emeraldinthesky

[emeraldinthesky]

STRANGE TRAILS - Chapter 4 - Twists and turns

A/N: I'm sorry it took such a long time for the next chapter! I'm sad to have missed February 24th with posting this, but I hope it was worth the wait and you'll enjoy it. :)

’...It said... „Mom”.’

Those were the desperate words the one-armed man whimpered before bursting into tears. Agent Cooper could still smell the llama’s breath as they entered the sheriff’s station. It was but a painful reminder of how he failed in his calculations. Not even the fresh air of mountains and Douglas firs could make that feeling evaporate, but he kept his head high, not letting others in of his defeat. Lucy was apparently in a much better mood, taking the last bites of her tuna sandwich. Even Harry’s newly assigned job for her (going through the vet’s documentation) couldn’t bring her spirits down – that is, until Andy tried to ease the tension.

The men walked down the pistol range, and Cooper prepared his gun.

’Nice piece,’ Hawk complimented.

'Actually, it's a standard issue. I made a few modifications,' Cooper explained while eyeing his gun. The air smelled stale and dust flew around them any time they took a step. The range appeared to be a dungeon, with knick-knacks scattered around. Like a grandmother’s basement nobody paid much attention to. 'How long has Lucy been upset with Andy?'

'Body language?' The sheriff guessed.

'In this case, it was yelling through a megaphone.'

'Six rounds apiece to start with, Andy,' Harry instructed the deputy, and he nodded nervously. His palms were still moist from the unlucky incident at the Timber Falls Motel, and he found it difficult to get a good hold of his gun. The agent's next inquiry didn't help matters:

'Care to tell us about you and Lucy, Andy?'

'Jeez, you can tell?' Andy could feel the gun slip from his fingers, but he grabbed it at the last minute.

'Not too many secrets left around here,' The sheriff shrugged.

'She won't speak to me and I don't know why. And I don't know why she's doing what she's doing,' The deputy took a shallow breath through his mouth before following. 'I just can't figure her out.'

'Well, there's no logic at work here, Andy. Let that one go,' Coop assured him. 'In the grand design, women were drawn from a different set of blueprints.'

'Amen to that,' Harry agreed.

'Amen,' Hawk nodded, preparing his gun.

'Hawk, Andy,' Harry called out to them. The deputies stood in position, readying themselves for practice.

'Rapid fire,' The agent instructed, and the two men fired their guns. Andy's gun fired each bullet without control, and with each bammm! the deputy's face lost more and more colour and his expression became rather hopeless - even fearful. Of the consequences, of the sheer, destructive power he held in his hands and the control he suddenly owned over life and death. Or the lack of it.

Cooper could read all these uncertainties from Andy's face, not only because he was an FBI agent, trained vigorously to notice the slightest change in body language, but because he saw the same set of emotions contorting Vicky's sculpture-like face and deep gaze the time he taught her how to use a gun.

Hawk handed him their scoring papers, and that's when the agent was pulled back to the present moment. He examined them.

'Hawk. Six for six, two kills, high marks,' Coop brought the other paper on top. 'Andy… Andy, what we need is practice and lots of it. One hour, three times a week. Harry, you'll supply the ordnance?'

'Whatever it takes,' The sheriff promised without missing a beat, but Andy was crushed. Coop tried to cheer them up, to pour some confidence into the man, but to no avail.

'You ever been married, Cooper?' Harry asked as they stood in place for a practice session themselves. The room was filled with dust and certainly made the air heavier. Or was it the question?

'No,' He replied curtly before following. 'I knew someone once who helped me understand commitment, the responsibilities, and the risks,' Cooper got his headset on, and never really looked at his friend. Only ahead. Something he was trying to do anyway. 'Who taught me the pain of a broken heart.'

They fired together before the sheriff made his guess:

'Is it Miss Davis?'

'She's getting married this summer,' Coop answered in a low voice as their scores were hoisted towards them and he followed the papers bending against the invisible forces.

