant things or simply for her to have fun. Now it was neither. Now, the gray of the mountainside was the same shade as Heather’s silver eyes that had stared unfocused at Gwen. Sadistic in her faux helplessness. A viper masquerading as a damsel in distress.
And Alejandro and Noah believed it.
Gwen tossed the paintbrush onto the small shelf of her easel. She wasn’t making any progress on her painting, and what little she did only made her angry.
It appeared everything was against her that day, because a knock on the front door crackled unpleasantly in Gwen’s ears. She breathed in deep, trying to compose herself into something more presentable.
The attempt was entirely in vain as she opened the door to Noah glaring at her, arms crossed over his chest.
There was a solid minute— perhaps even longer— where they did nothing but stare at each other, neither in the business for pleasantries. Instead, silently daring the other to speak up first.
Gwen had no intentions of doing so— if Noah had come to her, then he would be the one to start the conversation. But when noticing that he was alone, she couldn’t help but ask;
“Where’s Alejandro? Isn’t he the one fighting your battles nowadays?”
“He’s at the police station.” Noah said with little hesitation, knowingly striking a chord within Gwen. She kept her face unchanged, even if she was boiling on the inside. Because of course the police would side with Heather over her. Of course, Noah would side with Heather over her.
“But even if he wasn’t,” Noah continued, “This is between you and me.”
“Oh, really? And what is this about then?”
“For you to explain yourself,” he said sternly, “What made you think it was a good idea to break into my house and attack my wife?”
“I needed proof, and it was the best way to get it.”
“Well, did you find any?”
Gwen bit her tongue, knowing she’d been backed into a corner she couldn’t escape from. Any response she gave would be thrown right back at her. The way Noah’s eyes narrowed told her he knew so as well. Had intended for it.
“I can’t believe I thought you were sincere with your apology.” he huffed.
“Oh, cry me a river!” Gwen snapped, “I was sincere, but I’m realizing now that I should’ve never apologized because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Didn’t do anything wrong?” Noah echoed in irate disbelief. “You accused Heather of murder!”
“Lots of people get accused of murder. Stop being so sensitive.”
“Not by an entire town seconds away from a witch hunt.”
Gwen huffed, “Did you seriously come here just to yell at me and make me feel bad for doing what any sane person would? I don’t deserve any of this.”
Noah’s eyes flashed with unbridled rage. He walked forward, backing Gwen into her apartment. “You broke into my house, tried to strangle my wife, and now you have the nerve to act like you’re the victim?”
“I am not acting and you know it.” Gwen shot back, putting one foot forward to make it clear she wouldn’t back down. “Why can’t you look at this from my perspective?”
“Because you’re being ridiculous and making things up to justify a nearly 2 decades old grudge.” Noah spat. Right as Gwen opened her mouth to argue that she wasn’t making things up, he continued, “But fine. Give me one reason I should take you seriously.”
“I know how Heather can be. I’ve dealt with it firsthand. Is it really that unreasonable of me to say she’s capable of killing someone?”
Noah tilted his head slightly back as he pondered. Gwen awaited the verdict patiently, hoping it would be in her favor. Even if Noah didn’t believe her, at least then they could have a proper conversation. One that didn’t leave her with a howling void in her chest and restless questions in her head.
“Yes.” Noah said after a moment— simple and sharp. “I do think it’s unreasonable.”
Gwen threw her hands out in frustration, “Are you kidding me? I’m trying to look out for you here and you-”
“Oh, really? Let me guess: you think just like McLean. That Alejandro and I are somehow in danger? That either of us could be next?”
“Maybe I do! And am I really so wrong for being worried about my friend? I don’t know what you think Heather is, but I’m telling you it’s all lies.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes!” Gwen’s hands fell onto Noah’s shoulder, holding them tightly as if to force him back down from whatever blind heaven he was lost in. “Don’t you get it? She has you wrapped around her finger so you won't see just how vile she truly is.” her voice cracked in desperation. She felt Noah tremble under her hands— like the earth before a volcano's eruption.
“Do not talk about my wife that way.”
“It's the truth. Wake up and face reality, Noah, you and Alejandro should've never started dating Heather, let alone married her.”
“And why is that?” Noah challenged, his voice wavering in a way Gwen couldn’t quite discern beyond anger.
“Because she’s a cold-hearted, manipulative parasite!” she stressed, “She doesn’t know the first thing about love, it’s just games for her to ruin people. You’re my friend, Noah. I don’t want to lose you.”
Noah’s expression darkened. “If you really were my friend, then you wouldn’t be acting like this.” he said— unwanted poison leaking through the cracks between each word. Like he was holding himself back from spitting it out despite the dangerous build-up. “You claim I’ve fallen for a lie, but look at yourself, look at how you’re acting. You’re delusional. In what world are you the victim here?”
Gwen made the horrible realization then; she was too late. Nothing, nothing, that she said or did would change Noah’s mind. He was gone.
“You’re absolutely pathetic-”
“Listen to me!” Gwen’s grip on Noah’s shoulder tightened— her nails were likely to leave marks on his skin despite the layers between. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything sooner. I’m sorry I let things go this far. You’re right, I haven’t really been your friend. As your friend, I should’ve stopped this years ago, when you could still be saved. I should’ve told you from the start,” Gwen snarled, baring her teeth, “Heather is a monster. And you can’t. Love. A monster! ”
She expected Noah to scream at her. To call her ridiculous and delusional and whatever else he could think of. Maybe even slap her.
What she didn’t expect was silence.
Noah seemed almost calm where he stood. As if every fire raging within him had gone out, and all that remained was ash. His body had relaxed too. Gwen wondered if he was even still angry.
“I see.” Noah said in a placid tone. He raised his hand to place it over one of Gwen’s— doing his best to amicably curl his fingers around it. A spark of hope fluttered through Gwen. Had she managed to break through to him? She relaxed her hold on his shoulder, letting him properly take her hand-
And rip it away from him.
“Suppose it's good to know how you really feel.”
Gwen’s face went blank, shock rendering her speechless. Her other hand slipped from Noah’s shoulder as he stepped away from her.
‘He chose Heather over me. He actually chose Heather over me…’ Gwen should’ve known it’d end up like that, but she’d thought Noah was smarter than that. That if anyone were to see through Heather’s faux charm like she did, then it would be Noah. How wrong she was. How horribly wrong she was.
She snapped back to reality when the sound of the apartment building’s door being pushed open rang through the stairwell. Gritting her teeth, Gwen dashed down the stairs and out of the building. Noah hadn’t made it far down the pathway, so she called out for him where she stood, “Don't come crying to me when Alejandro kicks the bucket!”
Noah did nothing to show he’d heard her, or even cared about what she had said.
Gwen kicked the ground— sending a pebble his way— before storming back up to her apartment, slamming her front door shut. She huffed loudly and moved to put away her painting supplies when she paused.
A small box she didn’t recognize was placed on the easel’s small shelf. Gwen eyed it cautiously, hesitating before picking it up for closer examination. The box was plain with no writing to indicate where it came from. A quiet and muffled thud could be heard from inside each time it was turned. Gwen’s hand lingered by the lid; curiosity getting the better of her as she lifted it.
A shrill scream caught in her throat, its gasping ghost all that made it through.
Lying at the bottom of the box was a finger, staining the insides red. The longer Gwen looked at it, the more horrified she became. The small scars, the mole by the knuckle— it was Duncan’s finger.
Gwen’s body convulsed as her stomach began to churn and bile gathered at the back of her throat. Forcing it back down was a difficult task. A hand was needed to keep her quivering lips shut. Still, despite her body’s visceral reaction, she was unable to tear her eyes away from the finger.
Who had done this? When had they done this? Gwen had been in the apartment the entire time, and even when arguing with Noah, she would’ve at least heard if someone tried to break in.
The finger wasn’t the only thing the box contained. With a trembling hand, Gwen fished up a piece of paper. She gathered courage with a deep breath before unfolding it. A single line adorned the paper, seemingly written by a typewriter.
“Ring finger for the newlyweds.”
Compact mirror in hand, Blaineley gazed discreetly at the people gathered down in the stalls. Their hushed talkings carried through the entire theater— filling the air and creating a far more entertaining show than whatever would unfold on stage in a matter of minutes.
From her seat in one of the balconies, Blaineley couldn’t hear exactly what was being said. But the few words she could make out were enough to understand the topic of discussion.
At her side, Chris observed the stalls with a complacent smile; his gaze flicking from attendant to attendant with great interest.
“You seem chipper.” Blaineley noted, “Finally got rid of those hooligans in your neighborhood?”
“You could say that.” Chris said without taking his eyes off the stalls, “Some foxes had been running around, but they were taken care of a few days ago. Now hush, I’m trying to enjoy the show.”
Blaineley gave him a final look before returning to her compact mirror; resuming her task of ensuring her appearance was as perfect as it ought to be. “I’m beginning to suspect you don’t care for the theater.”
“Never have, and that you know.”
“How unfortunate.”
Finally taking his eyes off the crowd, Chris arched an unimpressed brow at his company. “Why pretend you’re any different?”
“Because some of us have class and know to be more tactful with our indulgence in gossip.” Blaineley said smugly, snapping her compact mirror shut. While she and Chris were similar in several ways, the man had a tendency to act rather childishly when observing his work.
“Ah, but this isn’t gossip, my dear friend,” he tutted, “For a story to be good it has to be true. I might exaggerate it a little, but we both know that Mrs.Mudaliar is guilty.”
“Never thought I’d see the day you would be the hero.” Blaineley hummed in shameless amusement. “Did you ever have that meeting with your evidence dealer?”
Chris shook his head, and his face fell to a solemn frown. “He never showed up.”
“How rude.” Blaineley thought for a moment. If Chris’ contact hadn’t shown, then he lacked the critical information he’d been boasting about to her. Meaning she could snatch it up instead and break the news before he could.
