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monaboyd Dec. 30th, 2006 03:42 am)
flybynite29.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Dec. 30th, 2006 03:42 am)Title: Imitation of Life: Pt. 4/??
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: This part started out painfully serious, fairly dripping with angst, and somehow morphed into Bill and Shell's Excellent Wal-Mart Adventure. The man needed a fresh shirt... what can I say? ; ) I chose to leave it in because I think it sets up their budding friendship rather well, and there are actually a few salient plot points lurking here and there amongst the one-liners. Besides, I did manage to get Billy naked, and that must count for something, right? ; )
Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
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.
Hey, come on try a little
Nothing is forever
There's got to be something better than
In the middle
But me and Cinderella
We put it all together
We can drive it home
With one headlight
~ The Wallflowers
Shelley Ahana glanced over at her passenger, a soft smile tugging at her lips. 'Iron Man', indeed. The warm Hawaiian breeze ruffled through his already-mussed hair, bringing a clump forward to tickle at his eyelid, but he was far beyond noticing. He had begun yawning as they walked across the precinct lot, was flagging badly by the time they reached her mud-splattered Jeep, and when she had looked over at him as she merged onto the freeway, he was sound asleep.
She had been acquainted with him for less than thirty minutes, but Shelley already knew three important things about Detective William Boyd. One: like her, he had secrets... secrets that had come very close to destroying him; Two: he was going to be her friend, maybe the best friend she ever had; And, Three: something or someone at the Lost set was terrifying him more than his mysterious past, his current binge of self-destruction, and the murderer combined.
She had not missed the trapped, frightened look that rose in his eyes when she had mentioned getting autographs. He'd been smacked upside the head with some sort of revelation- it couldn't have been any plainer if a bolt had descended from the blue and knocked him to the pavement. She was surprised, and curious as hell, but, even above those things, relieved. The reason for his fear undoubtedly would make more sense than her own, but still... it was nice to know she was not alone.
Terror, like misery, loves company.
She resolutely forced her mind away from her own worries as she whipped the Jeep into another lot at her usual breakneck speed, screeching into a parking space, swerving at the last second to avoid a rogue shopping cart that came at her out of nowhere. "Here we go.", she announced to the drowsy man riding shotgun.
Billy only realized he'd been dozing when Ahana's voice and the sharp jerk of the vehicle snapped him back to consciousness. He opened his eyes and blinked around stupidly at the bustling car park and the familiar - but completely unexpected - large blue and white sign. "Th' cast meets at Wal-Mart?", he asked fuzzily.
Shelley snorted a laugh. "No. Pit stop. I'll just be a few minutes, you can hang here."
"But... y' said we were late as 'tis. Why are we stopping off here?"
"'cause, babe,", she said gently, "we don't dare go anywhere near the Lost set with you looking like that. They'll cast you as an Other on the spot." She flipped down the mirrored visor above his head as she exited the Jeep and headed briskly for the store.
For the first time in days, Billy took a really good look at himself. What he saw appalled and shocked him to the point of breathlessness. His hair- what little he had to begin with- was sticking up wildly in all directions, matted and tangled. He had somehow acquired a good growth of shaggy beard; which, he was horrified to note, had a healthy crop of grey in it. Far worse, however, was his face: he didn't even recognize himself- the exhausted, age-lined, broken man staring back was not him. It couldn't be.
He glanced down at his clothing and was shocked further still. There was a great, manky tea stain covering a large portion of his shirt and some unidentifiable- but even mankier- substance on one thigh of his dress trousers. Both articles of clothing were wrinkled and mussed beyond repair. The black silk tie that he was positive he had started his journey with was nowhere to be found- he had apparently lost it somewhere along the way without even noticing.
Billy had always been neat to a fault, with both his possessions and his person. This was an offense- no, more than that. An abomination. People had seen him like this. He shrank down into his seat, suddenly very aware of the steady stream of shoppers headed past him, bound for the store. Though none seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to him, he was determined that no one else would get a glimpse of him in his current state. Christ - he realized with a shudder - if it weren't for Ahana, he would have met Dom like this.
That thought brought his nervousness back to the forefront, but before he could really get himself worked up Ahana was trotting back, toting several shopping bags and a cardboard container holding two coffees.
"Hope you like it black.", she said, sliding back into the driver's seat and handing over the carton.
He nodded his thanks and pried the top off of one cup, taking a cautious sip. The hot liquid hit rock-bottom. Billy’s appetite had been nearly non-existent as of late, and since he had seen 'Charlie' swinging that morning, he had not been able to manage anything even resembling food. Every attempt had sent him scrambling for the loo.
Ahana grabbed her own cup of coffee, took a drink, made a face, then began pulling items from the bags, tossing them one by one into Billy's lap, making a running commentary on everything as she plucked it out. "Jeans, fresh undies, shirt- yeah, just a tee - I know you're a button-down type dude, but count yourself lucky...I was tempted to go Goth, and only managed to restrain myself at the last moment. Besides, a button-down collar thing with jeans would be just too Harvard-College-brat and I might well vomit on you. Sleep pants for later, when you finally decide to put your exhausted ass to bed...forgive the penguins, but I was in a hurry, it was that or The Incredible Hulk. Hideous palm-tree-patterned, day-glo board shorts, 'cause I'm fairly certain if you don't at least have a pair in your possession at all times on the Islands, the citizens are by law allowed to crucify you from the nearest light post...I believe that's written into the State Code Book somewhere. Equally hideous flip-flops, same rule as the shorts. Clothes and stuff should all fit, don't worry, I'm good with sizes. Brush, comb...didn't know which you prefer so I got both... oh, and...I'm pretty sure this is some kind of hair gel crap, though there's a possibility you may wind up shampooing with hand sanitizer, 'cause I couldn't tell the bottles apart. Toothbrush and paste and Listerine, for later. Cinnamon breath drops for now...what's that look for?...no cinnamon, eh? No prob, we'll trade, I got wintergreen too. Juicy Fruit, same purpose, and Tic-Tacs, orange, spearmint, and yes - God help us - the dreaded cinnamon, which I'll just pocket for myself. Candy bars, assorted, take your pick of the chocolate, but if you so much as lay a finger on my Nut-Roll, you die. Razor-shaver thingie, not top-of-the-line, but it should work for at least one go...you can just plug it into the cig lighter, use it on the way. Deodorant, an absolute must, plus cologne for what the deodorant doesn't take care of....Drakkar covers everything, shit's better than Vicks at body scenes, trust me on this, I used to work in the M.E's office...a little Drakkar on a tissue and even week-old floaters smell like a spring breeze. SPF 30, because you'll be burnt to a crisp by tomorrow without it, and I intend to get you on a surfboard at least once before you leave, just so I can point and laugh. Generic black tote bag to toss everything into. Frog-shaped Chia Pet...hmmm........I have no earthly clue why I put this into the cart, actually, but you can keep it anyway. Rolaids, 'cause you look like you could use 'em...aspirin, 'cause you look like you could use it even more...No-Doz, 'cause if I catch you popping any more bennies you don't need to worry about getting offed by the psycho...I'll eviscerate you myself. National Enquirer...oh wait, that's mine..."
