Neverwood
Title: Neverwood, Part III
Pairing: ja/jp, former ja/jdm
Rating: R for language and violence
Warning: Genuine horror here. I hope.
Word Count: ~51k
Summary: Aiden Thomas Padalecki is violently and mysteriously kidnapped, leaving behind distraught parents who have no idea why their only child was taken. After months of futile investigation, the frantic father witnesses the slow but inevitable decline in the search of his only child. Half mad with grief, Jared goes to an island off the coast of Washington, holding the last clue that may help him find his son. But it is all a trap, and there’s someone crouching, waiting for him to pay back for sins not of his making.
Notes: Adapted from Peter Pan, written for j2_everafter.
Disclaimer: 127.5% fiction.
October, 2009
Robbin Island, Washington
Jensen stared at the black and whites, the stark colors and sharp contrasts detailing the destruction with power and clarity that colored photographs couldn’t achieve.
“Jesus,” he whispered softly as he spotted the flattened child’s bed in the last picture.
“You called?” a light voice drawled from behind him.
“I thought I heard your ego come down the street,” Jensen said, not bothering to turn around. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Slow week,” Chris answered and sat on the empty stool next to Jensen. He looked at the waitress behind the counter and smiled. “The usual, Sophia.”
“We don’t have coffee today. The ferry didn’t bring any.” Sophia wiped the counter in front of him and mournfully added, “We still have decaf.”
“You’re shitting me, right?” Chris looked genuinely stricken by the idea of decaf.
“I am, but we are running low,” Sophia said, “You might want to get a move on that.”
“That was mean,” Chris muttered and turned on his cell. “Yo, Steve?”
Jensen smiled into his cup and gave Sophia a wink. Her healthy blush was good enough of an answer so he said nothing.
“Yeah, Sophia said…” Chris pulled the cell away from his ear. A tinny voice rang out in outrage and exasperation.
“…And I have the goddamn coffee so lay off, all right?! And aren’t you suppose to be working anyway?!”
“Does that answer your question?” Chris snarled before hanging up.
Sophia threw back her head and laughed. She turned to the order window and said, “Two eggs, cloudy, burnt shingles, and double burnt pigs.”
Jensen shook his head and looked at his friend. “I can’t believe you eat that amount of lard every day and haven’t keeled over yet.”
Chris thumped his chest and said, “I'm a carnivore, hear me roar.”
Sophia added with a smirk, “And belch.”
“Then there’s the gas,” Jensen said, looking mischievously at his friend. “The military should bottle the stuff and use it as a weapon. Of course, the U.N probably banned it…”
Chris punched Jensen on the shoulder with little anger and said, “Shut up!” before noticing the photographs in his hands. “What are those?”
Jensen passed over the evidence packet with little hesitation. “It’s from California.”
Chris sobered up quickly. “Oh,” he said as he took the envelope. He flipped through the pictures before handing them back. “That’s pretty much the worst I’ve seen.”
Jensen nodded. “I’ve read the evidence, but for the life of me can’t figure out how they did it.”
“Had to have been pros,” Chris stated flatly.
And he should know, Jensen thought. He had done a little research on the island's most notorious charter boat captain, and discovered Chris was once a decorated and highly respected member of Oklahoma City's first response team. But that was before the bottle drowned him, forcing him to sever ties with a career that chewed up people and destroyed families by the dozens.
“But to leave that kind of destruction?” Jensen looked more like he was asking himself, and the question was an old one.
From the look on Chris' face, it wasn’t surprising one, either. “All I can guess is that the kidnappers wanted to make a statement: Jared and his loved ones will never be safe, anywhere.”
“But unless there was a helicopter in the backyard waiting for them, they couldn’t have gotten away so fast.”
“Why don’t you ask him? Seriously, it’s been five months.”
“I know,” Jensen answered. “But things aren’t like that.”
“He needs help, you know that, right?” Chris opened the newspaper he’d brought in. “Detective Singer was forced off the case.”
“What?” Jensen snatched it from his friend’s grasp. He flipped it open to find the story was stuck in Section C, page nineteen. He read the small column and shook his head. “Retirement? In the middle of a case? Definitely shoved out of the way.”
“He was probably making noises and pissed someone off.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t want to be transferred. A case like this makes a hero or breaks a man forever.”
“Do you know what happened to the FBI agent?”
“She was reassigned and nobody took her place,” Jensen answered readily. “The feds don’t like their names attached to such public failures.”
“For a man who says he only has a passing interest, you sure do know a lot about this.”
Jensen’s face remained stoically calm but his eyes reflected sadness. “He's not the kind of person you forget, even after one meeting.”
“Kinda like Jeff?”
“No, nothing like Jeff,” Jensen answered.
Chris looked doubly sad at his friend. “I see.” He turned to look out the front window and spotted a familiar figure limping by.
As if sensing the man, Jensen looked too. He looked away quickly then began plowing through what was left of his waffles.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Chris said in a gentle tone. “You guys drifted apart. People do that, even the strongest of us.”
“Things fall apart, the center cannot hold,” Jensen quoted without a trace of emotion in his voice.
“Jeff?”
Jensen nodded. “Yeah, but he was quoting someone else.”
“Did he say that before or after he tried to rip off your head?”
“After. The fight was much as my fault as his, you know.”
“Really?” Chris smiled when Sophia slid his plate over. He ate three slices of toast before saying, “Because I heard Jeff was in his bottle when he decided that homicide was a viable lifestyle.”
“He was drinking, but he wasn’t drunk, Chris. And he hasn’t touched the stuff for six years.”
“Once a drunk always a drunk, I should know,” Chris stated flatly. “I’m coming up on my dime.”
Jensen patted his friend and said, “Good to hear.”
“So, you guys are friends now?”
“We’re not that good … yet,” Jensen confessed easily enough. “But we’re getting there.”
“I want you to know something,” Chris’ voice dropped conspiratorially. “Jeff was born here, but you’re from here. So, don’t worry about losing your job if things between you and Jeff get ugly again. Okay?”
Jensen closed his eyes as his shoulders relaxed. He looked like a man whose burdens have been lifted from too-weary shoulders. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Chris said. He took another peek at the newspaper. “Poor guy. Wish there’s something we could do for him.”
“Yeah,” Jensen agreed. “Something.”
March, 2010
San Francisco, California
Jared went through his morning ablutions as if nothing was wrong and ate his usual load of healthy breakfast. Then, he sat in his office and did nothing. He just looked at the computer screen blinking in front of him like it was the Holy Grail to finding his son. There were few phone calls but he let the answering machine take them. Right before lunch, he erased them without listening.
After eating a turkey sandwich with all the trimmings he went back to his office and, once again, descended into his own hell. His eyes caught nothing, as his inner nightmares took the lion's share of his attention until the setting sun, imprisoned by the tiger statue sitting on his desk, danced a captive tune on its red, glossy back.
Jared looked at it and remembered the happy moments the figurine represented. Even though he knew he didn’t deserve to handle something that was beautiful and clean of taint, he slowly lifted it. He’d forgotten how heavy the work of art was, and couldn’t stop himself from admiring the pristine, minimalist lines.
It was because he was examining it so closely that Jared noticed scratches under one paw. He greedily looked closer and saw initials:
T.K.
“I don’t fucking believe this.”
Jared's Audi roared out of his driveway, which had been free of any curious onlookers and the press since Christmas.
Aiden's kidnapping was a seven-day wonder, and the media had long lost interest. But what was even worse was the loss of Palicki and Singer, both who fought their removal from the case. It was then Jared knew the law enforcement’s focus was slipping away. His attorney tried to make sense of it all, and legally it did. But to the father, it was as if he was listening to nails being hammered into Aiden's coffin.
Jared didn’t care when he was considered a viable suspect and that he’d lost most of his friends. Or when his mother had tearfully asked him if he was in any way responsible for what had happened to Aiden. But when he discovered that the interest in his son being found was fading, a part of him began to die. He tried to look for Aiden on his own, but quickly came to the realization that he was in no way competent enough to start searching for his missing son.
And Sandy, his beautiful friend who stood by him even as accusations was flung against his person, began to die by inches. Both he and Buddy knew that she wouldn’t last a year - not at the rate she was going.
The grieving mother had to be hospitalized twice. Once for respiratory infection due to poor health and the other for exhaustion due to her complete disregard for self-preservation.
By the time Jared stood in front of Tuohy’s front doorstep, he was enraged. And it felt good to be swamped under something other than fear and despair. As the fog in his head burned away by the rising tide of anger, Jared banged harder and harder on the door.
Bill Tuohy didn’t look at all surprised by Jared’s presence. In fact, he looked as if things hadn’t been surprising at all for a while.
“I expected you earlier,” he said tonelessly.
Anything else he wanted to say was lost when Jared grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. “Where is my son?!” Jared screamed. “Where is he?!”
