(![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
flybynite29.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
monaboyd Dec. 26th, 2006 03:01 am)
flybynite29.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Dec. 26th, 2006 03:01 am)Title: Imitation of Life: Pt. 3/??
Author: flybynite29
Rating: Series R-NC17, this part R for graphic description of murder, language.
Pairings: Billy Boyd/Dominic Monaghan (a bit later in the story), brief mentions of Billy/omc, the cast of Lost popping up in various places and positions.
Summary: Billy Boyd's a hard-working, straight-laced, small town detective with a secret. When the course of The Job takes him directly into the path of his daydreams, he has no choice but to follow. Billy's fantasy has become someone else's obsession... and the results could be deadly.
Disclaimer: I do not own Billy Boyd, Dominic Monaghan, or any of the other real-life persons in this work; I'm just playing with them for a bit. I do own Detectives Bailey Connor and Shelley Ahana, however, for better or worse. No money is being made off of any of this, and I adore all of these people far too much to intend any disrespect.
Warnings: AU, Work in Progress, Graphic descriptions of serial murder, gore, general squick, characters being in mortal peril
Feedback: I live for it. : )
a/n 1: I doubt that anyone actually even remembers this series- I started this last summer, struggled with writer's block for a good long while, then lost all computer access (along with nearly every file and fic idea I've ever compiled) for well over two months. I just got back in the saddle, and the block seems to have miraculously vanished: which is the only good news I've had in far too long, so I've decided to make the most of it. : ) In other words...back to the insanity. ; )
Prologue Part 1 Part 2
a/n 2: I've taken great liberties with location and timing -amongst other things- for the purpose of this story. I haven't pulled any punches with the gore in this fic, so if you are squeamish about that type of thing, please beware. Although parts are definitely meant to be humorous, this will get quite dark in places because I'm dealing with a very disturbed mind (apart from my own ; )). The filming of Rings took place just as in real-life: with the sole exception of Billy not being cast in the role of Pippin. The details of Lost are all as is.
a/n 3: I've made the whole of the Hawaiian police force look like bumbling idiots, and I heartily apologize for that. I'm sure it's far from the truth in real life; but in fiction, it's nowhere near as much fun if everyone's doing their job properly- things go too smoothly and there's no story to be had. ; ) I realize, of course, that in reality, the homes of the Lost cast are not lined up neatly in a convenient little row on one single stretch of otherwise deserted beach, but for the purposes of my story (and due to a great deal of inherent laziness on my part) I've decided to pretend. Also, I've pretty much eliminated any signs of real-life significant others in the name of fiction, except in a couple of cases. While I'm at it, I should probably toss an apology to poor Carlton Cuse, as well... I highly doubt the man has this type of near-rabid donut fetish in reality.
Who you tryin' to get crazy with, ese?
Don't you know I'm loco?...
~ Cypress Hill
Billy climbed from the taxi and just stood on the pavement for a moment, blinking around owlishly, trying to get his bearings. The breathtaking vista of the Islands blanketed him on all sides- the sun setting in a huge, fiery ball off to the west, painting the horizon an array of stunning colors; the gentle, warm sands of the shore beckoning to him; the crystal, endless blue of the ocean spanning verdant, lush cliffs. Billy had always wanted to travel to Hawaii, had dreamed of coming to this paradise many times, but the magnificent view hardly even registered on his radar now.
The thick accordion file and laptop computer he carried under his arm were the only items he had brought with him on his journey. He had driven to the airport straight from the 'Charlie' crime scene, not even bothering to stop home first for any sort of luggage. Such minor things as a razor or a fresh pair of underpants had ceased to hold the slightest bit of importance to Billy. His Glock 9mm did hold importance, vast importance, but he had left that at home, also, not willing to spare the extra time dealing with the hassle at the airport. No matter- he'd get what he needed in Hawaii.
He'd purchase an entire bloody arsenal if he had to.
At the Miami airport, he'd found himself with a two hour wait before his flight and nothing to occupy him but the chaos of his own mind. And to linger there too long would be to invite madness. He had tried pacing the terminal to work off his restlessness, but his legs had stopped cooperating after a few minutes, seemed to turn to limp noodles after only two circuits around the small lobby. His body was giving up on him, had been pushed to the point of breaking and was now staging all-out rebellion. Billy had finally given up his speed-walking attempts and had hobbled his way over to the gift shop instead, blindly grabbing a novel to kill the time with. Twenty pages in, he realized he had chosen a slightly pornographic Harlequinesque romance and promptly tossed it into the nearest bin. In the end he'd been left in the company of his imagination after all.
The plane ride itself had been an exercise in terror; severe turbulence nearly the whole way, sending his already-frazzled nerves into overdrive. Throughout the entire flight Billy found himself glaring at his seatmate, snapping at the flight attendants, clutching on to his armrests in a death-grip. He'd needed a drink in the worst way, but was afraid the alcohol would make him sleepy. And he could not afford to sleep. He was a complete basket-case by the time they finally landed. Outside the airport entrance, some large, grinning wanker tried to slip a lei around Billy's neck and Billy had almost decked him.
Now here he was, standing in front of the Honolulu Police Department. It seemed the logical place to start, though he had no earthly idea where he'd go from here.
Billy cringed as the deafening sound of a motor suddenly assaulted his senses. He turned in circles, befuddled, then finally identified the culprit as a helicopter and squinted upward to watch its progress as it flew low overhead. The rays of the setting sun hit him full force, and he shrank away from them, like a vampire. That was another thing about this state of total exhaustion: the slightest touch or sensation heightened into something nearly unbearable, every wee noise seemed amplified a thousand times, something as innocent as a birdsong drilling through his head until he felt like screaming to make it stop. Hyper-sensitivity, Billy supposed it was called. The only other time he'd come close to something like this was when he'd dropped a hit of acid as a teenager. The details of that particular night were a bit fuzzy, but best he could recall he'd gone raving mental and had taken off, running starkers through the back alleys of Glasgow.
He felt naked now, more vulnerable than he ever had in his life- and Christ only knew he was mental. He rubbed at his eyes, but the dark spots in his vision would not fade. He knew he was losing it, falling apart at the seams, both physically and emotionally- but was powerless to stop the self-destruction.
He'd never before immersed himself so deeply in a case that it was consuming him whole. But never before had he been responsible for the deaths of nine innocent people...and for preserving the life of someone he loved.
He fished a small tin out of his shirt pocket with a shaking hand, thumbed off the lid, and popped two of the small ovoids into his mouth. The tin bore the name of a popular breath mint, but the contents didn't have much of anything to do with curing halitosis. That morning a uniform at the scene had handed the container over when he had seen Billy fighting to stay awake. When Billy had given the officer a questioning look the lad had whispered "No-Doz." and tipped him a sly wink.