At the end of her spiel, Billy sat there, lap full, stunned and blushing. She had thought of absolutely everything. And then some. He opened his mouth to protest the gift, but she cut him off gently.
"Save the embarrassment bullshit, Boyd. You'd do the same for me."
Billy fought shame for a moment more, then gave her a small smile and nodded. She was right. He would. And he would find some way to make this up to her; not only because he owed her... but because she had taken the time to be kind when she should have, by all rights, written him off as hopeless.
"Thank you.", he finally said softly, leaving it at that.
She winked, then reached down and fished a Colt 45 out of her boot and handed it over. "One more present. Just my throwaway...we'll get you fitted to something better later on."
Billy nodded and thanked her again. The gun didn't feel quite right, didn't mold into his hand like his Glock, but the steely weight in his grip was comforting. He stuffed it into the tote bag with the other items.
Shelley put the Jeep in gear and backed out of the parking slot. "Oh...do me a favor- don't let me forget to pick up the kiddos at the sitter's after we're done with the meeting."
Billy glanced at her, surprised. "Have wee ones, d' you?" He hadn't spotted a ring on her finger, but such things mattered little these days.
"Yep, one-year-old twins." She smiled a radiant, maternal smile. "Starsky and Hutch."
Billy blinked, then raised an eyebrow. "You've got t' be kidding."
She laughed, steered the Jeep towards the back of the Wal-Mart, then reached over Billy and into the glove compartment, handing him a framed picture. "The closest to motherhood I ever hope to get.", she grinned.
Billy was vastly relieved to find himself looking at two black lab pups instead of human infants. "They have your eyes.", he chuckled.
"And my appetite. They eat like horses. But they're the loves of my life." She parked again at the outer reaches of the back lot, where there were no other cars- the Wal-Mart version of Siberia. "Your dressing room, sir. Go for it. No peeking, promise." She smiled innocently, but even as she spoke the words she was surreptitiously tilting the rearview mirror down to achieve a better spying angle. Hell- she'd never been one to pass up a blatant opportunity. She began to hum to herself, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.
Billy had to smile. This was a trick Connor liked to pull, making Billy change in the car during assignments instead of finding him a nice, private restroom somewhere. Except Connor always did peek. Billy started with his shirt, unbuttoning the filthy thing and literally peeling it from his skin. He sniffed himself, recoiled in horror, swiped on a thick layer of deodorant, sniffed again, wrinkled his nose, then liberally sprayed himself with Drakkar Noir before pulling the clean T-shirt over his head. He went to work on the trousers next.
Shelley grinned as Billy lifted off the seat to pull up his new drawers and she got a glimpse of his bare ass... which was just as pertly adorable as the rest of him. Her hummed tune subtly changed from 'I Get Around' to 'You Sexy Thing' "You a proper Scot, Boyd? Ever wear a kilt?", she asked, pretending to wipe a spot from the inside of the windshield so she could lean in for a better view.
Billy got his jeans buttoned and zipped, then slipped back into his shoes and looked down at himself. Not his usual attire, and the denims were a bit strange with his dress loafers, but at least he no longer looked as if he had just crawled out of a trash receptacle. He started in on his tangled hair and answered Ahana's question. "Aye, I wear a kilt on occasion. Not so much as I did back home, though."
"Do me a favor...call me over next time you get into one...I've always wanted to see what you lads have on under there."
Billy snorted. "Not a thing. Just m' bare bits, 'm afraid."
"Ah...then no need for the call, after all. Those I just saw." She grinned slyly and tapped the down-tilted mirror with a nail.
Billy squawked in mock-indignation. "I expressly heard you say 'no peeking, promise'. Did I nae hear that?"
"Girls lie, Boyd.", she grinned wider. "Always remember that and you're a step ahead of the game."
Billy shook his head in amusement, then plugged his new shaver into the Jeep's cigarette lighter and went to work, getting the worst of the mess from his chin. Companionable silence reigned for a few moments, until Shelley broke it, her voice suddenly serious.
"As long as we're baring our bits to each other, Boyd, mind telling me something?"
Billy noted the change in tone, stopped shaving, and glanced over at her. "What?"
"Who are you so terrified to see at the set? Which one do you have the hots for?"
Billy's mouth fell open in surprise. He started to indignantly deny everything, then took a look at her eyes - warm and kind and understanding - and asked, meekly, "How did y' know?"
"Baby...", she gazed at him sympathetically, "it's written all over your face."
Billy lay the shaver down, picked his coffee back up, and drank studiously, hand shaking slightly.
Shelley paused for just a second, then came to a decision. Screw it. She'd never been one to mince words, and Boyd obviously wasn't going to answer without a little prompting. "Let me tell you something, my friend, something I think may go a long ways towards putting you at ease here...I spend the better part of my day imagining what it'd be like to give Jorge Garcia a lap dance."
Billy's coffee shot from his mouth to spatter over the dashboard. He goggled at Ahana for a long moment, then burst out laughing.
She joined him, a bit startled over her complete lack of embarrassment. "So, give. Which one is it- Ms. Lilly? Ms. de Ravin?" She studied the expression on Billy's face, then grinned as revelation struck. "Ah...I'm in the entirely wrong ballpark, aren't I?" She plucked a tissue from the box between the seats and began wiping up the coffee mess on the dash. "Okay...Foxy, maybe?"
"Detective Ahana...", Billy began, but she cut him off with a roll of the eyes.
"I think we can dispense with the formal titles, Boyd.", she said wryly, tossing the sodden Kleenex indifferently into the back of the cluttered Jeep. "I tell someone my innermost perverted fantasies, I insist he calls me Shelley."
Billy finally gave her a genuine smile. "Alright, Shelley 'tis. And I'm Billy."
"Billy... nothing you can possibly tell me is going to be weirder than my rabid Hurley-Mania. Trust me on this one."
"I wouldnae be so sure of that.", he muttered, but knew he was going to spill it anyway. There was really no way around it, and besides, he liked her. He was not one to open up to people, especially on such short acquaintance, but there was something about her, something that made him trust her. She was a first-rate cop, he knew that instinctively... but more importantly, she was a first-rate human being. "Alright...but you'll have me in a padded cell before nightfall, I assure ye."
Billy began speaking hesitantly, but soon found himself revealing every detail of his Dom-obsession. He finished up with nowhere near the sense of mortification that he thought he'd feel, even going so far as to admit his habit of locking himself in the Precinct loo every Wednesday night so as not to miss the show.
