THEN

        
     When the roads of Texas were still unpaved dust trails, Ducar Rivas made his way to the new land, eager to find his fortune with his family and fellow immigrants. That all changed when the people in a village called Deitert Creek started going mad. Rivas used his extensive fortune to build a safe haven for these people, including his own wife and son. He was a good man but being submerged in madness finally took it's toll. In a wave of insanity, he killed three guards on duty one unlucky night, scaled the stone walled building and hanged himself from the roof. According to local legend he did this after his wife died in a strange animal attack while locked inside the building. His own death was so violent that is head tore from his body, sending both head and whole crashing through the greenhouse below. It was closed off for several years but now it always has the best tomatoes in the local area.


________________________________________
        
NOW


     “Mr. Cole, how are we today?”

     “Fucking dandy, doc.” He looked up for a moment, not breaking his pacing stride. “Sorry, I've just always wanted an excuse to say that. I didn't know you'd be doing the evaluation, Dr...Kadassah, is it?”
        
     “Yes. I've taken the facility over since Dr. Creed's passing.” Deacon snickered at the polite term given to the death of a horrible person. “I figured today we could talk about the...events that lead you here. I understand you were to be given a psychological evaluation prior to all this unpleasantness. Are you okay with us starting it today?” He stopped pacing, took a deep breath and turned towards the doctor.

     “Do we have to talk in here, and do I have to be restrained?” He jostled against his restraints a bit. “Isn't this a bit much for a friendly District Attorney mandated evaluation?”

     “You're not exactly a docile patient.”

     "Have I attacked anyone with an ax since you brought me in here?" Deacon laughed in a strange way, only causing the doctor to be silent. "Seriously, you want to help me get less crazy, than we're going to have to be able to trust one another. Am I right?" The doctor nodded to an orderly, who approached Deacon, and undid his restraints carefully. He stretched, popping what sounded like his whole spine before releasing his breath. "Alright, lead the way." With orderlies at both sides of him, they walked down the sterile, white hallway until coming to warmer looking room, a typical psychologists office. Books in cases, ferns in the corners, and a window with a view of the garden.
        
     "Have a seat, Deacon. May I call you Deacon?"
        
     "That's fine with me. So where do we start this?" Deacon sat down at the other side of an oaken table.
        
     "Best place in my experience is the beginning." Deacon nodded slowly, and thought to himself, gathering thoughts, before starting.

     "It all started for me when I was a kid. Me and my family were living about 15 miles outside of Ironside in Dietert Creek. Nice little place. In our backyard, we had a good sized pond that we played in pretty often. Big enough to canoe in when summer would start at least. Well, until my sister drown there. Everyone said it was an accident, that she just fell out of the canoe, but I was there. I always thought I saw something grab her. Something like yellow cloth.” Deacon looked around for a moment, stalling, worried about how his answers would play into his future. “I was in therapy for years. You know, being a little kid trying to drag your own twin sister's corpse out of the water...and failing...it does things to you. When I was there though, I met a girl who's story always got to me. Her father was found murdered. Violently murdered. And for a good long while, people claimed she did it. She always said that she saw things. Things in shadows, hiding in the corner of your eye, things that don't belong to our world, and it was one of those things that killed her father. Even her own mother considered her insane, but there was something real about her. I get hunches sometimes, and they're not wrong. Ever. I trusted her. Even after I was "done", I would come back, at least twice a week, just to see her, to talk to her about things inside our world, baseball always came up, seeing as it was to us the least malign thing in the world until all the steroid crap came into the news, but even so, we still talked a lot."

     He then noticed his fingers had been rapping across the table. He stopped for a moment, and pulled his hand back, resting it under his free hand. "Despite it all though, I didn't think monsters killed her dad, personally, I believed that someone killed her dad and she happened to see it. Only crazy people see monsters. Right, Doc?” Deacon smirked. “Death does things to the mind, when I saw them bring my sister out of that pond, I could have sworn she looked at me, and tried to talk, but that had to be in my head...I thought. That pretty much sums up everything you'd be interested in from that age. When I turned twenty-one I had finally moved into my own place after finishing my degree early. It was closer to the city, Ironside that is, not Grackle's Nest but it wasn't too far from the old place. Hell, I could see the old house and pond in the distance from my porch. It started to mess with my head though, I started dreaming about that day again. I would wake up in a cold sweat, soaking wet, after a dream about drowning. That wasn't the worst part. I wouldn't be able to really wake up though. Sleep Paralysis. I'd be stuck there fighting to move for what felt like hours. Sometimes I'd see things, and sometimes I'd slip back into the dreams about drowning. I have always hated the idea, it's like being surrounded by semi-solid death, you know? Anyway, in the dream I was pulled under by something formless, but there was a shape to it... I'm not going to waste your time trying to explain it. Anyway, those dreams always woke me up.”