“You never told me the identity of this dealer.” she spoke casually, leaving her intentions undetected and luring Chris into a false sense of trust.
The man was quiet for a moment, then leaned closer and lowered his voice, “Duncan Osbourne.”
Blaineley’s eyes widened. “The man who’s gone missing and had his teeth found at the Mudaliar house?”
Chris nodded.
Well, there went her chance of stealing the story. Blaineley was about to speak when the lights in the theater dimmed. The whisperings fell quiet as the audience leaned back in their seats— the show was about to begin.
Notes:
Chapter Text
“ Well, folks, it would appear tensions are rising by the minute. It’s been days and no new information has been revealed to the public, despite new limbs being found. Though rumor has it, the police will be making a statement very soon. In the meantime, we will wait patiently for whatever happens next. What will it be-? ”
Gwen’s head lifted at the abrupt cut of McLean’s broadcast. Her vision was bleary thanks to having stared way too long at gibberish writing. When it refocused, she found Dawn standing by the breakroom radio. Her hands were held behind her back, and she regarded Gwen with her usual omniscient stare.
“I was listening to that.”
“Officer McArthur is on the phone.” Dawn said, making no acknowledgement of Gwen’s obvious lie.
“Tell him we have nothing to talk about.” Gwen turned back to Duncan’s note. Her progress was slow, but she was at least making progress. She was going to find him. One way or another.
Dawn’s presence never left the room, and her unblinking eyes remained locked on Gwen— watching her in drawn-out silence. Steadily penetrating the fortress of her mind to reach her innermost thoughts.
“He says he knows what you did.”
Gwen gritted her teeth. She looked up to spit out some snide comment on how Brick didn’t know anything about what had happened. However, as Dawn walked past her, she paused. Delicate steps that barely touched the ground carried the other woman to the small space by the breakroom. The same one that housed Gwen’s evidence board that she had forgotten to hide like she usually did.
“Wait!” Gwen hurried after, but Dawn had already made herself comfortable before the board. Her pale eyes danced across the collection of paper and trailed the strings that connected them.
Gwen held her breath as she waited for Dawn’s reaction. She hoped it’d be something positive, or at the very least reaffirming. Some kind of validation that she was doing good. That she was doing the right thing.
But one could never be sure when it came to Dawn.
As if having heard her internal pleadings— which she likely had— Dawn turned around to face Gwen.
“You’re doomed if you continue like this.” she warned softly.
“What?”
“You’re always going to be one step behind; you can’t win. It’s a lost cause.”
Gwen remained speechless, even though she wanted nothing more than to demand that Dawn explain herself. Was she telling her to give up; to surrender and accept that Heather would remain as untouchable as when they were kids? Gwen refused. She narrowed her eyes to a challenging scowl. Her wavering confidence stripped its edge.
Dawn pursed her lips and gave a quick hum. “I will inform Officer McArthur that you’re unavailable at the moment-”
“Wait.” Gwen bit like a dying dog. Sinking desperate teeth into the knowledge that, although Dawn’s intuition was a strange thing, she had never been wrong before. “Who did it? Who killed these people?”
A beat of silence passed, where Dawn’s gaze nearly melted into something sympathetic. Something pitying.
“I cannot say for sure. But not everything is as it seems,” she pointed to the board, directing Gwen’s eyes to it, “And not everything is related.”
A bitter sensation crawled across Gwen— like she was slowly being submerged in water, and savoring every breath as her fate was sealed. Giving way to a quiet kind of panic that settled heavily as everything was put into question.
The articles, the reports, the notes. Were the strings tying them all together her guiding star, or the blinding light of her hubris? Was there truly something there? Or was she imagining patterns that favored her narrative?
Was she wrong?
“Maybe you should go home early?” Dawn suggested, “I feel clarity awaits you there.”
So Gwen did.
She journeyed with heavy steps, seized by a relentless doubt that begged for a reevaluation of all the information she’d gathered thus far. It was a herculean task towering over her, but Gwen would manage. She had to manage if she wanted even a chance at finding Duncan and-
“Gwen!” a voice suddenly called out in mirthful surprise. It chimed pleasantly in Gwen’s ears— and made her do a double take.
It sounded familiar: mild like a breeze and warm like the summer sun. It sounded just like Bridgette .
Alejandro must've been right then, and Gwen truly was succumbing to lunacy. Because Bridgette and Trent were missing. Gone without a trace and possibly already dead.
Yet, as Gwen spun around, there they stood— alive and whole. Smiling as they jogged up to her. Bridgette reached her first, pulling her into a tight embrace that Gwen was too stunned to return.
“W-When did you…?”
“A few hours ago.” Bridgette said. She released Gwen and looked her up and down, snickering amusedly, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Gwen breathed. Shallow, like all the air had been punched from her lungs. Bridgette furrowed her brows and opened her mouth to speak. But as Trent appeared at her side, Gwen cut her off.
“Where have you been?” the question came off more accusatory than she’d intended.
Trent paused, confused eyes flicking to Bridgette. “There were some complications at Bridgette’s parents' house that she asked for my help with. Didn’t you read my letter?”
Gwen shook her head slowly, unable to recall the last time she’d checked her mail.
“I know I should’ve told you in person, but there wasn’t really any opportunity to. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.” Gwen replied, her monotonous lilt doing little to reassure her friends. Both of whom were growing more concerned by the second.
Then realization sparked in Trent’s eyes. “Duncan!”
Bridgette gasped, “Oh, Gwen, I am so sorry.”
They drew closer to Gwen, swaddling her in sympathy. If only it’d been so simple; if she’d just been upset over Duncan. There was no way she could explain everything to either Trent or Bridgette. Much less how their reappearances had made it all worse.
Trent was supposed to be missing. Bridgette was supposed to be the Jane Doe killed by a rifle. How dare they be anything else?
Gwen felt like throwing up as everything came crashing down to bury her alive.
Had she been wrong this entire time?
Alejandro and Courtney were seated in the chief’s office. What exactly it was they were talking about, Brick couldn’t tell, but he felt certain in his assumptions. He had too good a view of them from his desk— especially since Courtney hadn’t rolled down the blinds to the windows.
It felt wrong to watch them. Intrusive in a way that made Brick’s stomach twist into knots. But he couldn’t help it. His task lay forgotten on his task, unable to keep his attention before it skittered back to the meeting he wasn’t a part of. They were no doubt talking about Gwen. Maybe McLean, too, but Brick didn’t care for him.
Brick's calls to Gwen had gone unanswered. The closest he got was a brief conversation with Dawn, who had politely informed him that Gwen wasn’t available to talk.
With each passing day, Brick regretted snapping at Gwen way back when more and more. There were countless better ways he could've handled the situation— ways that would've prevented Gwen from becoming vulnerable to paranoia and the influence of the townsfolk. Frustratingly, all these alternatives only appeared to Brick after their meeting.
He focused his inconspicuous gaze on Alejandro. Watched him nod along to whatever Courtney was telling him. Brick wondered if Alejandro’s view of Gwen had changed since his last visit. If he’d taken time to reconsider, and was now more in favor of taking action against the woman. Brick wouldn’t blame him if he had. And despite still caring for Gwen, he wished he would.
The meeting seemed to have come to an end, as both participants stood from their seats. Courtney handed some papers to Alejandro. He took them, bowing his head slightly in a sign of appreciation— then his eyes flicked out the window, meeting Brick’s with quick and perceptive regard. Like he’d been aware of the one-man audience throughout the entire meeting and was only now acknowledging it.
Light embarrassment flooded through Brick. He snapped back to his work, though found himself once again unable to focus; his sense of hearing on high alert. A door opened, footsteps pausing as pleasantries and farewells were shared, then the door closed and the footsteps resumed. Brick chanced a glance up— and once again met Alejandro, who was walking towards him.
“Looking for something, amigo?” he asked light-heartedly.
“Not exactly.” Brick said. He didn’t try to come up with a lie as to his observations. “Sorry if I bothered you. I suppose I was just curious.”
“It’s alright. We were just talking about what to do about McLean.” Alejandro said, and elaborated without being prompted, “Courtney actually suggested legal action a few weeks ago, since we both agree that McLean has been leading the crowd against Heather. She explained some of the specifics and gave me the number to her father’s law firm in case I want to take legal action.”
“Are you going to?”
“Without hesitation.” Alejandro said, and his features became sharpened by intimidation. Turning him into a looming predator. The change happened unexpectedly; enough to startle Brick, almost frighten him. And just as quickly, Alejandro returned to an amicable gentleman— complete with an easy smile.
“But, Heather has the final say. She is the one who has been victimized in this. Not Noah, not me.”
Brick nodded, momentarily at a loss for words from the switch. It was jarring in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Although entirely justified nonetheless in his opinion.
Brick couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like— to walk inside your home, that was supposed to be the safest place on Earth, only to find it in disarray and your partner being strangled by someone you considered a friend.
Struck by guilt, Brick candidly spoke, “Alejandro, I… I am so deeply sorry for what happened. For what has been happening this past month, too.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Except I have,” he argued, “I should’ve been tougher, more firm. I should’ve done what I set out to do and kept everyone in this town safe."
Alejandro hummed in consideration. “It is hardly your fault that people are following a false prophet, or that Gwen has succumbed to complete lunacy.”
“Can’t help but feel like it is.” Brick sighed. He lowered his head, returning to his work as he expected their conversation to be over. He’d just barely refocused on the writing of his paperwork when he felt Alejandro’s hand on his shoulder. Brick looked back up at him, finding the other man draped in sincerity.
“Then know that I am not blaming you.” Alejandro said, “You’re a good man. I know you will make it right.” he squeezed Brick’s shoulder, then walked away. In the doorway, he paused, turning back and bringing his hand to his head in a salute. “Until we meet again, officer.”