Shelley listened to Billy's confession mutely, her eyes widening at each new revelation, then gave a respectful, awestruck nod at the end. She didn't think Billy's story was nuts. In fact... she had never felt such an amazing kinship with someone in her life. Detective Shelley Ahana - who had fearlessly plunged through a hail of gang bullets to rescue a child; who had willingly allowed herself to be stabbed repeatedly while protecting her fallen partner; the woman who had, for the love of fuck, once, on undercover assignment, chased a suspect through the streets of Oahu in her push-up bra, thong panties, and stiletto heels without a trace of a blush - had turned into a quivering, fan-girly ball of Jell-o and dived headfirst behind a bush the one time she had spotted Jorge Garcia coming her way outside of a supermarket.
Billy was handing her something, and she took it, realizing it was his wallet, flipped open to the photo section. Shelley looked down into Dom's grinning face for a moment, then wordlessly reached under the neckline of her shirt, pulled out a gold chain, and opened the heart-shaped locket, holding it up so Billy could see the small photo inside: Jorge, flashing a hang-ten sign to the camera.
They stared at each other for a long moment, then erupted in giggles.
"Christ, we need therapy.", Shelley gasped when she was finally able to speak. "Who knew the cops were more fucked up than the criminals!" She wiped her streaming eyes and tried to get herself under control.
Billy giggled along with her, but his relief at finding a kindred spirit was immense. Indeed, they might well be insane... but at least now they could be insane together. And that made all the difference in the world.
They joked around a bit more, until Billy's laughter ended abruptly, as if severed with a knife. "There's something else, Shelley. Something far worse.", he said softly.
"I knew there was." Sobering herself, she nodded and gently touched his hand.
Billy bared his soul then, telling her his deepest fears about the murderer's intentions- how different the 'Charlie' scene had been from the others, how bone-chilling; his own horrified reaction, losing his cool for the first time in his life as a cop; how he had realized he himself was the target after the note, and, because of him and his obsession, Dom was now in the greatest danger of his life. By the time Billy finished, he was very close to tears.
Shelley looked at him compassionately. "You've lost loved ones before." It was not a question. She knew the look, had seen it on her own face often enough.
Billy nodded wordlessly, then whispered, his voice naked with pain and fear, "Far too many...nearly everyone I've ever cared for; m' mum and da, m' sister Margie, m' partner, m' lover." He paused a moment, and when he resumed speaking, it was with a noticeable tremor. "I have t' keep Dominic safe. I know how insane it sounds, believe me I do, but I have to, Shelley. I cannae survive another loss."
She nodded in understanding, then spoke firmly but kindly. "I understand why you're so freaked - I would be, too... hell, I am, freaked right the fuck outta my mind at the thought of that psycho squirrel on even the same planet as Jorge. But I think you're wrong about one thing, Billy." She looked at him intensely. "I believe right now Dom's probably the safest out of the whole bunch." She held up a hand to forestall Billy's protests. "Think about it, Boyd...the killer's getting off on drawing this out, psychologically torturing you. Once he offs Dom, it's game over. That would break you, and it's no fun to play with a broken toy. No...I think he'll try to pick the others off, one by one, slowly driving you more batshit with each one, waiting, wondering when it's going to be Dom's turn."
"He's trying to use your own emotions as a weapon against you, Billy. And you can't let him." She paused a moment, then reached over and took his hand. "You're on a roller-coaster of emotions right now, Boyd, and it ain't gonna stop any time soon- you've just got to ride it out, take the bumps and curves without losing sight of the track." It all sounded like a load of psycho-babble bullshit to her, but Billy seemed to be buying into it, so she continued on smoothly.
"Most important of all, you've got to forget what Dom means to you, put it right the hell out of your head. From this moment on, he is anyone but Dominic Monaghan. You look at him and see a stranger, John Q. Public, nothing else." Shelley grew bolder, warming to her own pep-talk. "You follow procedure, be a cop at all times, don't deviate out of personal vendettas. You don't shoot first and ask questions later- even if I'm wrong and the perp should happen to come after Dom, you go by the book. By the letter. Think arrest...no vigilante mentality. You can't afford to let yourself care, Billy. For your own sanity.", she ended sincerely.
Billy listened to everything she said, quietly and thoughtfully, nodding as she finished. "Aye...very good advice. And quite reasonable. Makes perfect sense." He paused just a beat, then, before turning to her and asking softly, "And if he should happen t' come after Jorge? What then, Shelley?"
The pert, sweet face suddenly curled into a sneer, warm brown eyes spitting fire. "Then, Boyd... I'll rip the motherfucker apart with my bare hands."
*******************************************************************************
Waiting for the police contingent to show up at the meeting, Dom - like his mates seated around him - was deep in contemplation. But, unlike the others in the makeshift screening room, his primary thoughts were not focused on the maniacal killer.
Despite the gore and violence of the videotapes, he had found himself all but ignoring the corpses, his eyes wandering back, again and again, to the nattily-dressed blonde cop. He was in every tape, center-stage, and Dom's strange attraction to him grew with each new film. There was something about him...Dom couldn't even begin to put his finger on it, because he had never been remotely attracted to that type of bloke before- he looked the very picture of seriousness and responsibility; notions which Dom did not at all subscribe to, except in regards to his acting. Yet...the man was undeniably appealing.
Dom had known he was in serious trouble when his own personal Blonde-Bloke Soundtrack began playing in his head partway through the second video- The 'Naughty Criminals' Theme from Pulp Fiction whenever the cop came into the shot. The Beatles 'Paperback Writer' when he was walking around, soberly taking notes. Alabama 3's 'Woke Up This Morning' whenever his holstered gun was visible in the frame. 'Secret Agent Man' if he happened to make any unexpectedly furtive movements onscreen. 'Man of Constant Sorrow' (of all bloody fucking things) when the camera focused in on his weary, harried (yet still impishly adorable) face. But ZZ Top was wailing the loudest of them all:
"And every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man...."
"Was that directed at me?", Jorge asked from beside Dom, looking down at his own toucan-patterned shirt and purple board shorts. "Or were you just doin' that freaky 'I think I'm only hearing a tune in my head but actually singing it out loud' thing?"
"The latter.", Dom said, amused, then glanced towards the now-blank t.v. screen. "I wonder who he is..."
"The psycho creep?"
Dom looked over at his friend and winked. "No, the cop. He's dead-sexy... in a bedraggled, button-down, stick-up-the-bum sort of way."
Jorge snorted and shook his head. "Dude...you're hopeless. You know that, right?"
"Absolutely.", Dom grinned. "But it's better to focus on the positive here, innit?"
"Easy for you to say... you didn't have Buffalo Bill waltzing into your bedroom, measuring your wardrobe for transvestite skin-suits, leavin' snuff films as secret admirer gifts."
