FIC: In the Arms of the Wicked, 23 (Ian/OMC, Don, OCs, PG-13)
Title: "Memories of the Dead"
Series: In the Arms of the Wicked, Part 23/?
Characters: Ian/OMC, Don, OCs.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Who is the woman Ian can't stop thinking about?
Disclaimer: I don't own anything (characters, situations, etcetera) except my OCs.
Beta: The wonderful fredbassett, the fantastic twins_m0m and the great lillyg.
Previous chapters: Click here.
Previous chapter
Next chapter
23: Memories of the Dead
“So, you’re FBI,” the hospital’s director said to Ian once he and Farrow were seated in his office. The sniper showed him his badge; by his side, the archeologist remained silent. “You’re in the middle of an ongoing investigation.”
“Yes,” Ian responded.
Breathing hard, the Director played with a pen. “This hospital has a very good reputation. If the press finds out that you’ve been here, rumors would come up and…”
“We don’t want that to happen.”
“Bringing Dr. Farrow here is not going to contribute to your anonymity, Agent Edgerton.”
Ian leaned on the Director’s desk, smiling briefly. “The point is that this hospital has lost a patient who is a key element of the case we’re working on.” He was pleased to see the man get uncomfortable and arrange his glasses.
“Okay, I’ll give you that. We can’t provide you an explanation.”
“What about Lillian Fisher?” Farrow suddenly asked, leaning over the desk, too.
It seemed that the Director was clueless about her. “Who?”
“A friend of mine. She came here looking for Richard. She’s short, British, red-haired… She’s fifty-years old.”
Ian supported the question. “Could you give us something on that?” he asked the Director, who remained silent until he decided to use his desk phone to call the admittance receptionist.
“Stella, I have a question for you. Did you talk to a mature woman today? She had red-hair, British accent, and was looking for Mr. Richard Peyton?”
“Ah, yes, I remember her. She was the one who let us know that Mr. Peyton wasn’t in his room. But after giving us the news, she left the hospital. She didn’t even complain about the patient being gone.” Her voice came out of the phone, and she sounded a bit worried about the fact that she was being asked for the missing patient.
“Okay. Thank you.” When the receptionist hung up, the Director entwined his fingers on the table, while Ian and Farrow stared at each other. Leaving without causing a scandal or at least a complaint didn’t sound like Lillian at all. “I’m sorry we can’t help you more.”
“Thank you for answering our questions, Doctor,” Ian said before shaking the man’s hands. He watched how Farrow did it, too, obviously not very happy with the outcome of the meeting.
Before they left, the Director told him, “We’ll keep the body of your friend until the FBI takes over. And that other man…”
“Sergio. His name is Sergio,” Farrow clarified.
“Sergio,” the Director pointed out, “will be taken care of by our best staff.”
Satisfied, Ian nodded and he and Farrow abandoned the room. They passed by Sergio’s room and the sniper could see a nurse taking care of him. “Are you sure you want to leave him behind?” he asked the archeologist.
“Yeah, I don’t think anyone would do anything to him while he’s here. There are too many people around… and that’s exactly why I don’t understand how no one knows where Richard is. Sergio needs to be taken care of anyway. His injuries aren’t the kind that lets him get up and start running right away. On the other hand, we’ll live.”
Once outside the hospital, Farrow made another effort to reach Lillian again. “Nothing. This is like the fiftieth time I’ve called her,” he said between gritted teeth. “You know, if Richard doesn’t appear somewhere, I swear I’m going to sue this hospital.”
“Fine, do whatever you want. We should get a ride back to the house and get that stuff out of the ground. Do you think we could do it today?”
Farrow cocked his head as he played with his cell phone. “If we hurry up and work our asses off, yeah.”
“Okay, then let’s do it. Here’s a police station, I’m sure they’ll be glad to help the FBI.”
He was right, and he knew it. A few minutes later, the police had given them a car and they were on their way to the house again. Ian just hoped that whatever he was going to uncover wouldn’t make things worse.