As Alejandro left, a certain resolution began to swell in Brick’s chest as Alejandro’s words repeated in his mind.
It was true that his inaction wasn’t helping anyone, but neither was beating himself up over things outside of his control. If anything, it only led to more inaction as he tried to make amends. Distracting himself from his duties in the process. He was to blame for not doing enough, but that didn’t mean he should drown himself in self-pity and cower. Instead, he should toughen up.
There was no reason in dwelling on his failures; what he should do was to assert himself and move forward. To learn and grow. As any good man would.
Brick turned back to his work with fresh vigor. He was going to find Duncan and clear Heather’s name. He was going to talk things out with Gwen. And he was going to offer any help he could give to once and for all end the town’s paranoia.
He was going to make it right.
“Brick!” Jo suddenly called out for him, “You’ve got a package.”
Brick furrowed his brows. He wasn’t expecting any mail, nor could he think of any reason someone might send him one. “From who?” he asked, looking up right as she rather carelessly dropped a small box on his desk.
“No clue. It just says it’s to you.”
Indeed, the tag attached to the box read Officer Brick McArthur, written in typewriter lettering.
“So,” Jo drawled expectantly, “Are you going to open it?”
“Don't see why not.” Brick removed the brown wrapping, then lifted the lid of the small box— and froze, caught in the line of sight of an eyeball. The icy blue iris stared back up at him, surrounded by a bloodshot sclera, resting on a small bed of nerves and muscle tissue.
Jo cursed, and Brick would’ve done the same if it wasn’t for the shock. Which, strange as it was, didn’t stem from the eyeball, but the dull glimmer of metal right at its side.
The dull glimmer of a bullet.
Brick quickly pulled on his gloves, then reached inside the box to retrieve the bullet. Closer inspection revealed it to be covered in dry blood, possessing the telltale imperfections of having hit a target.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Brick muttered.
Jo leaned in closer, “Is that…?”
“Maybe. I'll send it off for analysis. The whole package, too.” he placed the bullet back in the box. That was when he spotted the piece of paper: pressed against one of its sides and miscolored thanks to the eyeball.
Brick picked it up. He set the box aside before unfolding the note, which greeted him with a simple phrase, written in typewriter lettering.
“Looking for something?”
A few days had passed, and Sierra was none the wiser. Though she retained her conclusion that, by all logic, Heather was innocent, things still didn’t feel right. Sierra had more or less resigned herself to the undesirable fate that she would never figure it out. And unfortunately, that was interfering with her work.
“I thought I told you to have these done by lunch.” Blaineley said, eyeing the unfinished papers on her assistant’s desk with disappointed scrutiny.
“I’m almost done.” Sierra promised, “Give me one more hour.”
“No, no. I’ll do it myself.” Blaineley sighed heavily. She waved her hands dismissively, shooing the other woman out of the room. “Go do something else. I’ll get you when I need you.”
Sierra obliged with a nod, disappearing out into the hallway. There wasn’t really much else she could do besides wander about and try not to feel too pitiful. First she questioned her observation skills, and now her drive had started to fade. All thanks to a single gut feeling telling her something wasn’t adding up.
“Can’t believe an answer is too much to ask for.” Sierra muttered to herself. It didn’t have to be big; just something to once and for all tell her that yes, Heather was innocent, and allow her to return to normal. Allow everything to return to normal and put an end to the paranoia.
Noah was on his sharpest edge— sheathed in a hostile aura and glaring at anyone who came near. Daring them to speak. Sierra had no idea what had happened to make him even more upset, but with how it went last time, she chose not to ask about it. Instead, she’d granted him silence and an inviting smile to let him know she was there if he needed to talk.
She doubted he would, but the boiling curiosity within her prayed he’d at least consider.
The rapid sound of footsteps suddenly called for Sierra’s attention— and her face lit up as she turned around to the sight of Priya, the director's daughter, running toward her from down the hallway.
“Sierra!”
“Jitterbug!” Sierra knelt down in time to catch Priya as the girl leaped into her arms and hugged her tightly. In an instant, all worries were gone. “I didn’t know you were going to be here today.”
“Surprise!” Priya giggled and jumped back from the hug. She beamed widely, showing off the gap where one of her front teeth used to be. “My friends are here too.”
“Really?”
“Yup! I wanted to show them around the station. But I’m not allowed to go off on my own, and my mother is busy…”
“Good thing I’ve got time to spare, then.” Sierra stood up, following as Priya eagerly pulled her along by the hand. She was led back to the director's office, where two girls in Priya’s age sat quietly, while the director herself was nose deep in paperwork.
“These are my friends, Millie and Emma!” Priya said, gesturing to the two girls. The freckled blonde, Emma, smiled widely. She jumped out of her seat and skipped over to Sierra, and greeted her eagerly.
Millie, whose large, dark curls were held back by a mauve ribbon, was more coy in her approach. She bent her knees to a practiced curtsy, “It’s nice to meet you, miss.”
Sierra hummed in delighted amusement at the endearing display. She grabbed the sides of her skirt and curtseyed with the grandeur of greeting a princess. “Likewise.”
“Ah, Miss Apenii.” the director said, sparing a brief, pleading glance from her work, “You look after them, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Sierra nodded. It happened that, whenever kids of the staff visited the station, Sierra was put in charge of taking care of them— making sure they were entertained and not bothering anyone trying to work. Which was probably why Blaineley didn’t mind losing her assistant for a few hours. Especially since Sierra was usually on top of her work.
The director gave her a thankful smile before turning back to the stacks of paper on her desk.
Sierra cocked her head toward the door, signaling for the kids to follow her, “Come along. We’ve got a radio station to explore!”
It was more of a tour than an exploration, with Sierra explaining the things she wasn’t sure the kids would understand. They seemed to be having a fun time either way. Most of all when they were shown the recording studio— after promising to be quiet and not disturb anyone, of course.
The tour came to an end when they reached the lounge. It was made for guests; a place for them to rest before and after doing their appearances on various broadcasts. However, Sierra had managed to convince several people to let the kids play in there, seeing as they were technically also guests. With no guests scheduled for that day, Sierra expected it to be empty. To her surprise, Noah was occupying one of the armchairs with a book in hand.
“Hi, mister!” Emma chirped before Sierra could announce their arrival in a more considerate manner.
Noah snapped his eyes to them— and for a moment, Sierra worried that he would resort to the same hostility he’d used against their coworkers. She was relieved when he quickly schooled his agitated expression into something more lighthearted. He closed his book and put it down in his lap.
“Good afternoon.” he said in a cordial tone, despite it being worn down.
As the girls ran over to climb onto the couch, Sierra walked over to Noah. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed a moment of peace.”
“Oh. We can leave if-”
Noah shook his head, “It’s alright. I’d much rather deal with rowdy kids than anyone else right now.”
“Oh, come on, they’re not that bad.” Sierra said with a sheepish grin and sat down in the armchair next to him.
“You know what I mean.” Noah picked his book back up. He seemed more relaxed than earlier, although Sierra doubted he was truly relaxed. She appreciated the charade, though. Unaware of how much the kids knew of their town’s situation or of Noah’s relation to the accused, Sierra had half expected them to request that they go elsewhere once they’d spotted the man. But they seemed calm and comfortable where they were playing on the couch.
‘They must not know then.’ Sierra concluded. Or, at the very least, they didn’t know any of the specifics that would lead them to have the same caution around Noah as the station’s staff.
“There you are!” Sierra and Noah turned to the doorway where Chris McLean had suddenly appeared— his hands full with two coffee cups and a thermos. “I’ve been looking all over for you two.”
“Have you now?” Noah muttered under his tired breath as the man sauntered over to them. Staunchly ignoring the three kids as he did so.
“I made you kids some coffee. Well, I made Sierra some.” Chris said with a chipper lilt and handed one of the cups to the woman. “For you, Noah, I have this.” he held up the thermos— specifically Noah’s thermos. The one he always brought from home.
“And why do you have that?” Noah questioned.
“You left it in my office after our meeting earlier.” Chris explained.
The odd look Noah gave him lasted only a moment. He took the thermos and empty cup from Chris’ outstretched hand. “What’s the catch for you being nice this time?”
“None, if you can believe it-”
“I rarely do.”
“-I just noticed you two seemed a bit under the weather. How are the stars supposed to be the best if their helpers' work is only subpar?”
“My work would be better if you stopped talking about my wife.” Noah sneered quietly as he poured coffee into his cup; so quietly that Sierra almost missed it. Chris most definitely had, having already bid his farewells and left the lounge.
Sierra leaned over to Noah, whispering so the kids wouldn’t hear, “He’s going to use this against us.” no matter what he claimed, Chris never got them anything without preparing for something. Usually, to ask them for a favor beyond their workload.
“Absolutely.” they tapped their cups against each other before drinking. While it was much too strong and bitter for Sierra’s liking— she questioned if there was even any milk in— it was still a delightful taste that greeted her.
“I still can’t believe you think the coffee here tastes bad.”
Noah shrugged, “It just does.”
A light tug on her sleeve shifted Sierra’s attention away from him and to Emma, who was standing by the armchair. “Do you know who Nichelle Ladonna is?”
“Of course.” Sierra said, mirroring Emma’s excitement with ease.
“Then you’ve seen her dancing?”
“Hasn’t everyone?”
Priya pouted and folded her arms so her shoulders rose to her ears, “Not the dumb boys at school.”
“They throw mud at each other.” Millie informed, as if reciting a gross yet fascinating fact about an animal.
“They do that sometimes.” Sierra mused, choosing to withhold the fact that she also used to throw mud at people when she was a kid.
“Enough about boys and mud!” Emma whined, “I wanna show you Nichelle’s dance.”
“Oh, sorry. Go ahead.”