"I know...I'm not sure if I should be relieved or offended." Dom winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. This wasn't the time for jokes. He looked up at Jorge apologetically. "Bad form, mate, sorry."
Dom could understand and sympathize with his friends' fears, and he felt fear for them... but at the same time couldn't quite find it in himself to be worried about his own safety. It wasn't only the fact that he hadn't received a tape of his own, it was the freaky surreal-ness of the whole thing- it all seemed just a little bit too Hollywood to be actually happening. These were the kinds of things that took place in movies and slasher novels, not in real life.
The other occupants of the meeting room didn't seem to share his equanimity, however. Damon and Carlton were standing over by the water cooler, talking softly, looking next-door to some type of mental breakdown. Okay...Lindelof looked next door to a breakdown; Cuse was just stuffing his face with pastries...but still. Conversation had resumed among the rest of the cast, but it was hushed and tentative. Certainly not one of their livelier get-togethers. Stark fear was still writ large across Emilie's face, and everyone else was still visibly shaken....with one very notable exception.
Josh was slumped in his chair, feet up, content smile on his face, as relaxed as if he were sprawled on his lanai, sunbathing, Corona in hand. That was weird and unsettling enough, but then, even as Dom watched, stunned, the murmured talk among his castmates abruptly and unexpectedly gave way to The Sawyer & Sayid Show.
"I think we should maybe get some security. On our own.", Terry remarked quietly, looking around at the others. "Apart from the police investigation."
"That's the first thing I'm doing when I leave the building.", Emilie agreed shakily, shivering a bit. Other than Dom, she was the only one in the room who hadn't gotten a videotape... but she didn't believe her fear could have been greater if she had.
Naveen patted her arm comfortingly, then nodded. "So am I. No use courting trouble, is there?"
"Count me in.", Evie added, scooting her chair forward, putting her arms around Dom from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder, feeling the need for human contact. She smiled as Jorge leaned over and pulled them both to him in a brief, but warm, hug. "I don't mind saying that this shit seriously creeps me out. Better safe than sorry."
"I second that emotion.", Jorge murmured against Evie's hair before settling back into his seat.
"Bullshit!", Josh spat suddenly, bolting upright in his chair, boots slamming to the floor, startling everyone. "Not me. I ain't kowtowing to any Son of Sam wanna-be motherfucker. "
"And if the wanna-be motherfucker shows up in your bedroom one night, Josh, knife in hand?", Naveen asked, turning to him and raising an eyebrow. "What then?"
"Just let him try.", Josh grinned fiercely. "I'll fix his ass."
Naveen rolled his eyes and smirked. "Oh, yes, of course. How silly of me. I'd forgotten you were the next coming of Steven Seagal."
"Fuck off, Gandhi. I ain't no pansy-assed mama's boy, cryin' for help at the first sign of trouble. I don't need no babysitter."
"That's the most unreasonable bloody thing I've ever heard!" Naveen shook his head, voice growing angry. "This isn't a masculinity contest, Holloway. Your manhood's not being threatened by asking for help. It's a matter of common sense...penis size is not in question here."
Josh licked his lips. "You gonna come keep me safe, baby? Check that last one out for your ownself?"
"Sod off!" A furious blush spread across Naveen's cheeks. "You're pissing me off, mate, but I'd rather not watch you being carted away in a morgue wagon. You saw those videos- you've seen what this bloke can do."
"Yep.", Josh agreed, grinning smugly. "And I still say bring it on."
Evie let go of Dom and swiveled in her chair, staring over at the two of them, shocked more by what was happening in front of her now than she had been over the videotapes themselves. "Josh, stop being an ass!", she scolded harshly, though her voice was more worried than irritated. This wasn't her lovable, snuggly Joshie sitting here- this was Sawyer. No...this was Shithead Sawyer. She'd never seen him like this outside of character, and only very rarely in character. Evie wasn't concerned about Naveen's Sayid-ish quibbling, knowing it was only a startled reaction to Josh's outburst. But something was horribly wrong with Josh. Dom and Jorge glanced back at her in tandem, faces baffled and worried, and Evie shook her head at them helplessly. She had no idea what was going on to make Josh act this way, rude and thoughtless and mean, the polar opposites of his true personality. Some people, when badly frightened, reacted with anger- but Evie had never seen Josh in that light. He always seemed to take what was thrown at him with a shrug and a slow Southern smile. But something had to be deeply disturbing him, and it scared her- in a way that even thoughts of the murderer had been unable to.
Josh, either oblivious to his friends' alarm and concern, or blatantly ignoring it, went on in a cocky voice. "Y'all can hide behind bodyguards like scared little mice if you want to...me, I can handle myself."
Emilie, who had been silent throughout the entire exchange, rose suddenly and walked over to Damon and Carlton, reaching daintily into Carlton's pink pastry box and plucking out a chocolate long john. She strolled back over to Josh, holding the treat out in the palm of her hand. "Why don't you put this in your mouth, Josh.", she smiled sweetly. "Before I shove it somewhere else."
Dom had to bite down on his lip to keep from braying startled laughter, though he was himself quite worried over Josh's odd behavior.
"And the hits just keep on comin'...", Jorge murmured, surprise and amusement evident in his voice, elbowing Dom in the side and cocking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the doorway, where a familiar small, blonde bloke was entering the room. "Looky...here's Officer Stick-Up-The-Bum now."
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: This part started out painfully serious, fairly dripping with angst, and somehow morphed into Bill and Shell's Excellent Wal-Mart Adventure. The man needed a fresh shirt... what can I say? ; ) I chose to leave it in because I think it sets up their budding friendship rather well, and there are actually a few salient plot points lurking here and there amongst the one-liners. Besides, I did manage to get Billy naked, and that must count for something, right? ; )
Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
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.
Hey, come on try a little
Nothing is forever
There's got to be something better than
In the middle
But me and Cinderella
We put it all together
We can drive it home
With one headlight
~ The Wallflowers
Shelley Ahana glanced over at her passenger, a soft smile tugging at her lips. 'Iron Man', indeed. The warm Hawaiian breeze ruffled through his already-mussed hair, bringing a clump forward to tickle at his eyelid, but he was far beyond noticing. He had begun yawning as they walked across the precinct lot, was flagging badly by the time they reached her mud-splattered Jeep, and when she had looked over at him as she merged onto the freeway, he was sound asleep.
She had been acquainted with him for less than thirty minutes, but Shelley already knew three important things about Detective William Boyd. One: like her, he had secrets... secrets that had come very close to destroying him; Two: he was going to be her friend, maybe the best friend she ever had; And, Three: something or someone at the Lost set was terrifying him more than his mysterious past, his current binge of self-destruction, and the murderer combined.