The caplets weren't No-Doz, and they most certainly were not Altoids. Billy didn't know what they were, and didn't really care. All that mattered was that they were doing a fine job of keeping him conscious and moving, even though they had the side effect of making him feel as if he had dropped headfirst into the territory of Lewis Carroll's White Rabbit. He dry-swallowed his third and fourth wee tablets of the day, then sang out into the Hawaiian breeze:
"One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small. And the ones that Mother gives you don't do anything at all..."
Shelley Ahana stepped briskly out of the precinct doors, then stopped dead in her tracks and cocked an eyebrow at the weird sight before her. The blonde fellow standing on the sidewalk was gazing around with the detached air of a man on the blunt edge of sanity. His clothing was designer label, but it appeared as if he had perhaps slept in it for the last week, then rolled around in a few Dumpsters for kicks. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, thick dark circles underlying each one. A chopper flew over the station, and the man first ducked away from it, then goggled up at it as if he had never seen a helicopter before in his life. Shelley might have taken him for a stylish wino were it not for the state-of-the-art laptop and the thick police case-file tucked under his arm. She suddenly realized she knew exactly who the weirdo was. And, boy-howdy...his partner hadn't been kidding when he said that the dude was a tad 'freaked out' by the current murders. The eye-baggage and the confusion could be explained away by tiredness, but Shelley supposed the occasional odd twitching of his muscles had less to do with exhaustion and more to do with the bennies he appeared to be snarfing like Pez.
She'd arrest him if she didn't feel so goddamn sorry for him.
Shelley moved forward to introduce herself, but before she could so much as start to say hello he took the weirdness one step further and broke into song. Never one to pass up a karaoke opportunity, she finished the line in a soft contralto: "Go ask Alice...when she's ten feet tall." Shelley held out her hand and bit back a grin. “Detective Boyd, I presume. Welcome to Wonderland.”
Billy jumped at the voice and guiltily stuffed the mint tin back into his pocket. Baffled, he took the proffered hand and shook it, careful to go lightly, lest he hurt its tiny owner. The woman standing next to him was a thirty-something, dark, pertly attractive native lass. She was decked out in jeans, a western-style shirt and a pair of cowboy boots- though the heels didn’t do much to help her height. She looked to be barely over five feet, boots and all. Lustrous black hair hung in a braid to her waist, adding to the cowgirl effect. Her hand was the size of a child's, but her grip much stronger and more confident than Billy had expected.
"Aye...that's me. Boyd.", he confirmed, completely thrown off kilter by her use of his name. Billy had spoken with someone at the Department the night before, but at the time had had no plans to travel to Hawaii. How did this wee lass know who he was? The woman cleared up the mystery with her next sentence.
"A Detective Bailey Connor called, said to be expecting you. I'm also a Detective- Shelley Ahana."
"Pleased t' meet you.", Billy replied automatically, hoping the surprise he felt at her status as a cop didn't show on his face. Then her use of his partner's name penetrated his brain-fog, and he asked, a bit warily, "Is that all he said, then? Connor, I mean?"
Shelley had to fight another smile. A rumpled, strung-out mess he might be- but Boyd was also disarmingly adorable close-up. And the accent was to die for. She couldn't help but like him, though she tried her best not to let it show. Never good to lay your cards on the table too early in the game. "Well...he didn't come right out and say it, but I got the distinct impression he pretty much thinks you're ready for the booby hatch."
"Aye, and he'd most likely be right.", Billy agreed dryly. Connor had declined to accompany Billy on his impromptu trip, electing instead to stay behind in Florida and work the case from there. He had said nothing aloud, had not tried to discourage Billy from his mission - knowing it would be pointless - but his reservations were obvious. Billy had hated the sympathy in his partner's eyes, the slow, careful way he had spoken to Billy, the way one addresses a lunatic.
"Where's your luggage?", Ahana asked, looking around the walk. "Take it to your hotel room already?"
"Don't have a room. For that matter... don't have any luggage." He held up the laptop and file. "Didn't really have time t' grab anything else."
Shelley looked him up and down critically once again and nodded. "Uh huh. That would explain a few things."
Billy frowned, wondering why in bloody hell she kept studying him like that. Granted, he might be a bit scruffy, hadn't bothered to shave or spend a lot of time on grooming the last couple of days, but it couldn't be all that bad. Certainly nothing to stare about.
Ahana noticed the puzzled frown and her expression softened, her amusement turning to sympathy and something dangerously close to motherly concern. The dude honestly had no idea how terrible he looked. Now that she had gotten a closer glimpse at his eyes, she realized they were not only exhausted... they were haunted. Shelley knew all about haunted. Boyd had every right to be a wreck; she would be, too, if she had been living this hell for over a week. She had only known what was going down for about half an hour now, and already she was scared shitless.
Billy missed the change in her attitude, and, still bristling, said tightly, "Y' know, when I rang your Department yesterday t' warn them about these killings, th' wanker I talked to dinnae seem t' be taking any of this very seriously." He paused a moment and met Ahana's eyes. "I sincerely hope you people know how t' do more than write up speeding tickets. " Billy knew he was being unforgivably rude, but was far past the point of caring.
Shelley let the slam pass, figuring she at least partially deserved it for the way she'd been ogling him. Besides, he'd talked to Bennie Perez... and Perez was indeed a wanker of the first order. "We're taking it seriously now, Detective. Or, at least, I am.", she replied softly. "In fact, I was just headed out to the Lost set. We got a call, right before you arrived." Fury crept into her voice. "The bastard's already here."
*********************************************************************************************
Damon Lindelof sighed wearily as the last videotape ended and static blessedly took the place of mutilated corpses. He had never before realized there were so many ways to butcher a human being. Despite his horror and disgust at what he had just seen, from an artistic point of view, he couldn't help but be a little impressed. The murdering son-of-a-bitch was creative; Damon had to give him that.
He glanced around the board room, looking from person to person, trying to gauge reactions to the macabre film festival. On a normal day, the place would be a zoo- pranks being pulled, amiable insults being traded, laughter zinging off the walls. Today the only sound was the low, steady hum of the air conditioner; the cast themselves had been shocked into silence. Terry had his arms protectively around the two women; Evie, who appeared only vaguely uneasy, and Emilie, who looked scared green. Naveen was still staring at the blank television screen, his face scrunched up in a moue of distaste, as if he'd been sucking on a lemon. Jorge looked about a millisecond away from crawling into Dom's lap for comfort. Monaghan himself seemed to be lost in thought, gazing at the ceiling and scratching absently at his scruffy chin. Holloway, if anything, just looked pissed.
The majority of the cast and crew were elsewhere at the moment, having taken advantage of a three day hiatus in filming. Damon suspected the five films they had just watched were only the tip of the iceberg. In fact, his one remaining secretary (who, as luck would have it, also happened to be his ditziest secretary) was in the process of making calls to the absent cast members, not only to give them a heads-up on the situation, but to seek permission to search their homes for additional tapes. Damon could only imagine what those conversations were going like.
