Reticulated

Devil In Disguise

Tim settles into Allison's extra room for the night, against the better judgment that contradicts his earlier affirmation. Surely, the two of them, both infected by that thing, staying in the same area for so long together would call It back? Surely, things would come to a head in another argument?

His worries are for nothing, however. He spends the night lying uncomfortably in his daytime clothes on top of the comforter in her spare room, and is awakened in the morning by the smell of fresh coffee and early morning light caressing the walls of the shack lovingly. He freshens up in her bathroom, splashing water on his wane and worn face, before shuffling to the kitchen where he is immediately handed a mug of something much more delicious than he usually gets at the diner.

He's halfway through it before Allie speaks. "I've got work," she informs him sullenly. "I forgot to mention it last night. Normally I don't work on Saturday mornings and do the night instead, but I took on an extra shift. Everything else will have to wait until after." Tim nods. He knows the importance of fighting hard for every extra cent at every shitty job you can, and doesn't blame her for not wanting to let the monster in her life take something from her.

"I'll go in with you, get some breakfast, check out of the motel."

Tank seems to have forgiven Tim for last night's transgressions, and is flopped over on his back, jowls hanging and exposing grinning teeth, enjoying a belly rub when Allison is finally ready for the day. His mournful gaze through her front window nearly makes Tim turn up a corner of his lips as they load into her truck and head back into town. The radio is gentle as they make their way, the voice of some country-blues singer crooning about a "devil in disguise," and the sun has returned after yesterday's storm. It's almost hard to summon the anger he had last night as he closes his eyes in its warmth.

They pull up to the diner and Allie parks around the back, tension rolling off her shoulders as she does so. A chill runs down Tim's spine – there are two cop cars and an ambulance parked there, their lights flashing. A "crowd" of people – seven in reality – are pushing against yellow crime scene tape. As soon as the engine's off, Allison's door is open and she's jumping out of it, not even pausing to close the door. As she runs to the back door of her place of employment, a man with graying hair turns to her, reaching out to grab her arm tightly. Tim follows behind slowly.

"You don't want to see this, darlin'. Don't go in."

"What happened?" Her voice is tinged with a sense of foreboding.

The man shakes his head, the Adam's Apple of his throat bobbing up and down several times as he seems to steel himself. "It's Lafayette. He's dead."

She pales, covers her mouth with her hands, and steps back from the man's grip. Her gaze goes rapidly from his face to the back door and back again. "What happened?"

"Dunno. Whatever it was ain't good. Blood everywhere. Lafayette everywhere." The man's voice is thick with emotion.

"What?"

"Whoever did it, they opened him up, like they was guttin' him. Bits of 'im are strewn about the place. Never seen nothin' like it in my whole life."

The man rushes to grab Allie by the arms in an attempt to support her as she begins sinking to the ground. Tim steps forward to place himself at her back before realizing he's doing so. He gets a cursory glance from the man but his attention quickly returns to her. "They're doin' as cops do. You don't wanna be here for this, trust me. I'm closing up for the week. In honor of 'im. And to get things cleaned up. Go home. Lock your door at night. Be safe. I'll call you when I know more."