'One woman can make you fly like an eagle, another can give you the strength of a lion. But only one, in the cycle of life can fill your heart with wonder and the wisdom that you have known a singular joy,' Deputy Hawk's poem echoed in their ears until it sank in. 'I wrote that for my girlfriend.'

'Local gal?' Cooper asked.

'Diane Shapiro, Ph.D, Brandeis.'

Cooper gave him a congratulatory whistle.

***

'No, you don't understand!'

These were the sentences that cut their conversation short to leave them with some new and less exciting – downright meticulous – task: flicking through pages of veterinary reports that they hoped were stained only with coffee, although all of them knew otherwise.

It was one of the least glamorous parts of law enforcement, and besides, the agent felt down on his luck. His confidence in his dream and its clues dissipated and he wished to see Vicky, so maybe, maybe this bleak feeling would be lifted from his spirits.

When he entered her laboratory, she was sitting in front of the monitor, gold-rimmed glasses on, and eyebrows furrowed. She was enveloped in a light gray smoke that rose from the cigarette between her fingers. It was a habit she ended up incorporating, much to his disapproval: computers were notoriously giving her a hard time, and since there was no need to be sterile around these devices, she was taking cigarettes from the pack as if it was candy. Coop took enough time to stare at her fingers for the air to become similarly heavy than in the pistol range, but not long enough for her to administer his presence. He adjusted his tie.

'Hey, Vicky…'

The woman glanced up from beside her glasses. Her eyes had a darker than usual shade and she observed him a little longer before answering:

'Hi Dale,' her voice was dull. 'Where's our one-armed man?'

'His name is Phillip Gerard. I'm afraid he's not our man,' the agent admitted in defeat and leant against the wall. He did not usually use the support of walls or doorframes, but today turned out to be an exhausting one - and they were yet to embark on a tiring and boring task. Victoria was similarly run-down as she pushed herself away from the desk and took her glasses off to massage the sides of her nose.

'But was it the same man who you saw in your dream… Mike?'

The man sighed as he passed by her almost untouched lunch only to sit down right beside it on the table.

'He was,' he admitted. 'But his 'Bob'-friend is only a veterinarian… Though, the convenience store right next to the vet carried Finleys Fine Twine,' Coop fished into his suit to toss the twine to the blonde.

'There's your clue, then,' she observed the object in question. 'Why the long face?'

'I don't know…' he put his legs across her lap. 'How'd you say it? It's all… Circumstantial?'

'I guess I'd say that,' she chuckled half-heartedly then tossed the twine back. 'Don't take your dreams at face value, Dale. Found anything at the vet?'

Victoria knew Cooper trusted his intuition to a fault, but she also knew that there was a little voice inside his head that questioned his gut feelings: a voice she deemed necessary for an investigator, but so often in her friend's case, it was to his demise. She couldn't wrap her head around it, nor she could understand but was quick to learn that Coop's sixth sense worked. Ever since that high-profile case with the gun under exactly the 8th hardwood panel, she doubted his methods no more (that is not to say she wasn't ever skeptical of them), and instead, she supported him with the kind of observation she was excellent at.

'We confiscated the files of his patients. I was hoping you'd join us in flipping through them,' the agent offered, and his mood was steadily rising just from talking to her.

'I'm close to finishing up the reconstruction… I better get back to work,' Vicky reclined as she pulled her mouth to the side.

'I understand,' Cooper nodded and eyed her for a second longer.

It was unfortunate, not only because he would have enjoyed her company and she closed off from any interaction with him (although he knew very well the reason, or so he believed), but because Victoria was excellent with files and a swift reader. However, he could recall an incident, in her early days at the Bureau, when she struggled to read her own handwriting.

[1987 March, J. Edgar Hoover Building]

He just returned to his office, about to check in with Diane, when he spotted her in her usually spotless lab coat: now, it was covered in different shades of brown and yellow, especially around her wrists. The two women were having a lively conversation which he notably disturbed with his appearance. Victoria's face turned into stone (marble, he preferred to liken to), and the agent greeted them politely.

