Title: Cell Block 13
Author:
absfabulous1Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Logan, OMCs, Vinnie and implied Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 1500
Spoilers: Vague spoilers for the entire series, including the finale, 3.20- The Bitch is Back
Summary: It’s Halloween night and Logan Echolls is in jail. Again.
Author’s Notes: This was written for
vmfic_gameon Round #2, and it actually fits two of the challenges: Halloween and Rocks Fall. So there’s your warning. Some might find this a little cracky, and I’d agree. You might think it’s a little angsty, too, but I actually don’t see it that way. ;)
The little gold bells adorning his shoes jangled against each other with every step, and the tinny sound echoed off the cement walls and swirled around his aching head. He groaned, his brain drowning in the quart of vodka he’d downed at the party, and it was a struggle to remain upright as his mind swam against the current of alcohol and he fought the urge to empty his stomach all over the concrete floors.
He was in for a DUI (not his first) and he marveled at the audacity of the local law enforcement, always making much ado about nothing more than a little holiday fun. He was cuffed, actually handcuffed, and the metal was digging painfully into the tender skin of his wrists. His lawyer would hear all about this, including his complaints about the overly anxious deputy currently accompanying him to cell block 13, but that would have to wait until the morning, preferably after his hangover had cleared up.
The cell opened loudly, making him wince, and then he was being pushed forward, his hands now the only thing free. “Sleep tight, Bozo!” the cop grinned from the other side of the bars.
He stumbled toward the dingy cot in the corner. “I’m a jester, you ingrate,” he snarled. But his words went unheard, for the deputy was already gone.
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” another voice spoke.
He spun around on his heel, startled, and the clang from his bells was the only sound in the cell. He paused in confusion; he could have sworn the jail was empty when he entered, but there was a man sitting upright on the mattress at the opposite side of the small room, his face hidden in the dark.
The lone light source, an overhead fluorescent above his bed, buzzed softly but did not flicker. He wasn’t sure why he took comfort in that harsh yellow light bathing his face; there was no reason to be afraid of the dark, and if anything his bloodshot eyes should have welcomed the relief.
Suddenly an image flashed in his mind, another shade of yellow, soft strands dipped in crimson and twined around his fingertips.
He could feel his heart begin to pound frantically against his chest, and he stilled himself, deep breaths to calm his now racing pulse. Driving under the influence, that’s all. His lawyer would post bail early in the morning and everything would be taken care of then. There was no need to worry or fret, no need to wallow in the spine-tingling panic he had first felt when he saw the flash of red and blue pull up behind him. It was a DUI and nothing more. Nothing more.
“So, trick or treat?” the other man asked.
He raised his head to glance over at his cell mate, whose face was still partially obscured in the shadows. “What the hell are you rambling on about?”
“It’s well after midnight,” the man explained, a lilt of humor in his voice. “Halloween. Looks like you got all dressed up for the occasion. Did you at least get some good candy?”
He groaned in response, his head still aching painfully and the sweet release of sleep beckoning him. His eyes shut involuntarily, but then sprung open in terror. Her eyes, pale blue, glassy and glazed, stared back at him from behind his closed lids.
Another deep, calming breath. He stared up at the light above him, forcing his eyes open against the unforgiving glare and ignoring his head’s painful protests. Any light now was welcome. Anything felt better than the dark.
He wasn’t like his brother. Pavel was smart and capable, always was. His father bestowed upon him the responsibilities that his brother shed like a heavy jacket on a warm day. Pavel kept his cool and didn’t let his emotions get the best of him, and where his brother always failed, Pavel succeeded. When his family and friends’ livelihoods were at stake, and his brother chose to focus on a personal vendetta rather than a methodical solution to their real problem, Pavel began the slow process of righting all of his sibling’s wrongs.
And he was careful. He knew he wouldn’t end up behind real bars because when it really counted, he was careful. No one knew.
No one knew.
“Trick or treat?” the man repeated.
“Trick,” he snapped, turning to glare at the shadowy figure sitting perfectly still on the other bed.
The other man was silent, and Pavel felt his already tenuous hold slipping further away. Pale blues and yellows, bright crimson. “I-I was at a party. Had a little too much to drink. It’s nothing,” he explained.
“I’ve been there.”
“I’d really love to commiserate with you, pal, but if I’m going to be stuck in this hell hole all night, I’m going to sleep this off.” He rolled over then to face the wall, and he could hear, not see, the other occupant shift around on the bed. He turned his head to glance back at the man, and he found him leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together thoughtfully. The move shed some helpful light on the guy’s face, and Pavel found him eerily familiar, though he could not quite place him in his current haze.
Suddenly the other man was chuckling, and the sound made Pavel shiver. “It’s just funny that it’s Halloween and all. A little cliché for me, but I’ll work with it.”
“What in the world are you rambling about?” Pavel muttered as he stared back at the wall and tried to ignore the inexplicable chill running through him.
“What, not a fan of horror movies?”
Pavel ignored him.
“Oh come on, all we’re missing here is a thunder storm raging outside.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. You killed my girlfriend and now I’m going to kill you. On Halloween. Kind of poetic in a Hitchcockian sort of way. Maybe even a little romantic.”
Pavel froze. “I…I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Now that is a lie,” the man replied teasingly. “Why you’re practically a professional.”
Pavel sat up, his costume shoes jingling again as they landed on the floor. He certainly felt sober now.
His new position afforded him a much better look at the man currently taunting him, and his mouth dropped open in shock. Now he remembered that face.
“Listen,” he said, practically begging as he backed away slowly. He was stopped by the bars barricading him inside, so he raised his hands pleadingly. “You…you don’t want to do this.”
The man’s mouth twisted into a grin, though there was no humor behind his brown eyes. “I don’t know about that. Protecting Veronica…it’s kind of my thing. I might not have been able to protect her from you, but I can make you pay now.” He stopped, his expression thoughtful, and now his face was alight in amusement. “Seriously, I get you alone on Halloween? What are the odds?”
Pavel couldn’t even scream. Soon the pale blues and yellows and bright crimson were met with darkness.
The next morning, as Pavel’s lifeless body was being removed from the jail, the overly anxious deputy from the night before stumbled in his explanation to the Sheriff.
“There wasn’t anyone else in the cell with him, and it was still locked this morning when I found him.”
Vinnie Van Lowe rolled his eyes as turned back to the main desk. “Sure, Wilson. The kid just beat and strangled himself, right?”
“Uh, actually,” the deputy stammered, rushing to walk alongside his boss. “Sacks said that he could have sworn he saw Logan Echolls here last night.”
Vinnie laughed heartily, which earned him a glare from the paramedics wheeling away the body. He ignored them. “Echolls, huh? Is Sacks drinking in the morning now?”
“He was pretty freaked, sir.”
Vinnie stopped, regarding the young man before him with a look of annoyance. “Fine, Wilson. I’ll get right on it. Logan Echolls, suspect number one. I’ll head down to the cemetery later to question him, okay?” He held out the file to the deputy. “Write up a report and toss it in that unsolved pile. I’m gonna get a donut.”
Wilson bit his lip in hesitation, but took the proffered folder and then tossed it on the ever growing stack of abandoned cases. It landed on top of a carelessly written report on the death of Veronica Mars, and he sighed. Apparently justice no longer existed in Neptune, but at least they had plenty of donuts.
~Fin