moon, roll me away - i
It’s late when the call comes in. Holly answers the phone - and dear God, whoever hired her should be shot, Ian thinks to himself as he watches her scrabble for a pen and her vacant expression flashes into something more serious - false nails clicking on the desk in front of her irritatingly. Without batting an eyelash, she snaps her gum, looks at Ian and says, “We just got a call about that DB out on forty-five.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “Colussy went out there, like, an hour ago.” He’s mostly trying to get out of doing it because he hates seeing dead bodies, to be perfectly honest. And not to mention that there’s no reason to call an additional officer on what should be a pretty routine stop; the anonymous caller who phoned it in to begin with said that the decomp was already so bad they’d smelled it from nine hundred feet up the road, and the body was in the swampy ditch just over the hill leading to the next parish. If there’s one thing Matt Colussy does well, it’s thorough checks of crime scenes. He’ll already have all the evidence bagged, an ID on the vic and somebody to shoot the scene. There’s no reason for him to go out there this late at night.
“He said he’s never seen anything like this before. I think it must be like the time you had that…” she trails off, chomping her gum noisily. “When you had that run-in with the V-A-M-P-I-R-E. Speaking of which, he also told me to call Alex Roy and tell him to meet you up there.” Holly looks visibly uncomfortable at the thought; Ian actually doesn’t blame her for that one. She’s not exactly the type of person you’d expect to be rubbing elbows with vampires at work, but goddamn if Alex Roy isn’t the best medical examiner this county has ever seen. He just… also happens to be a little undead. Nice as hell to work with, though. Holly’s been a little afraid of him ever since the time Ian got bitten by an angry vamp and, in a panic, Alex went a little overboard sucking the venom out for him.
So obviously if Colussy wants him and Alex both to go out there, something very strange is going on. And in this town, whenever something strange is afoot, it usually gets pretty supernatural. Ian looks at Holly in her soft pink sweater set and tells her, “You know what? Call Jeff Maker too, for good measure. I have a feeling we might need his particular expertise tonight.”
For once, Holly doesn’t argue with him. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll radio you when they’re on their way. And Ian? Be careful, the roads are slippery.” He pulls his jacket on, heavy navy blue fabric on top of his lighter blue button-up on top of his matching navy pants with the stripe on the side of each leg. He checks the inside pocket to make sure his badge is there. He pats the holster on his hip even though he knows - knows beyond a doubt - that his sidearm is there, just because. The keys to the cruiser are hanging on a hook by the back door. No one ever goes through that door unless they’re wearing the uniform, or one of those stylish orange jumpsuits and matching bracelets.
The thing is, Ian actually really hates arresting people. He likes the investigating part of his job, but not so much taking people downtown in handcuffs or stuffing drunks into the back of the cruiser. It’s cold when he walks through the parking lot to the cruiser; the roads look slick, like Holly mentioned. Stupid, but he always feels important when he has an excuse to drive the land yacht on duty. He doesn’t bother to turn the siren on, or the lights. There’s no point when it’s this late and there are no cars on the road, anyway.
Plus, they’re dealing with a dead body so it’s not like the crime scene is going to go anywhere. What, is the guy going to get up and walk away before he gets there? Ian laughs at the idea.
Holly’s voice comes crackling through the radio when he’s maybe halfway. “I got through to the medical examiner’s office,” she says. “Alex is on his way; he’s bringing Toby too. Jeff said he’d be there as soon as he could get away. Over.” Ian thanks her and turns onto highway forty-five, keeping a close eye on the side of the road even though he knows Colussy will have it all blocked off and taped up. He swears that Colussy actually sleeps with his crime scene tape sometimes, the way he’s so efficient and mechanical about the job. When he pulls up to the other cruiser, he can already see Colussy standing the way he always stands, one hand on his hip, the other resting on his holster.
It’s sprinkling down rain; and of course there are already tarps set up to keep everything dry until it stops. “What, were you a Boy Scout when you were a kid or something?” Ian teases, tapping his partner on the shoulder with his fist. “So, tell me ‘bout your dead body, Coluss.”
They walk over to the taped-off area together, ducking under the yellow plastic to stand under the tarp. “Well, shit,” Colussy says. “At first I thought it was just a typical case of out-of-towner getting lost camping, getting mauled by a bear, right? But then…” he shines his flashlight over the body so that Ian can see, “I got a closer look and I thought, that doesn’t look like a bear attack at all. Too precise.” The first thought he has when he gets a better look is, Jesus Christ, you’re so young. Colussy has a point, though; the slashes aren’t random and it almost looks like… “Like he got caught off guard, right?”