The fun had all started an hour ago, with Jorge and Dom hurrying up the beach, faces confused and wary. Within minutes, the others had begun straggling in, tapes in hand. Damon had been freaked to capacity by the time the second video had shown up- what with the police warnings of the day before, it didn't take a Mensa grad to realize that the psycho had moved the party to their neck of the woods.
And, of course, this insanity had happened during break, when the cleaning lady was the closest thing to 'authority' left on the island, and, of course, Damon had picked this very same weekend to stay behind and go over some shit that didn't really need going over in the first place, so everything was landing squarely in his lap. Well, technically, in his and Carlton's laps, but Damon had no illusions- he would be shouldering all the worry alone. Worry was not in Carlton's vocabulary. Cuse was so laid back he was only one step up from vegetation.
Damon pinched the bridge of his nose; he was getting one fuck of a headache all of a sudden.
He looked up as Carlton came bustling back into the room and ambled up to him. "Where the hell'd you go?"
"Popped down to the bakery."
Damon eyed the pastel pink box Carlton was holding in disbelief. "Donuts, Cuse? Donuts?"
"It's a meeting. We always do donuts at meetings."
Damon stared at his friend. "Were you just watching the same thing I was? Nobody in this room is ever gonna want to eat again." He watched as Carlton opened the box, plucked out a jelly Bismarck, and bit into it with relish. "Okay... nobody normal." He paused a moment, shaking his head incredulously at Carlton's soft little grunts of pleasure. "You get a hold of J.J., man?"
"Oh yeah.", Carlton nodded, swiping a dab of raspberry from his chin.
"Well?", Damon prompted impatiently. "What did he say?"
"He said, and I quote... 'Fix it.'."
Damon rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I'll get right on that. Happen to know where I left my Uzi?"
"I think it’s in my trunk with the flamethrower and the backpack nuke." Carlton had polished off the Bismarck and was already halfway through a cruller.
Damon sighed again and ran a shaky hand over his face. "What the fuck are we gonna do here, Carlton?"
"Move everybody to the caves?"
“I’m serious, Cooze. This isn't even close to funny.”
"The cops are on their way, right? They'll handle it. That's what they get paid for."
"Cop, Carlton. As in singular. And she sounded twelve on the phone. Maybe twelve." Damon's faith in the local police had paled considerably over the last twenty-four hours. One of Hawaii's finest had shown up the night before, ostensibly to patrol the set for intruders. When Damon had walked by twenty minutes later, he had found him up against a palm tree, fast asleep, Don Ho blaring from his headphones.
"Better a wise adolescent than a middle-aged fool.", Carlton remarked serenely, gazing at his donut as if it held the secrets to the universe.
Damon was not in the mood for any of Cuse's Zen bullshit. "What happens when Abrams gets back here and has to shoulder his way through piles of dead Losties, huh? What then, Grasshopper?"
Damon winced, remembering the way J.J. had ripped into him the day he had misplaced a minor background actor for five minutes. What was going to happen when he found out he suddenly had to re-cast his entire fucking show? "What are we gonna do?", Damon asked again, nearly moaning. "Christ, I need a drink."
"Here." Carlton waved a roll under his nose. "Try a honey-bun."
Damon glared daggers at him before snatching it up and munching morosely.
*************************************************************************************************
"The bastard's already here."
Billy came very close to fainting in the silence after Ahana's words. One second he was standing, and in the next, the world had slipped out from beneath him- there was nothing left to hold him up. He was falling.
Shelley heard a sharp intake of breath from beside her and glanced over. She took one look at Billy's gray, pinched face and quickly slipped an arm around his waist, easing him the rest of the way down to the pavement. "Stay with me, Boyd.", she murmured. "Don't you dare go out on me." She took the laptop and file from him, thrust them aside, and gently forced his head down between his knees, laying her cool palm soothingly across the nape of his neck. With her other hand, she anxiously took his pulse, half-fearing a heart attack.
Billy felt and heard none of this- only one face filled his fading vision. "Who?", he gasped, his own voice coming to him from a long, darkening tunnel. Everyone he had ever gotten close to, had ever dared to love, had been taken from him. His parents; his sister; his former partner; the man who would have eventually become his husband. He had watched helplessly as they had been snatched from his side, one by one. Why should this time be any different? When Billy loved, people died.
"Who what?", Shelley asked distractedly, continuing her examination. Boyd's skin felt a little too hot and his pulse was racing, though it didn't seem overly-erratic. That could easily be attributed to the uppers coursing through his system. She briskly chaffed his wrists, praying she wasn't going to have to rush him to the ER as an overdose. She rooted through her bag, found a bottle of spring water and a handkerchief, wet the cloth, and draped it on the back of his neck in place of her hand.
"Who'd he kill?" The words were the hardest Billy had ever had to utter. He was too late. Christ. His best hadn't been good enough, once again. He held his breath, waiting for the blow that would plummet him over into the abyss.
Understanding finally dawned on Shelley. Boyd had been drowning in blood and guts for days; he was, reasonably enough, expecting more of the same. "Oh, shit... no! I didn't mean that- nobody's dead here. I was just going to the set for a meeting!" Ahana felt a stab of guilt, realizing she should have been more cautious with her words. Boyd had been right there for all nine of the cases, wading in the gore, schmoozing with the corpses, living the tension night and day. It had become personal by now- of course it had. By this time, each new death was another stab wound to the heart. She knew the feeling all too well. The poor guy was snacking on pep-pills because he couldn't bear to face the demons he had to contend with when he closed his eyes.
Still...this little fainting spell seemed grossly out of character. Granted, Shelley didn't know him personally, but, curious after Connor's call, she had done some research on Detective William Boyd. Highly decorated, by all accounts utterly fearless, seriously injured in the line of duty on several occasions, bouncing back each time, unfazed and tougher than ever. Boyd was not the swooning type- she'd bet her badge on it. Something besides uppers and stress was going on here. She let it pass for the moment, though- right now she just wanted to make sure he wasn't going to die on her.
Billy finally raised his head, the blackness receding bit by bit, hope flooding into its place. "A meeting?", he rasped, hardly daring to believe.
Ahana nodded, cringing a bit in apology. "Just a meeting. Sorry about the misunderstanding." A bit of color seemed to be seeping back into the detective's complexion, though he still looked far from healthy. A few pedestrians had wandered over, gawking, and Shelley impatiently waved them off, irritated, as always, at the overall thoughtlessness of the public she had sworn to protect. They had no trouble staring, no trouble grabbing cell phones and cameras, but had even one of them made a move to help? She had seen the same thing a thousand times, and it never failed to sadden her and piss her off in equal measures.