Bill’s face crumpled as he cried. It took him a while to answer. “I don’t know. I swear … all I did was give you what he wanted.”
“Who’s he?”
“A man named Hemley,” Bill said hoarsely. “I don’t know who he is - he just ordered me to give you the statue.
“That was all. I swear!”
Jared relaxed his grip, his blood still burning bright with adrenaline. “So he blackmailed you into doing something he wanted? And that was to give me that fucking thing?”
Tuohy nodded. “Yeah, that’s all he wanted.”
It was then Jared noticed how disheveled Bill was. He looked around and realized the extravagant French Country style mansion had become a pigsty.
“Evie left me,” Bill said, laughing and sobbing at the same time. “She and Max went back to Vermont.”
Jared understood then. “Hemley didn’t keep his part of the bargain.”
Tears fell ruthlessly down the pale cheeks. “No,” Bill whispered. “He didn’t. And the fucked up thing was I knew he wouldn’t.”
Jared stepped back and shook his head. “You stupid bastard.”
“That would be me,” Bill agreed. “Go. I don’t know who this Hemley is or if it’s even his real name. But he was adamant that I give you the statue; of that I'm sure.”
“Do you know much about it?”
“No,” Tuohy answered. “But after your son disappeared, I did a little digging and found some history. Let me get it.”
Jared heard the phone ring and Bill must have answered it, because it was some time before the dejected man came back. The folder wasn’t thick but it wasn’t too thin to be discouraging.
“I’m sorry,” Bill said. “I'm so fucking sorry.”
In his eagerness to read the information, Jared didn't bother to reply. He gunned it back home and tore through the material within twenty minutes. There wasn’t much but what Tuohy found was interesting.
T.K. stood for Thomas Kindle, a young man who founded an artist colony on an island, one of many dotting the San Juan Islands cluster. It was a bizarre place to choose as the only other viable livelihood in the island was fishing.
However, his passion drew other artists and soon there was a sizable colony living in Alliance Bay, the only town on Robbin Island. And they lived in harmony with the locals. The fisherfolk had the patience and the genuine appreciation as to what the artists brought to them, and the artists in return were grateful for the no-nonsense approach their neighbors possessed.
Then, as if to prove Robbin was even more non-conformist, a sanitorium was established on the other side of the island, far away from Alliance Bay. It was mainly used for long-term care for patients who had need of the clean, vibrant air and the tempered climate the island was famed for.
Of course, nothing good lasts forever.
After an unseasonably dry spring and summer, a fire swept through the hospice, killing most of the patients and staff, along with all the townsfolk who showed up to help. Good fourth of the Robbin's forest burned alongside the buildings, devastating the island both ecologically and financially.
Kindle was one of the men who was killed trying to help his ailing neighbors, and with him died the heart of the artist colony. It didn’t last five years after his death, and Robbin Island soon reverted back to its original ways.
But, after WWI, an interest rose to re-establish the artist colony, and the young fiery painters and musicians who once roamed the disreputable establishments on the docks returned - all now well into middle-age if not older. However, their passion hadn’t abated a bit, and soon Robbin had another thriving trade besides fishing. Which was all well and good since that particular livelihood was slowly but inexorably dying out and was declared dead by the end of WWII.
The fishing industry returned in the seventies, though with caution, while the island attracted a respectable number of tourists with its abundant wildlife and the artists who were world-renown in their respective mediums.
Jared wondered if Kindle had heirs, and one of them had inherited more than just artistry from his famous ancestor. But, even as he examined that idea in his head like a magpie would with a shiny bit of foil, Jared had to admit it had too many flaws. There was also the pressing question: he still had no clue as to why he was targeted.
What if Aiden was the actual target? What if this kidnapping has nothing to do with me at all?
That idea was brilliant in its own skewed way, and Jared had to admit he never thought of it. After all, why would anybody suspect the kidnapping of the child to be anything but a method of controlling the parents and extracting from them something the kidnappers wanted?
Jared looked at the tiger crouching on his desk, its power dissipated in the dark. He didn’t think twice. It took him fifteen minutes to pack a weekend bag. He was online looking for airplane tickets when the phone rang.
He was going to let it roll into voice mail when his cell also started ringing. He looked at the caller ID and answered.
“Sandy? What’s wrong?” he asked, half panicking already. After the loss of his son, Jared couldn’t fathom losing someone else close to him.
“What did you do?” she asked hoarsely.
“What do you mean?” Even as those words fell from his lips, Jared knew what she was talking about.
“I just got a call from the police department. They were asking if I knew anything about your visit to Bill.”
Even though Jared had already guessed why she was calling, he was still floored when he heard his suspicion confirmed. Jared glanced at the clock and realized it had been full two hours since he’d seen his attorney.
“What happened?”
“Jared, answer me - what happened between you and Bill?”
“Nothing, we had some harsh words, that’s all.”
There was a pause in which Sandy digested what Jared had told her. “He’s dead.”
“What?” This time Jared was completely shocked. He’d suspected Tuohy had filed a complaint with the police in regard to their violent confrontation.
“They think he killed himself. He left a suicide note and everything but a neighbor saw you go into his house and heard you yelling, and there was a gunshot right afterwards. So the police are wondering.”
“They didn’t call me,” Jared said. He looked out the bay windows and saw only darkness peppered by the lights escaping from his neighbor’s windows. “Look, I have to go.”
“Jared, did you find something?”
He weighed it all and confessed, “Maybe, but I don’t know if it’s going to be anything. I honestly don’t. There's a damn good chance I’m crazy and I just don’t know it…”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sandy said, strength returning to her voice. “Get your ass to where it’s suppose to be. I don’t care if some crazy lady on the street told you. Just go find him.”
That was all the blessing Jared needed. Realizing that flying out was no longer an option, Jared drove.
He was out of San Francisco proper within the hour. So obsessed was Jared with getting to Robbin Island that it took two hours of driving before he noticed he had a tail. The initial jolt of fear quickly melted when Jared recognized the car.
He pulled off the first chance he got and waited for Chad to catch up.
“What the hell?” he shouted as he got out of his car.
“I should say the same fucking thing,” Chad snapped back. “I was two feet from your driveway when you peeled out.”
“So you decided to follow?”
“Why the fuck not?” Chad answered. “You think I’m going to sit by and watch you kill yourself? You’re not the first man I know who voluntarily became one of the walking dead.”
“How in hell did you manage to keep up with me anyway?” Jared’s anger faded when he realized the depth of his friend's loyalty.
“Your cell phone,” Chad said with a sly grin. “I could turn it into a GPS system.”
“You did what?” Jared felt righteous anger infect him again. “How?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Jared had to admit he didn’t want to.
“Where are you going?”
Jared took a deep breath and revealed his find. He fully expected Chad to try convincing him that he had finally succumbed to all the pressure and had become delusional.
Instead, Chad said, “I’ll go with you."
Jared was taken back. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m Aiden's godfather. And you need backup.”
Jared wanted to call bullshit but didn’t. Chad considered Jared his best friend and that meant Chad wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to join Jared in his crazy mission.
“The police want to talk to me because I was speaking to Bill Tuohy right before he died,” Jared confessed, expecting Chad to back off.
“That sucks for Bill,” Chad replied. “So, where are we going anyway?”
Jared smiled genuinely for the first time since Aiden’s disappearance. “Robbin Island. We need to find a guy named Hemley. He gave the tiger statue to Bill, blackmailing him to give the fucking thing to me. All this happened right before Aiden disappeared.
“And the goddamn thing has TK scratched on it.”
Chad gave a low whistle and said, “Okay, that’s pretty much on the dark side of the moon, but what the hell: best lead we had.”
“The only lead we have,” Jared corrected without rancor.
“Let’s rock-n-roll then.” He was walking back to his car when he suddenly whirled around. “Give me your cell phone.”
Jared handed it over without a word. Chad dismantled it and then pulled something the size of a dime out from its nest. He crushed it then threw the rest of the cell away.
“What the hell?” Jared complained.
“If I can track you then so can the police,” Chad said. “I can buy you another one.”
“I have money.”
“The police can track you through your credit cards,” Chad said.
Jared looked hard at his friend. “I didn’t kill Tuohy.”
“I know you didn’t. That’s not the issue,” Chad said. “For some insane reason you think you’re going to find Aiden at this fuck-all island filled by Deliverance rejects.”
“Chad…” Jared interrupted impatiently.
“Shut up,” Chad snapped. “I don’t know why you think this is going to work, but you believe it, and that’s hell of a lot more than what you had this morning. And I know for a fact that the police would like to speak with you about what happened to Bill because they called me. And that means days of delays and whatnot - you might even get charged by the cops for who knows what. And the truth is you’re not going to survive those kind of delays.”
Jared understood what Chad was really saying in spite of the pissy tone and the sarcastic look on his friend’s face.
