Violet and Deanna

Jones

"I'm sorry, Jones. You're lucky I'm not charging you with something. I'm going to let you go."

Fired.

He knew it was going to happen, and yet, somehow, he had no idea it was going to happen. He stared at the chief, stared at Antony's smug face, stared at his badge, sitting on the table in front of them all. Jones swallowed the lump that felt like it was strangling him.

"I understand. Thank you." Somehow the words left Jones' mouth, even though he didn't remember how to say them. It was quiet. Quiet as he left the chief's office, quiet as he left the station, quiet as he walked to his little Toyota. He had wanted to do this since before he could remember. He had trained ridiculously hard for the test. And now, it had all gone to shit. His entire career was gone. At 23.

Jones leaned his head down and banged his head against the driver's wheel. Repeatedly. He was a fool. An idiot. A nincompoop.

What kind of asshole lets witnesses to such a bizarre crime leave the crime scene because of compassion?

Teddy Jones, the boy who rescued mangled butterflies from the elementary school bully so they would have a proper burial, that's who. He could remember career day, in sixth grade. His teacher had called him to her desk, right after Horatio Ingles. She had asked, 'Teddy, are you sure you want to be a police officer?'. He remembered his vehement yes, and how her brow had crinkled. 'Don't you think a career as a teacher or a nurse would be better?' she had asked, 'Don't you think you would do better in a nicer job?'.

A year. That's how long he had lasted in the police force. One freaking year. There were STDs that lasted longer than his career had lasted. God. He was worse than an STD. He pulled his car to a stop at the only red light in town.

And then, almost as if the universe was sending him the ultimate middle finger, he watched the familiar black Camaro zoom past him across the intersection, going nearly 30 mph over the speed limit. His mouth fell open. There was no way. Jones jerked his wheel to the right, running the red light, and crashed his foot down on the pedal of his Camry, trailing behind the Camaro. He was going to follow them, and he wasn't going to tell the police a single thing he found out. Hell no.

Jones was now a free agent, and the first thing he was going to do with his time was figure out whether or not these two senior psychopaths killed their own mothers.

He tailed them down the road, keeping enough distance between the cars that the two psychos wouldn't be able to tell he was following them. Jones had a feeling they wouldn't be able to tell they were being followed anyways though, and if his short lived career as a cop had taught him anything, it was to trust his feelings.

God. He sounded like a bitter old man. Honestly at this point, it was possible he was a bitter old man.

When they pulled into a motel, he drove along, and then parked the car on the side of the road a few miles up the road. He rested in his car, and knew that he was subconsciously giving them a chance to escape him. If he overslept and they drove past him, he would drive back to town and pack up all of his belongings. If he woke up, they were stuck with him, even if they had no idea they were stuck with him.

It was at the crack of dawn that he opened one eye and heard the familiar purr of the Camaro's engine sound across the road. He groaned. He had given them one shot, and they had blown it, gunning across the highway with some kind of rock and roll blaring out of the speakers. With a sigh, Jones turned on his car and followed them across the highway, further and further, until he saw the 'Welcome to Alabama the Beautiful' sign and slowed down for a bit to contemplate what his life had come to and if he was really going to follow them across state lines like the creeper he was.

He thought about his badge, lying on the desk, the Chief's soulless eyes as they stared into his own, lacking any remorse about crushing the career of his best friend's son. Why his father had been friends with such an obvious asshole, Jones had no idea. Anger seeped into his bloodstream again, and his foot smashed down on the gas pedal, his mind made up for now.

He was going to figure out what the little murderesses were doing. He was going to figure out why he felt the need to sacrifice his job for two girls with teary eyes.

And he was not going wuss out, goddammit.