“Yeah, but then there’s…” Ian squints, can just make out the headlights in the distance coming from the opposite direction. He shines his own flashlight over the body once more, wincing slightly at the gore nestled where the young guy’s chest used to be. It almost looks like a werewolf attack. Except… it’s not even the full moon. And none of the werewolves in the area that Ian knows about have ever attacked a human, killed one, so even if it were a were attack, it’d be a real whodunit kind of case. He’s glad, in retrospect, that he asked for Jeff to come too. He sticks his thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. “What is this, Coluss?” he asks. “What happened here? I mean, like. I know what we’re going to rule it officially, but this is… this is some freaky-deaky shit, even for me.”
Colussy laughs wryly. “I dunno, Ian. Can’t… It gives me the willies, you know, thinkin’ about something like this happening to Kate or someone. Jesus.” They stand side by side - bookends - until Alex Roy’s Volvo pulls up on the other side of the highway. The engine shuts off and Alex gets out of the car, all six foot something of him. He looks even more severe than usual. Toby waves at them from inside the car.
Ian is guessing that Alex told Toby to wait in the car until they were sure it was safe. He’s more than a little sensitive about his boyfriend still being human… The overprotectiveness must be overbearing sometimes. He shakes the thought from his head and greets Alex, shakes his hand. “Hey. Thanks for coming out. It must - it must have been a surprise, hearing from me, eh?”
“Not particularly. I mean, you’ve got a dead guy in your ditch, so.” Alex shrugs and shakes the rain from his dark blonde hair. He turns to Colussy, shakes his hand too, asks, “Hey, Colussy. How’s Kate? Enjoying married life?” Then, he gets down to business, grabbing his little black bag from the backseat of the car and then ducking under the tarp with his light and gloves and little tools that Ian doesn’t know what to call. The good thing about Alex Roy is that he tends to talk as he works, so they receive a running commentary of his autopsy as it happens. “Rigor’s setting in… hmf, the eyes are really milky already… decomp smells really bad, Jesus Christ with a handgun… oh, God, my eyes are watering, fuck. Found your vic’s wallet in the back pocket, he must have had these jeans painted on because I could barely even pull it out.”
“And?” Ian’s burning with impatience, now. He wants to know what this thing is, what killed this kid, what the fuck else he needs to protect this town from besides vampires and werewolves and the occasional ghost.
Alex opens the wallet carefully with gloved fingers. “No ID, but he had a bunch of foreign money on him. Must’ve been here on holiday, or something…” His mouth is a hard line on his face. Ian watches him closely; he glances over at the car, at Toby, looking worried. “I want to say werewolf attack, but we should wait for Jeff to get here before we know for sure. Jeff is coming, isn’t he?”
From behind them, a laugh carries over the hill on the wind. “Hey, what else am I gonna do on a beautiful Saturday night like this? G’morning, Alex. Good to see you again.” Jeff Maker materializes, seemingly out of nowhere, and shakes everyone’s hand before stepping underneath the tarp with them. Ian holds the flashlight steady while Jeff takes a look, hearing the occasional ‘Hmmm’ and ‘Oh’ fall from the werewolf’s lips. His stomach is tight with anticipation.
The breeze shifts just slightly. It must be enough to knock some of the bloody smell downwind, though - Alex hisses and mutters, to himself, “I hate this part of my job so much sometimes.” Ian hears the soft shick! sound of his fangs descending, remembering the feel of them in his skin so many months ago. But without Alex Roy and those wonderful, terrible fangs, he’d be just as undead. If Alex hadn’t been able to suck the venom out so quickly… he’d be… he’d be… Colussy teases him sometimes about the way he takes his steaks bloody now.
“I’d say it’s a werewolf attack for sure,” Jeff Maker says decisively, “but ain’t no wolf like I’ve ever seen before. This… is something to worry about.” In as long as he’s known Jeff, this is the first time Ian has ever seen him legitimately frightened of something to do with the werewolves. Something must be seriously wrong. He stands to the side and watches everyone take pictures with their cell phone cameras, Alex muttering into his voice recorder the whole time, and then together they put the victim’s body into a bag and zip it up. Ian doesn’t think they’ll hold it for long before they pop him into the incinerator; the decomp smell is so bad he doesn’t think that it will ever come out of his nose.