'Good morning Agent Cooper,' she returned his greeting. 'I was just about to hand over the files to Diane, but we could go through them since you're here,' Vicky offered.

'That would be excellent.' The agent nodded.

She handed him the folder, and Cooper turned slightly towards her, so they can both investigate the findings. As his frame ghosted around her small one, he could feel the blue butterflies in his stomach flutter into his ribcage, filling his chest. He forced his gaze from her face to the papers.

'The limbs under the bedframe did belong to the same man, but the blood spatters on the walls and ceiling are somebody else's. Judging from the pattern and the lack of his blood on the scene our victim was either... Wait,' She stopped, took a closer look at the case, then changed the files abruptly. 'My bad, so, our victim we graciously named Mathilda, has no match in our database. She either was living off track, a refugee or a recent immigrant of any kind.' She followed as if nothing had happened. 'Her face was burned off with Zippo gasoline, but interestingly, to light that, one of the suspects used a match. I said one, because the crime scene and the bruises on her upper arm and shoulders suggest that there were at least two perpetrators. She was clasped from behind by hand while her face was burning. We're waiting for the lab results to see if there's any residue left behind by the suspect in question...' She put her glasses on and leaned a little closer to the papers.

'Is that your handwriting, Miss Davis?' Cooper asked.

'Sadly, it is,' She replied with an uncomfortable smile as she distanced herself from the folder to look up at him. Her handwriting was all over the place, crooked, oscillating between different shapes and sizes throughout the report - which signaled to him that she was still getting used to her new position. What caught his attention was, however, the left slant, and the apparent pressure she wrote the words with. He glided his finger across the lines.

'It is almost like you carve into the paper,' he noted. 'It is a handwriting of someone who has great depth and intensity, but keeps it all to themselves.'

Vicky brushed a loose strand from her face while she glanced up at Diane. She cleared her throat, then darted her eyes back to the files.

'You can read it a'right, then?' She asked, but despite her previous efforts, her voice was coarse.

'I hope I did not step over a line,' the agent said regretfully. Victoria scarcely showed any emotions when dealing with the men at the FBI (that is, most of their colleagues), and was always uptight which was not in alignment with the charming manners she introduced herself with.

'There are many lines to go over, I'm afraid,' she joked. The next time she lifted her eyes, there was a mischievous grin on her face, and Coop let out a breath he was holding in. 'Agent Cooper, I suggest you take a look at the Xavin café on West 74th Street.'

'And why is that?'

'Our Mathilda was wearing their uniform.'

***

It was more than mere coincidence: Gordon called to tell them that McCoy found the bird pecks to be either from a parrot or a myna bird (something Vicky was sore about not getting informed of herself), she just entered the room with the poker chip’s reconstruction when Andy found Jacques Renault’s pet bird, Waldo’s files. It all came together and the agent was finally confident. The thrill made him grin from ear to ear as he pulled Victoria to the side.

’Vicky, we’re making a house call. Care to join?’

’Nah,’ she sighed spiritlessly. The dullness was quite unlike her – Coop knew her well and it was nowhere near the kind of reaction he expected from her. His grip on her upper arm became limb and he had an honestly bewildered expression. ’It was a long day and I promised Lucy to drop her home. But I trust you’ll do your best to secure the crime scene for forensics,’ the woman raised her left eyebrow cheekily.

’Of course,’ Cooper promised.

Now he was laying in bed, trying to sleep, but no amount of sheep could take him to dreamland. The absurd attitude of his friend was one thing, yet the previously homey, wood-panelled room of the Great Northern was now anything but quiet.

Somewhere in the hotel stayed a Nordic group in obviously high spirits. It did not matter where exactly they held their elated celebration for their voices rang through the walls, resonating with the wood. Cooper tossed in his bed with quite a temper when he heard a knock on the door: one long, and three shorter ones. As he opened it, the vivacious roar of the Icelanders blared into his room – but on her doorstep, it was Victoria, dressed in her white satin nightgown, with a robe over it.

