Where There is Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth

Chapter 23: That Gut Churning Sensation

Chapter contains references to Viagra Falls

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Chapter Text

Soft hair. Softer, now, with the stiffness of product rinsed from the strands. The stiffness of red washed away, water fading from pink to clear. Better now. Soft now. Quiet now. Quiet was best. None of the sounds – the gibbering growls and yelps and groans – sounds were such meaningless expression. So pointless.

The smell took longer to fade. Never could get used to that smell. A wonder He had lived in it like it was no worse than the roses that grew in the garden outside. Used to grow, anyway. And yet, there was something of that stink of metal sweet, clinging inside every breath. It was a new sensation and, strange though it was... thrilling. This new control. To be the hunter and not just the scavenger.

Pulling brown hair up in a ponytail, always catching under the thick glasses. Mother had called it golden brown. Golden, like sunlight. Her golden treasure.

A shudder... memory of touch like spider legs...

Methodical brushing of the hair scraped the memory away again. So much uselessness in memory. Memory was only pain and sadness. Memory was watching everything beloved die or sour. Better, instead, to pursue what was fresh. And of memories retained, only that soft silk, passing through fingers and the teeth of a comb.

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The title of “worst week ever” had long been established during the summer of 83', but the past 4 days were definitely a contender for worst work related week. Short of losing his badge, again, Lassiter would be hard pressed to label a more soul sucking series of days.

It had started with another body turning up off the 101; discovered by a couple of teens that would probably need several years of therapy after literally stumbling over the crime scene. And then old Chief Wilkins had been found dead on his boat. Stretched thin already trying to track down a child murderer, Chief Vick had called in additional backup from the stone age. Peters and Boone – like having a geriatric Spencer and Guster mucking up the works – a horrifying peek into the future if there ever was. Between Henry's jealous hero-worship and O'Hara's school girl blush at every hackneyed compliment slash sexual harassment – if he never saw those two fossils again it would be too soon.

Speaking of Spencer, he'd been more than ready to skip out on all three weekly welfare checks only for O'Hara to nix that solid plan with a perky reminder that “it's only an hour and you can afford a lunch break since Peters and Boone closed the Wilkins murder and if you still want that bear claw tomorrow you'd better move it, buster.”

Spencer hadn't seemed upset that there would only be a single visit that week, nor had Lassiter felt the least bit of guilt for doing his real job rather than this pointless hand-holding. Still, when Spencer had seen him at the door, Lassiter had been taken aback at the amount of delight that had filled the kid's face.

Henry had stuck close to home that time around, at least. With the murder of his old chief squared away, the Elder Spencer had offered to fix lunch for the three of them. It wasn't his habit to get his emotions in a knot over the other people's personal traumas, but even Lassiter was willing to give Henry a few minutes of grief at the loss of Wilkins. While he hadn't been exceptionally close to his former chief, Henry was going through something that every cop could relate to. The pain of seeing a brother go down.