Wanting to get to the bottom of the case as soon as possible, Ian spent the next few hours with Farrow. With the help of shovels and other tools, they removed most of the dirt that was left inside the grid. Evening was approaching by the time they got close to the mysterious, buried object.
“Here,” Farrow said as he and Ian kept taking dirt out of the grid. They were sweaty and exhausted, but they had made a commitment. “Just a little bit further…”
The shovels hit something solid. Ian and Farrow discarded them and took out the right equipment to continue their work. It would allow them to carefully get rid of any extra dirt without compromising the evidence.
“C’mon, help me,” Farrow asked. Then he started passing a brush very carefully over the dusty surface. Ian took another brush and mimicked the soft, circular movements.
Farrow gave a little yelp, indicating he’d found something. He put his brush away and placed his gloved hands on the dirty, dry ground, dragging the object up. Ian helped him, and he could see what the group of thieves had left there for them to find.
They weren’t playing around. The message they’ve sent Farrow was direct and simple.
There, in front of his eyes, was a dead man. His corpse had been buried there all along. He was wrapped in a big, almost transparent plastic bag. Decomposition had done its work. There was a piece of paper covering his face.
Ian went to cut the bag with a knife so that the note would be free of the disturbing wrapping. When he read what it said, there was no doubt that the members of the cult were as insane as he thought they were. But when he looked up at Farrow, he found a person in shock. His eyes were red, while his skin had become extremely pale.
“This is…” Ian said, only to see the archeologist turn around and walk away. He didn’t continue as he watched him go in the old house without looking back.
Taking a deep breath, Ian turned to the bagged corpse and read the note again. “Louis Terrence… Rest In Peace,” he muttered, observing the unrecognizable face of the man who’d been killed two years ago. The wind ran through the dark hair of the dead in a cruel and disgusting dance.
One man taken away from his endless sleep; another killed by a bomb; a third one taken away from a hospital; a missing woman.
Ian got up and went to the house. He had answers to demand from a man whose life was falling apart.
Inside, he heard the slam of a door, and he went towards that particular room. He called Farrow, but there was no response. He made several efforts to get him out of there, but eventually, he got tired of it. This is the last time I’m going to say this. “Open the door!” Ian yelled, and he knocked on the door hard to make his point. “Do you hear me?”
Nothing happened, and Ian wondered why he’d thought it’d be any different. Farrow had locked himself up in a little room and hadn’t responded to any kind of question. Was Louis his partner? Did Farrow suspect anyone near him? Would he confess to what had had actually happened to his lover?
Exhausted and frustrated, the sniper leaned on the door and ran a hand over his face. If Farrow didn’t want to collaborate right now, it was understandable. He had a lot of valid excuses for him to isolate himself from the world for a couple of hours. Ian knew he had to be patient.
His hand hurt; the nurse had put a bandage around it, but that hadn’t stopped the pain. Thankfully, Ian had been through worse times, so he knew how to handle it. Deciding to wait until Farrow opened his door, Ian went towards the room he shared with him and grabbed a clean t-shirt. Then he went back to the bathroom and took a towel from a shelf near the bathtub. He dampened it in warm water and soon he started to pass it over his hand.
He ended up taking his dirty t-shirt off. He was sweaty and uncomfortable and the feeling of the wet towel on his skin, sliding over his muscles, was really good.
Once he was done, Ian went to take another towel to dry his solid body. Passing it over himself, he noticed he was getting dizzy. In an attempt to steady himself, he closed his eyes for a moment, and saw flashes of his past again.
Marah had died on the couch, while holding young Ian tightly. He’d hurt his knee, and she’d been asking how he’d got that injury. She’d been smiling. She’d been happy.
A bullet had broken the glass behind them and the couch and had entered the back of her head. She’d bled over Ian as he’d watched, his body shaking and his heart in shock.
When the paramedics, the police and the FBI had arrived, it had been too late. The last breath of life had escape Marah’s body. Ian’s clothes had been stained with her blood and the tragedy would always be with him, no matter where he went.