She had not missed the trapped, frightened look that rose in his eyes when she had mentioned getting autographs. He'd been smacked upside the head with some sort of revelation- it couldn't have been any plainer if a bolt had descended from the blue and knocked him to the pavement. She was surprised, and curious as hell, but, even above those things, relieved. The reason for his fear undoubtedly would make more sense than her own, but still... it was nice to know she was not alone.
Terror, like misery, loves company.
She resolutely forced her mind away from her own worries as she whipped the Jeep into another lot at her usual breakneck speed, screeching into a parking space, swerving at the last second to avoid a rogue shopping cart that came at her out of nowhere. "Here we go.", she announced to the drowsy man riding shotgun.
Billy only realized he'd been dozing when Ahana's voice and the sharp jerk of the vehicle snapped him back to consciousness. He opened his eyes and blinked around stupidly at the bustling car park and the familiar - but completely unexpected - large blue and white sign. "Th' cast meets at Wal-Mart?", he asked fuzzily.
Shelley snorted a laugh. "No. Pit stop. I'll just be a few minutes, you can hang here."
"But... y' said we were late as 'tis. Why are we stopping off here?"
"'cause, babe,", she said gently, "we don't dare go anywhere near the Lost set with you looking like that. They'll cast you as an Other on the spot." She flipped down the mirrored visor above his head as she exited the Jeep and headed briskly for the store.
For the first time in days, Billy took a really good look at himself. What he saw appalled and shocked him to the point of breathlessness. His hair- what little he had to begin with- was sticking up wildly in all directions, matted and tangled. He had somehow acquired a good growth of shaggy beard; which, he was horrified to note, had a healthy crop of grey in it. Far worse, however, was his face: he didn't even recognize himself- the exhausted, age-lined, broken man staring back was not him. It couldn't be.
He glanced down at his clothing and was shocked further still. There was a great, manky tea stain covering a large portion of his shirt and some unidentifiable- but even mankier- substance on one thigh of his dress trousers. Both articles of clothing were wrinkled and mussed beyond repair. The black silk tie that he was positive he had started his journey with was nowhere to be found- he had apparently lost it somewhere along the way without even noticing.
Billy had always been neat to a fault, with both his possessions and his person. This was an offense- no, more than that. An abomination. People had seen him like this. He shrank down into his seat, suddenly very aware of the steady stream of shoppers headed past him, bound for the store. Though none seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to him, he was determined that no one else would get a glimpse of him in his current state. Christ - he realized with a shudder - if it weren't for Ahana, he would have met Dom like this.
That thought brought his nervousness back to the forefront, but before he could really get himself worked up Ahana was trotting back, toting several shopping bags and a cardboard container holding two coffees.
"Hope you like it black.", she said, sliding back into the driver's seat and handing over the carton.
He nodded his thanks and pried the top off of one cup, taking a cautious sip. The hot liquid hit rock-bottom. Billy’s appetite had been nearly non-existent as of late, and since he had seen 'Charlie' swinging that morning, he had not been able to manage anything even resembling food. Every attempt had sent him scrambling for the loo.
Ahana grabbed her own cup of coffee, took a drink, made a face, then began pulling items from the bags, tossing them one by one into Billy's lap, making a running commentary on everything as she plucked it out. "Jeans, fresh undies, shirt- yeah, just a tee - I know you're a button-down type dude, but count yourself lucky...I was tempted to go Goth, and only managed to restrain myself at the last moment. Besides, a button-down collar thing with jeans would be just too Harvard-College-brat and I might well vomit on you. Sleep pants for later, when you finally decide to put your exhausted ass to bed...forgive the penguins, but I was in a hurry, it was that or The Incredible Hulk. Hideous palm-tree-patterned, day-glo board shorts, 'cause I'm fairly certain if you don't at least have a pair in your possession at all times on the Islands, the citizens are by law allowed to crucify you from the nearest light post...I believe that's written into the State Code Book somewhere. Equally hideous flip-flops, same rule as the shorts. Clothes and stuff should all fit, don't worry, I'm good with sizes. Brush, comb...didn't know which you prefer so I got both... oh, and...I'm pretty sure this is some kind of hair gel crap, though there's a possibility you may wind up shampooing with hand sanitizer, 'cause I couldn't tell the bottles apart. Toothbrush and paste and Listerine, for later. Cinnamon breath drops for now...what's that look for?...no cinnamon, eh? No prob, we'll trade, I got wintergreen too. Juicy Fruit, same purpose, and Tic-Tacs, orange, spearmint, and yes - God help us - the dreaded cinnamon, which I'll just pocket for myself. Candy bars, assorted, take your pick of the chocolate, but if you so much as lay a finger on my Nut-Roll, you die. Razor-shaver thingie, not top-of-the-line, but it should work for at least one go...you can just plug it into the cig lighter, use it on the way. Deodorant, an absolute must, plus cologne for what the deodorant doesn't take care of....Drakkar covers everything, shit's better than Vicks at body scenes, trust me on this, I used to work in the M.E's office...a little Drakkar on a tissue and even week-old floaters smell like a spring breeze. SPF 30, because you'll be burnt to a crisp by tomorrow without it, and I intend to get you on a surfboard at least once before you leave, just so I can point and laugh. Generic black tote bag to toss everything into. Frog-shaped Chia Pet...hmmm........I have no earthly clue why I put this into the cart, actually, but you can keep it anyway. Rolaids, 'cause you look like you could use 'em...aspirin, 'cause you look like you could use it even more...No-Doz, 'cause if I catch you popping any more bennies you don't need to worry about getting offed by the psycho...I'll eviscerate you myself. National Enquirer...oh wait, that's mine..."
At the end of her spiel, Billy sat there, lap full, stunned and blushing. She had thought of absolutely everything. And then some. He opened his mouth to protest the gift, but she cut him off gently.
"Save the embarrassment bullshit, Boyd. You'd do the same for me."
Billy fought shame for a moment more, then gave her a small smile and nodded. She was right. He would. And he would find some way to make this up to her; not only because he owed her... but because she had taken the time to be kind when she should have, by all rights, written him off as hopeless.
"Thank you.", he finally said softly, leaving it at that.
She winked, then reached down and fished a Colt 45 out of her boot and handed it over. "One more present. Just my throwaway...we'll get you fitted to something better later on."
Billy nodded and thanked her again. The gun didn't feel quite right, didn't mold into his hand like his Glock, but the steely weight in his grip was comforting. He stuffed it into the tote bag with the other items.
Shelley put the Jeep in gear and backed out of the parking slot. "Oh...do me a favor- don't let me forget to pick up the kiddos at the sitter's after we're done with the meeting."
Billy glanced at her, surprised. "Have wee ones, d' you?" He hadn't spotted a ring on her finger, but such things mattered little these days.
"Yep, one-year-old twins." She smiled a radiant, maternal smile. "Starsky and Hutch."