She looked away from them and down to her patient, her voice softening. "You gonna be okay, Boyd?", she asked, having to restrain herself from brushing a gentle hand through his wildly-mussed hair. In that moment, he seemed a helpless, lost child, in need of comfort and reassurance- though she knew he would be beyond appalled if he knew she was seeing him in that way.
"A meeting.", Billy repeated, his voice heavy now not with hope, but self-disgust. If he'd needed any more proof that he'd gone spare, this was it. He noticed the people milling around him and flushed with shame. To be on display like this, weak like this, went against every fiber of his being. He had taken a bullet to the gut and had found the strength not to crumple to the ground until he was well out of the way of onlookers. Now, here he was, felled by a hobbit. He could pretend all he liked, blame it on lack of sleep, hunger, high blood pressure...those things might be mitigating factors, granted, but deep down he knew damned well what had brought him to his knees. Dominic. He had been so terrified that he had 'lost' Dom - a man he had never 'had', a man he did not even know, a perfect stranger - that he had swooned to the pavement like a bloody hysterical bird. A wee crush was one thing- this madness was something else entirely. He was not a cop anymore; he was a candidate for the fucking rubber room. Then even as the word 'cop' floated across his consciousness, a realization struck him that made his blood run cold: he was sprawled on the sidewalk not ten feet from the precinct doors. He stared towards the building, mortified. Bad enough that civilians had seen him in this state- the thought of fellow police officers seeing him this way was intolerable.
Ahana caught the look and hurried to reassure him. "Nobody in there noticed a thing, trust me. Wheel of Fortune's on. They're too busy buying vowels." She handed him the bottle of water and watched silently as he drank, giving him time to regain his equilibrium.
Billy wanted to stand, to get out of this demeaning position, but he knew his legs would not yet hold him. Better to stay put for another minute than try to stand only to topple back down and humiliate himself all over again. He angrily snatched the cloth off of his neck and blindly handed it to Ahana, unable to meet her eyes, face burning. He settled for reaching into his shirt pocket and taking out a case of cigarettes. "You said th' killer was already here. What did y' mean?", he asked, sticking a fag between his lips. Might as well look at least slightly busy as he lolled here on the concrete.
Ahana gave him a light, then reached into his case and took out a cigarette for herself. She dragged deeply before answering his question, trying to collect herself, willing her voice not to shake and betray her. "Several of the cast received videotapes today, placed in various spots inside their homes. Tapes of the murders in Florida." She sucked on the cigarette once more, hoping the nicotine would calm her nerves, hating the slight trembling of her hands. She loathed weakness every bit as much as Boyd did. "Notes with the tapes, identical to the notes at the scenes. The fucker's going after the real thing now."
Billy's heart hammered at the news, though he had been expecting it, or something close to it. However his own fear - and even his mortification - were momentarily forgotten as he heard the pure rage in Ahana's voice. Her words were terse, almost spat out; high color had crept into her creeks, her warm brown eyes flashed dangerously. There was much more to the expression than a cop's usual sense of anger and injustice. She was furious suddenly...and terrified nearly senseless. Billy didn't miss the way the cigarette was jittering between her fingers. He stared over at her, revelation striking him: he was not the only one taking this personally. Billy couldn't begin to guess at her reasons, though they were undoubtedly light years saner than his own.
Shelley tossed her cigarette, then moved her hand up to a spot just above her breasts, absently fingering the small bulge under the fabric of her shirt. Her eyes lost their angry fire, softening into something gentler, almost tender. She continued to rub for several long moments, lost in thought.
Billy caught the motion, but chalked it up to a reaction to heartburn. He'd had his own fair share of that over the past nine days.
"I don't want to rush you, but...think you can make it around to the parking lot?", Shelley asked apologetically after a couple more minutes. "I'm kinda running late as it is."
"Of course I c'n make it! 'm fine.", Billy snapped, face reddening at even a subtle reminder of his helplessness. He rose to a crouch, testing his weight, thrilled to find that his vertigo had for the most part receded and that his legs would once again support him, at least on a temporary basis.
Shelly recognized and understood Boyd's deep embarrassment and had no desire to add to it. She stood, resisting the urge to help him up like a feeble old man, instead casually gathering up her bag and his things, pretending as if the whole incident had never happened, handing him back as much of his dignity as she possibly could. She would have hoped for the same were their positions reversed.
They rounded the corner of the building in silence, heading back towards the parking lot, Billy still mentally berating himself, Shelley knowing better than to interrupt his self-flagellation. He'd talk about it when he was good and goddamn ready, and not one second before. Just as she would have done in his place. Shelley was finding a surprising amount of things in common between the two of them. The wee Scot was starting to grow on her, almost frighteningly fast.
"I'm sorry about that back there.", Billy finally mumbled, taking back his laptop and file from Ahana's arms. "Must've embarrassed the shite out of you."
"Don't be ridiculous.", she scoffed, lightly smacking him on the arm. "You've been through a train wreck this past week. It just caught up to you, is all." Shelley knew that wasn't all, and he knew she knew; but she could at least have the good grace not to admit it aloud. "And I don't embarrass easily, Boyd.", she smiled. "If that was the case, I would've been dead of mortification a thousand times over by now."
Ahana's smile was radiant, lighting up her whole face, transforming her from pertly pretty to something very close to gorgeous. The radical change surprised Billy into his own smile, the first real one he had experienced all day.
Shelley spoke up again a beat later, but this time she was full-out grinning. "Do you think it would be, like, incredibly crass to ask for autographs once we get to the set? Or should we maybe just stick to surreptitiously snapping photos with our cell phones?"
Billy, who had thought his terror had reached its cap a long time back, stopped dead as a fresh bolt struck him full-force and his legs nearly went out from under him all over again. He had come here to Hawaii on autopilot, going against every single personal code he had ever had, thinking nothing out beforehand, rashly tossing judgment and common sense to the wind, driven by his base instincts- and every single one of those instincts had been screaming at him to get to Dom, protect Dom. What he had somehow failed to realize before this very second was that in order to protect Dom, he was going to have to actually meet Dom.
Ready or not, Billy was about to come face-to-face with the object of his fantasies.
tbc.....
Author: flybynite29
Rating: Series R-NC17, this part R for graphic description of murder, language.
Pairings: Billy Boyd/Dominic Monaghan (a bit later in the story), brief mentions of Billy/omc, the cast of Lost popping up in various places and positions.
Summary: Billy Boyd's a hard-working, straight-laced, small town detective with a secret. When the course of The Job takes him directly into the path of his daydreams, he has no choice but to follow. Billy's fantasy has become someone else's obsession... and the results could be deadly.