God, he hates dead bodies. They freak him out. He doesn’t even know what he’d do if he had to see one by himself, caught off guard. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they lived in the city and he had to worry about drive-by shootings or something. It’s just… “Freaky-deaky shit,” he mutters under his breath.
Next
Ian rolls his eyes. “Colussy went out there, like, an hour ago.” He’s mostly trying to get out of doing it because he hates seeing dead bodies, to be perfectly honest. And not to mention that there’s no reason to call an additional officer on what should be a pretty routine stop; the anonymous caller who phoned it in to begin with said that the decomp was already so bad they’d smelled it from nine hundred feet up the road, and the body was in the swampy ditch just over the hill leading to the next parish. If there’s one thing Matt Colussy does well, it’s thorough checks of crime scenes. He’ll already have all the evidence bagged, an ID on the vic and somebody to shoot the scene. There’s no reason for him to go out there this late at night.
“He said he’s never seen anything like this before. I think it must be like the time you had that…” she trails off, chomping her gum noisily. “When you had that run-in with the V-A-M-P-I-R-E. Speaking of which, he also told me to call Alex Roy and tell him to meet you up there.” Holly looks visibly uncomfortable at the thought; Ian actually doesn’t blame her for that one. She’s not exactly the type of person you’d expect to be rubbing elbows with vampires at work, but goddamn if Alex Roy isn’t the best medical examiner this county has ever seen. He just… also happens to be a little undead. Nice as hell to work with, though. Holly’s been a little afraid of him ever since the time Ian got bitten by an angry vamp and, in a panic, Alex went a little overboard sucking the venom out for him.
So obviously if Colussy wants him and Alex both to go out there, something very strange is going on. And in this town, whenever something strange is afoot, it usually gets pretty supernatural. Ian looks at Holly in her soft pink sweater set and tells her, “You know what? Call Jeff Maker too, for good measure. I have a feeling we might need his particular expertise tonight.”
For once, Holly doesn’t argue with him. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll radio you when they’re on their way. And Ian? Be careful, the roads are slippery.” He pulls his jacket on, heavy navy blue fabric on top of his lighter blue button-up on top of his matching navy pants with the stripe on the side of each leg. He checks the inside pocket to make sure his badge is there. He pats the holster on his hip even though he knows - knows beyond a doubt - that his sidearm is there, just because. The keys to the cruiser are hanging on a hook by the back door. No one ever goes through that door unless they’re wearing the uniform, or one of those stylish orange jumpsuits and matching bracelets.
The thing is, Ian actually really hates arresting people. He likes the investigating part of his job, but not so much taking people downtown in handcuffs or stuffing drunks into the back of the cruiser. It’s cold when he walks through the parking lot to the cruiser; the roads look slick, like Holly mentioned. Stupid, but he always feels important when he has an excuse to drive the land yacht on duty. He doesn’t bother to turn the siren on, or the lights. There’s no point when it’s this late and there are no cars on the road, anyway.
Plus, they’re dealing with a dead body so it’s not like the crime scene is going to go anywhere. What, is the guy going to get up and walk away before he gets there? Ian laughs at the idea.
Holly’s voice comes crackling through the radio when he’s maybe halfway. “I got through to the medical examiner’s office,” she says. “Alex is on his way; he’s bringing Toby too. Jeff said he’d be there as soon as he could get away. Over.” Ian thanks her and turns onto highway forty-five, keeping a close eye on the side of the road even though he knows Colussy will have it all blocked off and taped up. He swears that Colussy actually sleeps with his crime scene tape sometimes, the way he’s so efficient and mechanical about the job. When he pulls up to the other cruiser, he can already see Colussy standing the way he always stands, one hand on his hip, the other resting on his holster.
It’s sprinkling down rain; and of course there are already tarps set up to keep everything dry until it stops. “What, were you a Boy Scout when you were a kid or something?” Ian teases, tapping his partner on the shoulder with his fist. “So, tell me ‘bout your dead body, Coluss.”
They walk over to the taped-off area together, ducking under the yellow plastic to stand under the tarp. “Well, shit,” Colussy says. “At first I thought it was just a typical case of out-of-towner getting lost camping, getting mauled by a bear, right? But then…” he shines his flashlight over the body so that Ian can see, “I got a closer look and I thought, that doesn’t look like a bear attack at all. Too precise.” The first thought he has when he gets a better look is, Jesus Christ, you’re so young. Colussy has a point, though; the slashes aren’t random and it almost looks like… “Like he got caught off guard, right?”