Billy blinked, then raised an eyebrow. "You've got t' be kidding."
She laughed, steered the Jeep towards the back of the Wal-Mart, then reached over Billy and into the glove compartment, handing him a framed picture. "The closest to motherhood I ever hope to get.", she grinned.
Billy was vastly relieved to find himself looking at two black lab pups instead of human infants. "They have your eyes.", he chuckled.
"And my appetite. They eat like horses. But they're the loves of my life." She parked again at the outer reaches of the back lot, where there were no other cars- the Wal-Mart version of Siberia. "Your dressing room, sir. Go for it. No peeking, promise." She smiled innocently, but even as she spoke the words she was surreptitiously tilting the rearview mirror down to achieve a better spying angle. Hell- she'd never been one to pass up a blatant opportunity. She began to hum to herself, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.
Billy had to smile. This was a trick Connor liked to pull, making Billy change in the car during assignments instead of finding him a nice, private restroom somewhere. Except Connor always did peek. Billy started with his shirt, unbuttoning the filthy thing and literally peeling it from his skin. He sniffed himself, recoiled in horror, swiped on a thick layer of deodorant, sniffed again, wrinkled his nose, then liberally sprayed himself with Drakkar Noir before pulling the clean T-shirt over his head. He went to work on the trousers next.
Shelley grinned as Billy lifted off the seat to pull up his new drawers and she got a glimpse of his bare ass... which was just as pertly adorable as the rest of him. Her hummed tune subtly changed from 'I Get Around' to 'You Sexy Thing' "You a proper Scot, Boyd? Ever wear a kilt?", she asked, pretending to wipe a spot from the inside of the windshield so she could lean in for a better view.
Billy got his jeans buttoned and zipped, then slipped back into his shoes and looked down at himself. Not his usual attire, and the denims were a bit strange with his dress loafers, but at least he no longer looked as if he had just crawled out of a trash receptacle. He started in on his tangled hair and answered Ahana's question. "Aye, I wear a kilt on occasion. Not so much as I did back home, though."
"Do me a favor...call me over next time you get into one...I've always wanted to see what you lads have on under there."
Billy snorted. "Not a thing. Just m' bare bits, 'm afraid."
"Ah...then no need for the call, after all. Those I just saw." She grinned slyly and tapped the down-tilted mirror with a nail.
Billy squawked in mock-indignation. "I expressly heard you say 'no peeking, promise'. Did I nae hear that?"
"Girls lie, Boyd.", she grinned wider. "Always remember that and you're a step ahead of the game."
Billy shook his head in amusement, then plugged his new shaver into the Jeep's cigarette lighter and went to work, getting the worst of the mess from his chin. Companionable silence reigned for a few moments, until Shelley broke it, her voice suddenly serious.
"As long as we're baring our bits to each other, Boyd, mind telling me something?"
Billy noted the change in tone, stopped shaving, and glanced over at her. "What?"
"Who are you so terrified to see at the set? Which one do you have the hots for?"
Billy's mouth fell open in surprise. He started to indignantly deny everything, then took a look at her eyes - warm and kind and understanding - and asked, meekly, "How did y' know?"
"Baby...", she gazed at him sympathetically, "it's written all over your face."
Billy lay the shaver down, picked his coffee back up, and drank studiously, hand shaking slightly.
Shelley paused for just a second, then came to a decision. Screw it. She'd never been one to mince words, and Boyd obviously wasn't going to answer without a little prompting. "Let me tell you something, my friend, something I think may go a long ways towards putting you at ease here...I spend the better part of my day imagining what it'd be like to give Jorge Garcia a lap dance."
Billy's coffee shot from his mouth to spatter over the dashboard. He goggled at Ahana for a long moment, then burst out laughing.
She joined him, a bit startled over her complete lack of embarrassment. "So, give. Which one is it- Ms. Lilly? Ms. de Ravin?" She studied the expression on Billy's face, then grinned as revelation struck. "Ah...I'm in the entirely wrong ballpark, aren't I?" She plucked a tissue from the box between the seats and began wiping up the coffee mess on the dash. "Okay...Foxy, maybe?"
"Detective Ahana...", Billy began, but she cut him off with a roll of the eyes.
"I think we can dispense with the formal titles, Boyd.", she said wryly, tossing the sodden Kleenex indifferently into the back of the cluttered Jeep. "I tell someone my innermost perverted fantasies, I insist he calls me Shelley."
Billy finally gave her a genuine smile. "Alright, Shelley 'tis. And I'm Billy."
"Billy... nothing you can possibly tell me is going to be weirder than my rabid Hurley-Mania. Trust me on this one."
"I wouldnae be so sure of that.", he muttered, but knew he was going to spill it anyway. There was really no way around it, and besides, he liked her. He was not one to open up to people, especially on such short acquaintance, but there was something about her, something that made him trust her. She was a first-rate cop, he knew that instinctively... but more importantly, she was a first-rate human being. "Alright...but you'll have me in a padded cell before nightfall, I assure ye."
Billy began speaking hesitantly, but soon found himself revealing every detail of his Dom-obsession. He finished up with nowhere near the sense of mortification that he thought he'd feel, even going so far as to admit his habit of locking himself in the Precinct loo every Wednesday night so as not to miss the show.
Shelley listened to Billy's confession mutely, her eyes widening at each new revelation, then gave a respectful, awestruck nod at the end. She didn't think Billy's story was nuts. In fact... she had never felt such an amazing kinship with someone in her life. Detective Shelley Ahana - who had fearlessly plunged through a hail of gang bullets to rescue a child; who had willingly allowed herself to be stabbed repeatedly while protecting her fallen partner; the woman who had, for the love of fuck, once, on undercover assignment, chased a suspect through the streets of Oahu in her push-up bra, thong panties, and stiletto heels without a trace of a blush - had turned into a quivering, fan-girly ball of Jell-o and dived headfirst behind a bush the one time she had spotted Jorge Garcia coming her way outside of a supermarket.
Billy was handing her something, and she took it, realizing it was his wallet, flipped open to the photo section. Shelley looked down into Dom's grinning face for a moment, then wordlessly reached under the neckline of her shirt, pulled out a gold chain, and opened the heart-shaped locket, holding it up so Billy could see the small photo inside: Jorge, flashing a hang-ten sign to the camera.
They stared at each other for a long moment, then erupted in giggles.
"Christ, we need therapy.", Shelley gasped when she was finally able to speak. "Who knew the cops were more fucked up than the criminals!" She wiped her streaming eyes and tried to get herself under control.
Billy giggled along with her, but his relief at finding a kindred spirit was immense. Indeed, they might well be insane... but at least now they could be insane together. And that made all the difference in the world.
They joked around a bit more, until Billy's laughter ended abruptly, as if severed with a knife. "There's something else, Shelley. Something far worse.", he said softly.