Disclaimer: I do not own Billy Boyd, Dominic Monaghan, or any of the other real-life persons in this work; I'm just playing with them for a bit. I do own Detectives Bailey Connor and Shelley Ahana, however, for better or worse. No money is being made off of any of this, and I adore all of these people far too much to intend any disrespect.
Warnings: AU, Work in Progress, Graphic descriptions of serial murder, gore, general squick, characters being in mortal peril
Feedback: I live for it. : )
a/n 1: I doubt that anyone actually even remembers this series- I started this last summer, struggled with writer's block for a good long while, then lost all computer access (along with nearly every file and fic idea I've ever compiled) for well over two months. I just got back in the saddle, and the block seems to have miraculously vanished: which is the only good news I've had in far too long, so I've decided to make the most of it. : ) In other words...back to the insanity. ; )
Prologue Part 1 Part 2
a/n 2: I've taken great liberties with location and timing -amongst other things- for the purpose of this story. I haven't pulled any punches with the gore in this fic, so if you are squeamish about that type of thing, please beware. Although parts are definitely meant to be humorous, this will get quite dark in places because I'm dealing with a very disturbed mind (apart from my own ; )). The filming of Rings took place just as in real-life: with the sole exception of Billy not being cast in the role of Pippin. The details of Lost are all as is.
a/n 3: I've made the whole of the Hawaiian police force look like bumbling idiots, and I heartily apologize for that. I'm sure it's far from the truth in real life; but in fiction, it's nowhere near as much fun if everyone's doing their job properly- things go too smoothly and there's no story to be had. ; ) I realize, of course, that in reality, the homes of the Lost cast are not lined up neatly in a convenient little row on one single stretch of otherwise deserted beach, but for the purposes of my story (and due to a great deal of inherent laziness on my part) I've decided to pretend. Also, I've pretty much eliminated any signs of real-life significant others in the name of fiction, except in a couple of cases. While I'm at it, I should probably toss an apology to poor Carlton Cuse, as well... I highly doubt the man has this type of near-rabid donut fetish in reality.
Who you tryin' to get crazy with, ese?
Don't you know I'm loco?...
~ Cypress Hill
Billy climbed from the taxi and just stood on the pavement for a moment, blinking around owlishly, trying to get his bearings. The breathtaking vista of the Islands blanketed him on all sides- the sun setting in a huge, fiery ball off to the west, painting the horizon an array of stunning colors; the gentle, warm sands of the shore beckoning to him; the crystal, endless blue of the ocean spanning verdant, lush cliffs. Billy had always wanted to travel to Hawaii, had dreamed of coming to this paradise many times, but the magnificent view hardly even registered on his radar now.
The thick accordion file and laptop computer he carried under his arm were the only items he had brought with him on his journey. He had driven to the airport straight from the 'Charlie' crime scene, not even bothering to stop home first for any sort of luggage. Such minor things as a razor or a fresh pair of underpants had ceased to hold the slightest bit of importance to Billy. His Glock 9mm did hold importance, vast importance, but he had left that at home, also, not willing to spare the extra time dealing with the hassle at the airport. No matter- he'd get what he needed in Hawaii.
He'd purchase an entire bloody arsenal if he had to.
At the Miami airport, he'd found himself with a two hour wait before his flight and nothing to occupy him but the chaos of his own mind. And to linger there too long would be to invite madness. He had tried pacing the terminal to work off his restlessness, but his legs had stopped cooperating after a few minutes, seemed to turn to limp noodles after only two circuits around the small lobby. His body was giving up on him, had been pushed to the point of breaking and was now staging all-out rebellion. Billy had finally given up his speed-walking attempts and had hobbled his way over to the gift shop instead, blindly grabbing a novel to kill the time with. Twenty pages in, he realized he had chosen a slightly pornographic Harlequinesque romance and promptly tossed it into the nearest bin. In the end he'd been left in the company of his imagination after all.
The plane ride itself had been an exercise in terror; severe turbulence nearly the whole way, sending his already-frazzled nerves into overdrive. Throughout the entire flight Billy found himself glaring at his seatmate, snapping at the flight attendants, clutching on to his armrests in a death-grip. He'd needed a drink in the worst way, but was afraid the alcohol would make him sleepy. And he could not afford to sleep. He was a complete basket-case by the time they finally landed. Outside the airport entrance, some large, grinning wanker tried to slip a lei around Billy's neck and Billy had almost decked him.
Now here he was, standing in front of the Honolulu Police Department. It seemed the logical place to start, though he had no earthly idea where he'd go from here.
Billy cringed as the deafening sound of a motor suddenly assaulted his senses. He turned in circles, befuddled, then finally identified the culprit as a helicopter and squinted upward to watch its progress as it flew low overhead. The rays of the setting sun hit him full force, and he shrank away from them, like a vampire. That was another thing about this state of total exhaustion: the slightest touch or sensation heightened into something nearly unbearable, every wee noise seemed amplified a thousand times, something as innocent as a birdsong drilling through his head until he felt like screaming to make it stop. Hyper-sensitivity, Billy supposed it was called. The only other time he'd come close to something like this was when he'd dropped a hit of acid as a teenager. The details of that particular night were a bit fuzzy, but best he could recall he'd gone raving mental and had taken off, running starkers through the back alleys of Glasgow.
He felt naked now, more vulnerable than he ever had in his life- and Christ only knew he was mental. He rubbed at his eyes, but the dark spots in his vision would not fade. He knew he was losing it, falling apart at the seams, both physically and emotionally- but was powerless to stop the self-destruction.
He'd never before immersed himself so deeply in a case that it was consuming him whole. But never before had he been responsible for the deaths of nine innocent people...and for preserving the life of someone he loved.
He fished a small tin out of his shirt pocket with a shaking hand, thumbed off the lid, and popped two of the small ovoids into his mouth. The tin bore the name of a popular breath mint, but the contents didn't have much of anything to do with curing halitosis. That morning a uniform at the scene had handed the container over when he had seen Billy fighting to stay awake. When Billy had given the officer a questioning look the lad had whispered "No-Doz." and tipped him a sly wink.
The caplets weren't No-Doz, and they most certainly were not Altoids. Billy didn't know what they were, and didn't really care. All that mattered was that they were doing a fine job of keeping him conscious and moving, even though they had the side effect of making him feel as if he had dropped headfirst into the territory of Lewis Carroll's White Rabbit. He dry-swallowed his third and fourth wee tablets of the day, then sang out into the Hawaiian breeze:
"One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small. And the ones that Mother gives you don't do anything at all..."