Ian took a deep breath. All that was in the past. His fear of losing Marah was stupid; there was no chance of him having her and seeing her leave again. She was dead and buried and forgotten by the world, but so alive in his head that it was impossible for him to get rid of her. Her touch, her smell, her confident smile, the caress of her hair…
He had to move on - at least for a while longer, like he always told himself.
Absorbed by his thoughts, he turned around, only to find Farrow seated on the toilet. The archeologist’s hands rested languidly on his thighs as his eyes were fixed behind Ian. “That body… I haven’t seen it two years. I haven’t seen him since…”
“… since he died,” Ian finished, and Farrow looked up at him. “I read the case file.”
“I figured… I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill Louis. I’ll prove it to you one day, once my head stops spinning like a carousel.”
The sniper kept drying his arms, not looking at Farrow anymore, but still listening to him. I’d like to see you do it. Thinking of an answer, he went to grab his clean t-shirt and he noticed how the archeologist kept his eyes on him, following his every move. “What?” he asked.
“Do you miss her?”
“Who?”
“Marah.”
The blood that ran though Ian’s veins got suddenly warmer and he snapped, “How the hell do you know that name?”
“Noah told me about her…”
“You have no right to talk about her, and neither does he!”
Farrow simply responded, “I don’t think so.”
“Stop it! Just… stop.” Trying to calm down, Ian left the bathroom and walked down the corridor. On the way outside of the house, his cell phone caught his attention. “Don…”
Don didn’t sound very pleased to be calling. “I’ve got bad news.”
What now? “Me, too… We unburied the cult’s little surprise for Farrow and Louis Terrence’s body appeared there.”
“But it was in the cemetery of…”
“Yes, and someone took it out, wrapped it in an expanded polystyrene bag and put it underground, just like the pieces of art.”
“That’s sick…” Don said. His voice sounded very worried, as it was expected. “I bet Farrow’s shocked.”
He still talks too much… “He is, considering that his other friend, Richard, is missing in strange circumstances. What’s your bad news?”
Before answering, there was the sound of Don taking a deep breath. “I sent Megan, Charlie and Larry to Farrow’s house out of town… They found Richard Peyton dead, tied to a chair, with signs of torture and probably some kind of drug in his system.”
Ian couldn’t say anything in response. The cult had already gone too far, and now this had happened. He rubbed his eyes, thinking about how Farrow would react next and what he’d do to make the madness stop. “I’ll tell him,” he finally said. “Anything else?”
“Yeah… The CalSci students provided us a photo. We should be getting an ID soon. I’ll call you again later.”
“Okay.”
Ian hung up and spent a moment resting his back on the wall, putting his thoughts in order. Duty comes first. Always. Determined to break the latest news to Farrow, he went back to the bathroom, but the archeologist wasn’t there anymore. Ian searched for him in other rooms and finally found him at the library. Farrow was on the phone as he ran his fingers over the books on the big shelves. “Thank you, Noah. I won’t forget this.”
Noah Cameron? Ian noticed a laptop on the desk. When he got closer, he could see the image of a cemetery was on the screen, along with the picture of a tombstone. Marah Edgerton, Beloved Mother and Wife…
Astonished, the sniper’s eyes landed on Farrow, who turned and said, “This had to be done. I have an explanation…”
“You better!” Ian yelled, approaching him and pushing him against the shelves. “You better have a god damn good explanation for messing around with my mother’s grave!”
“I asked Noah to put surveillance on her cemetery so that no one touches it! Richard and Lillian are missing, and they’re friends of mine! If you remember well, you’re supposed to be my newest bodyguard, and a previous one was killed, not to mention that we’ve just found Louis under my property. People related to me - even the dead ones - are being attacked. I think a little prudence would be in order now.”
Ian had to admit that he would have done the same thing, except talking to Cameron. He put his hands on his hips. “Thank you.”
Farrow watched him for a moment. “You’re welcome, Ian.”