“Okay,” Jared said, managing not to sound too hoarse with gratitude.
“Let’s rock-n-roll.”
They finally stopped in Portland and got what little sleep they could. Chad kept true to his word and purchased a cell along with an untraceable throw-away for when Jared needed to contact Sandy or ask for help from the few friends he had left.
They reached Seattle in the afternoon after driving all morning. Chad suggested they find a place to take a breather before landing on Robbin. Chad also managed to convince Jared that they needed only one car, and since his wasn’t exactly on the police radar, it’d be best to take the Acura.
Chad found an inn on Robbin Island that had rooms and made reservations using his credit card while Jared watched with gratitude as his friend, the one many people warned him to drop, proved himself to be something more than just a playboy.
“Thanks,” Chad said brightly. He looked at Jared with a grin. “She thinks we’re scouting San Juan Islands for a movie.”
“Why the hell did you do that?”
“That way the locals won’t be at all surprised to see us go everywhere. Hell, we can even take pictures of their houses and they won’t think twice.”
Jared’s estimation of his friend’s intelligence doubled.
Chad saw the amazed look on his face and laughed. “I run an empire, buddy. I don’t pull in my paycheck just by being pretty.”
“Jesus,” Jared said, smiling. “You are definitely one of a kind.”
“Damn well better be,” Chad said. “C’mon, I need to buy some clothes and I ain’t shopping in Walmart!”
So, Jared found himself stranded in Seattle while Chad took his 'tour of duty' in Barneys. They were back on the highway by three, refreshed with caffeine and a good meal, and reached Anacortes by six due to bad traffic.
After figuring out the ferry schedule which looked like it was planned and written by the Oracle of Delphi, Jared parked his car at a long-term parking garage while Chad bought the tickets necessary for their journey.
Even though it was freezing, Jared and Chad sat on the top deck, looking out at the dark waters and the fading lights of civilization.
“Do you really think you’ll find something there?” Chad asked.
“I don’t know,” Jared admitted. “But the coincidence is too much.”
“There is still the little fact that Thomas Kindle’s been dead for over a century."
Jared’s head dropped a little but his voice was firm when he said, “Maybe, but Hemley’s still alive, and I swear if he was responsible for what happened to Aiden…”
“What are you going to do if he was involved?” Chad asked.
“I’m gonna beat the living shit out the bastard until he tells me why he took Aiden and where he is now. Then … then, I’ll hand over what’s left to the police.”
Chad sat back into the bench and gave a sigh. “Okay, good. I thought you planned to kill him or something.”
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Jared found himself smiling. “But you don’t mind maiming?”
Chad pushed back the baseball cap on his head. “Fuck no. Anybody hurts a kid? They deserve to get their asses handed back to them.
In fact, I’m all for a public stocks and handing out rotten vegetables to the general public so they can use the fucker for target practice.”
“I wasn’t thinking in that avenue, exactly,” Jared said.
“I was,” Chad said. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if you said you were going to kill him.”
“To tell you the truth, I thought about it,” Jared said, looking at the black waters spanning all around him. “But I couldn’t … I just couldn’t get over the idea that whoever was responsible for this is somebody’s child too. Or was, once.”
Jared couldn’t see Chad’s face but his words revealed all. “That’s why you’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”
“Fuck off,” Jared groused without any heat.
“You’re so easy,” Chad said, the laughter making his voice sound much younger. “Let’s go inside. My dick’s crying for mercy.”
“Yeah, it’s getting cold.”
“Getting?” Chad said as he opened the door. “It was freezing when we left Anacortes!”
“Then why were we sitting outside?”
“Because you’re one of those artistic assholes who appreciates a nice view.”
Jared looked out at the blackness and saw practically nothing. But he didn’t argue: with Chad, you took the bad with the good. And there was a lot of good when it came to his friend, as Jared discovered since his ordeal began.
The ferry docked on Orca Island first, where all of the passengers unloaded save for Chad and Jared. And their presence must have been unusual because as they wandered around, they bumped into the skeleton crew who were startled to see they still had passengers.
Jared wandered to the front of the ferry and soon spotted weak lights.
“That must be Robbin,” Chad said.
“Looks pretty,” Jared said.
“Let’s hope it’s a lot more than that.” Chad looked at his watch and grimaced.
“What’s wrong?” Jared asked, alarmed by the look on his friend’s face.
“I had a hot date tonight,” Chad said, sounding genuinely sorrowful. “She was one hot MILF.”
“I really did not need to know that.”
“Her daughter’s hot too.”
“Chad!”
His friend threw back his head and laughed when he realized how offended Jared was. He was still chuckling when he drove the Acura off the ferry and onto the island. The roads were lit sporadically and all the stores were closed save for two restaurants.
They found the inn easily enough, as it was the only legitimate looking building on the waterfront.
“This looks like something out of a movie set,” Jared remarked as he examined the inn.
“Yeah, Deliverance by the Beach.” Chad looked around and shuddered. “If I get bedbugs, I’m gonna sue you.”
“Shut up,” was Jared’s brilliant reply.
Though shabby on the outside, once they walked in, the place turned out to be well-kept if also worn down. The front desk was gleaming and was manned by a grandmother who looked like she just popped out of the pages of a Norman Rockerfeller sketchbook.
“You must be Jared and Chad Murray,” the woman greeted them with a smile. “Welcome to James Inn. My name is Henrietta James - I’m the owner.”
“Nice to meet you,” Chad said. “Do I smell something good?”
It was then Jared realized he was starving. The front hall was filled with good smells and his stomach began rumbling mightily. Feeling embarrassed, Jared excused himself and didn't hear the front door open behind him.
“There you are!” Henrietta chirped. “These are the famous guests I told you about.”
Jared turned around to face Sheriff Jensen Ackles who looked nonplussed by his presence. Jared, on the other hand, turned pale with shock and guilt. Noticing his friend’s complete change in demeanor, Chad turned to examine the law enforcement of Robbin Island.
“I see,” Jensen said flatly. “Henrietta, can you add two chairs to my table? I’d like to invite Jared and Chad Murray for dinner. My treat.”
“Of course,” Henrietta said, noticing the change in atmosphere but wise enough not not to mention it. “It’ll take me just a minute.”
“Thank you,” Jensen said. He waited until the front hall was clear of curious eavesdroppers before looking at the latest editions to the island population. “So, movie scouts? Had a change of vocation since I saw you last, Mr. Padalecki?”
“Oh shit,” Chad whispered, suddenly remembering where he’d heard the sheriff’s name before. “You … oh shit.”
“I can explain,” Jared pleaded. “Please, give me a chance.”
“Because you lied?” Jensen shot back. “Oh, yeah, that should earn you some brownie points.
“Mr. Padalecki, do you have any idea how much trouble you’re brewing with the bullshit you’ve got going here?”
“Dude, chill,” Chad said, then broke into a sunny smile and looked over the sheriff's tense shoulders. “The table ready, Mrs. James?”
“Yes it is!”
“Cool,” Chad said, rubbing his hands gleefully. “I’m starving!”
Jensen sat back on the chair, ignoring the pitiful creaks coming from the ancient furniture. He studied the two men sitting around his table, completely ignoring his detailed observation as they were too busy shoveling food into their mouths.
H.J.’s famous rolls were inhaled by the outlanders, and her scallop chowder fared no better. Now, the two were trading bites of each other’s plates. To any casual observer, this might indicate that they were actually a couple, since such close familiarity as sharing food usually signaled shared lifestyles. But Jensen knew better. Chad was, in fact, taking care of his friend, a man so close to the edge, he might have fallen off of it without anybody noticing.
The first time Jensen caught the sight of the giant he’d met almost a year ago, he was shocked. The man hadn’t physically shrunken so much - he was built too solidly to waste away like some fragile Victorian poet, but the essence of the person that was Jared Padalecki was halved. It was as if Aiden took with him the strongest part of his father and left behind an ailing shadow.
Jensen noticed the two men were slowing down and actually taking drinks of beer, and decided it was as good a time as any to figure out why in hell these two men lied to H.J. when they made reservations at her inn.
“So, what brings you two Hollywood types into my humble town?”
The threat wasn’t at all noticeable to Chad, but Jared mentally winced. He couldn’t ignore the dangerous current in the few words Jensen had used.
“I found something that connects Robbin to Aiden’s disappearance,” he answered.
“Really,” Jensen said, noticing how relieved Jared looked after answering his question. “And what might that be?”
“Do you know of a man named Hemley?” Jared asked.
“No,” Jensen answered readily.
“How many live on the island anyway?” Chad challenged the sheriff. “Unless you know every single person, I don’t think there’s any way you can be sure of that.”
“The island population is somewhere between three to three hundred fifteen during off-season,” Jensen said. “And yes, I know every person in that count. We have another ten or twenty outlanders who come with the tourists and work here for the summer season, but it’s too early for them to show up.”
