by BEAGLE BOY
Part 3
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The MightyFanBoyMan Lad was up and rummaging around. He was wondering what was wrong. Generally, the smells of breakfast would be wafting through. Sometimes it was sausage or bacon, or even ham. Eggs or pancakes or waffles. Even some of those dynamite cinnamon rolls Beagle made. Hoping Beagle wasn't sick, he decided to bounce by and check on him.
"Hey, Beag! You okay," he called out as he rounded down the hall.
With that, Beagle blinked once, and dropped the gun. He was confused. "What," he said.
"Beag! You dead or what," shot The MightyFanBoyMan Lad, as he came in the room.
"Not now, Sasha," hissed Lash.
"What," asked Sasha.
"Beagle's just running a little late this morning. He had a bad night. Now get out," ordered Lash.
"Jeez! Somebody's in a bad mood this morning," he said, as he bounced out and over to the kitchen. Maybe he could find something in the freezer.
"Uhhhhhh...," started Beagle.
"You okay," asked Lash gently. Beagle nodded. "Can I have the gun?"
Lash waited for a second. No response. He bent over and grabbed the gun, and emptied it. He stuck the gun in Beagle's dresser.
"Lash, I ...," started Beagle.
"Allen, are you here? You know where we are? You know who I am? Talk to me"
Allen's hands started to shake. Then the rest of him. "No," he started to sob. "Not again."
"Lash! Are you okay," asked Shady, as she flew in the room, closely followed by Tsarin and Lard.
"Yeah," sighed Lash. We're okay. Just give us a while."
"But there's something you need to know," protested Lard.
"We're FINE," said Lash, a bit more forcefully than he had intended. "There is breakfast in the freezer. Pull out some cinnamon rolls, and get them in the oven. Just get out and give us a little while."
The three started to protest, but one look at Lash told them it would do no good. Once Lash's mind was made up, there was no changing it.
The three left the room, wondering what Lash was going to do. He needed to know. But the condition Beagle was in, he appeared to pose no threat to anybody. The door closed, and Lash and Beagle/Allen were alone. Sighing, Lash knelt next to the bed.
"Come on. You gotta talk. If not to me, then to somebody," he coaxed, between Beagle's sobs. "We're family here. I know you've talked to Carrgaphile about part of your past. You want me to get him in here? I can leave the two of you alone."
"I'm sorry," Beagle blurted out. "When you walked in, I thought you were somebody else."
"Slow down. It's all going to be okay."
"No," Beagle started again, attempting to compose himself. "You don't understand. I NEVER let myself lose control. I just can't. But I did. I thought you were coming back to finish the job. I thought you were somebody else. Dammit, I nearly shot you! How could I ever do something like that? To you, of all people? But when you walked in ..." tears completed the sentence.
"Look, Beagle. Uhh... Allen. It's been a long night. You woke up screaming. Do you remember," Lash asked. Allen nodded. "I don't know what was going on in the dream. Shady seems to think it was some sort of 'night terror.' You want to talk about it?" This time, Allen just shook his head slightly. Cupping Allen's chin in his hand, Lash raised Allen's head. "You realize that you need to talk about this.
I'm your friend. We all are. If something is wrong, we want to help. You've said it before: 'We're a family here.'"
Allen tried to pull away, unable to look his friend in the eye. Lash refused to let go. Allen needed help, and Lash wasn't leaving until something was resolved.
"You gave us a scare when you started screaming this morning. We were worried."
"Why? Why worry about me?"
Lash was taken aback. His mind was reeling. This was not the confident friend he knew. There was no spark in his eyes. His voice was weak. With his shoulders sagging, he looked like someone who had been beaten into submission.
"You know, you've lost a lot of weight," sighed Lash.
"Have I ever told you about when I was in jail and then kidnapped," whispered Allen.
Lash shook his head, settling in for the long story.
"Okay, cinnamon rolls and chocolate rolls. Take your pick," announced Lard Lad. They had found several dozen of homemade rolls in the freezer. Thankfully with instructions on how to heat them attached to the freezer door.
Some of the members ate at the table. Others broke off into their own groups. Shady and Lard Lad managed to slip off and began discussing their next move. Tsarin came in, grabbed a couple of rolls, and found the two. He had just received word back from the local police department of Beagle's college town. Allen was indeed a dead ringer for the police sketch. However, after an exhaustive investigation, it was determined that Allen was no longer considered a suspect. He had an airtight alibi. The weekend of three murders, and several eyewitnesses, Allen was in jail, under investigation for the murders. The MO was the same for those murders that weekend,
with identical traits found at the other murder scenes. Therefore, the police concluded that it could not be a copy-cat. The case was officially unsolved. But after that mysterious utility plant explosion, the murders stopped.
"Back to square one," breathed a relieved Shady.
"Almost," sighed Lard Lad. "At least we know Allen's clean. I suggest we make reservations for ..."
"Already done," said Carggaphile. "We originally had 5 seats. Now we have 9. We leave in about 3 hours."