The sound of his name being pronounced by Farrow’s lips hammered Ian’s brain. There was something different between them. So far, he’d say it was something close to trust, even among two people who were basically different.
“Okay, that’s done. I wanted to take care of that first, just in case, so that no one else gets hurt…” Farrow sat at his desk and started typing up. He glanced at Ian's guarded face and asked, “What?”
Getting straight to the point was better in these kinds of situations. Like as before, when they had discovered the wrapped, buried body, there would be an initial reaction of shock, but then things would start stabilizing. “Your friend, Richard… we found him.”
Immediately, Farrow’s eyes widened and his lips tensed. He obviously knew that something bad had to have happened to his colleague. “No. No. Where?”
“In your L.A. house… your room.”
Farrow leaned on the back of the chair and covered his face. “We used to spend hours there, revising new magazines. You know, whoever’s giving the cult information… I’m going to kill him.” When he let Ian see his face, he looked as lost as when he’d seen the body wrapped in plastic.
“Do you have any idea who it might be?” the sniper wanted to know.
“I have a few good friends that come and go and know about Richard, Louis and I… But so far, I can’t think of anyone who could hate me this much.”
“I see.” Ian leaned on the desk, and his eyes landed on Farrow when he started talking again.
“I can’t believe they took Louis out of his grave… It seems like it’s all happening again.”
Now, that was something that grabbed Ian's attention. “Again?”
Staring at the laptop screen with empty eyes, Farrow muttered, “The killing… the hunting.” He swallowed. “When I heard the shots that killed Louis… I hid. I didn’t do anything. I saw him with those two holes, blood coming out of his body, and all I did was hiding in the cabinet like a coward.”
The memory of Marah being murdered in front of him made Ian say, “No. It’s not your fault. Besides, according to the file, you emptied your gun first.”
Farrow looked up, and he didn’t seem to be relieved. “Well, it didn’t exactly help, did it?”
Trying to keep up with the conversation, the sniper took a breath and decided to slightly change the subject. He folded his arms and asked, “What kind of relationship did you and Louis…?”
“Lovers - almost,” Farrow interrupted him. “Louis was good to me. We were kind of different but that didn’t get in the way.”
“Could it be the same people who killed him are the ones that are after you now?”
Strangely, Farrow seemed to try to avoid the question, but he finally responded, “Maybe. Maybe not.” He rubbed his eyes. “Look, I got into a dirty business with some people I shouldn’t have. There were rules, and I broke them because I didn’t find them reasonable. In fact, I thought they were completely irrational, not to mention stupid.”
“And that’s why…”
“Louis paid the price. It was him who got shot, not me. There you go. Is that what you wanted to hear?” After staring at Ian, Farrow got up and walked around the room, breathing heavily. “I cared about him. I made a celibacy promise after he died. I haven’t been with someone else since then - men or women.”
“Good,” Ian responded, “but ridiculous. Those kinds of promises don’t last for long, unless you’re a monk or a priest. In fact, you’ve already broken it.”
With an indignant expression on his face, Farrow stopped walking and approached Ian. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
The sniper got closer to him. “You’ve been sending me inappropriate messages since we met. I didn’t realize until you let it slip that you are bisexual.”
“Does it bother you?”
“No. Do you honestly think you’re the first man who’s looked at me that way?” Ian snapped, folding his arms. “Whatever you’re thinking of, it’s not gonna happen. Just so we’re clear.”
“Curiosity does not equal action.”
“I’m glad we agree.” They held each other’s gaze, like a serious fight was about to break out, if it hadn’t started already. Ian’s cell phone rang and he picked up the call, never opening the gap between him and Farrow. “What is it?” As he watched the archeologist’s determined eyes, he listened to Don explaining some of what the next steps would be. “Yeah,” he muttered, and he put it on speakerphone. Then he looked at Farrow again. “Don’s about to get a visual and a positive ID of the CalSci shooter. The others have news, too.”