'You can't sleep either I suppose,' she noted, as she raised a bottle of sweet white wine.

It wasn’t long before they started their own little party in Room 315. Cooper browsed through the records in the room only to put on an LP none of them heard of before. That didn't stop Vicky from dancing, especially after the first two glasses of wine.

She playfully spun around to the jazzy organ notes, her long hair and plaid nightrobe swishing around as she took a sharp turn. Her movements were wobbly which she made up for with thumping, heavy steps. She took a long gulp from the wine bottle, imitating the trumpet that was having a solo in the song at the time before passing the bottle to her friend.

Even Cooper’s reluctance died down shortly, and they changed places often, sliding past each other as they used up all the cramped space the room offered. They jumped up and down the bed, competing to come up with the wildest, wackiest disco moves this side of the Pacific and beyond. Occasionally, they found themself joining in with the Icelandic melodies when the record turned to softer tunes, although they forgot about the Nordic visitors.

Redness and wide smiles were on their faces, and not even the night breeze could cool down the warmth they felt. Their fingers and shoulders sometimes brushed against each other as if searching for the other’s hand yet there was always a breath of distance, a heartbeat away. Vicky once hopped up the bed behind him, only to ruffle his dark hair and make a run for it right after. The man chased after her around the room until he was reconciled with a sip of the white wine.

Some things can be turned around for the better, Cooper thought to himself as he took another sip of the wine.

[emeraldinthesky]

STRANGE TRAILS - Chapter 3 - Logsense

Cooper paused at room 321. He glared at the peculiar number, a boyish enthusiasm still flickering in his limbs and especially fingertips. The corners of his mouth remained turned up, and it seemed impossible for them to frown. He stepped closer to the door. He couldn't wait to tell her all about the Bookhouse Boys.

Yes, the town's secret organization was a secret; however, the peculiar thing with men is that the woman closest to them was their confidant. Be it mother, partner, or sister - they shared everything with her, and for agent Cooper, that role was still fulfilled by Victoria. And yet, as he was about to knock on the door, the beaming smile washed away from his face. He couldn't get himself to wake her, however gladly she would have listened to his stories, not after seeing her so tired. Not after what happened between them.

While Cooper further investigated the case late into the night, Vicky was catching up on sleep. That is, if you call tossing around in bed from nightmares, sleeping. She was never a good sleeper. Oftentimes, she went out for a cigarette in the middle of the night to stare at the current shape of the moon from Dale's balcony. She was familiar with all its phases: gibbous, waning, waxing… Of course, it was the most interesting to observe in its full glory, but Victoria found it much more soothing when all was covered in the heavy cloak of darkness. Especially when Cooper rolled out of bed to embrace her from behind, only to fall back asleep on her shoulder moments later.

…as the midnight of a moonless night…

She was used to nightmares, too, so much in fact, that she simply referred to them as dreams by this point. Rotting flesh pulsating alive again, beating hearts being opened with a scalpel, bodies moving with eery naturality as they were carved with medical devices like ancient stones and as you got to a certain organ, they spoke:

'Nurse, there's a twitching in my left thigh…'

She was called a nurse many times during her residency and the people on the surgery tables were rarely any different or more alive than the DBs she was investigating in her recent years. Both were flesh, still infused with the illusion of the self, but regardless… Flesh. Maybe it was this connection that made her more aware of the fine line that separated life and death.

This time it was the blonde girl, Laura Palmer, speaking to her, while Albert kept drilling her head into a strainer. 'Birdzzzzz… birdzzzz…' She repeated, syncing up with the instrument's buzzing, like a broken record, until her brain leaked from the holes like playdoh. Her eyes, her striking blue eyes remained locked on Vicky. Laura's thoughts evaporated from her cells. The cloud of memories engulfed the three of them as faint whispers, growing louder and louder, circling around the girl like a tornado, the wind picking up the drill from Albert's hand, carrying it away with Toto, yet the tool kept buzzing on and on and…