Allen started out by talking about the mysterious murders that took place about the time he started college. How the police sketch and several people had actually seen him at the crime scenes. After the second attack, Allen told of how he voluntarily gave himself up to the police in order to clear his name. The constant harrassing by detectives. And the horror of remaining in jail over the weekend. The
physical abuse that took place from other inmates. How turning himself in was against his better judgement. But a friend, James, convinced him. It was a good thing, too. While he was in jail over the weekend, there were three more grisly murders. With more eyewitnesses who claimed to see him. It could NOT have been him because he was in with detectives at the approximate time of two of the murders. After being released from jail, he made it back to his dorm room to relax. But upon entering the room, he had seen his room being ransacked. As near as he could tell, nothing was missing. He took a shower to get clean from the jail, then went about
cleaning the room. And felt the need for anther shower. How he couldn't get clean. No matter how hard he tried. He scrubbed so hard, he rubbed himself raw, and still he didn't feel clean. After the second shower, he managed to lay down to rest. Very lightly, though, because of some of the bruises he had received in the prior 42 hours.
Then, when he woke up, he was in what he could only be describe as a type of lab facility, strapped to a metal bed. There was talking going on. Some of it he understood, but part of it he could only guess at from the tones used. The hooking up of electrodes to his skin and having electricity shot through his body until the contact points on his skin began smoking and burning. There were all types of
injections that were given to him. And several blood samples that were taken, along with many tissue samples. How he prayed for unconsciousness, but some of the chemicals that were being pumped into his system prevented his only source of escape. The extreme white noise that had been blasted at him for extended periods of time. The laughing by his captors, and the delight they took in making him scream. They even broke his arm, and never reset it. Apparently for the sheer joy of it. Oddly enough, they stopped with only breaking his arm and a couple of ribs. Then, one night, after the worst day yet, he passed out. Or so his tormentors thought. He was loosely tied to the metal gurney. When everybody left, he managed to get one eye partially opened. After focusing and giving his limited viewing area a quick sweep, he began moving very slowly. As near as he could tell, he actually had been left unguarded. He managed to get his right arm free because of the break in it. After that, he realeased the left arm, and he was actually free. Fighting the pain, he managed to get to a terminal and access their computer system. He had to fight to stay upright and conscious. After accessing the layout of the building, he started a delayed sabotage of the system. He began by setting up a timer to remove some of the failsafes that had been installed. Once that was completed, he pulled up the layout of the building again, and plotted his escape along the most unlikely route. He was
three miles away about two and a half hours after the failsafes started being removed. The explosion of the facility knocked him to the ground, and he finally became unconscious.
"Allen," began Lash. "I ... I don't know what..."
"I know," Allen said, on the verge of tears yet again. "And I understand if this means we can't be friends. Someone going through all of that can't be stable. No hard feelings."
"What," exclaimed Lash. "I'm almost insulted that you think I'm that shallow. We have been friends for a while. That hasn't changed. We were friends before you told me this. In fact, the whole team considers you a friend. Dammit, the whole team would go to the mat for you! Does what happened in the past change you now? Are you different now from what you were 24 hours ago? Have I changed that much in the past 24 hours? Why would we want that to stop? This place wouldn't be the same without you. If you need some time off, then take it. If you want some company, we can arrange it. But we were friends. We are friends. And we will continue to be friends. Don't sell the
team short. And don't EVER sell me short like that again. Do you understand? You stood by us through difficult times. What makes you think you are so much better than us? Why wouldn't we stand by you? That's part of what friends are. And if you need any more proof, here's a little secret. If we liked you, we wouldn't pick on you so much."
That did it. It brought a smile to Allen's face. A weak one, but a smile none the less. One that was greeted with a grin from Lash. Allen just shook his head.
"Thanks, Lash," said Allen, sniffing and wiping away his tears. "I..." but he was interrupted.
"Hey, Beag," yelled Sasha, through the closed door. "Open up!"
Composing himself, Allen nodded to Lash, and Lash said "Open doors."
Sasha rushed in, panting.
"What is it? You okay," asked Lash.
"Yeah. Hey, Beag, you got a phone call. From a Captain James. It's on line three, and it's a secured line."
"Thanks," replied Allen, offering Sasha a seat, and picking up the phone. "Hello? Yes, this is Allen. Is this Capta... JAMES! Great to hear from you. Oh? What's the ... Oh no." The blood drained from Allen's face. "Not again. Of course. Yes, I'll be there. Give me a little time. No, buddy, I mean like a couple of hours. Yeah. I'm on my way. See you in a few hours."
"So, who's going with us," Carggaphile asked.
"The three of us. We can do some scouting out and see what we can find," explained Lard. "Newcru, Cobalt, and Whining Wildly Boy should go with us, as well. I guess that just leaves..."
"The three of us," interrupted Allen, walking in with Lash and Sasha, "have to go back to my college."
"Beagle," grinned Lard, Shady, and Carggaphile in unison.
"What's going on," asked Carggaphile. There was determination in Allen that hadn't been there in a couple of weeks. Maybe Lash got through to him. Carggaphile hoped so.
"There's a serial killer loose, and he's struck again. I've been asked to help with the investigation by an old friend. It's bad this time. He's called in several markers."