“Really? Thank God,” Farrow said with irony, as he started to retreat and give Ian some space to breathe.
Series: In the Arms of the Wicked, Part 23/?
Characters: Ian/OMC, Don, OCs.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Who is the woman Ian can't stop thinking about?
Disclaimer: I don't own anything (characters, situations, etcetera) except my OCs.
Beta: The wonderful fredbassett, the fantastic twins_m0m and the great lillyg.
Previous chapters: Click here.
Previous chapter
Next chapter
23: Memories of the Dead
“So, you’re FBI,” the hospital’s director said to Ian once he and Farrow were seated in his office. The sniper showed him his badge; by his side, the archeologist remained silent. “You’re in the middle of an ongoing investigation.”
“Yes,” Ian responded.
Breathing hard, the Director played with a pen. “This hospital has a very good reputation. If the press finds out that you’ve been here, rumors would come up and…”
“We don’t want that to happen.”
“Bringing Dr. Farrow here is not going to contribute to your anonymity, Agent Edgerton.”
Ian leaned on the Director’s desk, smiling briefly. “The point is that this hospital has lost a patient who is a key element of the case we’re working on.” He was pleased to see the man get uncomfortable and arrange his glasses.
“Okay, I’ll give you that. We can’t provide you an explanation.”
“What about Lillian Fisher?” Farrow suddenly asked, leaning over the desk, too.
It seemed that the Director was clueless about her. “Who?”
“A friend of mine. She came here looking for Richard. She’s short, British, red-haired… She’s fifty-years old.”
Ian supported the question. “Could you give us something on that?” he asked the Director, who remained silent until he decided to use his desk phone to call the admittance receptionist.
“Stella, I have a question for you. Did you talk to a mature woman today? She had red-hair, British accent, and was looking for Mr. Richard Peyton?”
“Ah, yes, I remember her. She was the one who let us know that Mr. Peyton wasn’t in his room. But after giving us the news, she left the hospital. She didn’t even complain about the patient being gone.” Her voice came out of the phone, and she sounded a bit worried about the fact that she was being asked for the missing patient.
“Okay. Thank you.” When the receptionist hung up, the Director entwined his fingers on the table, while Ian and Farrow stared at each other. Leaving without causing a scandal or at least a complaint didn’t sound like Lillian at all. “I’m sorry we can’t help you more.”
“Thank you for answering our questions, Doctor,” Ian said before shaking the man’s hands. He watched how Farrow did it, too, obviously not very happy with the outcome of the meeting.
Before they left, the Director told him, “We’ll keep the body of your friend until the FBI takes over. And that other man…”
“Sergio. His name is Sergio,” Farrow clarified.
“Sergio,” the Director pointed out, “will be taken care of by our best staff.”
Satisfied, Ian nodded and he and Farrow abandoned the room. They passed by Sergio’s room and the sniper could see a nurse taking care of him. “Are you sure you want to leave him behind?” he asked the archeologist.
“Yeah, I don’t think anyone would do anything to him while he’s here. There are too many people around… and that’s exactly why I don’t understand how no one knows where Richard is. Sergio needs to be taken care of anyway. His injuries aren’t the kind that lets him get up and start running right away. On the other hand, we’ll live.”
Once outside the hospital, Farrow made another effort to reach Lillian again. “Nothing. This is like the fiftieth time I’ve called her,” he said between gritted teeth. “You know, if Richard doesn’t appear somewhere, I swear I’m going to sue this hospital.”
“Fine, do whatever you want. We should get a ride back to the house and get that stuff out of the ground. Do you think we could do it today?”
Farrow cocked his head as he played with his cell phone. “If we hurry up and work our asses off, yeah.”
“Okay, then let’s do it. Here’s a police station, I’m sure they’ll be glad to help the FBI.”
He was right, and he knew it. A few minutes later, the police had given them a car and they were on their way to the house again. Ian just hoped that whatever he was going to uncover wouldn’t make things worse.