Shelley Ahana stepped briskly out of the precinct doors, then stopped dead in her tracks and cocked an eyebrow at the weird sight before her. The blonde fellow standing on the sidewalk was gazing around with the detached air of a man on the blunt edge of sanity. His clothing was designer label, but it appeared as if he had perhaps slept in it for the last week, then rolled around in a few Dumpsters for kicks. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, thick dark circles underlying each one. A chopper flew over the station, and the man first ducked away from it, then goggled up at it as if he had never seen a helicopter before in his life. Shelley might have taken him for a stylish wino were it not for the state-of-the-art laptop and the thick police case-file tucked under his arm. She suddenly realized she knew exactly who the weirdo was. And, boy-howdy...his partner hadn't been kidding when he said that the dude was a tad 'freaked out' by the current murders. The eye-baggage and the confusion could be explained away by tiredness, but Shelley supposed the occasional odd twitching of his muscles had less to do with exhaustion and more to do with the bennies he appeared to be snarfing like Pez.
She'd arrest him if she didn't feel so goddamn sorry for him.
Shelley moved forward to introduce herself, but before she could so much as start to say hello he took the weirdness one step further and broke into song. Never one to pass up a karaoke opportunity, she finished the line in a soft contralto: "Go ask Alice...when she's ten feet tall." Shelley held out her hand and bit back a grin. “Detective Boyd, I presume. Welcome to Wonderland.”
Billy jumped at the voice and guiltily stuffed the mint tin back into his pocket. Baffled, he took the proffered hand and shook it, careful to go lightly, lest he hurt its tiny owner. The woman standing next to him was a thirty-something, dark, pertly attractive native lass. She was decked out in jeans, a western-style shirt and a pair of cowboy boots- though the heels didn’t do much to help her height. She looked to be barely over five feet, boots and all. Lustrous black hair hung in a braid to her waist, adding to the cowgirl effect. Her hand was the size of a child's, but her grip much stronger and more confident than Billy had expected.
"Aye...that's me. Boyd.", he confirmed, completely thrown off kilter by her use of his name. Billy had spoken with someone at the Department the night before, but at the time had had no plans to travel to Hawaii. How did this wee lass know who he was? The woman cleared up the mystery with her next sentence.
"A Detective Bailey Connor called, said to be expecting you. I'm also a Detective- Shelley Ahana."
"Pleased t' meet you.", Billy replied automatically, hoping the surprise he felt at her status as a cop didn't show on his face. Then her use of his partner's name penetrated his brain-fog, and he asked, a bit warily, "Is that all he said, then? Connor, I mean?"
Shelley had to fight another smile. A rumpled, strung-out mess he might be- but Boyd was also disarmingly adorable close-up. And the accent was to die for. She couldn't help but like him, though she tried her best not to let it show. Never good to lay your cards on the table too early in the game. "Well...he didn't come right out and say it, but I got the distinct impression he pretty much thinks you're ready for the booby hatch."
"Aye, and he'd most likely be right.", Billy agreed dryly. Connor had declined to accompany Billy on his impromptu trip, electing instead to stay behind in Florida and work the case from there. He had said nothing aloud, had not tried to discourage Billy from his mission - knowing it would be pointless - but his reservations were obvious. Billy had hated the sympathy in his partner's eyes, the slow, careful way he had spoken to Billy, the way one addresses a lunatic.
"Where's your luggage?", Ahana asked, looking around the walk. "Take it to your hotel room already?"
"Don't have a room. For that matter... don't have any luggage." He held up the laptop and file. "Didn't really have time t' grab anything else."
Shelley looked him up and down critically once again and nodded. "Uh huh. That would explain a few things."
Billy frowned, wondering why in bloody hell she kept studying him like that. Granted, he might be a bit scruffy, hadn't bothered to shave or spend a lot of time on grooming the last couple of days, but it couldn't be all that bad. Certainly nothing to stare about.
Ahana noticed the puzzled frown and her expression softened, her amusement turning to sympathy and something dangerously close to motherly concern. The dude honestly had no idea how terrible he looked. Now that she had gotten a closer glimpse at his eyes, she realized they were not only exhausted... they were haunted. Shelley knew all about haunted. Boyd had every right to be a wreck; she would be, too, if she had been living this hell for over a week. She had only known what was going down for about half an hour now, and already she was scared shitless.
Billy missed the change in her attitude, and, still bristling, said tightly, "Y' know, when I rang your Department yesterday t' warn them about these killings, th' wanker I talked to dinnae seem t' be taking any of this very seriously." He paused a moment and met Ahana's eyes. "I sincerely hope you people know how t' do more than write up speeding tickets. " Billy knew he was being unforgivably rude, but was far past the point of caring.
Shelley let the slam pass, figuring she at least partially deserved it for the way she'd been ogling him. Besides, he'd talked to Bennie Perez... and Perez was indeed a wanker of the first order. "We're taking it seriously now, Detective. Or, at least, I am.", she replied softly. "In fact, I was just headed out to the Lost set. We got a call, right before you arrived." Fury crept into her voice. "The bastard's already here."
*********************************************************************************************
Damon Lindelof sighed wearily as the last videotape ended and static blessedly took the place of mutilated corpses. He had never before realized there were so many ways to butcher a human being. Despite his horror and disgust at what he had just seen, from an artistic point of view, he couldn't help but be a little impressed. The murdering son-of-a-bitch was creative; Damon had to give him that.
He glanced around the board room, looking from person to person, trying to gauge reactions to the macabre film festival. On a normal day, the place would be a zoo- pranks being pulled, amiable insults being traded, laughter zinging off the walls. Today the only sound was the low, steady hum of the air conditioner; the cast themselves had been shocked into silence. Terry had his arms protectively around the two women; Evie, who appeared only vaguely uneasy, and Emilie, who looked scared green. Naveen was still staring at the blank television screen, his face scrunched up in a moue of distaste, as if he'd been sucking on a lemon. Jorge looked about a millisecond away from crawling into Dom's lap for comfort. Monaghan himself seemed to be lost in thought, gazing at the ceiling and scratching absently at his scruffy chin. Holloway, if anything, just looked pissed.
The majority of the cast and crew were elsewhere at the moment, having taken advantage of a three day hiatus in filming. Damon suspected the five films they had just watched were only the tip of the iceberg. In fact, his one remaining secretary (who, as luck would have it, also happened to be his ditziest secretary) was in the process of making calls to the absent cast members, not only to give them a heads-up on the situation, but to seek permission to search their homes for additional tapes. Damon could only imagine what those conversations were going like.
The fun had all started an hour ago, with Jorge and Dom hurrying up the beach, faces confused and wary. Within minutes, the others had begun straggling in, tapes in hand. Damon had been freaked to capacity by the time the second video had shown up- what with the police warnings of the day before, it didn't take a Mensa grad to realize that the psycho had moved the party to their neck of the woods.
And, of course, this insanity had happened during break, when the cleaning lady was the closest thing to 'authority' left on the island, and, of course, Damon had picked this very same weekend to stay behind and go over some shit that didn't really need going over in the first place, so everything was landing squarely in his lap. Well, technically, in his and Carlton's laps, but Damon had no illusions- he would be shouldering all the worry alone. Worry was not in Carlton's vocabulary. Cuse was so laid back he was only one step up from vegetation.