Emma rounded the coffee table to have more space. With a determined expression, she counted down, tapping her slipper against the floor to find the beat. The dance began once she’d reached zero, accompanied by her lively humming of the music that played in the movie.
The dance was unrefined and awkward, but the sheer amount of enthusiasm and joy Emma emitted made up for it tenfold.
Hitting the dance’s final pose, Emma proudly exclaimed, “Ta-da!”
“Bravo!” Sierra cheered and clapped her hands alongside Priya. The only one who wasn’t clapping was Millie. Her concerned— almost frightened— eyes were locked elsewhere.
Sierra frowned, “What’s the matter, Millie?”
Millie’s gaze flicked to her, but the young girl didn’t say anything. Instead, she pointed warily to where Noah was seated; rigid in his posture, his face twisted in discomfort and his jaw clenched tight.
“Noah? A-Are you okay?”
“I can't…” he gasped, “I can't breathe.”
Sierra furrowed her brows. There was nothing wrong with the air as far as she could tell. But the strain in Noah’s breathing was undeniable.
He stood up before she could question him further. The movement was almost unnatural— like he’d lost the ability to bend his knees properly. Noah was on his feet for only a moment before his legs spasmed and he collapsed to the floor.
“Noah!” Sierra lept out of her seat as Emma screamed. She turned the man onto his back, and had to hold his shoulders down to keep him somewhat still. His entire body had begun to convulse in a display akin to restless tossing and turning and electric shocks. Shallow gasps and choked-out wails tumbled from Noah’s lips.
Sierra had never seen anything like it, and the unfamiliarity froze her in place. Allowing panic to rise as she could only watch for what felt like an eternity. Still, she managed to register the herd of people spilling into the lounge and surrounded them— passing around shocked and frenzied questions between them.
Someone knelt down beside Sierra. “What's happening?” he asked, managing to unfreeze her.
“I-I don’t know, I-” she paused, only now realizing that Priya, Emma, and Millie were still in the room. Shielded by the gathering, but the damage had already been done.
“Get the kids out!” Sierra shrieked, turning to the man with pleading eyes, “Get the kids out and call for help!”
Notes:
Uh-oh...
Chapter Text
Gwen had been to their house countless times; she’d even helped them move in. But that door— she’d never seen it before.
It looked innocuous enough, framed so prettily by two wall sconces, yet the longer Gwen stared at it, the more off it felt. The more wrong it felt.
‘Where do you lead?’
The handle glimmered in response, urging her to open the door. Gwen reached for the handle; the metal was warm to the touch. Like someone had been there recently…
WHACK!
Fireworks set off in the back of Gwen's head. Her hand slipped from the handle as she fell to the floor. She lay still for a moment before whipping her head back to face her assailant.
A humanoid figure stood above her. It switched between different features before eventually morphing into someone Gwen recognized: Heather.
“How did you get in here?”
The voice was sickly sweet and slathered in feigned and exaggerated innocence— like a house cat’s greeting to the mouse that had snuck inside.
Gwen scrambled to her feet and dashed down the hallway. She ran faster as Heather called out for her.
“Gwen.”
Her voice reverberated through the hallway— now infinitely longer than Gwen remembered. And it twisted and turned like a maze. There was no way to properly navigate it, so Gwen just kept running, only allowing herself a second to think before taking sharp turns. She couldn’t hear Heather’s running, but felt her presence looming behind her. Stalking her.
“Gwen.”
… That wasn't Heather's voice.
Gwen chanced a glance over her shoulder. Heather was no longer chasing her— Alejandro was.
She turned back. There was no time for her to question the change in hunter. They couldn’t catch up to her no matter what, so she quickened her pace. Even if it meant stumbling into walls when she didn’t make a turn in time.
“Gwen.”
Each call of her name was spoken in a different voice. Heather, Alejandro, Heather, Alejandro, Noah. They overlapped, creating a hymn to haunt her that echoed all around her. So far away, yet so awfully close all the same.
Gwen made a left turn, and the scene changed. She found herself running through deep and dense woods. It was dark, she could barely see where she was going, and branches kept clawing at her relentlessly, but she kept running. The voices ceased, replaced by her panting and the snapping of twigs under her shoes. Other than that, it was dead silent.
After what could’ve been seconds or hours— maybe even days— the trees began to grow sparse. Gwen allowed herself to feel the rush of relief, believing so naively that she’d made it out. Instead, she was met with a glade, illuminated by the way-too-big full moon watching over her. And from the forest ahead of her emerged Heather.
Gwen stumbled to a halt— feeling like a prey animal as Heather stalked toward her, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. Any thoughts of fleeing were snuffed out when Alejandro manifested from the opposite treeline. His smile was friendlier, yet it felt just as foreboding as his wife’s. Without taking his eyes off Gwen, Alejandro pulled a set of white gloves over his hands.
Gwen shifted frantically between the two. They advanced toward her, the glade closing in with each of their steps. Gwen’s mind was working on overdrive, trying desperately to think of a way to escape when-
Click!
She whipped her head around— coming eye-to-eye with the barrel of a rifle. At its other end was Noah. He stared at her blankly, his finger wrapped tight around the trigger.
With ice-cold fear swallowing her whole, Gwen shook her head; she would've spoken, but for whatever reason, her voice wasn’t working. She stared up at Noah with pleading eyes, begging for her life and praying that for just this once, he’d take her side.
Noah's face remained indifferent. As if she really were no more than a rabbit to hunters and foxes.
“No one believes you.”
BANG!
Gwen shot upright, wide awake and on high alert. Her entire body was trembling to the rapid beat of her heart, and her throat was sandpaper-dry. Gwen swallowed and looked around her. A blurry haze was obscuring her surroundings, but it felt familiar. And safe.
Above all, it felt safe.
Fear slowly ebbed into confusion. Where was she? What had happened?
The first question was answered after Gwen had blinked away the haze, and reality could settle. She was sitting on the couch in her living room, bathed in the light of the evening sun.
‘I must’ve fallen asleep.’ Gwen realized, slowly beginning to recall the events leading up to where she was now. Leaving work, finding Trent and Bridgette— both alive and well— and having to explain all they’d missed without incriminating herself. Their promises to help however they could, and to be back in the morning, after Gwen had gotten time to rest.
‘It was just a dream.’
A horrible dream, but a dream nonetheless. Gwen was safe. No one was chasing her. No one was holding a gun to her head.
Gwen let out a deep sigh, and covered her face with her hands as her body began to calm down.
Once peace had finally settled, she heard the phone ringing. How long had it been ringing for? She rose from the couch, swaying slightly on weakened legs as she hurried over to the phone.
“H-Hello?” Gwen said once the receiver was pressed against her ear.
“Gwen,” the soft yet urgent voice of Dawn greeted her. “You need to come down. Something has happened to Noah.”
Sierra fiddled anxiously with her hands, eyes darting all over the hallway she was seated in. Hours had passed since Noah’s collapse, yet the scene remained vivid in her mind. Enough so that it bled into her vision whenever it remained idle for too long. She was at the police station for questioning, and the hallway she’d been made to wait in was far from comforting. Though Sierra suspected it was her own nerves warping the space around her. Exacerbating the ticking of the clock and the chill breeze from a distant fan.
Sierra breathed in deep, adjusting her posture to be more proper despite looking a mess.
“It’s okay,” she exhaled, “You’re just here to talk. It’s like an interview. Only you’re being interviewed instead of doing the interviewing. Which is more or less the same thing.”
Her attempts at reassuring herself only worked temporarily, and she worried about how Priya and her friends were faring. Last Sierra had seen of them, they’d been crying, completely engulfed by fear and confusion over what they’d witnessed. Sierra had been too caught up with trying to help Noah to check in on them, and they’d been taken away from the station by the time the ambulance had come and gone.
“Miss Apanii?”
Sierra jumped, whipping her head to where the sudden call had come from. A man was walking towards her, his eyebrow raised in a surprised expression. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, yes.” Sierra said. Her hands were moving quickly to fix her less-than-put-together appearance. “Guess I’m a little nervous, sorry.”
“Most people are. But you aren’t in any sort of trouble. I just have a few things to ask you, seeing as you’re one of the main witnesses.” the man said in a casual yet professional tone. He introduced himself as Officer McArthur, then led Sierra through the hallway and into a small room— barren aside from a table and some chairs.
They sat down on either side, with McArthur writing down something in the notepad that lay on the table. The scraping of the metal nib against paper reverberated uncomfortably through the room; sounding more like nails on a chalkboard when it reached Sierra, making her sink further in her seat. Despite the officer’s assurance, she felt no more relaxed than before.
McArthur looked up at Sierra, his smile warm and polite. “You work at the radio station, as I’ve understood. What exactly is your role there?”
“I-I’m Blaineley O’Halloran’s assistant. I basically do the things she doesn’t have the time for herself: take phone calls, schedule meetings, run errands, write letters. Things like that.”
“Do you work with Mr.Mudaliar?”
“Yes! Since he’s Chris McLean’s assistant, we end up working together quite a bit. Mostly it’s our own initiative to do so. Like, if we both need to make a call to the same person, we combine them into a mini meeting to be more efficient.”
Maybe Sierra was providing unnecessary details with her answers, but talking had always had a certain way of calming her. This was no exception. McArthur didn’t seem to mind. He nodded along while jotting down notes at a speed to rival her own.
“How is your relationship with Mr.Mudaliar?”
“I’d say we’re good friends. We don’t really meet up outside of work very often, but he seems to enjoy my company at work more than our coworkers.”
“And what about his relationship with said other coworkers?”
Sierra thought for a moment, “I don’t think he cares much for them. He tolerates them, but that’s about it.”
“Do you know if he has any enemies at the station?”