     “And when was the last time you had an dream like this?”

     “Just last week, the morning before the last time I saw the Commissioner.”

     “Would you like to talk about what lead up to you needing the break?”

     “Not really, I shot two suspects but I was within my legal right as a public defender.”

     “Do you think that maybe that caused your episode this time?”

     “It could have. Or maybe it had to do with Hale, or Anderson. Who knows. The episode before though. It took me about ten minutes to really break it and regain my ability to move. I was covered in sweat though, felt like someone dumped a pale of it in my bed on me. I walked to the bathroom, swung open a medicine cabinet, and downed some nyquil, took a few of my meds and hoped that'd get me through the night. But when I closed that mirror...” Deacon sighed heavily, irritation at his situation evident. “It was the body of my sister, standing there, dripping, black eyed, purple, swollen and screaming at me. I turned around, I may have screamed too, can't really remember. Nothing was there though. It was the second time I'd seen that in as many days really. But...it wasn't like the first time.” Kadassah scribbled his notes quickly, keeping pace of all of Deacon's reactions and words. “A few moments later I tried to leave the bathroom, but I just couldn't. Couldn't move. It got really cold, and then she was there again. Out of nothing, she just appeared and clenched the sides of my face with those dead hands. It wasn't all in my head though.” Deacon pointed to the left side of his jaw. “One of her fingers went into the stitches I got from the incident with your old boss. Asshole tried to rip off my jaw. Anyway, she ripped them open again and just kept screaming in my face, but there wasn't a voice. I zoned out after that, finally 'came too' an hour or so later, leaning back against the wall next to my bathtub.”

     “Sounds like you were still engaged in a night terror. It happens to some people.”

     “Not like this. I slumped down in shock and...” he hesitated, realizing that he'd probably told too much, but if he didn't tell as much as he could he'd be stuck in this situation. “I put my hand in a wet foot print that wasn't mine. Too small, too cold, and it wasn't sweat or water out of the shower or sink. I didn't sleep again, I had to get out of the house, I was barely dressed, no shoes. I had to see her."
        
     "Your sister?" Dr. Kadassah looked at him as if he had officially handed him his Crazy union papers. He reached down, and began looking through a brown file, maybe checking that his story was thus far true, or to look busy for appearance sake. It didn't matter, Deacon knew what he was saying was true.
        
     "No, Haley. The girl I was in therapy with. I didn't believe in ghosts, ghouls, or any of that until I saw what I saw looking at me in the mirror. It just wasn't like the other times. I had dropped her off a home the day before, and I made a couple calls to make sure the house was watched, make sure nothing happened to her. They were pretty happy when I showed up to tell them to go home. Her guardian opened the door and she had a pretty good idea that I wasn't feeling alright. The woman knew me fairly well, I'd been visiting for years after all, so when she saw me like that, she rushed to get Haley." He chuckled. "Poor girl looked tired too, but she snapped out of it when I told her what I saw. Of course, I didn't say anything in front of the old woman, Angela was her name. Sweet old lady. Anyway, Haley believed me, no questions asked about drugs, sleep problems, bad dreams, anything. She just knew. Haley wanted to see where it happened at, so we went. I promised Angela I'd make sure she ate. She was the closest thing to a mother Haley had since her father was killed. It was about a half hour drive back to the house and I was finally beginning to get tired, the adrenaline was wearing out finally. I stopped shaking as much. We didn't talk much on the way there, Haley asked me what else I remembered from the dream, why I was drowning, and what my sister was saying into the mirror. I wasn't much help then though, lack of sleep and my somewhat panicked state, really didn't help matters." Deacon sighed to himself, then tightened his lips, looking around him with resentment. Resentment at himself mostly, about the events in Grackle's Nest.

     "Did you find anything in the house?" Deacon took a deep breath, stretched a little more, and leaned back.
        
     "You could say that. Haley noticed right off the bat my bed was still soaked, and no, I didn't piss my pants. It was pond water, it smelt like rain and that slime that gets on rocks."
        