Jared placed a restraining hand on Chad before explaining his story. Jensen listened with complete attention as the strained father revealed the sordid tale about the blackmail and what had happened to Bill Tuohy only yesterday.
Jensen compartmentalized the data before going over what Jared had told him. He couldn’t dismiss anything the man said since Jared was here for those very same reasons. However, if someone on the island resorted to blackmail in order to get his hands on Jared’s son, it would stand to reason they wouldn’t use their real name in the commission of a federal crime.
“You think we’re waiting for Godot?” Jared asked.
“Hardly,” Jensen deadpanned. “Vladimir and Estragon had better chance of meeting the goddamn asshole than you have of finding Hemley.”
If Jared was surprised to find a provincial sheriff knowledgeable about Beckett’s famous play he didn’t show it.
“But if you had to, how would you go about doing it?” Chad asked.
Jensen felt a frisson of nervous energy as the question raised a very interesting challenge.
How to find a man who engineered a successful kidnapping of a child in another state?
“Thomas Kindle,” Jensen finally uttered slowly and carefully. “There are no more Kindles left. His only child died with him in the fire."
“Did he have any heirs?” Jared leaned forward, eagerness showing through his exhaustion.
“His parents back in Boston and a brother,” Jensen answered. “But I’m not too familiar with the man.”
“How in hell do you know even that much?” Chad looked impressed by Jensen’s reply.
“I have a friend whose hobby includes researching this island's history.”
“Can he help me?” Jared asked.
“Look, asking me for help is one thing,” Jensen answered. ‘But it’s too much to involve a civilian with this.”
“But I can ask, right?” Jared’s eagerness actually increased in spite of Jensen’s reluctance. “I mean there’s nothing to prevent me from looking.”
“Oh, I can’t guarantee that.” Jensen began to feel alarmed by the father’s behavior. It was as if he was on a mission and nothing was going to stop him from fulfilling his obsession. Even if the roadblock was armed with a badge and a gun.
“The library is off-limits too?” Chad drawled, looking amused by Jensen’s cautiousness.
“Nope,” Jensen said, once again grateful that Chad was able to defuse the situation with his careless and jovial demeanor.
“Does your friend work there?” Chad was openly grinning now.
“No, his day job is pretending to be the captain of the ferry that brought you here.”
“Shit on a stick!” Chad crowed, drawing some shocked looks from the other diners.
Jared’s attention was now riveted to his friend. “Chad, for the love of all that is holy and green…”
Chad raised his hands in a placating motion. “Sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities.”
“But is he right?” Jared looked at Jensen. “I mean there is nothing illegal about us asking questions.”
“Can’t say it is,” Jensen agreed. “But you lied and that’s going to make it a lot harder.”
“Only if we get caught.” Chad’s gaze sharpened. “And the only way that’s going to happen is if you tell.”
Jensen sighed and leaned even further back into the chair, still ignoring the warning groans of complaint.
The son of a bitch is right. What the fuck am I going to do? I can’t actively help them but I can’t let them roam around the entire island, pretending to be something they’re not. Especially not Jared. The man might be liable to go off on some unsuspecting person because he or she didn’t give the answer Jared wanted to hear.
“Of course, if you could help us find Hemley, then you could step in as the sheriff of the island and do your job,” Jared offered.
It was only then Jensen realized he’d been played thoroughly by the two men. He looked at them with admiration and annoyance. However, he couldn’t stay angry: not when he knew what Jared had lost and was ever so desperate to find.
As if Jensen's inner turmoil was his cue, Jared took out his wallet and said, “Aiden’s a good kid." He pulled a group of pictures, all featuring a smiling boy of indeterminate age. And the resemblance he had to his father was undeniable: the same dark hair, slightly tilted eyes and mischievous smile made him Jared’s son. “I love him but the truth is his mother probably loves him more. And she’s dying, Jensen. She won’t last until Halloween if she doesn’t find what happened to Aiden.
“I can’t bury her and Aiden. I just can’t lose them both.”
Jensen knew only too well what Jared was talking about. He'd seen his share of grieving parents who'd lost their children to one demon or another.
“I can’t let you pretend to be scouts … openly,” Jensen said, giving into his heart and not his brain. Something he hadn’t done in years. “But you can go around asking about the history of this place. There’s no law against that.
“And you can talk to Steve. Steve Carlson. The man’s a walking encyclopedia about the island.”
“Thank you,” Jared said. “Is Steve a native like you?”
“He was born and raised here; I moved here right after college.” Jensen hoped his sudden lack of warmth was enough of a warning to drop the subject. It worked. As tired as the two men were, they still possessed enough sense to heed his unspoken warning.
“Okay, and we’ll ask around for him,” Chad said. “No need to get you deeper into this mess.”
“Sounds good.” Jensen stood up, put on his hat and gave Henrietta a nod of farewell. She would put the dinner on his tab.
Jensen left without saying anything else to his fellow diners. The moment he opened the door, cold fog drifted in, dampening his face. He zipped up his jacket against the wetness but stood still in order to enjoy the night.
“I am so fucked,” he said to the bleary moon. With a small chuff of laughter the sheriff of Robbin Island got into his truck and drove away.
Jensen opted to make himself a chai latte and skip his usual nightcap of espresso. Most people would’ve wondered how he could drink caffeine so late into the night and get any kind of rest, but Jensen had been drinking coffee since his teens so unless he got an IV of caffeine, a cup of espresso did nothing to his system.
The sheriff took his customary seat on the porch, still dressed in his uniform (minus the hat) and studied the town. Jensen never failed to enjoy the sight of warm house lights slowly blinking out as people went to sleep. At first he hated Robbin and what little it had to offer. But Jeff had a home here and Jensen came along since he had nowhere else to go. The loneliness of living in a small town nearly broke him, but after a particularly brutal winter the Texan found himself enjoying the spring that followed. And by that fall, Jensen had fallen in love with Robbin and its inhabitants. They, in return, finally stopped treating him as an outlander and began to invite him into their homes and personal lives.
At first, Jeff was happy that his neighbors and childhood friends treated Jensen with genuine warmth. Then, when he realized that Jensen was treated with more consideration than he was, his initial good will evaporated. That was also when Jensen began working out his life by accepting the application to become a deputy under the then-sheriff, Jim Beaver.
It took Jensen less than six months to get all the numerous paperwork done, and by Christmas Jensen was earning a regular though very modest paycheck. Unfortunately, his success drove a deeper wedge into his relationship with Jeff who was struggling with his novel.
Things improved the following spring but Jensen felt stifled by Jeff and Jeff knew it. After two explosive arguments Jensen moved out and rented a studio above Steve’s garage. It was practically the size of Jeff's kitchen, but to the deputy the freedom made the place seem like a palace.
The last of the twinkling lights were extinguished. Jensen looked to his left and notice Henny’s inn still burning bright along with the Tide’s Tavern and Mike’s Pub. The three establishments were the only lit buildings in the bay and that was just the way Jensen liked it.
“Keeping them lights dim and few is the way to live,” Jim had said after a hard night of scrubbing out three drunks from Mike’s place. “As far as Robbin is concerned, progress should come crawling if it comes at all. Tourists are nice: their money is even better. But them staying around here, building their fucking mansions - not at all nice for any of us.”
It was then Jensen realized he belonged to ‘us’. What was even clearer was the fact that Jeff wasn’t. The writer was a celebrity and brought with him academic glamour. And his books were damn good read, but his contribution to the welfare of the island was at best negligible. Jensen, by his very position, had placed himself in danger’s path, and that had earned him a ticket into the hearts of the townsfolk.
With great reluctance, Jensen looked at the one landmark that always gave him pause: Spencer House.
It bordered on the Black Woods, a section of the Cascade State Park. However, it could as well be bordered with barbed wire for no one Jensen knew actually went into the Black Woods, at least voluntarily. They even discouraged tourists from entering that particular section of Cascade by pointing out the prettier and friendlier parts.
Jensen looked at the trees behind the impressive mansion. During daylight they had passing resemblance to their brethren on Robbin Island. However, when the sun fled the sky, it was completely different story. They looked tormented, their darkened branches twisting up into the sky, pleading for mercy or maybe death. Anything but continued existence on the land that had taken so many lives over the last century.
Okay, I’ve got to stop reading ghost stories. They just fuck with my brain and doesn’t make sleeping alone any easier.
Amused by his overactive imagination, Jensen finished his cup and stood up to go back into his modest clapboard house. But, as he closed the door behind him, Jensen couldn’t help take another look at Spencer House with all the second story windows blazing.
Jeff had once told him that the house was situated on the hill in such a way that it looked like it was holding back Black Woods from creeping down and taking over Alliance Bay. But, to Jensen, it looked like a general, guiding his killing soldiers into the town. Leading a charge that would end up destroying not only Alliance Bay, but all of Robbin Island.