“Yeah, but then there’s…” Ian squints, can just make out the headlights in the distance coming from the opposite direction. He shines his own flashlight over the body once more, wincing slightly at the gore nestled where the young guy’s chest used to be. It almost looks like a werewolf attack. Except… it’s not even the full moon. And none of the werewolves in the area that Ian knows about have ever attacked a human, killed one, so even if it were a were attack, it’d be a real whodunit kind of case. He’s glad, in retrospect, that he asked for Jeff to come too. He sticks his thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. “What is this, Coluss?” he asks. “What happened here? I mean, like. I know what we’re going to rule it officially, but this is… this is some freaky-deaky shit, even for me.”
Colussy laughs wryly. “I dunno, Ian. Can’t… It gives me the willies, you know, thinkin’ about something like this happening to Kate or someone. Jesus.” They stand side by side - bookends - until Alex Roy’s Volvo pulls up on the other side of the highway. The engine shuts off and Alex gets out of the car, all six foot something of him. He looks even more severe than usual. Toby waves at them from inside the car.
Ian is guessing that Alex told Toby to wait in the car until they were sure it was safe. He’s more than a little sensitive about his boyfriend still being human… The overprotectiveness must be overbearing sometimes. He shakes the thought from his head and greets Alex, shakes his hand. “Hey. Thanks for coming out. It must - it must have been a surprise, hearing from me, eh?”
“Not particularly. I mean, you’ve got a dead guy in your ditch, so.” Alex shrugs and shakes the rain from his dark blonde hair. He turns to Colussy, shakes his hand too, asks, “Hey, Colussy. How’s Kate? Enjoying married life?” Then, he gets down to business, grabbing his little black bag from the backseat of the car and then ducking under the tarp with his light and gloves and little tools that Ian doesn’t know what to call. The good thing about Alex Roy is that he tends to talk as he works, so they receive a running commentary of his autopsy as it happens. “Rigor’s setting in… hmf, the eyes are really milky already… decomp smells really bad, Jesus Christ with a handgun… oh, God, my eyes are watering, fuck. Found your vic’s wallet in the back pocket, he must have had these jeans painted on because I could barely even pull it out.”
“And?” Ian’s burning with impatience, now. He wants to know what this thing is, what killed this kid, what the fuck else he needs to protect this town from besides vampires and werewolves and the occasional ghost.
Alex opens the wallet carefully with gloved fingers. “No ID, but he had a bunch of foreign money on him. Must’ve been here on holiday, or something…” His mouth is a hard line on his face. Ian watches him closely; he glances over at the car, at Toby, looking worried. “I want to say werewolf attack, but we should wait for Jeff to get here before we know for sure. Jeff is coming, isn’t he?”
From behind them, a laugh carries over the hill on the wind. “Hey, what else am I gonna do on a beautiful Saturday night like this? G’morning, Alex. Good to see you again.” Jeff Maker materializes, seemingly out of nowhere, and shakes everyone’s hand before stepping underneath the tarp with them. Ian holds the flashlight steady while Jeff takes a look, hearing the occasional ‘Hmmm’ and ‘Oh’ fall from the werewolf’s lips. His stomach is tight with anticipation.
The breeze shifts just slightly. It must be enough to knock some of the bloody smell downwind, though - Alex hisses and mutters, to himself, “I hate this part of my job so much sometimes.” Ian hears the soft shick! sound of his fangs descending, remembering the feel of them in his skin so many months ago. But without Alex Roy and those wonderful, terrible fangs, he’d be just as undead. If Alex hadn’t been able to suck the venom out so quickly… he’d be… he’d be… Colussy teases him sometimes about the way he takes his steaks bloody now.
“I’d say it’s a werewolf attack for sure,” Jeff Maker says decisively, “but ain’t no wolf like I’ve ever seen before. This… is something to worry about.” In as long as he’s known Jeff, this is the first time Ian has ever seen him legitimately frightened of something to do with the werewolves. Something must be seriously wrong. He stands to the side and watches everyone take pictures with their cell phone cameras, Alex muttering into his voice recorder the whole time, and then together they put the victim’s body into a bag and zip it up. Ian doesn’t think they’ll hold it for long before they pop him into the incinerator; the decomp smell is so bad he doesn’t think that it will ever come out of his nose.
God, he hates dead bodies. They freak him out. He doesn’t even know what he’d do if he had to see one by himself, caught off guard. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they lived in the city and he had to worry about drive-by shootings or something. It’s just… “Freaky-deaky shit,” he mutters under his breath.
Next