     "She knew something was wrong..." In a way, he started to doubt his own sanity. Tearing an old lady apart with an ax wasn't sane, even in the situation he "may or may not have been in”.

________________________________________


THEN

     "Deacon...look at this, it's still wet..." Deacon moved in from the kitchen to the bed, it was soaked.
        
     "I didn't piss my pants..." He muttered, brow furrowed, as if defending himself in court.
        
     "I didn't say you did." She let out a little laugh, but it faded back into curious concern quickly.
        
     "It smells like...what is that..." She leaned down, putting her fingers to the wet mattress She took a deep breath as she lifted her now wet fingers to her nose, sniffing before going silent with surprise Moments later, she finally let out her breath. "Oh god, Deacon, it's pond water." She took a few steps back.
        
     "No, that doesn't make any sense..."
        
     "What was she trying to say to you?" she said quietly.
        
     "I don't know...none of this makes sense...this doesn't happen in real life..."
        
     "It happened to me." If he did see his sister, he thought, and his bed was full of water from that damned pond...maybe she really did see her father ripped to shreds by...something.
        
     "What was she trying to say?"
        
     "I don't know... she was just screaming, in here..."

________________________________________

NOW        


     “Tell me, Where is Haley right now?" Doctor Kadassah interjected, attempting to act disinterested in the answer. Deacons reaction was far different.

     "She's safe, and that's all you're going to get out of me about her." The doctor nodded slowly.

     "And what about these files we found in your house? Newspaper clippings, autopsy reports, weird pictures...what are these all for?" Deacon chuckled to himself, darkly. "Lets look at these reports and papers you had collected." with that, he opened a briefcase, and pulled out a series of printouts, paper clippings, and notebooks.

     "Aw, you brought my homework to me while I'm sick? Do you have a crush on me?"

     "Where did you find these?"

     "I didn't. For a few years now I've been tagged as the 'Spooky' detective because I solved a handful of really strange cases with just about no clues. I just figured it out. So people started sending me things. The larger stack came from Anderson though. I figured I'd keep them, maybe I'd solve something important."

     "Why? What are you trying to prove?"

     "You remember when you were a kid, and you'd hear a bump, and get scared because you thought it was a monster?" Deacon grinned widely at this. "It was.”

     Dr. Kadassah looked as if he was trying to disregard the comment, but Deacon felt that it may have stung him a bit. “Well then, Mr...Detective Cole, rather. Our records show your connection to Detective Hale's death, nothing strange there.”

     “Bullshit, there's nothing but strange there.”

     “Anyway, how about we talk about what happened after your dream that night, and what happened at the police department.”

     “Ah, so now we get to the other death I'm connected to. Alright.”


_______________________________________


THEN



     The station was packed that afternoon. It looked like a school bus had been pulled over and the entire thirty-something middle school students plus driver were all standing around a single desk, taking a report about something that could barely be called a waste of time and paper. The other side of the station was filled with the usual cast. A woman reporting a stalker, two men with mullets handcuffed to one another and a chair were being questioned about a meth house that just got busted on the outskirts of town, a few people filing noise complaints, and the like. Nothing too severe it looked, just a lot of it. The sounds of keypads clacking, people arguing, cops giggling about stupid reports, and the strong smell of half-day old coffee. A typical day at Ironside's Police station.

     Most of the sounds stopped when Deacon walked in. This was something he was fairly used to, what with being considered the "spooky" cop. His desk was covered in folders, files, and newspaper clippings from other people about unusual cases, strange happenings, and old coffee cups. This was the first time Haley had come with him though, and the sudden silence of the other police did disturb her slightly.

        "Do they always do that to you?" She whispered from behind him, using him as a shield to the curious onlookers.

     "Well...yeah, pretty much. I just ignore it, they loose interest if I don't have bloodstains on my shirt." Deacon snickered to himself. He thought it was pretty funny. After a few more seconds, he shrugged and began trudging through the sea of humanity packed into the building, trying to find the fastest way to Anderson's office. “Hey, hang by my desk until I get done with this, alright?”

     “So what exactly are we doing here?”

     “I just have to tie up some loose ends. It shouldn't take long.”

     It was as if Anderson knew he was coming. He was just sitting calmly, hands on the arms of his chair. The thick odor of stale coffee and cigarette butts hung heavy, stirred by the swinging of the door. “You can't keep your nose out of this, can you?” He stated bluntly.

     “No, not when none of it seems to have a reasonable...endgame.”