“Enemies?” Sierra couldn’t help the surprised laugh bubbling out of her. She shook her head, “No, absolutely not. Noah may dislike people there, but he doesn’t have the energy for nor care to have enemies as far as I’m concerned. Why do you ask?”
McArthur put down his pen. He clasped his hands, resting them atop the table, and looked at Sierra with a serious expression. “I assume you haven’t heard the news on what caused Mr.Mudaliar’s collapse?”
“No, I… I have not.”
“He was poisoned. And we have reason to believe he was targeted specifically due to only his drink being contaminated.”
Sierra’s breath caught in her throat, tumbling out as a jagged and shallow wheeze. Her entire being fell into a strange limbo of having shut down and being overly active at the same time. Was it really targeted? Why would anyone want to poison Noah if so?
Her hand was quickly enveloped by McArthur’s— pulling her back before she could begin to spiral. “We’re not accusing you.” he assured, squeezing her hand comfortingly. “You are one of the main witnesses. Could you please describe what happened leading up to the collapse?”
Sierra nodded, giving herself a moment to properly recall the event before speaking.
“It started as a normal day, albeit a bit slow. I was told to take a break sometime after lunch, during which I ended up looking after the director’s daughter, Priya, and her friends, who were all visiting the station. It’s technically not part of my job to do so, but it keeps the kids from getting bored and bothering people, so Blaineley doesn’t mind. And neither do I, they’re lovely kids.
“Anyways, I showed them around the station, then brought them to the lounge so they could play without disturbing anyone. Noah was there, too. He said he was taking a break from people, but didn’t have a problem with us being there. We talked for a bit, the kids played, and then Chris stopped by to bring us coffee. He doesn’t do it often, but it happens.
“Well, he brought me coffee. Noah doesn’t drink the coffee served at work. He says it tastes terrible, and brings some from home in a thermos instead. So, Chris gave him that, and then he left.
“After that, it was calm for a bit, then Noah said he had trouble breathing. Then he collapsed…” Sierra trailed off, the scene beginning to flash once again. She closed her eyes, slipping from McArthur’s hold to cover her face with her hands. “I-I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
A tense silence settled between the two. Even though she couldn’t see him, Sierra could still feel it as McArthur evaluated the information she’d given him. How he pondered their meaning, tried to slot them into the puzzle he was trying to solve.
“What did you say about Noah’s coffee?” he eventually asked, his voice a bit lower than before. Echoing a theory Sierra couldn’t discern.
Sierra took a deep breath, lifting her head and pulling back her shoulders— gathering herself before answering,
“He doesn’t drink the one served at the station, so he brews some at home and brings it in a thermos.”
McArthur’s entire demeanor changed as something dawned on him. His eyes widened, pen slipping from his hold to clatter against the table.
Sierra was about to ask him what was wrong, when the horrifying realization reached her too.
Heather had tried to poison Noah.
Gwen tumbled in through the hospital doors, her heart lodged in her throat— allowing only a few words to pass when speaking to the receptionist. Fortunately, it was enough for her to be directed to the wing Noah was in.
Dashing through the hallways and up the stairs, she questioned why she even cared. Why, when Noah had turned her back on her, did she come running at the news of his hospitalization? Gwen didn’t know, and frankly, she could ponder it at a later date. For now, she only needed one answer.
‘Please be alive. Please be alive. Please be-’
Rounding the final corner, Gwen came to an abrupt pause. Further down the hall was a waiting room, one she couldn’t fully make out due to the angle, but she did catch a glimpse of Heather.
Seated in an armchair, her posture was too proper, too relaxed. Like she was wholly unbothered by what had happened. Alejandro was different. He paced back and forth, disappearing and reappearing behind the wall, and fiddled continuously with something around his neck.
They were like night and day.
Gwen realized she wouldn’t be able to check on Noah with those two around. She reluctantly turned back, walking away while trying to think of different means to get to Noah. That was when she spotted a man dressed in the signature white attire of a doctor— walking her way with his eyes glued to a clipboard.
“Excuse me?” Gwen said, purposefully stepping in his way. The doctor spared a quick glance, which he then snapped to her as he was forced to stop in his tracks.
Gwen responded to his deep frown with an apologetic smile, “You wouldn’t happen to be Noah Mudaliar’s doctor?”
“I’m the doctor to a lot of people right now.” he said, “Mr.Mudaliar is on that list, yes. Are you a friend of his?”
“Uh, yes! Yes. How… How is he?”
“Alive, if that’s what you wanted to know. We got the convulsions under control, and he’s currently undergoing treatment.”
Gwen sighed in relief. “Do you know what happened to him?”
The doctor raised an eyebrow at her, “They didn’t tell you?”
“Who?”
“His spouses. Or whoever else called you here.”
“All I was told is that he’s in the hospital.” Gwen shook her head. “His spouses are… a bit too emotional to talk right now.” a complete lie. Alejandro’s bleeding heart would pour out the tragedy before anyone had even asked him to, and Heather wasn’t emotional in the slightest.
“Ah, I see.” the doctor hummed, “His drink was poisoned at work. Based on our tests, the dose isn’t fatal, so he’s going to be just fine.”
The news came like a flood to a forest fire— snuffing the tense flames and soothing the earth. Still, embers of curiosity floated in the air, refusing to be extinguished.
“Can I ask what he was poisoned with?”
“Strychnine.”
The doctor’s lips moved as he continued to speak, but Gwen couldn’t hear him. Shock rang shrill in her ears, like she’d been reminded of an acquaintance she’d hoped never to see again.
Like when she’d spotted Noah and Alejandro with Heather on New Year's Eve, 1939.
Strychnine.
Someone had poisoned Noah with strychnine .
The same poison that had killed Heather’s father. The same poison that kept recurring in the cases of the evidence collection.
It was no coincidence, and there was no question as to why Heather wasn’t in the slightest bit upset.
Leaving the hospital, Gwen ran to her apartment. There, she picked up her notebook and the box— still containing Duncan’s finger— that she’d held onto before continuing to the police station. It didn’t matter that Brick didn’t trust her and likely viewed her as a deranged lunatic, but he needed to know. It was too obvious for him to deny.
She spotted him as soon as she’d set foot inside the lobby. Face knit in deep thought, he stood leaning against his desk, eyes trailing over a sheet of paper.
“Brick!” he looked up at her call, softening in surprise at the sight of Gwen approaching.
“Gwen? What are-?”
“Strychnine.” she cut him off, pushing the notebook to his chest. “Noah was poisoned with strychnine.”
“I know we- we analysed-”
Gwen tapped the notebook roughly, urging Brick to open it. “It’s the same poison that some of the victims of blunt force and gunshots had in their systems.”
Brick furrowed his brows— but instead of beginning to question her, he obliged her wordless demand and opened the notebook. Reading over each page. Gwen gave him a moment of silence before she spoke,
“Heather might not be behind all of the murders, but she’s behind some. ” and to her ultimate surprise, Brick nodded.
“She was the one who poisoned Noah.”
“What?” Gwen said, despite already knowing it to be true.
“We had Sierra in for questioning just before you arrived.” Brick explained, handing the notebook back to her. “She told us what happened. All signs point to Mrs.Mudaliar being the culprit.”
“And the one who kidnapped Duncan.” Gwen held out the box. Brick looked at it in surprise, almost like he recognized it. Almost frantically, he took it from her hand and pulled off the lid. A foul odor stained the air, and Brick recoiled at both it and the sight of the finger.
“I-I should’ve told you the moment I got it.” Gwen said, “It’s Duncan’s. Or, I think it is.”
“I see.” Brick nodded, slow and heavy. He closed the box and put it down on his desk— and his entire body crumbled in defeat.
“Brick…” Gwen tired, but failed to find her words.
“I know.” he sighed, like he understood her either way. He ran a hand over his face, “God, I feel so stupid.” a beat of somber silence passed between them. Then something sparked within Brick; strong enough that Gwen could feel it radiating off of him. He squared his shoulders and washed away his shame with determination.
“I’m going to make this right.”
Brick bid Gwen a quick yet earnest farewell, then marched off— commanding with his entire chest, “Get Heather Mudaliar down here. Now .”
Watching him direct the others into action, Gwen’s chest swelled with bright vindication.
She was right. She’d been right from the start. Heather was a monster.
“Hold on, Duncan.” she whispered to herself, “We’re going to find you.”
The door to the interrogation room closed behind them— locking them inside the confined space. Heather complied with the instructions she was given by Jo and Brick, wordlessly and without protest. However, she held them in a distrusting and almost hostile gaze.
It had remained unchanging ever since Heather had arrived at the station. Alejandro had only been marginally more cordial. Brick paid it little mind, focused instead on building a basic rapport so the interrogation could go as quickly and smoothly as possible.
Seated at the table, Jo wrote down a few quick notes before giving him the sign to begin the interrogation. Brick took a steadying breath. He wasn’t as good at interrogating criminals as Jo was, but upon his request, she’d agreed to let him lead this one.
“I understand you must be going through a lot right now-”
“That's putting it lightly.” Heather snapped. There appeared to be more she wanted to say, but she held her tongue. Brick took that moment to examine her posture; straight and precise, with her hands in her lap and head held high. Like she was trying to appear proper and in complete control of the situation. Even though they all knew she wasn’t.
“Then let’s start with something easy,” Brick said, “One of your husbands, Noah, brings coffee from home to work. Is that correct?”
Heather nodded, “Alejandro and I do too. It’s just a preference of ours.”
“And how is this done?”
“We brew it in the morning, then bring it with us in a thermos.”
“So, no one besides you three touches it?”
“That would be correct.” Heather said, a sliver of annoyance lacing her words. “I’m sorry, but how is this relevant?”
“Well, as we know, Noah was poisoned. But do you know how?”
“No.”
“Someone put strychnine in his coffee.”
Heather’s eyes widened, and Brick had to rein in his sympathy. He’d have to give it to her, her acting was incredibly convincing.