Part II * Part IV
Pairing: ja/jp, former ja/jdm
Rating: R for language and violence
Warning: Genuine horror here. I hope.
Word Count: ~51k
Summary: Aiden Thomas Padalecki is violently and mysteriously kidnapped, leaving behind distraught parents who have no idea why their only child was taken. After months of futile investigation, the frantic father witnesses the slow but inevitable decline in the search of his only child. Half mad with grief, Jared goes to an island off the coast of Washington, holding the last clue that may help him find his son. But it is all a trap, and there’s someone crouching, waiting for him to pay back for sins not of his making.
Notes: Adapted from Peter Pan, written for j2_everafter.
Disclaimer: 127.5% fiction.
October, 2009
Robbin Island, Washington
Jensen stared at the black and whites, the stark colors and sharp contrasts detailing the destruction with power and clarity that colored photographs couldn’t achieve.
“Jesus,” he whispered softly as he spotted the flattened child’s bed in the last picture.
“You called?” a light voice drawled from behind him.
“I thought I heard your ego come down the street,” Jensen said, not bothering to turn around. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Slow week,” Chris answered and sat on the empty stool next to Jensen. He looked at the waitress behind the counter and smiled. “The usual, Sophia.”
“We don’t have coffee today. The ferry didn’t bring any.” Sophia wiped the counter in front of him and mournfully added, “We still have decaf.”
“You’re shitting me, right?” Chris looked genuinely stricken by the idea of decaf.
“I am, but we are running low,” Sophia said, “You might want to get a move on that.”
“That was mean,” Chris muttered and turned on his cell. “Yo, Steve?”
Jensen smiled into his cup and gave Sophia a wink. Her healthy blush was good enough of an answer so he said nothing.
“Yeah, Sophia said…” Chris pulled the cell away from his ear. A tinny voice rang out in outrage and exasperation.
“…And I have the goddamn coffee so lay off, all right?! And aren’t you suppose to be working anyway?!”
“Does that answer your question?” Chris snarled before hanging up.
Sophia threw back her head and laughed. She turned to the order window and said, “Two eggs, cloudy, burnt shingles, and double burnt pigs.”
Jensen shook his head and looked at his friend. “I can’t believe you eat that amount of lard every day and haven’t keeled over yet.”
Chris thumped his chest and said, “I'm a carnivore, hear me roar.”
Sophia added with a smirk, “And belch.”
“Then there’s the gas,” Jensen said, looking mischievously at his friend. “The military should bottle the stuff and use it as a weapon. Of course, the U.N probably banned it…”
Chris punched Jensen on the shoulder with little anger and said, “Shut up!” before noticing the photographs in his hands. “What are those?”
Jensen passed over the evidence packet with little hesitation. “It’s from California.”
Chris sobered up quickly. “Oh,” he said as he took the envelope. He flipped through the pictures before handing them back. “That’s pretty much the worst I’ve seen.”
Jensen nodded. “I’ve read the evidence, but for the life of me can’t figure out how they did it.”
“Had to have been pros,” Chris stated flatly.
And he should know, Jensen thought. He had done a little research on the island's most notorious charter boat captain, and discovered Chris was once a decorated and highly respected member of Oklahoma City's first response team. But that was before the bottle drowned him, forcing him to sever ties with a career that chewed up people and destroyed families by the dozens.
“But to leave that kind of destruction?” Jensen looked more like he was asking himself, and the question was an old one.
From the look on Chris' face, it wasn’t surprising one, either. “All I can guess is that the kidnappers wanted to make a statement: Jared and his loved ones will never be safe, anywhere.”
“But unless there was a helicopter in the backyard waiting for them, they couldn’t have gotten away so fast.”
“Why don’t you ask him? Seriously, it’s been five months.”
“I know,” Jensen answered. “But things aren’t like that.”
“He needs help, you know that, right?” Chris opened the newspaper he’d brought in. “Detective Singer was forced off the case.”
“What?” Jensen snatched it from his friend’s grasp. He flipped it open to find the story was stuck in Section C, page nineteen. He read the small column and shook his head. “Retirement? In the middle of a case? Definitely shoved out of the way.”
“He was probably making noises and pissed someone off.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t want to be transferred. A case like this makes a hero or breaks a man forever.”
“Do you know what happened to the FBI agent?”
“She was reassigned and nobody took her place,” Jensen answered readily. “The feds don’t like their names attached to such public failures.”
“For a man who says he only has a passing interest, you sure do know a lot about this.”
Jensen’s face remained stoically calm but his eyes reflected sadness. “He's not the kind of person you forget, even after one meeting.”
“Kinda like Jeff?”
“No, nothing like Jeff,” Jensen answered.
Chris looked doubly sad at his friend. “I see.” He turned to look out the front window and spotted a familiar figure limping by.
As if sensing the man, Jensen looked too. He looked away quickly then began plowing through what was left of his waffles.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Chris said in a gentle tone. “You guys drifted apart. People do that, even the strongest of us.”
“Things fall apart, the center cannot hold,” Jensen quoted without a trace of emotion in his voice.
“Jeff?”
Jensen nodded. “Yeah, but he was quoting someone else.”
“Did he say that before or after he tried to rip off your head?”
“After. The fight was much as my fault as his, you know.”
“Really?” Chris smiled when Sophia slid his plate over. He ate three slices of toast before saying, “Because I heard Jeff was in his bottle when he decided that homicide was a viable lifestyle.”
“He was drinking, but he wasn’t drunk, Chris. And he hasn’t touched the stuff for six years.”
“Once a drunk always a drunk, I should know,” Chris stated flatly. “I’m coming up on my dime.”
Jensen patted his friend and said, “Good to hear.”
“So, you guys are friends now?”
“We’re not that good … yet,” Jensen confessed easily enough. “But we’re getting there.”
“I want you to know something,” Chris’ voice dropped conspiratorially. “Jeff was born here, but you’re from here. So, don’t worry about losing your job if things between you and Jeff get ugly again. Okay?”
Jensen closed his eyes as his shoulders relaxed. He looked like a man whose burdens have been lifted from too-weary shoulders. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Chris said. He took another peek at the newspaper. “Poor guy. Wish there’s something we could do for him.”
“Yeah,” Jensen agreed. “Something.”
March, 2010
San Francisco, California
Jared went through his morning ablutions as if nothing was wrong and ate his usual load of healthy breakfast. Then, he sat in his office and did nothing. He just looked at the computer screen blinking in front of him like it was the Holy Grail to finding his son. There were few phone calls but he let the answering machine take them. Right before lunch, he erased them without listening.
After eating a turkey sandwich with all the trimmings he went back to his office and, once again, descended into his own hell. His eyes caught nothing, as his inner nightmares took the lion's share of his attention until the setting sun, imprisoned by the tiger statue sitting on his desk, danced a captive tune on its red, glossy back.
Jared looked at it and remembered the happy moments the figurine represented. Even though he knew he didn’t deserve to handle something that was beautiful and clean of taint, he slowly lifted it. He’d forgotten how heavy the work of art was, and couldn’t stop himself from admiring the pristine, minimalist lines.
It was because he was examining it so closely that Jared noticed scratches under one paw. He greedily looked closer and saw initials:
T.K.
“I don’t fucking believe this.”
Jared's Audi roared out of his driveway, which had been free of any curious onlookers and the press since Christmas.
Aiden's kidnapping was a seven-day wonder, and the media had long lost interest. But what was even worse was the loss of Palicki and Singer, both who fought their removal from the case. It was then Jared knew the law enforcement’s focus was slipping away. His attorney tried to make sense of it all, and legally it did. But to the father, it was as if he was listening to nails being hammered into Aiden's coffin.
Jared didn’t care when he was considered a viable suspect and that he’d lost most of his friends. Or when his mother had tearfully asked him if he was in any way responsible for what had happened to Aiden. But when he discovered that the interest in his son being found was fading, a part of him began to die. He tried to look for Aiden on his own, but quickly came to the realization that he was in no way competent enough to start searching for his missing son.
And Sandy, his beautiful friend who stood by him even as accusations was flung against his person, began to die by inches. Both he and Buddy knew that she wouldn’t last a year - not at the rate she was going.
The grieving mother had to be hospitalized twice. Once for respiratory infection due to poor health and the other for exhaustion due to her complete disregard for self-preservation.
By the time Jared stood in front of Tuohy’s front doorstep, he was enraged. And it felt good to be swamped under something other than fear and despair. As the fog in his head burned away by the rising tide of anger, Jared banged harder and harder on the door.
Bill Tuohy didn’t look at all surprised by Jared’s presence. In fact, he looked as if things hadn’t been surprising at all for a while.
“I expected you earlier,” he said tonelessly.
Anything else he wanted to say was lost when Jared grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. “Where is my son?!” Jared screamed. “Where is he?!”