Wanting to get to the bottom of the case as soon as possible, Ian spent the next few hours with Farrow. With the help of shovels and other tools, they removed most of the dirt that was left inside the grid. Evening was approaching by the time they got close to the mysterious, buried object.
“Here,” Farrow said as he and Ian kept taking dirt out of the grid. They were sweaty and exhausted, but they had made a commitment. “Just a little bit further…”
The shovels hit something solid. Ian and Farrow discarded them and took out the right equipment to continue their work. It would allow them to carefully get rid of any extra dirt without compromising the evidence.
“C’mon, help me,” Farrow asked. Then he started passing a brush very carefully over the dusty surface. Ian took another brush and mimicked the soft, circular movements.
Farrow gave a little yelp, indicating he’d found something. He put his brush away and placed his gloved hands on the dirty, dry ground, dragging the object up. Ian helped him, and he could see what the group of thieves had left there for them to find.
They weren’t playing around. The message they’ve sent Farrow was direct and simple.
There, in front of his eyes, was a dead man. His corpse had been buried there all along. He was wrapped in a big, almost transparent plastic bag. Decomposition had done its work. There was a piece of paper covering his face.
Ian went to cut the bag with a knife so that the note would be free of the disturbing wrapping. When he read what it said, there was no doubt that the members of the cult were as insane as he thought they were. But when he looked up at Farrow, he found a person in shock. His eyes were red, while his skin had become extremely pale.
“This is…” Ian said, only to see the archeologist turn around and walk away. He didn’t continue as he watched him go in the old house without looking back.
Taking a deep breath, Ian turned to the bagged corpse and read the note again. “Louis Terrence… Rest In Peace,” he muttered, observing the unrecognizable face of the man who’d been killed two years ago. The wind ran through the dark hair of the dead in a cruel and disgusting dance.
One man taken away from his endless sleep; another killed by a bomb; a third one taken away from a hospital; a missing woman.
Ian got up and went to the house. He had answers to demand from a man whose life was falling apart.
Inside, he heard the slam of a door, and he went towards that particular room. He called Farrow, but there was no response. He made several efforts to get him out of there, but eventually, he got tired of it. This is the last time I’m going to say this. “Open the door!” Ian yelled, and he knocked on the door hard to make his point. “Do you hear me?”
Nothing happened, and Ian wondered why he’d thought it’d be any different. Farrow had locked himself up in a little room and hadn’t responded to any kind of question. Was Louis his partner? Did Farrow suspect anyone near him? Would he confess to what had had actually happened to his lover?
Exhausted and frustrated, the sniper leaned on the door and ran a hand over his face. If Farrow didn’t want to collaborate right now, it was understandable. He had a lot of valid excuses for him to isolate himself from the world for a couple of hours. Ian knew he had to be patient.
His hand hurt; the nurse had put a bandage around it, but that hadn’t stopped the pain. Thankfully, Ian had been through worse times, so he knew how to handle it. Deciding to wait until Farrow opened his door, Ian went towards the room he shared with him and grabbed a clean t-shirt. Then he went back to the bathroom and took a towel from a shelf near the bathtub. He dampened it in warm water and soon he started to pass it over his hand.
He ended up taking his dirty t-shirt off. He was sweaty and uncomfortable and the feeling of the wet towel on his skin, sliding over his muscles, was really good.
Once he was done, Ian went to take another towel to dry his solid body. Passing it over himself, he noticed he was getting dizzy. In an attempt to steady himself, he closed his eyes for a moment, and saw flashes of his past again.
Marah had died on the couch, while holding young Ian tightly. He’d hurt his knee, and she’d been asking how he’d got that injury. She’d been smiling. She’d been happy.
A bullet had broken the glass behind them and the couch and had entered the back of her head. She’d bled over Ian as he’d watched, his body shaking and his heart in shock.
When the paramedics, the police and the FBI had arrived, it had been too late. The last breath of life had escape Marah’s body. Ian’s clothes had been stained with her blood and the tragedy would always be with him, no matter where he went.