“The same coffee you’ve just admitted only three people handle. The same poison that killed your father.” he laid out, watching it settle for Heather.
Jo put her pen down, entering the conversation with callous regard, “A man disappeared, and suddenly his teeth are in your home, his arm at your place of work. I will not lie, there’s a lot tying you to the tragedies happening in this town, Mrs.Mudaliar.”
Heather opened her mouth to speak, but Brick beat her to it. “But for now, our focus will be on our latest case. So let me ask you a very simple question.” Brick leaned forward, leveling Heather with a challenging gaze, “Did you poison your husband, Noah Mudaliar?”
He expected an onslaught of vehement denial or insults— as was common when interrogating criminals. The silence in its stead was perplexing. Still, they waited.
Heather’s shocked eyes wavered, never quite focusing on either Brick or Jo. It was like something in her had been severed, disrupting her internal workings.
“Did I…?” she said, almost inaudible. She swallowed, blinking once harshly and pulling her lips taut. “I understand most people don’t view me as a saint. I understand and I’m okay with it. But don’t I deserve some dignity at least? Why would I-” her breath hitched, “Why would I harm someone who has been nothing but kind to me?”
A beat of silence passed, perhaps left for either Brick or Jo to answer the question. They weren’t going to humor it. Yet, the way Heather was looking at them…
Something didn’t feel quite right.
“I love my husbands.” Heather eventually said. And despite the light tremble in her voice, the words were of unyielding devotion. “I love my friends and family too. That will not change, no matter what people say or convince themselves is the truth. So no, I did not poison my husband Noah.”
“The evidence would say otherwise.” Brick said
“What evidence?” Heather snapped, hopeless and distressed. Cracks had begun to form in her facade, and tears were gradually building in her eyes.
“We just went over it,” Jo stated, but recounted it either way; the strychnine found in the coffee Heather had a hand in making. “I was going to say you should be glad he survived. But to you, it might be more of an inconvenience.”
“E-Excuse me?”
“You wanted him dead, didn’t you?”
“No.” Heather shook her head. She breathed in sharply, fighting against he tears. Her posture changed— shoulders rising alongside whatever she was trying to push down. “I’d never want…” she tried in hapless desperation to gather herself and regain composure. To go back to how she’d been at the start of the interrogation. She failed.
Heather broke down into tears, hiding her face in her hands as she sobbed.
The sight reaffirmed the feeling gnawing at Brick’s insides; something wasn’t right.
He turned to Jo. She was watching over the crying woman with the expected apathy of an interrogator. Patiently waiting for the show’s end so she could further push for a confession. Brick was supposed to be the same. He’d been the same until those cracks had begun to show.
With the break in the conversation, Brick turned to everything he knew. To every piece of the puzzle he’d gathered. Noah being handed his thermos. The body parts. Duncan’s findings and his meeting that he never had. Everything was there, yet something didn’t feel right.
“I’m sorry that I’m not perfect, a-and that I don’t grieve in a way that people think is appropriate. B-But why is that all it takes to call me a monster?” Heather’s sobbing was beginning to calm. She sniffed, “Everything’s just going wrong, and it’s all thanks to that McLean. ”
Brick paused— and it finally clicked in his mind. Setting off a domino effect that perfectly slotted the puzzle pieces together.
McLean.
He slowly stood up, gaining a questioning glance from Jo as he walked around the table to stand next to Heather. She looked up at him with caution, and Brick embraced the wave of sympathy that flowed through him at the sight of her tear-soaked face. He reached into his chest pocket, pulling out his handkerchief and holding it out for Heather.
“You’re free to go.”
“ What? ” Jo loudly questioned.
Brick ignored her, his full attention on Heather, who was wiping away her tears with his handkerchief. He guided her out of the room, blocking out Jo’s demands that they both stay.
Out in the hallway, Alejandro was quick to rise from his seat once he spotted them— his worried eyes so clearly only seeing Heather. “¿Mi amor?”
Heather ran over to him, stumbling slightly thanks to unsteady legs. Alejandro wrapped his arms around her. He held her close, and the glare he sent Brick was one of pure rage. Challenging him to dare and defend himself.
Brick, however, yielded. “You may go home. Thank you for your time.”
Alejandro didn’t reply, only narrowed his eyes to a final look of detestation before softening for Heather. He kissed the top of her head, mumbling something just for her to hear. And then they were gone— though the tension of their spite still lingered.
“You better have a good explanation for this, McArthur.” Jo sneered. She grabbed his shoulders and forced him to face her fiery scowl.
“Trust me, I do.” Brick promised.
“Then let me hear it.”
“In a moment-”
“In a moment? You just released a murderer and you won’t explain why?”
“I will. ” Brick pried Jo’s hands off him. “But Mrs.Mudaliar isn’t our murderer. She isn’t one at all.”
Jo stared at him, almost disappointed, “You aren’t being serious right now.”
“I am.” Brick jerked his head for her to follow him. Jo did with an exasperated sigh. They walked to Courtney’s office. Out of courtesy, Brick knocked on her door. Out of urgency, he didn’t wait to be called in.
“Chief Sinaga.” she looked up at him, curiosity sparking. But before she could ask him about Heather’s interrogation, Brick spoke,
“We need a search warrant for Chris McLean. Both his home and place of work.”
Notes:
Chapter Text
The sun was beginning its descent into the horizon by the time Brick left the station, everything in place for their search. He was driving toward McLean’s house— two cars following his trail, and two more on their way to the radio station.
“I still don’t know about this.” Jo muttered. She was in the passenger seat, and had thus far not said a single thing during their journey. “Everything is pointing to Mrs.Mudaliar.”
“But is it?” Brick challenged, “What evidence do we really have on her? And I’m not talking about speculations or bad-faith thought pieces. I mean solid, indisputable evidence.”
Jo was quiet for a moment, then she said, “She admitted to handling the coffee that was used to poison her husband.”
“And who brought him that coffee before he collapsed?”
“McLean.” Jo realized under her breath.
Brick nodded, “And think about it; what would Mrs.Mudaliar’s motive even be? What would she gain from killing one of her husbands when both of them have been defending her through all of this? Specifically against McLean.”
“Nothing. If anything, it’d only make her look guilty.”
“Exactly.”
“But then what about evidence on McLean?” Jo questioned, brows furrowed in thought. “Aside from the coffee and supposedly blowing the whistle on Mrs.Mudaliar, what else is there?”
“Remember what Gwen said? Duncan was supposed to meet with McLean, but supposedly never made it.”
Jo was quiet for a moment. “Well, now I feel stupid.”
“We’ve all been.” Brick sighed. Stupid and caught up in a confusing web of fear-mongering and conspiracies. They’d lost time trying to detangle themselves from it, but there was still some left to make things right.
As the scenery morphed into a neighborhood of fancy villas from the last century and painstakingly designed yards, signaling that the drive was coming to an end, Brick pondered what they might find. He didn’t expect anything beyond small clues that could tie McLean to the crime. But, for Gwen’s sake, he hoped they’d find Duncan. Alive and well enough that recovery would be possible.
The cavalcade of cars came to a stop, and Brick stepped out under the watchful gaze of the McLean residence. It was just as fancy as the houses surrounding it, leaving no question as to the wealth of its owner. Painted in decadent whites and blues, with intricate frames around windows and doors. It was almost a mansion, and much too big for a single person.
Brick led the group to the front door. He knocked with urgent heaviness and civil rhythm. The wait dragged for longer than ideal, but eventually Chris McLean opened the door.
He blinked, almost jerking back at the unexpected sight.
Brick bowed his head in greeting, “McLean. We’d like to have a look around your house.”
“What for?” Chris questioned and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“That’s classified. But, we have a warrant, so I’m sure you’ll find no problem with letting us in.”
Chris looked over the paper being held out for him. Brick doubted the man was reading any of it; few people did. But with a light huff, he stepped aside. “Go ahead,” he said, “I have nothing to hide.”
“Thank you for your cooperation.” Brick walked inside the house. He felt Chris move to follow him, before being stopped by another officer calling out for him.
“Sir, we’d like you to stay out here and answer some questions.”
“No problem,” he said, his smile audible, “Wouldn’t be my first interview.”
“He seems awfully calm.” Jo noted lowly.
“Indeed. But remember, innocent until proven guilty.” Brick looked over his shoulder— at Chris, who was carrying himself like the questioning truly was nothing more than an ordinary interview. “Even if that man would do anything for a good story.”
They began the search, with Brick going upstairs and quickly clearing the hallway. Nothing of note was found in the bathroom or the guest bedroom. The storage closet was as innocuous as can be. Brick was about to write off the master bedroom as well, when something caught his attention. A small, crumpled-up piece of paper lying discarded by the dresser, sticking out like a sore thumb in the otherwise pristine space.
Brick knelt down and picked it up. He unfolded it, revealing a torn-off piece of what seemed to be a receipt. For what was impossible to tell, but Chris’ signature rested upon its dotted line.
Brick brought the paper with him as he moved onto the study— where the crack in the globe decorating the desk shone like a beacon. He was able to get it open with gentle force. Inside, he found a textbook on toxicology, holding three slips of paper between its pages to mark different parts. Brick flipped to each one; greeted by spreads of information on cyanide, fentanyl, and finally, strychnine.
“Nothing to hide.” Brick muttered, eyeing the globe. It was clear the split wasn’t a part of the globe's intended design. And judging by the other knick-knacks stashed inside the globe, it had been used as a hiding place for a good while.
Also on the desk was an old cigarette case, placed neatly next to the ashtray. Brick flipped it open— and almost froze. The case was empty, save for a bullet; stained with dry blood and bearing the imperfections of having hit a target.
Brick thought back to the package, to the bullet and the note. Looking for something?