Bill’s face crumpled as he cried. It took him a while to answer. “I don’t know. I swear … all I did was give you what he wanted.”
“Who’s he?”
“A man named Hemley,” Bill said hoarsely. “I don’t know who he is - he just ordered me to give you the statue.
“That was all. I swear!”
Jared relaxed his grip, his blood still burning bright with adrenaline. “So he blackmailed you into doing something he wanted? And that was to give me that fucking thing?”
Tuohy nodded. “Yeah, that’s all he wanted.”
It was then Jared noticed how disheveled Bill was. He looked around and realized the extravagant French Country style mansion had become a pigsty.
“Evie left me,” Bill said, laughing and sobbing at the same time. “She and Max went back to Vermont.”
Jared understood then. “Hemley didn’t keep his part of the bargain.”
Tears fell ruthlessly down the pale cheeks. “No,” Bill whispered. “He didn’t. And the fucked up thing was I knew he wouldn’t.”
Jared stepped back and shook his head. “You stupid bastard.”
“That would be me,” Bill agreed. “Go. I don’t know who this Hemley is or if it’s even his real name. But he was adamant that I give you the statue; of that I'm sure.”
“Do you know much about it?”
“No,” Tuohy answered. “But after your son disappeared, I did a little digging and found some history. Let me get it.”
Jared heard the phone ring and Bill must have answered it, because it was some time before the dejected man came back. The folder wasn’t thick but it wasn’t too thin to be discouraging.
“I’m sorry,” Bill said. “I'm so fucking sorry.”
In his eagerness to read the information, Jared didn't bother to reply. He gunned it back home and tore through the material within twenty minutes. There wasn’t much but what Tuohy found was interesting.
T.K. stood for Thomas Kindle, a young man who founded an artist colony on an island, one of many dotting the San Juan Islands cluster. It was a bizarre place to choose as the only other viable livelihood in the island was fishing.
However, his passion drew other artists and soon there was a sizable colony living in Alliance Bay, the only town on Robbin Island. And they lived in harmony with the locals. The fisherfolk had the patience and the genuine appreciation as to what the artists brought to them, and the artists in return were grateful for the no-nonsense approach their neighbors possessed.
Then, as if to prove Robbin was even more non-conformist, a sanitorium was established on the other side of the island, far away from Alliance Bay. It was mainly used for long-term care for patients who had need of the clean, vibrant air and the tempered climate the island was famed for.
Of course, nothing good lasts forever.
After an unseasonably dry spring and summer, a fire swept through the hospice, killing most of the patients and staff, along with all the townsfolk who showed up to help. Good fourth of the Robbin's forest burned alongside the buildings, devastating the island both ecologically and financially.
Kindle was one of the men who was killed trying to help his ailing neighbors, and with him died the heart of the artist colony. It didn’t last five years after his death, and Robbin Island soon reverted back to its original ways.
But, after WWI, an interest rose to re-establish the artist colony, and the young fiery painters and musicians who once roamed the disreputable establishments on the docks returned - all now well into middle-age if not older. However, their passion hadn’t abated a bit, and soon Robbin had another thriving trade besides fishing. Which was all well and good since that particular livelihood was slowly but inexorably dying out and was declared dead by the end of WWII.
The fishing industry returned in the seventies, though with caution, while the island attracted a respectable number of tourists with its abundant wildlife and the artists who were world-renown in their respective mediums.
Jared wondered if Kindle had heirs, and one of them had inherited more than just artistry from his famous ancestor. But, even as he examined that idea in his head like a magpie would with a shiny bit of foil, Jared had to admit it had too many flaws. There was also the pressing question: he still had no clue as to why he was targeted.
What if Aiden was the actual target? What if this kidnapping has nothing to do with me at all?
That idea was brilliant in its own skewed way, and Jared had to admit he never thought of it. After all, why would anybody suspect the kidnapping of the child to be anything but a method of controlling the parents and extracting from them something the kidnappers wanted?
Jared looked at the tiger crouching on his desk, its power dissipated in the dark. He didn’t think twice. It took him fifteen minutes to pack a weekend bag. He was online looking for airplane tickets when the phone rang.
He was going to let it roll into voice mail when his cell also started ringing. He looked at the caller ID and answered.
“Sandy? What’s wrong?” he asked, half panicking already. After the loss of his son, Jared couldn’t fathom losing someone else close to him.
“What did you do?” she asked hoarsely.
“What do you mean?” Even as those words fell from his lips, Jared knew what she was talking about.
“I just got a call from the police department. They were asking if I knew anything about your visit to Bill.”
Even though Jared had already guessed why she was calling, he was still floored when he heard his suspicion confirmed. Jared glanced at the clock and realized it had been full two hours since he’d seen his attorney.
“What happened?”
“Jared, answer me - what happened between you and Bill?”
“Nothing, we had some harsh words, that’s all.”
There was a pause in which Sandy digested what Jared had told her. “He’s dead.”
“What?” This time Jared was completely shocked. He’d suspected Tuohy had filed a complaint with the police in regard to their violent confrontation.
“They think he killed himself. He left a suicide note and everything but a neighbor saw you go into his house and heard you yelling, and there was a gunshot right afterwards. So the police are wondering.”
“They didn’t call me,” Jared said. He looked out the bay windows and saw only darkness peppered by the lights escaping from his neighbor’s windows. “Look, I have to go.”
“Jared, did you find something?”
He weighed it all and confessed, “Maybe, but I don’t know if it’s going to be anything. I honestly don’t. There's a damn good chance I’m crazy and I just don’t know it…”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sandy said, strength returning to her voice. “Get your ass to where it’s suppose to be. I don’t care if some crazy lady on the street told you. Just go find him.”
That was all the blessing Jared needed. Realizing that flying out was no longer an option, Jared drove.
He was out of San Francisco proper within the hour. So obsessed was Jared with getting to Robbin Island that it took two hours of driving before he noticed he had a tail. The initial jolt of fear quickly melted when Jared recognized the car.
He pulled off the first chance he got and waited for Chad to catch up.
“What the hell?” he shouted as he got out of his car.
“I should say the same fucking thing,” Chad snapped back. “I was two feet from your driveway when you peeled out.”
“So you decided to follow?”
“Why the fuck not?” Chad answered. “You think I’m going to sit by and watch you kill yourself? You’re not the first man I know who voluntarily became one of the walking dead.”
“How in hell did you manage to keep up with me anyway?” Jared’s anger faded when he realized the depth of his friend's loyalty.
“Your cell phone,” Chad said with a sly grin. “I could turn it into a GPS system.”
“You did what?” Jared felt righteous anger infect him again. “How?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Jared had to admit he didn’t want to.
“Where are you going?”
Jared took a deep breath and revealed his find. He fully expected Chad to try convincing him that he had finally succumbed to all the pressure and had become delusional.
Instead, Chad said, “I’ll go with you."
Jared was taken back. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m Aiden's godfather. And you need backup.”
Jared wanted to call bullshit but didn’t. Chad considered Jared his best friend and that meant Chad wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to join Jared in his crazy mission.
“The police want to talk to me because I was speaking to Bill Tuohy right before he died,” Jared confessed, expecting Chad to back off.
“That sucks for Bill,” Chad replied. “So, where are we going anyway?”
Jared smiled genuinely for the first time since Aiden’s disappearance. “Robbin Island. We need to find a guy named Hemley. He gave the tiger statue to Bill, blackmailing him to give the fucking thing to me. All this happened right before Aiden disappeared.
“And the goddamn thing has TK scratched on it.”
Chad gave a low whistle and said, “Okay, that’s pretty much on the dark side of the moon, but what the hell: best lead we had.”
“The only lead we have,” Jared corrected without rancor.
“Let’s rock-n-roll then.” He was walking back to his car when he suddenly whirled around. “Give me your cell phone.”
Jared handed it over without a word. Chad dismantled it and then pulled something the size of a dime out from its nest. He crushed it then threw the rest of the cell away.
“What the hell?” Jared complained.
“If I can track you then so can the police,” Chad said. “I can buy you another one.”
“I have money.”
“The police can track you through your credit cards,” Chad said.
Jared looked hard at his friend. “I didn’t kill Tuohy.”
“I know you didn’t. That’s not the issue,” Chad said. “For some insane reason you think you’re going to find Aiden at this fuck-all island filled by Deliverance rejects.”
“Chad…” Jared interrupted impatiently.
“Shut up,” Chad snapped. “I don’t know why you think this is going to work, but you believe it, and that’s hell of a lot more than what you had this morning. And I know for a fact that the police would like to speak with you about what happened to Bill because they called me. And that means days of delays and whatnot - you might even get charged by the cops for who knows what. And the truth is you’re not going to survive those kind of delays.”
Jared understood what Chad was really saying in spite of the pissy tone and the sarcastic look on his friend’s face.
“Okay,” Jared said, managing not to sound too hoarse with gratitude.