Damon pinched the bridge of his nose; he was getting one fuck of a headache all of a sudden.
He looked up as Carlton came bustling back into the room and ambled up to him. "Where the hell'd you go?"
"Popped down to the bakery."
Damon eyed the pastel pink box Carlton was holding in disbelief. "Donuts, Cuse? Donuts?"
"It's a meeting. We always do donuts at meetings."
Damon stared at his friend. "Were you just watching the same thing I was? Nobody in this room is ever gonna want to eat again." He watched as Carlton opened the box, plucked out a jelly Bismarck, and bit into it with relish. "Okay... nobody normal." He paused a moment, shaking his head incredulously at Carlton's soft little grunts of pleasure. "You get a hold of J.J., man?"
"Oh yeah.", Carlton nodded, swiping a dab of raspberry from his chin.
"Well?", Damon prompted impatiently. "What did he say?"
"He said, and I quote... 'Fix it.'."
Damon rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I'll get right on that. Happen to know where I left my Uzi?"
"I think it’s in my trunk with the flamethrower and the backpack nuke." Carlton had polished off the Bismarck and was already halfway through a cruller.
Damon sighed again and ran a shaky hand over his face. "What the fuck are we gonna do here, Carlton?"
"Move everybody to the caves?"
“I’m serious, Cooze. This isn't even close to funny.”
"The cops are on their way, right? They'll handle it. That's what they get paid for."
"Cop, Carlton. As in singular. And she sounded twelve on the phone. Maybe twelve." Damon's faith in the local police had paled considerably over the last twenty-four hours. One of Hawaii's finest had shown up the night before, ostensibly to patrol the set for intruders. When Damon had walked by twenty minutes later, he had found him up against a palm tree, fast asleep, Don Ho blaring from his headphones.
"Better a wise adolescent than a middle-aged fool.", Carlton remarked serenely, gazing at his donut as if it held the secrets to the universe.
Damon was not in the mood for any of Cuse's Zen bullshit. "What happens when Abrams gets back here and has to shoulder his way through piles of dead Losties, huh? What then, Grasshopper?"
Damon winced, remembering the way J.J. had ripped into him the day he had misplaced a minor background actor for five minutes. What was going to happen when he found out he suddenly had to re-cast his entire fucking show? "What are we gonna do?", Damon asked again, nearly moaning. "Christ, I need a drink."
"Here." Carlton waved a roll under his nose. "Try a honey-bun."
Damon glared daggers at him before snatching it up and munching morosely.
*************************************************************************************************
"The bastard's already here."
Billy came very close to fainting in the silence after Ahana's words. One second he was standing, and in the next, the world had slipped out from beneath him- there was nothing left to hold him up. He was falling.
Shelley heard a sharp intake of breath from beside her and glanced over. She took one look at Billy's gray, pinched face and quickly slipped an arm around his waist, easing him the rest of the way down to the pavement. "Stay with me, Boyd.", she murmured. "Don't you dare go out on me." She took the laptop and file from him, thrust them aside, and gently forced his head down between his knees, laying her cool palm soothingly across the nape of his neck. With her other hand, she anxiously took his pulse, half-fearing a heart attack.
Billy felt and heard none of this- only one face filled his fading vision. "Who?", he gasped, his own voice coming to him from a long, darkening tunnel. Everyone he had ever gotten close to, had ever dared to love, had been taken from him. His parents; his sister; his former partner; the man who would have eventually become his husband. He had watched helplessly as they had been snatched from his side, one by one. Why should this time be any different? When Billy loved, people died.
"Who what?", Shelley asked distractedly, continuing her examination. Boyd's skin felt a little too hot and his pulse was racing, though it didn't seem overly-erratic. That could easily be attributed to the uppers coursing through his system. She briskly chaffed his wrists, praying she wasn't going to have to rush him to the ER as an overdose. She rooted through her bag, found a bottle of spring water and a handkerchief, wet the cloth, and draped it on the back of his neck in place of her hand.
"Who'd he kill?" The words were the hardest Billy had ever had to utter. He was too late. Christ. His best hadn't been good enough, once again. He held his breath, waiting for the blow that would plummet him over into the abyss.
Understanding finally dawned on Shelley. Boyd had been drowning in blood and guts for days; he was, reasonably enough, expecting more of the same. "Oh, shit... no! I didn't mean that- nobody's dead here. I was just going to the set for a meeting!" Ahana felt a stab of guilt, realizing she should have been more cautious with her words. Boyd had been right there for all nine of the cases, wading in the gore, schmoozing with the corpses, living the tension night and day. It had become personal by now- of course it had. By this time, each new death was another stab wound to the heart. She knew the feeling all too well. The poor guy was snacking on pep-pills because he couldn't bear to face the demons he had to contend with when he closed his eyes.
Still...this little fainting spell seemed grossly out of character. Granted, Shelley didn't know him personally, but, curious after Connor's call, she had done some research on Detective William Boyd. Highly decorated, by all accounts utterly fearless, seriously injured in the line of duty on several occasions, bouncing back each time, unfazed and tougher than ever. Boyd was not the swooning type- she'd bet her badge on it. Something besides uppers and stress was going on here. She let it pass for the moment, though- right now she just wanted to make sure he wasn't going to die on her.
Billy finally raised his head, the blackness receding bit by bit, hope flooding into its place. "A meeting?", he rasped, hardly daring to believe.
Ahana nodded, cringing a bit in apology. "Just a meeting. Sorry about the misunderstanding." A bit of color seemed to be seeping back into the detective's complexion, though he still looked far from healthy. A few pedestrians had wandered over, gawking, and Shelley impatiently waved them off, irritated, as always, at the overall thoughtlessness of the public she had sworn to protect. They had no trouble staring, no trouble grabbing cell phones and cameras, but had even one of them made a move to help? She had seen the same thing a thousand times, and it never failed to sadden her and piss her off in equal measures.
She looked away from them and down to her patient, her voice softening. "You gonna be okay, Boyd?", she asked, having to restrain herself from brushing a gentle hand through his wildly-mussed hair. In that moment, he seemed a helpless, lost child, in need of comfort and reassurance- though she knew he would be beyond appalled if he knew she was seeing him in that way.