Then that must mean…
“Brick!” Jo’s thunderous voice called from down the hall. Only a second later, she appeared at the study’s door, piercing Brick with an urgent gaze. “You need to come see this.”
“What is it?”
“We found Osbourne.”
Brick was moving before he even knew it. He followed Jo as she led him to the backyard— where a wooden shed stood in its far corner, surrounded by a pair of policemen. The door stood ajar, and something acrid polluted the air around it, becoming stronger the closer Brick got. His stomach sank lower in tandem.
“Is he…?” he turned to Jo. She nodded.
“He’s in there. Just a warning,” she quickly added before Brick could approach the door. “It’s not a pretty sight.”
That much Brick had figured. He braced himself, then pulled the door open.
Hanging from a hook in the ceiling was the battered and bruised corpse of Duncan Osbourne. His right arm was missing, and his remaining hand lacked its middle three fingers. His left eye had been gouged out, and thanks to his slack— almost detached— jaw parting his lips, it was easy to spot the gaps where teeth had once been.
Brick released a shuddered breath, “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“There’s more.” Jo regretfully informed, stepping up beside him. She pointed towards an old trunk pushed against one of the walls. “His private collection of body parts.”
Brick ran a hand over his face. The shock of the find was slowly ebbing into somber acceptance of the knowledge that they’d been too late. That Duncan’s last moments had been painful and with no hope in sight. That Gwen would never see her friend again. Then it began to bubble. To boil. Becoming sheer anger over the fact that this was done to further a narrative. To add credence to a handcrafted urban legend— and bring the boogeyman to life.
“You guys take care of Osbourne and the evidence.” Brick said to Jo, “I’ll handle McLean.”
Jo affirmed, and Brick spared Duncan a final glance; wordlessly bidding him farewell, and apologizing for not being faster. He then turned on his heel and walked to the front of the house. There, Chris was still talking with the officer who’d questioned him earlier. It seemed like a cordial conversation— Brick overheard a comment about screaming foxes as he drew closer.
“Ah, officer.” Chris said once he’d spotted him. An artificially charming smile twisted his lips. “Have you finished your exploration?”
“We have.”
“Wonderful-”
“You’re coming with us to the station.”
Caught off guard, Chris faltered, and his face had to strain to remain easy. “Come again?”
“You’re coming with us to the station.” Brick asserted, “You’re under arrest for the murder of Duncan Osbourne and the attempted murder of Noah Mudaliar.”
“ It seems we all fell for a narrative constructed by a mad storyteller. ” Blaineley’s voice sounded different— no longer a light chirping, but a somber chime. Heavy like she’d yet to recover from the news she was relaying. “ Earlier this week, Chris McLean was arrested for a murder he almost succeeded in framing poor Mrs.Mudaliar for. While the more specific details will remain classified until the trial, police have revealed that Mr.Osbourne’s body was found on McLean’s property. ”
Gwen bit her trembling bottom lip. After having spent days crying over what had happened to Duncan, she assumed she’d have no tears left to spare; but it turned out she did. Gwen reached for the tissue box, plucking a few to press to her eyes in hopes of stopping the tears from falling once more.
Whatever relief Gwen had felt over the mystery being solved was tainted beyond recognition. It was so unfair. Duncan didn’t deserve to suffer like he had, nor did he deserve to die. Had the attention been on the right place, then they might’ve been able to save him. But it was never going to be. Gwen was still beating herself up over having fallen for the lies of a man she knew was unreliable. For allowing those lies to turn her into a puppet, sent off on a doomed quest to save her friend; only to destroy others in the process.
Her friendship with Brick had been somewhat salvaged. It remained strained, but Gwen no longer resented him.
She hadn’t heard a single word from Noah or Alejandro. She figured she never would. Nor would they agree to humor another apology from her.
“ It’s a sad time, but we should all be thankful that a dark chapter has come to an end. Let us make our amends and move on to brighter days. Summer is here, so why don’t we enjoy it? ”
Gwen sniffed, dabbing away the last remnants of her tears. She discarded the tissues, then resumed making herself look presentable. Styling her hair with shaking hands as dreary midnight eyes observed through the vanity mirror.
The sun was shining outside, and the birds sang gracefully. The weather had been the same when three days prior, Brick had visited her— and revealed what had happened to Duncan. Gwen had responded with Catatonia. Had been silent for nearly 10 minutes before breaking down into sobs. When she had calmed down— however long that took— Brick offered more information. How they found a bag of strychnine powder in McLean’s office at the radio station, and a stash of Duncan’s teeth and two of his fingers kept in a container hidden in his fridge.
Brick also talked about what transpired when they’d reached the police station after Chris’ arrest.
“He denied everything, even when presented with the evidence. However, as to be expected, he couldn’t explain them beyond insisting he’d been framed. I think he threatened us in every way imaginable.”
“Do you think he did it?”
“We’ll have to wait until the trial for that.”
The trial was scheduled for late August. Until then, Chris would remain in jail, and Heather was declared innocent.
A newspaper from that morning lay out in Gwen’s living room, the front page detailing the statement Chief Sinaga had made to the public the day prior, where said declaration had been made.
“There was nothing but fear and spite connecting her to the murders she was unfairly accused of. Heather Mudaliar is an innocent victim of a witch hunt led by a cruel man.”
A witch hunt that Gwen had regrettably taken part in. Had most likely done the most damage in.
The memory of pinning Heather to the hardwood floor by her neck flashed before her. Frightening her.
Maybe it was for the best that none of the Mudaliars wanted to see her.
Alongside the newspaper lay a letter from Zoey— an invitation to the small memorial she'd put together for Duncan, which Gwen was currently preparing herself for. Bridgette and Trent were going too. The former had proposed they all walk together, but Gwen had declined out of old habit to retreat when dealing with grief. She was starting to regret that decision, but it wouldn’t be long before she was surrounded by people who shared her grief.
Gwen was not alone this time.
Having deemed herself presentable, Gwen left her apartment. She was greeted by a kinder sun; whose warmth was comforting rather than scorching. Whatever intensity may have lingered in its rays was lessened by the soothing breeze blowing past. It was nice, though Duncan would’ve found several things to complain about either way.
A light and solemn laugh passed Gwen’s lips as her mind conjured up Duncan’s voice perfectly. If she closed her eyes, then it was almost like he was there, walking beside her and teasing her for avoiding the main roads. She would defend her choice; wax poetics over the solitude of the pathway she was taking and how the trees swaddled it in shade. Duncan wouldn’t even pretend to understand.
“I’m going to miss you.” Gwen whispered, hoping it’d reach him somehow.
Then she saw them— Alejandro, Noah, and Heather, walking down the path ahead of her. Toward her.
Gwen’s steps faltered, her previous solace in pieces on the ground around her. She stared at the throuple like a startled deer, unsure of her next move.
Heather and Noah were walking on either side of Alejandro, holding onto his arms and looking up at him with a fond kind of exasperation. Alejandro was smiling— well pleased with whatever overly romantic declaration he’d made.
They seemed… happy. Perhaps more than expected. Like they were making up for the time they’d lost being weighed down by scrutiny and accusations. Basking in the bliss of being newlyweds.
Uselessly, Gwen hoped they wouldn’t see her. But as the only other person on the path aside from them, it was guaranteed they would.
Maybe they’d ignore her instead. Walk past like she was no more than air to them.
They didn’t.
Alejandro saw her first, alerting the other two as his pace slowed. They kept their distance with certain apprehension. Ready to move at any sign of hostility.
Gwen remained frozen stiff in the face of judgment. Under different circumstances, the look they shared would’ve been enough to communicate their acknowledgements and allow them to depart without having uttered a single word. But it was radio silence as they waited. Their stalemate pulled taut by tension. Even if Gwen wanted to surrender and leave, her moving forward would likely be seen as an attack. She’d rather not cause any more unrest than she already had.
“I-I’m…” Gwen swallowed roughly. “I am so sorry I don’t- I didn’t- I shouldn’t have done any of that I…” she wasn’t making sense. She knew she wasn’t. Still, she tried; stumbling over her hopeless attempts to make amends.
Alejandro and Noah remained unaffected by it, giving no hints as to what they thought of her display. But Heather released her hold on Alejandro’s arm. She walked up to Gwen— and hugged her.
It was a close embrace, tight without suffocating her, and the sincerity of it stunned Gwen into silence.
“I’m sorry.” Heather said softly. “For everything.”
It was so simple, but so genuine that for once, Gwen believed her without question. She practically melted at the apology she never thought she'd receive.
Gwen hugged Heather back. “Me too. You… You're not a monster.”
“You’ve been calling me a monster?”
“It… might’ve slipped a few times.”
“Hm.” Heather pulled back, revealing an amused smirk. She let her hands linger on Gwen’s shoulders. “I’d be willing to start over if you are.”
“I don’t see why not.” Gwen said, glancing over to Alejandro and Noah as if to seek permission. They met her with easy reassurance.
“I’ve said it since the start,” Alejandro said and stepped closer, “You were just scared. A lot of people were. But it’s over now.”
“So long as you don’t go breaking into more houses.” Noah joked.
Gwen laughed. “I promise.” she eyed Noah up and down. If she hadn’t known it, then she wouldn’t have been able to tell he’d been poisoned less than five days prior. He looked as he would any other day— although his standard demeanor of indifference had softened in the presence of his spouses.
“I’m glad you’re alive.” Gwen bluntly admitted.
“For better or for worse, I survived.” Noah said. “Although I would love to know told Owen about what happened. He thought I was already dead.”
“I’m not sure he has fully understood that you are indeed alive yet.” Alejandro shook his head in light amusement.
“Can’t really fault him for that.” Gwen said. Immediately, she felt how the atmosphere became washed in sympathy aimed her way.