“Let’s rock-n-roll.”
They finally stopped in Portland and got what little sleep they could. Chad kept true to his word and purchased a cell along with an untraceable throw-away for when Jared needed to contact Sandy or ask for help from the few friends he had left.
They reached Seattle in the afternoon after driving all morning. Chad suggested they find a place to take a breather before landing on Robbin. Chad also managed to convince Jared that they needed only one car, and since his wasn’t exactly on the police radar, it’d be best to take the Acura.
Chad found an inn on Robbin Island that had rooms and made reservations using his credit card while Jared watched with gratitude as his friend, the one many people warned him to drop, proved himself to be something more than just a playboy.
“Thanks,” Chad said brightly. He looked at Jared with a grin. “She thinks we’re scouting San Juan Islands for a movie.”
“Why the hell did you do that?”
“That way the locals won’t be at all surprised to see us go everywhere. Hell, we can even take pictures of their houses and they won’t think twice.”
Jared’s estimation of his friend’s intelligence doubled.
Chad saw the amazed look on his face and laughed. “I run an empire, buddy. I don’t pull in my paycheck just by being pretty.”
“Jesus,” Jared said, smiling. “You are definitely one of a kind.”
“Damn well better be,” Chad said. “C’mon, I need to buy some clothes and I ain’t shopping in Walmart!”
So, Jared found himself stranded in Seattle while Chad took his 'tour of duty' in Barneys. They were back on the highway by three, refreshed with caffeine and a good meal, and reached Anacortes by six due to bad traffic.
After figuring out the ferry schedule which looked like it was planned and written by the Oracle of Delphi, Jared parked his car at a long-term parking garage while Chad bought the tickets necessary for their journey.
Even though it was freezing, Jared and Chad sat on the top deck, looking out at the dark waters and the fading lights of civilization.
“Do you really think you’ll find something there?” Chad asked.
“I don’t know,” Jared admitted. “But the coincidence is too much.”
“There is still the little fact that Thomas Kindle’s been dead for over a century."
Jared’s head dropped a little but his voice was firm when he said, “Maybe, but Hemley’s still alive, and I swear if he was responsible for what happened to Aiden…”
“What are you going to do if he was involved?” Chad asked.
“I’m gonna beat the living shit out the bastard until he tells me why he took Aiden and where he is now. Then … then, I’ll hand over what’s left to the police.”
Chad sat back into the bench and gave a sigh. “Okay, good. I thought you planned to kill him or something.”
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Jared found himself smiling. “But you don’t mind maiming?”
Chad pushed back the baseball cap on his head. “Fuck no. Anybody hurts a kid? They deserve to get their asses handed back to them.
In fact, I’m all for a public stocks and handing out rotten vegetables to the general public so they can use the fucker for target practice.”
“I wasn’t thinking in that avenue, exactly,” Jared said.
“I was,” Chad said. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if you said you were going to kill him.”
“To tell you the truth, I thought about it,” Jared said, looking at the black waters spanning all around him. “But I couldn’t … I just couldn’t get over the idea that whoever was responsible for this is somebody’s child too. Or was, once.”
Jared couldn’t see Chad’s face but his words revealed all. “That’s why you’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”
“Fuck off,” Jared groused without any heat.
“You’re so easy,” Chad said, the laughter making his voice sound much younger. “Let’s go inside. My dick’s crying for mercy.”
“Yeah, it’s getting cold.”
“Getting?” Chad said as he opened the door. “It was freezing when we left Anacortes!”
“Then why were we sitting outside?”
“Because you’re one of those artistic assholes who appreciates a nice view.”
Jared looked out at the blackness and saw practically nothing. But he didn’t argue: with Chad, you took the bad with the good. And there was a lot of good when it came to his friend, as Jared discovered since his ordeal began.
The ferry docked on Orca Island first, where all of the passengers unloaded save for Chad and Jared. And their presence must have been unusual because as they wandered around, they bumped into the skeleton crew who were startled to see they still had passengers.
Jared wandered to the front of the ferry and soon spotted weak lights.
“That must be Robbin,” Chad said.
“Looks pretty,” Jared said.
“Let’s hope it’s a lot more than that.” Chad looked at his watch and grimaced.
“What’s wrong?” Jared asked, alarmed by the look on his friend’s face.
“I had a hot date tonight,” Chad said, sounding genuinely sorrowful. “She was one hot MILF.”
“I really did not need to know that.”
“Her daughter’s hot too.”
“Chad!”
His friend threw back his head and laughed when he realized how offended Jared was. He was still chuckling when he drove the Acura off the ferry and onto the island. The roads were lit sporadically and all the stores were closed save for two restaurants.
They found the inn easily enough, as it was the only legitimate looking building on the waterfront.
“This looks like something out of a movie set,” Jared remarked as he examined the inn.
“Yeah, Deliverance by the Beach.” Chad looked around and shuddered. “If I get bedbugs, I’m gonna sue you.”
“Shut up,” was Jared’s brilliant reply.
Though shabby on the outside, once they walked in, the place turned out to be well-kept if also worn down. The front desk was gleaming and was manned by a grandmother who looked like she just popped out of the pages of a Norman Rockerfeller sketchbook.
“You must be Jared and Chad Murray,” the woman greeted them with a smile. “Welcome to James Inn. My name is Henrietta James - I’m the owner.”
“Nice to meet you,” Chad said. “Do I smell something good?”
It was then Jared realized he was starving. The front hall was filled with good smells and his stomach began rumbling mightily. Feeling embarrassed, Jared excused himself and didn't hear the front door open behind him.
“There you are!” Henrietta chirped. “These are the famous guests I told you about.”
Jared turned around to face Sheriff Jensen Ackles who looked nonplussed by his presence. Jared, on the other hand, turned pale with shock and guilt. Noticing his friend’s complete change in demeanor, Chad turned to examine the law enforcement of Robbin Island.
“I see,” Jensen said flatly. “Henrietta, can you add two chairs to my table? I’d like to invite Jared and Chad Murray for dinner. My treat.”
“Of course,” Henrietta said, noticing the change in atmosphere but wise enough not not to mention it. “It’ll take me just a minute.”
“Thank you,” Jensen said. He waited until the front hall was clear of curious eavesdroppers before looking at the latest editions to the island population. “So, movie scouts? Had a change of vocation since I saw you last, Mr. Padalecki?”
“Oh shit,” Chad whispered, suddenly remembering where he’d heard the sheriff’s name before. “You … oh shit.”
“I can explain,” Jared pleaded. “Please, give me a chance.”
“Because you lied?” Jensen shot back. “Oh, yeah, that should earn you some brownie points.
“Mr. Padalecki, do you have any idea how much trouble you’re brewing with the bullshit you’ve got going here?”
“Dude, chill,” Chad said, then broke into a sunny smile and looked over the sheriff's tense shoulders. “The table ready, Mrs. James?”
“Yes it is!”
“Cool,” Chad said, rubbing his hands gleefully. “I’m starving!”
Jensen sat back on the chair, ignoring the pitiful creaks coming from the ancient furniture. He studied the two men sitting around his table, completely ignoring his detailed observation as they were too busy shoveling food into their mouths.
H.J.’s famous rolls were inhaled by the outlanders, and her scallop chowder fared no better. Now, the two were trading bites of each other’s plates. To any casual observer, this might indicate that they were actually a couple, since such close familiarity as sharing food usually signaled shared lifestyles. But Jensen knew better. Chad was, in fact, taking care of his friend, a man so close to the edge, he might have fallen off of it without anybody noticing.
The first time Jensen caught the sight of the giant he’d met almost a year ago, he was shocked. The man hadn’t physically shrunken so much - he was built too solidly to waste away like some fragile Victorian poet, but the essence of the person that was Jared Padalecki was halved. It was as if Aiden took with him the strongest part of his father and left behind an ailing shadow.
Jensen noticed the two men were slowing down and actually taking drinks of beer, and decided it was as good a time as any to figure out why in hell these two men lied to H.J. when they made reservations at her inn.
“So, what brings you two Hollywood types into my humble town?”
The threat wasn’t at all noticeable to Chad, but Jared mentally winced. He couldn’t ignore the dangerous current in the few words Jensen had used.
“I found something that connects Robbin to Aiden’s disappearance,” he answered.
“Really,” Jensen said, noticing how relieved Jared looked after answering his question. “And what might that be?”
“Do you know of a man named Hemley?” Jared asked.
“No,” Jensen answered readily.
“How many live on the island anyway?” Chad challenged the sheriff. “Unless you know every single person, I don’t think there’s any way you can be sure of that.”
“The island population is somewhere between three to three hundred fifteen during off-season,” Jensen said. “And yes, I know every person in that count. We have another ten or twenty outlanders who come with the tourists and work here for the summer season, but it’s too early for them to show up.”