Ian took a deep breath. All that was in the past. His fear of losing Marah was stupid; there was no chance of him having her and seeing her leave again. She was dead and buried and forgotten by the world, but so alive in his head that it was impossible for him to get rid of her. Her touch, her smell, her confident smile, the caress of her hair…
He had to move on - at least for a while longer, like he always told himself.
Absorbed by his thoughts, he turned around, only to find Farrow seated on the toilet. The archeologist’s hands rested languidly on his thighs as his eyes were fixed behind Ian. “That body… I haven’t seen it two years. I haven’t seen him since…”
“… since he died,” Ian finished, and Farrow looked up at him. “I read the case file.”
“I figured… I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill Louis. I’ll prove it to you one day, once my head stops spinning like a carousel.”
The sniper kept drying his arms, not looking at Farrow anymore, but still listening to him. I’d like to see you do it. Thinking of an answer, he went to grab his clean t-shirt and he noticed how the archeologist kept his eyes on him, following his every move. “What?” he asked.
“Do you miss her?”
“Who?”
“Marah.”
The blood that ran though Ian’s veins got suddenly warmer and he snapped, “How the hell do you know that name?”
“Noah told me about her…”
“You have no right to talk about her, and neither does he!”
Farrow simply responded, “I don’t think so.”
“Stop it! Just… stop.” Trying to calm down, Ian left the bathroom and walked down the corridor. On the way outside of the house, his cell phone caught his attention. “Don…”
Don didn’t sound very pleased to be calling. “I’ve got bad news.”
What now? “Me, too… We unburied the cult’s little surprise for Farrow and Louis Terrence’s body appeared there.”
“But it was in the cemetery of…”
“Yes, and someone took it out, wrapped it in an expanded polystyrene bag and put it underground, just like the pieces of art.”
“That’s sick…” Don said. His voice sounded very worried, as it was expected. “I bet Farrow’s shocked.”
He still talks too much… “He is, considering that his other friend, Richard, is missing in strange circumstances. What’s your bad news?”
Before answering, there was the sound of Don taking a deep breath. “I sent Megan, Charlie and Larry to Farrow’s house out of town… They found Richard Peyton dead, tied to a chair, with signs of torture and probably some kind of drug in his system.”
Ian couldn’t say anything in response. The cult had already gone too far, and now this had happened. He rubbed his eyes, thinking about how Farrow would react next and what he’d do to make the madness stop. “I’ll tell him,” he finally said. “Anything else?”
“Yeah… The CalSci students provided us a photo. We should be getting an ID soon. I’ll call you again later.”
“Okay.”
Ian hung up and spent a moment resting his back on the wall, putting his thoughts in order. Duty comes first. Always. Determined to break the latest news to Farrow, he went back to the bathroom, but the archeologist wasn’t there anymore. Ian searched for him in other rooms and finally found him at the library. Farrow was on the phone as he ran his fingers over the books on the big shelves. “Thank you, Noah. I won’t forget this.”
Noah Cameron? Ian noticed a laptop on the desk. When he got closer, he could see the image of a cemetery was on the screen, along with the picture of a tombstone. Marah Edgerton, Beloved Mother and Wife…
Astonished, the sniper’s eyes landed on Farrow, who turned and said, “This had to be done. I have an explanation…”
“You better!” Ian yelled, approaching him and pushing him against the shelves. “You better have a god damn good explanation for messing around with my mother’s grave!”
“I asked Noah to put surveillance on her cemetery so that no one touches it! Richard and Lillian are missing, and they’re friends of mine! If you remember well, you’re supposed to be my newest bodyguard, and a previous one was killed, not to mention that we’ve just found Louis under my property. People related to me - even the dead ones - are being attacked. I think a little prudence would be in order now.”
Ian had to admit that he would have done the same thing, except talking to Cameron. He put his hands on his hips. “Thank you.”
Farrow watched him for a moment. “You’re welcome, Ian.”