“Oh, Gwen,” Alejandro sighed in sorrow, “We are so sorry for what happened to Duncan. It is absolutely horrible what he had to endure.”
“Very… but at least he was found, and can be put to rest.” funeral plans had yet to start, and Gwen knew from their long talks that Duncan didn’t want anything spectacular. Still, he deserved something nice. “They’re holding a memorial for him soon. You’re welcome to join me, if you want.”
“That’s nice.” Alejandro exchanged glances with his spouses, “But we don’t want to intrude.”
“We’d most likely just end up pulling attention away from Duncan.” Heather said before Gwen could reassure they wouldn’t be intruding. “And right now, as surprising as it may seem, I’d like as little attention as possible. Aside from my husbands’, of course.”
“Of course,” Gwen agreed with a cheeky grin. “But I understand. Those bum raps must’ve been exhausting.”
“Very. The apology caravan is to be preferred, but it’s way more intense in comparison.”
“Apology caravan?”
“After the news broke on McLean’s arrest, and Chief Sinaga’s statement yesterday, we’ve been bombarded by apologies from the entire town.” Noah explained, “Letters, phone calls, visits to our house. DJ and Owen even brought cake.”
“It is nice to see people try to make up for following a false prophet.” Alejandro said, “But I have to agree, it has been intense.” he wrapped his arms around Noah and Heather and pulled them closer. “Thankfully, our honeymoon is next week.”
“Let’s just hope we can enjoy it in peace.” Heather hummed. There was a slight edge of ire to her words, and Gwen couldn’t blame her. The past weeks must’ve been stressful, especially when disrupting the afterglow of her wedding.
“I believe we will,” Alejandro assured his wife. “Spain is a bit too far for anyone to leave cryptic messages. Hmm, ring finger for the newlyweds,” he mused through a light chuckle before turning to Gwen, “Poetic, is it not?”
“In a morbid way, yes.” she agreed. Then she paused, her smile falling, “… What did you say?”
“Ring finger for the newlyweds.”
Gwen’s stomach dropped, her eyes widening. “H-How did you know?”
Alejandro’s head tilted to the side, “Know what?”
“How did you know that’s what the note said?” Gwen hadn't told anyone about the note, not even Brick. There was no way for anyone besides her to know of that phrase. But… But maybe they didn’t know it from the note. Maybe it was just an observation Alejandro had made in the moment.
Please, let it be no more an unfortunate coincidence.
Gwen stared pleadingly at the throuple before her; but they refused her the kindness of an explanation. Refused to alleviate her dread. Instead, they watched her as if they found enjoyment in her turmoil and wanted to see how long they could drag it out for.
Eventually, Heather smiled. Red-painted lips curling and silver eyes narrowing— turning her into a fox staring down its prey.
“Why so surprised? We thought you had figured it out.”
The explosion rang sharp in Gwen’s ears, its force punching the air from her lungs and making her stumble backwards. An overwhelming sensation bit into her; tore her open and gutted her. Thoughts became difficult to string together in her disoriented state, exacerbated by Heather’s sadistic glee weighing over her.
She was… right?
“I’m quite saddened that you didn’t see me, Gwen.” Alejandro said in a much too casual cadence, “After all, I was watching you the entire night.”
The night of Duncan’s disappearance. The crowded bar. Alejandro had…
“But most of all, I’m surprised that Duncan didn’t put up more of a fight. For someone who talks big and acts so tough, you would think it’d take a little more than a single hit to the head to knock him out.”
Gwen gasped at his confession— shocked and appalled at the clear amusement he expressed when recalling the abduction. It was in that moment that she realized that Alejandro and Noah were both regarding her with the same exultation as Heather. Savoring her torment with cruel interest.
“McLean likes to think he’s constantly on top and in control of everything.” Noah scoffed in disdain, then grinned, “But if you play it right, then you could get him to walk into a bear trap no problem. Or tell you the identity of his anonymous source. Or sign anything you say is important. Or give you access to his house.”
“Say, Gwen, what’s the best way to silence a whistleblower?” Heather inquired.
Gwen couldn’t answer even if she wanted to.
“You put the blame on him, of course.”
Each word they spoke tore apart all Gwen thought she knew and reconstructed it into a familiar sight. One they’d called her delusional for seeing. Yet here they were, fitting puzzle pieces together but leaving it tantalizingly incomplete. Offering her a handful of answers, just nowhere near the amount she needed.
Gwen’s confused realization seemed to be just what the throuple wanted. She couldn’t figure out why. Truth be told, she could barely register what was happening.
She was right. She’d been right from the start.
“You… You k-killed Duncan?” her voice was small and trembled like prey.
“Among other things.” Heather grinned. “If it makes you feel any better, we had no intentions to execute him at first. But we needed someone to play the victim, and he got a little too close for his own good. I’m sure you understand.”
Gwen blinked, “ We? ” she snapped her gaze to Noah, “But you were… McLean tried to kill you, you…” her confusion unraveled under his calm look.
“You poisoned yourself?”
The corners of Noah’s mouth pulled to a slighting smile, “I did.”
“Why?”
“Suppose she really does have me wrapped around her finger.” he turned to Heather, and they both softened the moment their eyes locked. Impossibly so.
The look they gave each other was loving and candid in ways that couldn’t be feigned or mimicked. They leaned in for a kiss— chaste yet full of adoration— and after pulling apart, were each captured by Alejandro, who kissed them both with equal ardor.
Gwen had been right about a lot of things, but she was horribly wrong about Heather being a manipulative puppetmaster in their relationship.
For better and for worse, those three were in love. Wholly and sincerely in love.
She’d been wrong to claim otherwise.
“You really ought to let go of that grudge of yours,” Alejandro said, looking at Gwen with his arms still around his spouses. “It isn't good for you, amiga. ”
Something in Gwen snapped.
Amiga.
“Don't call me that.” she sneered.
‘They killed Duncan.’
“I'm not your friend. I'm not friends with monsters! ”
‘How many? How many of them were by your hands?’
Gwen wanted nothing more than to demand that they answer her. To demand they explain themselves fully. How deep did their involvement go? She refused to believe it began and ended with Duncan. She refused.
Swallowed by raging flames, she found her more sophisticated words strangled by emotions.
“You people are beyond twisted! Mark my words, when Brick hears about this, he will-”
“Oh, Gwen.” Alejandro chuckled darkly, “Don’t you get it?”
“Get what?”
“No one is going to believe you?”
Just like that, the flames were snuffed out.
He was right. Hadn’t Gwen spent the last couple of weeks acting like a lunatic; breaking into people’s homes and assaulting them? Hadn’t Heather just been declared innocent, and her accuser framed as a sadistic liar?
The resounding catatonia left Gwen helpless to watch as the last remnants of her control were ripped from her.
No one was going to believe her…
Pleased with the damage they’d done, the throuple made to leave— though paused before they could walk past Gwen.
“Have fun at the memorial.” Heather said, “You’ll say ‘hi’ from us, won’t you?”
“Until we meet again, Gwen. ” Noah’s voice faded, and they left her in the debris of their shelling.
Gwen remained still, staring out into nothing. The world continued like normal around her, but she was no longer a part of it.
When she eventually began to move, it was autopilot dragging her back to her apartment. She felt lightheaded and dizzy. Her chest contracted painfully before relaxing in uneven patterns.
She was right. Oh god, she was right.
Heather was a murderer— Noah and Alejandro too.
They must’ve killed Heather’s father. And they must’ve been behind all those other murders in the evidence collection.
Evidence that had since been discarded. Written off as paranoid conspiracies. Completely unsubstantial.
Gwen’s breathing became quick and shallow. She locked her apartment door behind her, closed every curtain and curled up in her bedroom.
‘He followed me to the bar…’
A primal kind of fear rooted itself deep within her bones. Turning everything around her into a danger she didn’t know how to defend herself against. A danger she was all alone to face.
With no other options left, Gwen cried.
Notes:
And scene, hope you all enjoyed !
With this reveal now on ao3 I can start posting more gorey murder fics with these three here and not just on tumblr YIPPIE !!!!
skibidigyattohio on Chapter 1 Fri 01 Aug 2025 02:11AM UTC
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HenkePenke on Chapter 1 Sun 03 Aug 2025 11:51AM UTC
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Lolzies (Guest) on Chapter 1 Sat 30 Aug 2025 04:18AM UTC
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Lolzies (Guest) on Chapter 1 Sat 30 Aug 2025 06:50AM UTC
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Fraudulent_Cheese on Chapter 2 Mon 04 Aug 2025 04:33PM UTC
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HenkePenke on Chapter 2 Thu 07 Aug 2025 01:29PM UTC
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Fraudulent_Cheese on Chapter 3 Fri 08 Aug 2025 09:40PM UTC
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Fraudulent_Cheese on Chapter 4 Mon 11 Aug 2025 07:25PM UTC
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Fraudulent_Cheese on Chapter 6 Mon 18 Aug 2025 06:17PM UTC
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HenkePenke on Chapter 6 Tue 19 Aug 2025 12:08PM UTC
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skibidigyattohio on Chapter 7 Fri 22 Aug 2025 10:48PM UTC
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Awaap on Chapter 8 Tue 26 Aug 2025 12:09AM UTC
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skibidigyattohio on Chapter 8 Tue 26 Aug 2025 02:33AM UTC
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Fraudulent_Cheese on Chapter 9 Fri 29 Aug 2025 06:24PM UTC
Last Edited Fri 29 Aug 2025 06:24PM UTC
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HenkePenke on Chapter 9 Mon 01 Sep 2025 06:19PM UTC
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Awaap on Chapter 9 Fri 29 Aug 2025 07:26PM UTC
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HenkePenke on Chapter 9 Mon 01 Sep 2025 06:20PM UTC
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skibidigyattohio on Chapter 9 Sat 30 Aug 2025 05:02AM UTC
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