Jared placed a restraining hand on Chad before explaining his story. Jensen listened with complete attention as the strained father revealed the sordid tale about the blackmail and what had happened to Bill Tuohy only yesterday.
Jensen compartmentalized the data before going over what Jared had told him. He couldn’t dismiss anything the man said since Jared was here for those very same reasons. However, if someone on the island resorted to blackmail in order to get his hands on Jared’s son, it would stand to reason they wouldn’t use their real name in the commission of a federal crime.
“You think we’re waiting for Godot?” Jared asked.
“Hardly,” Jensen deadpanned. “Vladimir and Estragon had better chance of meeting the goddamn asshole than you have of finding Hemley.”
If Jared was surprised to find a provincial sheriff knowledgeable about Beckett’s famous play he didn’t show it.
“But if you had to, how would you go about doing it?” Chad asked.
Jensen felt a frisson of nervous energy as the question raised a very interesting challenge.
How to find a man who engineered a successful kidnapping of a child in another state?
“Thomas Kindle,” Jensen finally uttered slowly and carefully. “There are no more Kindles left. His only child died with him in the fire."
“Did he have any heirs?” Jared leaned forward, eagerness showing through his exhaustion.
“His parents back in Boston and a brother,” Jensen answered. “But I’m not too familiar with the man.”
“How in hell do you know even that much?” Chad looked impressed by Jensen’s reply.
“I have a friend whose hobby includes researching this island's history.”
“Can he help me?” Jared asked.
“Look, asking me for help is one thing,” Jensen answered. ‘But it’s too much to involve a civilian with this.”
“But I can ask, right?” Jared’s eagerness actually increased in spite of Jensen’s reluctance. “I mean there’s nothing to prevent me from looking.”
“Oh, I can’t guarantee that.” Jensen began to feel alarmed by the father’s behavior. It was as if he was on a mission and nothing was going to stop him from fulfilling his obsession. Even if the roadblock was armed with a badge and a gun.
“The library is off-limits too?” Chad drawled, looking amused by Jensen’s cautiousness.
“Nope,” Jensen said, once again grateful that Chad was able to defuse the situation with his careless and jovial demeanor.
“Does your friend work there?” Chad was openly grinning now.
“No, his day job is pretending to be the captain of the ferry that brought you here.”
“Shit on a stick!” Chad crowed, drawing some shocked looks from the other diners.
Jared’s attention was now riveted to his friend. “Chad, for the love of all that is holy and green…”
Chad raised his hands in a placating motion. “Sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities.”
“But is he right?” Jared looked at Jensen. “I mean there is nothing illegal about us asking questions.”
“Can’t say it is,” Jensen agreed. “But you lied and that’s going to make it a lot harder.”
“Only if we get caught.” Chad’s gaze sharpened. “And the only way that’s going to happen is if you tell.”
Jensen sighed and leaned even further back into the chair, still ignoring the warning groans of complaint.
The son of a bitch is right. What the fuck am I going to do? I can’t actively help them but I can’t let them roam around the entire island, pretending to be something they’re not. Especially not Jared. The man might be liable to go off on some unsuspecting person because he or she didn’t give the answer Jared wanted to hear.
“Of course, if you could help us find Hemley, then you could step in as the sheriff of the island and do your job,” Jared offered.
It was only then Jensen realized he’d been played thoroughly by the two men. He looked at them with admiration and annoyance. However, he couldn’t stay angry: not when he knew what Jared had lost and was ever so desperate to find.
As if Jensen's inner turmoil was his cue, Jared took out his wallet and said, “Aiden’s a good kid." He pulled a group of pictures, all featuring a smiling boy of indeterminate age. And the resemblance he had to his father was undeniable: the same dark hair, slightly tilted eyes and mischievous smile made him Jared’s son. “I love him but the truth is his mother probably loves him more. And she’s dying, Jensen. She won’t last until Halloween if she doesn’t find what happened to Aiden.
“I can’t bury her and Aiden. I just can’t lose them both.”
Jensen knew only too well what Jared was talking about. He'd seen his share of grieving parents who'd lost their children to one demon or another.
“I can’t let you pretend to be scouts … openly,” Jensen said, giving into his heart and not his brain. Something he hadn’t done in years. “But you can go around asking about the history of this place. There’s no law against that.
“And you can talk to Steve. Steve Carlson. The man’s a walking encyclopedia about the island.”
“Thank you,” Jared said. “Is Steve a native like you?”
“He was born and raised here; I moved here right after college.” Jensen hoped his sudden lack of warmth was enough of a warning to drop the subject. It worked. As tired as the two men were, they still possessed enough sense to heed his unspoken warning.
“Okay, and we’ll ask around for him,” Chad said. “No need to get you deeper into this mess.”
“Sounds good.” Jensen stood up, put on his hat and gave Henrietta a nod of farewell. She would put the dinner on his tab.
Jensen left without saying anything else to his fellow diners. The moment he opened the door, cold fog drifted in, dampening his face. He zipped up his jacket against the wetness but stood still in order to enjoy the night.
“I am so fucked,” he said to the bleary moon. With a small chuff of laughter the sheriff of Robbin Island got into his truck and drove away.
Jensen opted to make himself a chai latte and skip his usual nightcap of espresso. Most people would’ve wondered how he could drink caffeine so late into the night and get any kind of rest, but Jensen had been drinking coffee since his teens so unless he got an IV of caffeine, a cup of espresso did nothing to his system.
The sheriff took his customary seat on the porch, still dressed in his uniform (minus the hat) and studied the town. Jensen never failed to enjoy the sight of warm house lights slowly blinking out as people went to sleep. At first he hated Robbin and what little it had to offer. But Jeff had a home here and Jensen came along since he had nowhere else to go. The loneliness of living in a small town nearly broke him, but after a particularly brutal winter the Texan found himself enjoying the spring that followed. And by that fall, Jensen had fallen in love with Robbin and its inhabitants. They, in return, finally stopped treating him as an outlander and began to invite him into their homes and personal lives.
At first, Jeff was happy that his neighbors and childhood friends treated Jensen with genuine warmth. Then, when he realized that Jensen was treated with more consideration than he was, his initial good will evaporated. That was also when Jensen began working out his life by accepting the application to become a deputy under the then-sheriff, Jim Beaver.
It took Jensen less than six months to get all the numerous paperwork done, and by Christmas Jensen was earning a regular though very modest paycheck. Unfortunately, his success drove a deeper wedge into his relationship with Jeff who was struggling with his novel.
Things improved the following spring but Jensen felt stifled by Jeff and Jeff knew it. After two explosive arguments Jensen moved out and rented a studio above Steve’s garage. It was practically the size of Jeff's kitchen, but to the deputy the freedom made the place seem like a palace.
The last of the twinkling lights were extinguished. Jensen looked to his left and notice Henny’s inn still burning bright along with the Tide’s Tavern and Mike’s Pub. The three establishments were the only lit buildings in the bay and that was just the way Jensen liked it.
“Keeping them lights dim and few is the way to live,” Jim had said after a hard night of scrubbing out three drunks from Mike’s place. “As far as Robbin is concerned, progress should come crawling if it comes at all. Tourists are nice: their money is even better. But them staying around here, building their fucking mansions - not at all nice for any of us.”
It was then Jensen realized he belonged to ‘us’. What was even clearer was the fact that Jeff wasn’t. The writer was a celebrity and brought with him academic glamour. And his books were damn good read, but his contribution to the welfare of the island was at best negligible. Jensen, by his very position, had placed himself in danger’s path, and that had earned him a ticket into the hearts of the townsfolk.
With great reluctance, Jensen looked at the one landmark that always gave him pause: Spencer House.
It bordered on the Black Woods, a section of the Cascade State Park. However, it could as well be bordered with barbed wire for no one Jensen knew actually went into the Black Woods, at least voluntarily. They even discouraged tourists from entering that particular section of Cascade by pointing out the prettier and friendlier parts.
Jensen looked at the trees behind the impressive mansion. During daylight they had passing resemblance to their brethren on Robbin Island. However, when the sun fled the sky, it was completely different story. They looked tormented, their darkened branches twisting up into the sky, pleading for mercy or maybe death. Anything but continued existence on the land that had taken so many lives over the last century.
Okay, I’ve got to stop reading ghost stories. They just fuck with my brain and doesn’t make sleeping alone any easier.
Amused by his overactive imagination, Jensen finished his cup and stood up to go back into his modest clapboard house. But, as he closed the door behind him, Jensen couldn’t help take another look at Spencer House with all the second story windows blazing.
Jeff had once told him that the house was situated on the hill in such a way that it looked like it was holding back Black Woods from creeping down and taking over Alliance Bay. But, to Jensen, it looked like a general, guiding his killing soldiers into the town. Leading a charge that would end up destroying not only Alliance Bay, but all of Robbin Island.
Part II * Part IV