"A meeting.", Billy repeated, his voice heavy now not with hope, but self-disgust. If he'd needed any more proof that he'd gone spare, this was it. He noticed the people milling around him and flushed with shame. To be on display like this, weak like this, went against every fiber of his being. He had taken a bullet to the gut and had found the strength not to crumple to the ground until he was well out of the way of onlookers. Now, here he was, felled by a hobbit. He could pretend all he liked, blame it on lack of sleep, hunger, high blood pressure...those things might be mitigating factors, granted, but deep down he knew damned well what had brought him to his knees. Dominic. He had been so terrified that he had 'lost' Dom - a man he had never 'had', a man he did not even know, a perfect stranger - that he had swooned to the pavement like a bloody hysterical bird. A wee crush was one thing- this madness was something else entirely. He was not a cop anymore; he was a candidate for the fucking rubber room. Then even as the word 'cop' floated across his consciousness, a realization struck him that made his blood run cold: he was sprawled on the sidewalk not ten feet from the precinct doors. He stared towards the building, mortified. Bad enough that civilians had seen him in this state- the thought of fellow police officers seeing him this way was intolerable.
Ahana caught the look and hurried to reassure him. "Nobody in there noticed a thing, trust me. Wheel of Fortune's on. They're too busy buying vowels." She handed him the bottle of water and watched silently as he drank, giving him time to regain his equilibrium.
Billy wanted to stand, to get out of this demeaning position, but he knew his legs would not yet hold him. Better to stay put for another minute than try to stand only to topple back down and humiliate himself all over again. He angrily snatched the cloth off of his neck and blindly handed it to Ahana, unable to meet her eyes, face burning. He settled for reaching into his shirt pocket and taking out a case of cigarettes. "You said th' killer was already here. What did y' mean?", he asked, sticking a fag between his lips. Might as well look at least slightly busy as he lolled here on the concrete.
Ahana gave him a light, then reached into his case and took out a cigarette for herself. She dragged deeply before answering his question, trying to collect herself, willing her voice not to shake and betray her. "Several of the cast received videotapes today, placed in various spots inside their homes. Tapes of the murders in Florida." She sucked on the cigarette once more, hoping the nicotine would calm her nerves, hating the slight trembling of her hands. She loathed weakness every bit as much as Boyd did. "Notes with the tapes, identical to the notes at the scenes. The fucker's going after the real thing now."
Billy's heart hammered at the news, though he had been expecting it, or something close to it. However his own fear - and even his mortification - were momentarily forgotten as he heard the pure rage in Ahana's voice. Her words were terse, almost spat out; high color had crept into her creeks, her warm brown eyes flashed dangerously. There was much more to the expression than a cop's usual sense of anger and injustice. She was furious suddenly...and terrified nearly senseless. Billy didn't miss the way the cigarette was jittering between her fingers. He stared over at her, revelation striking him: he was not the only one taking this personally. Billy couldn't begin to guess at her reasons, though they were undoubtedly light years saner than his own.
Shelley tossed her cigarette, then moved her hand up to a spot just above her breasts, absently fingering the small bulge under the fabric of her shirt. Her eyes lost their angry fire, softening into something gentler, almost tender. She continued to rub for several long moments, lost in thought.
Billy caught the motion, but chalked it up to a reaction to heartburn. He'd had his own fair share of that over the past nine days.
"I don't want to rush you, but...think you can make it around to the parking lot?", Shelley asked apologetically after a couple more minutes. "I'm kinda running late as it is."
"Of course I c'n make it! 'm fine.", Billy snapped, face reddening at even a subtle reminder of his helplessness. He rose to a crouch, testing his weight, thrilled to find that his vertigo had for the most part receded and that his legs would once again support him, at least on a temporary basis.
Shelly recognized and understood Boyd's deep embarrassment and had no desire to add to it. She stood, resisting the urge to help him up like a feeble old man, instead casually gathering up her bag and his things, pretending as if the whole incident had never happened, handing him back as much of his dignity as she possibly could. She would have hoped for the same were their positions reversed.
They rounded the corner of the building in silence, heading back towards the parking lot, Billy still mentally berating himself, Shelley knowing better than to interrupt his self-flagellation. He'd talk about it when he was good and goddamn ready, and not one second before. Just as she would have done in his place. Shelley was finding a surprising amount of things in common between the two of them. The wee Scot was starting to grow on her, almost frighteningly fast.
"I'm sorry about that back there.", Billy finally mumbled, taking back his laptop and file from Ahana's arms. "Must've embarrassed the shite out of you."
"Don't be ridiculous.", she scoffed, lightly smacking him on the arm. "You've been through a train wreck this past week. It just caught up to you, is all." Shelley knew that wasn't all, and he knew she knew; but she could at least have the good grace not to admit it aloud. "And I don't embarrass easily, Boyd.", she smiled. "If that was the case, I would've been dead of mortification a thousand times over by now."
Ahana's smile was radiant, lighting up her whole face, transforming her from pertly pretty to something very close to gorgeous. The radical change surprised Billy into his own smile, the first real one he had experienced all day.
Shelley spoke up again a beat later, but this time she was full-out grinning. "Do you think it would be, like, incredibly crass to ask for autographs once we get to the set? Or should we maybe just stick to surreptitiously snapping photos with our cell phones?"
Billy, who had thought his terror had reached its cap a long time back, stopped dead as a fresh bolt struck him full-force and his legs nearly went out from under him all over again. He had come here to Hawaii on autopilot, going against every single personal code he had ever had, thinking nothing out beforehand, rashly tossing judgment and common sense to the wind, driven by his base instincts- and every single one of those instincts had been screaming at him to get to Dom, protect Dom. What he had somehow failed to realize before this very second was that in order to protect Dom, he was going to have to actually meet Dom.
Ready or not, Billy was about to come face-to-face with the object of his fantasies.
tbc.....
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
YAY! I'm glad this story is back. I wondered if you had given up on it.
Can't wait to read tonight.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Hope there's coming more soon =)
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
This chapter was great. I love Ahana. And poor Billy, off to meet the object of his infatuation, which must be a mite terrifying.
From:
no subject
So glad to see you still around, and I cannot tell you how happy I am to be back. : ) Computers will one day be the death of me, I swear it... I still have no access to my email, though my internet seems to be back up and running for the most part. I think. *snorts*
So glad, too, that you're still enjoying the story. : ) I wasn't sure anyone would even remember it, but I'm thrilled to find that doesn't seem to be the case.
From:
no subject
Computer=evil evil evil. Mine's broken too, but I'm at Mom's house, so all the free internet I can take.
And this story makes me super happy.
From:
no subject
I love Ahana, she's great.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Having just read all of the chapters up to this point, I must say, "Where is the next one?!"
Have you read Chap. 4 yet? I only ask because you commented here in Ch. 3. : ) I'm working on 5 now, should be up in a couple of days, if I can get my brain to work properly. lol
The gore I could do without, but it seems essential to the story so I'll deal.
From here on out, I think we'll probably be dealing less in the gore and more with the stark terror aspect of things. I sometimes tend to get a bit too graphic when I write, but I think the worst of that's most likely over now. : ) Thank you once again, so much, for reading and commenting!