"I knew there was." Sobering herself, she nodded and gently touched his hand.
Billy bared his soul then, telling her his deepest fears about the murderer's intentions- how different the 'Charlie' scene had been from the others, how bone-chilling; his own horrified reaction, losing his cool for the first time in his life as a cop; how he had realized he himself was the target after the note, and, because of him and his obsession, Dom was now in the greatest danger of his life. By the time Billy finished, he was very close to tears.
Shelley looked at him compassionately. "You've lost loved ones before." It was not a question. She knew the look, had seen it on her own face often enough.
Billy nodded wordlessly, then whispered, his voice naked with pain and fear, "Far too many...nearly everyone I've ever cared for; m' mum and da, m' sister Margie, m' partner, m' lover." He paused a moment, and when he resumed speaking, it was with a noticeable tremor. "I have t' keep Dominic safe. I know how insane it sounds, believe me I do, but I have to, Shelley. I cannae survive another loss."
She nodded in understanding, then spoke firmly but kindly. "I understand why you're so freaked - I would be, too... hell, I am, freaked right the fuck outta my mind at the thought of that psycho squirrel on even the same planet as Jorge. But I think you're wrong about one thing, Billy." She looked at him intensely. "I believe right now Dom's probably the safest out of the whole bunch." She held up a hand to forestall Billy's protests. "Think about it, Boyd...the killer's getting off on drawing this out, psychologically torturing you. Once he offs Dom, it's game over. That would break you, and it's no fun to play with a broken toy. No...I think he'll try to pick the others off, one by one, slowly driving you more batshit with each one, waiting, wondering when it's going to be Dom's turn."
"He's trying to use your own emotions as a weapon against you, Billy. And you can't let him." She paused a moment, then reached over and took his hand. "You're on a roller-coaster of emotions right now, Boyd, and it ain't gonna stop any time soon- you've just got to ride it out, take the bumps and curves without losing sight of the track." It all sounded like a load of psycho-babble bullshit to her, but Billy seemed to be buying into it, so she continued on smoothly.
"Most important of all, you've got to forget what Dom means to you, put it right the hell out of your head. From this moment on, he is anyone but Dominic Monaghan. You look at him and see a stranger, John Q. Public, nothing else." Shelley grew bolder, warming to her own pep-talk. "You follow procedure, be a cop at all times, don't deviate out of personal vendettas. You don't shoot first and ask questions later- even if I'm wrong and the perp should happen to come after Dom, you go by the book. By the letter. Think arrest...no vigilante mentality. You can't afford to let yourself care, Billy. For your own sanity.", she ended sincerely.
Billy listened to everything she said, quietly and thoughtfully, nodding as she finished. "Aye...very good advice. And quite reasonable. Makes perfect sense." He paused just a beat, then, before turning to her and asking softly, "And if he should happen t' come after Jorge? What then, Shelley?"
The pert, sweet face suddenly curled into a sneer, warm brown eyes spitting fire. "Then, Boyd... I'll rip the motherfucker apart with my bare hands."
*******************************************************************************
Waiting for the police contingent to show up at the meeting, Dom - like his mates seated around him - was deep in contemplation. But, unlike the others in the makeshift screening room, his primary thoughts were not focused on the maniacal killer.
Despite the gore and violence of the videotapes, he had found himself all but ignoring the corpses, his eyes wandering back, again and again, to the nattily-dressed blonde cop. He was in every tape, center-stage, and Dom's strange attraction to him grew with each new film. There was something about him...Dom couldn't even begin to put his finger on it, because he had never been remotely attracted to that type of bloke before- he looked the very picture of seriousness and responsibility; notions which Dom did not at all subscribe to, except in regards to his acting. Yet...the man was undeniably appealing.
Dom had known he was in serious trouble when his own personal Blonde-Bloke Soundtrack began playing in his head partway through the second video- The 'Naughty Criminals' Theme from Pulp Fiction whenever the cop came into the shot. The Beatles 'Paperback Writer' when he was walking around, soberly taking notes. Alabama 3's 'Woke Up This Morning' whenever his holstered gun was visible in the frame. 'Secret Agent Man' if he happened to make any unexpectedly furtive movements onscreen. 'Man of Constant Sorrow' (of all bloody fucking things) when the camera focused in on his weary, harried (yet still impishly adorable) face. But ZZ Top was wailing the loudest of them all:
"And every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man...."
"Was that directed at me?", Jorge asked from beside Dom, looking down at his own toucan-patterned shirt and purple board shorts. "Or were you just doin' that freaky 'I think I'm only hearing a tune in my head but actually singing it out loud' thing?"
"The latter.", Dom said, amused, then glanced towards the now-blank t.v. screen. "I wonder who he is..."
"The psycho creep?"
Dom looked over at his friend and winked. "No, the cop. He's dead-sexy... in a bedraggled, button-down, stick-up-the-bum sort of way."
Jorge snorted and shook his head. "Dude...you're hopeless. You know that, right?"
"Absolutely.", Dom grinned. "But it's better to focus on the positive here, innit?"
"Easy for you to say... you didn't have Buffalo Bill waltzing into your bedroom, measuring your wardrobe for transvestite skin-suits, leavin' snuff films as secret admirer gifts."
"I know...I'm not sure if I should be relieved or offended." Dom winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. This wasn't the time for jokes. He looked up at Jorge apologetically. "Bad form, mate, sorry."
Dom could understand and sympathize with his friends' fears, and he felt fear for them... but at the same time couldn't quite find it in himself to be worried about his own safety. It wasn't only the fact that he hadn't received a tape of his own, it was the freaky surreal-ness of the whole thing- it all seemed just a little bit too Hollywood to be actually happening. These were the kinds of things that took place in movies and slasher novels, not in real life.
The other occupants of the meeting room didn't seem to share his equanimity, however. Damon and Carlton were standing over by the water cooler, talking softly, looking next-door to some type of mental breakdown. Okay...Lindelof looked next door to a breakdown; Cuse was just stuffing his face with pastries...but still. Conversation had resumed among the rest of the cast, but it was hushed and tentative. Certainly not one of their livelier get-togethers. Stark fear was still writ large across Emilie's face, and everyone else was still visibly shaken....with one very notable exception.
Josh was slumped in his chair, feet up, content smile on his face, as relaxed as if he were sprawled on his lanai, sunbathing, Corona in hand. That was weird and unsettling enough, but then, even as Dom watched, stunned, the murmured talk among his castmates abruptly and unexpectedly gave way to The Sawyer & Sayid Show.
"I think we should maybe get some security. On our own.", Terry remarked quietly, looking around at the others. "Apart from the police investigation."
"That's the first thing I'm doing when I leave the building.", Emilie agreed shakily, shivering a bit. Other than Dom, she was the only one in the room who hadn't gotten a videotape... but she didn't believe her fear could have been greater if she had.