     “It's not supposed to. Things like this have happened for years. People look at them for a few minutes then forget them. It's for the best. People shouldn't remember this kind of thing.” Anderson was far more subdued than usual, almost like a boxer taking a fight just to get the loser's purse.
        
     “You're still suspended. I know about Joe, I know about you getting people to cover your bases with watching the girl, and I know way more than I should about this mess.” With that, he tossed a thick packet from his desk to Deacon.

     “What's this?”

     “More questions. It's way deeper than you think. The feds won't even touch it.”

     “And that's a bad thing I suppose.”

     “No, it's a good thing. There is a damn good reason why I'm trying to keep your ass quiet about everything. The less people know, the safer they are.”

     “Are you fucking kidding me? How safe was that little girl who was being force-fed drifter for dinner?”

     “Cole, I'm showing you this so that you'll leave it alone. If you have any sense of self-preservation you'll play ball here.”

     “Is this about dirty cops or something, Anderson? I'm not interested in what you and...”

     “It's about insanity, that's all there is to it, alright?” Anderson jumped from his seat. “Look through those files all you want, but afterwards what you should do is take your psyche evaluation happily, take whatever they give you, and take that pretty little girl there, settle down and get the hell out of Ironside.”

     “This is bullshit. There isn't anything that would make me decide to keep a lid on a major threat to human lives!”

     “Do whatever the hell you want, Cole. But...I'm not going to be here to stop any more of this for you. You're bringing things down on you that you can't even imagine.”

     “I don't need your help then, or your goddamn badge.”
        
     “No, you'll need the badge, just keep in mind you're alone in this.” Anderson sat back down and turned back towards his window. “If you give a damn about anyone in this world, that's how you'll keep it.”

     “You sent Matt in there, knowing just what was going to happen, didn't you?” Anderson simply sat quiet. “I buried one of the best cops this city ever had because you thought I should be alone in this, remember? I used to think you were on the ball here, that you knew what you were doing. Now you hand me a stack of paper and expect that to scare me out of my job?”

     “No, I expect you to end up just like me. Hale's dead and so is his killer...”

     “Not if you ask me.” Deacon took the bundle and left the room, hearing Anderson say something faintly behind him.

     “How'd it go?” Haley asked as Deacon made his way to his desk.

     “I really don't know yet. He handed me this and...” The echo of a gunshot ripped through the room. Panic quickly broke out but was calmed by the police, rushing to get control. “Get down, stay down till I get back!” He shouted to Haley as he bolted towards the gunshot, his handgun drawn. It took less than a second after that comment to figure out where the shot came from. Anderson's office. It took eight more seconds to push through the cops both running to and walking away from the door way. But the last seconds when he finally made it to the door felt like hours. Slumped back in his chair was his Commissioner with a tangerine size hole in the side of his head, and a still smoking Baretta locked in a death grip in his right hand. It became all to clear then what he said to Deacon as he left the office.

     “No, not yet, but he will be.”

_______________________________________

NOW

        
     "There were witnesses that can prove you didn't actually kill him, but we're interested in what lead up to his suicide. You understand I'm sure. We'll continue tomorrow." Kadassah said as he ran a hand over his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose, small divots where his glasses had sat for the last few hours. "We'll get through this and hopefully, we can find out what happened in that library."He nodded to the guards at the door, and they entered.

     "Get some rest Doc, and if I were you, I wouldn't read too much of that stuff, bad things seem to happen to people that do. Or maybe I'm just crazy. I will be wanting it back when I leave though." With that he rose and, with two guards at each side, back the long walk down that sterile hall. Echoes of crazed men and women occasionally breaking the ear splitting silence. The guards made small talk about last night's game and who they had pegged for the world series next season, but Deacon paid no mind. Instead, he observed, took in things, peeking in windows to see the other patients, wondering how many were like him.

     “We'll bring you your dinner in a few hours and if we have to we'll medicate you again, Mr. Cole. Try to be a good patient, it's not often we get celebrities alright? Can you believe this guy? 'When I get out of here.' Golden, man.” The guards laughed as the nudged him into a cell.

     “I thought it was funny too. I'm actually enjoying the experience though. This is the first time I've been locked in an Asylum.” Deacon chuckled faintly, humming the tune to "blueberry hill" to himself as he entered his room, and waited to hear the locks fall into place. The moon looked strange through the high window covered in a grid of bars. He may have to get used to it.

TL Boehm

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