The sound of his name being pronounced by Farrow’s lips hammered Ian’s brain. There was something different between them. So far, he’d say it was something close to trust, even among two people who were basically different.
“Okay, that’s done. I wanted to take care of that first, just in case, so that no one else gets hurt…” Farrow sat at his desk and started typing up. He glanced at Ian's guarded face and asked, “What?”
Getting straight to the point was better in these kinds of situations. Like as before, when they had discovered the wrapped, buried body, there would be an initial reaction of shock, but then things would start stabilizing. “Your friend, Richard… we found him.”
Immediately, Farrow’s eyes widened and his lips tensed. He obviously knew that something bad had to have happened to his colleague. “No. No. Where?”
“In your L.A. house… your room.”
Farrow leaned on the back of the chair and covered his face. “We used to spend hours there, revising new magazines. You know, whoever’s giving the cult information… I’m going to kill him.” When he let Ian see his face, he looked as lost as when he’d seen the body wrapped in plastic.
“Do you have any idea who it might be?” the sniper wanted to know.
“I have a few good friends that come and go and know about Richard, Louis and I… But so far, I can’t think of anyone who could hate me this much.”
“I see.” Ian leaned on the desk, and his eyes landed on Farrow when he started talking again.
“I can’t believe they took Louis out of his grave… It seems like it’s all happening again.”
Now, that was something that grabbed Ian's attention. “Again?”
Staring at the laptop screen with empty eyes, Farrow muttered, “The killing… the hunting.” He swallowed. “When I heard the shots that killed Louis… I hid. I didn’t do anything. I saw him with those two holes, blood coming out of his body, and all I did was hiding in the cabinet like a coward.”
The memory of Marah being murdered in front of him made Ian say, “No. It’s not your fault. Besides, according to the file, you emptied your gun first.”
Farrow looked up, and he didn’t seem to be relieved. “Well, it didn’t exactly help, did it?”
Trying to keep up with the conversation, the sniper took a breath and decided to slightly change the subject. He folded his arms and asked, “What kind of relationship did you and Louis…?”
“Lovers - almost,” Farrow interrupted him. “Louis was good to me. We were kind of different but that didn’t get in the way.”
“Could it be the same people who killed him are the ones that are after you now?”
Strangely, Farrow seemed to try to avoid the question, but he finally responded, “Maybe. Maybe not.” He rubbed his eyes. “Look, I got into a dirty business with some people I shouldn’t have. There were rules, and I broke them because I didn’t find them reasonable. In fact, I thought they were completely irrational, not to mention stupid.”
“And that’s why…”
“Louis paid the price. It was him who got shot, not me. There you go. Is that what you wanted to hear?” After staring at Ian, Farrow got up and walked around the room, breathing heavily. “I cared about him. I made a celibacy promise after he died. I haven’t been with someone else since then - men or women.”
“Good,” Ian responded, “but ridiculous. Those kinds of promises don’t last for long, unless you’re a monk or a priest. In fact, you’ve already broken it.”
With an indignant expression on his face, Farrow stopped walking and approached Ian. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
The sniper got closer to him. “You’ve been sending me inappropriate messages since we met. I didn’t realize until you let it slip that you are bisexual.”
“Does it bother you?”
“No. Do you honestly think you’re the first man who’s looked at me that way?” Ian snapped, folding his arms. “Whatever you’re thinking of, it’s not gonna happen. Just so we’re clear.”
“Curiosity does not equal action.”
“I’m glad we agree.” They held each other’s gaze, like a serious fight was about to break out, if it hadn’t started already. Ian’s cell phone rang and he picked up the call, never opening the gap between him and Farrow. “What is it?” As he watched the archeologist’s determined eyes, he listened to Don explaining some of what the next steps would be. “Yeah,” he muttered, and he put it on speakerphone. Then he looked at Farrow again. “Don’s about to get a visual and a positive ID of the CalSci shooter. The others have news, too.”
“Really? Thank God,” Farrow said with irony, as he started to retreat and give Ian some space to breathe.