Naveen patted her arm comfortingly, then nodded. "So am I. No use courting trouble, is there?"
"Count me in.", Evie added, scooting her chair forward, putting her arms around Dom from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder, feeling the need for human contact. She smiled as Jorge leaned over and pulled them both to him in a brief, but warm, hug. "I don't mind saying that this shit seriously creeps me out. Better safe than sorry."
"I second that emotion.", Jorge murmured against Evie's hair before settling back into his seat.
"Bullshit!", Josh spat suddenly, bolting upright in his chair, boots slamming to the floor, startling everyone. "Not me. I ain't kowtowing to any Son of Sam wanna-be motherfucker. "
"And if the wanna-be motherfucker shows up in your bedroom one night, Josh, knife in hand?", Naveen asked, turning to him and raising an eyebrow. "What then?"
"Just let him try.", Josh grinned fiercely. "I'll fix his ass."
Naveen rolled his eyes and smirked. "Oh, yes, of course. How silly of me. I'd forgotten you were the next coming of Steven Seagal."
"Fuck off, Gandhi. I ain't no pansy-assed mama's boy, cryin' for help at the first sign of trouble. I don't need no babysitter."
"That's the most unreasonable bloody thing I've ever heard!" Naveen shook his head, voice growing angry. "This isn't a masculinity contest, Holloway. Your manhood's not being threatened by asking for help. It's a matter of common sense...penis size is not in question here."
Josh licked his lips. "You gonna come keep me safe, baby? Check that last one out for your ownself?"
"Sod off!" A furious blush spread across Naveen's cheeks. "You're pissing me off, mate, but I'd rather not watch you being carted away in a morgue wagon. You saw those videos- you've seen what this bloke can do."
"Yep.", Josh agreed, grinning smugly. "And I still say bring it on."
Evie let go of Dom and swiveled in her chair, staring over at the two of them, shocked more by what was happening in front of her now than she had been over the videotapes themselves. "Josh, stop being an ass!", she scolded harshly, though her voice was more worried than irritated. This wasn't her lovable, snuggly Joshie sitting here- this was Sawyer. No...this was Shithead Sawyer. She'd never seen him like this outside of character, and only very rarely in character. Evie wasn't concerned about Naveen's Sayid-ish quibbling, knowing it was only a startled reaction to Josh's outburst. But something was horribly wrong with Josh. Dom and Jorge glanced back at her in tandem, faces baffled and worried, and Evie shook her head at them helplessly. She had no idea what was going on to make Josh act this way, rude and thoughtless and mean, the polar opposites of his true personality. Some people, when badly frightened, reacted with anger- but Evie had never seen Josh in that light. He always seemed to take what was thrown at him with a shrug and a slow Southern smile. But something had to be deeply disturbing him, and it scared her- in a way that even thoughts of the murderer had been unable to.
Josh, either oblivious to his friends' alarm and concern, or blatantly ignoring it, went on in a cocky voice. "Y'all can hide behind bodyguards like scared little mice if you want to...me, I can handle myself."
Emilie, who had been silent throughout the entire exchange, rose suddenly and walked over to Damon and Carlton, reaching daintily into Carlton's pink pastry box and plucking out a chocolate long john. She strolled back over to Josh, holding the treat out in the palm of her hand. "Why don't you put this in your mouth, Josh.", she smiled sweetly. "Before I shove it somewhere else."
Dom had to bite down on his lip to keep from braying startled laughter, though he was himself quite worried over Josh's odd behavior.
"And the hits just keep on comin'...", Jorge murmured, surprise and amusement evident in his voice, elbowing Dom in the side and cocking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the doorway, where a familiar small, blonde bloke was entering the room. "Looky...here's Officer Stick-Up-The-Bum now."
tbc.....
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That would break you, and it's no fun to play with a broken toy.
I thought that was clever. :)
I'm dying (get it?) for Dommie to wind up in mortal peril and for his Bills to come save him. :D
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I'm dying (get it?) for Dommie to wind up in mortal peril and for his Bills to come save him. :D
Got it. *grins* I have a feeling that there's going to be a lot of mortal peril going on from here on out, unfortunately. And, to be honest, I can't wait for Bills to save him, either...though I think maybe Billy could use a bit of saving himself. *smiles*
Thank you, again, for all of your kind comments. Hopefully, the next part should be up within a couple of days. : )
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Bring on the drama/angst. I can't wait for the next part. I'll keep my eye out for it! :D
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I'm one of those who didn't see the original postings, but you've hooked me now. Great premise, smart writing. I wonder why Billy isn't cast as a detective or cop more often - so many of us think he's perfect for the part. And you've done a great job with his character. The emotions come through strongly and I can just see him as you've described him.
And I also love your OC. Shelley's very likable, but funny and smart too. Extra points for going for Jorge/Hurley instead of one of the pretty boys. And who among us wouldn't have peeked while Billy was changing?!? They're going to make a great team together, her and Billy.
Can't wait for the next part, the dreaded meeting. Attraction's there already on both of their parts. How long can they hold out against it? (And what is Josh's problem, anyway?)
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I wonder why Billy isn't cast as a detective or cop more often - so many of us think he's perfect for the part.
I couldn't agree more... I believe he'd make a fantastic cop on the big screen (or the small one). It's a huge surprise to me that we've never really seen him in that role. Perhaps some of us in the fandom should take up a casting career- could make life a lot more interesting. ; )
And who among us wouldn't have peeked while Billy was changing?!?
No self-respecting Boyd fan would pass up that opportunity. *grins*
Can't wait for the next part, the dreaded meeting. Attraction's there already on both of their parts. How long can they hold out against it? (And what is Josh's problem, anyway?)
Knowing me, they won't be able to hold out against it for more than five minutes, tops. *laughs* But I suppose I should probably be a bit more realistic than that...give them ten. ; ) (To be perfectly honest, I actually have no clear idea what Josh's problem is yet. He just insisted on playing curmudgeon, and I went with the flow. Hopefully something will occur to me soon, however. lol)
Thank you so much, once again, for your lovely comments. With luck the next part - and the dreaded meeting - won't be too long in coming. : )
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Okay, I am dying to know what is going on with Josh. Is he just feeling the Southern Redneck bravado or has something already happened to him? Or could it be that he is taking out some of the fear and frustration that he had about his real house break-in a while back? He was helpless then, and he'll be damned if he'll be helpless again kind of thing... I look forward to finding out.
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And Josh... to tell you the truth, lol, I wish I knew myself what was going on with the man, but I don't, not entirely. *shakes head* I'm sure something will come to me, but he just demanded to be written that way, so I went with it. Poor guy's obviously got some kind of issue, though. : (
Thanks again, so much, for reading and commenting... so very happy you're enjoying! : )
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