Vicky woke to the beeping of her alarm. She silenced it and her eyes darted wide open. She wasted no time, rushed to the small table by the window, and took the folder of evidence on it. A sudden blackness came over her. She threw the opened folder back to the table to grab the side of the furniture for stability. She saw nothing even though she was forcing her eyes to stay open. 'Breathe deep,' she thought to herself while taking a long inhale. The feeling was not unfamiliar to her. It was a frequent occurrence during her ambulance shifts whenever they had to storm out to a case. As she regained her consciousness, she fumbled around for a specific photograph she was inspecting right before falling asleep: the strange scars on Laura Palmer's shoulders. When she found it she immediately dialed: 'Albert!' She exclaimed when she heard the phone being picked up. 'It's bird pecks on her shoulders.' 'On the Palmer girl?' Her supervisor asked without missing a beat. The woman could hear a similar shuffling at the end of the other line, and after a short pause, Albert agreed. 'You're right. I'll have McCoy run it through the database. Did your date with Coop go well?' 'Yeah,' She replied absent-mindedly, failing to pick up on the mocking tone of the man's voice. 'When does the equipment arrive here?' 'Should be about an hour,' Came the reply. 'Good job, Vicky.'

~Invitation to love~ 'Don't fight it, Chet. You know as well as I there's still something between us. There always will be.'

High heeled, knee-length cowboy boots thumped into the sheriff's department. They weren't new, and the leather did crease in certain areas, but it was nevertheless weathering the wide-ranged usage. Vicky pushed the glass door open, and her outfit immediately earned her a complimenting whistle from the janitor, and a nod from an officer she couldn't recall. She turned to Lucy. 'Hey Lucy,' She smiled at the receptionist, curiously peeking in to see the TV broadcasting the newest soap opera. Victoria stopped to watch the situation unfold - she got hooked on the entangled relationship drama last night, when she was flicking through the channels at the Great Northern. She cleared her throat and turned back to Lucy. 'I believe Sheriff Truman told you that I'll need a lab at the station. Which is the unlucky room I will evade?' Lucy let out the breath she was holding in; probably from the fear that she might be humiliated by yet another scientist, but she was relieved to find that Miss Davis had manners. In fact, it was the first time she wasn't talked down to.

'I was hoping we would have breakfast together,' The agent noted when he stepped into the impromptu laboratory hours later. There was a slight, but unmissable resentfulness in his usually pleasant tonation, and Victoria couldn't help but chuckle. She walked past him to file away a folder. 'You gotta rise earlier, Dale.' His eyes wandered to the hem of her skirt dancing around just above her knees, showing a bit of her thighs. He knew this slight 'indecency' was more so due to her young age and her own perception of herself. She complained at some point that a longer skirt would make her look smaller and stockier - which wasn't true, but it never occurred to Cooper to oppose. He felt the urge to move his hands, so he buried them in his pockets. 'How's the evaluation going?' 'Calmly,' The woman noted in a surprised tone as she returned to her seat. 'We got back the match from the database for the ropes. The twine on the upper arm is pretty common, Finley's Fine Twine.' 'What about the ones on her wrist?' 'No match yet,' She shook her head. 'But the scars on her shoulders, they are bird bites.' 'Bird bites?' His eyebrows grew closer. 'Yeah… I had a dream, and… Anyway, it turned out to be correct. They are still running it through the database, but the results should be here soon,' Her slip of tongue made Cooper's heart flutter. He knew how methodical she was, and could recall many of their conversations about the topic - how dreams and unorthodox methods can further the investigation -, and Vicky often remained on the questioning side. Yet now, it seemed as though she finally understood what he was trying to tell her for so many years. 'The reconstruction of the plastic object found in her stomach is in progress,' She followed, not allowing silence to settle between them. 'The computer gave me a run for my money when I tried to assemble it,' Vicky eased her own tension with a smirk, then took an emerald green notebook into her hands. 'What about you, where the case is going?' 'I've met Dr Jacoby last night, visiting Laura Palmer's grave,' The agent leaned against the edge of the desk, while she scribbled down his observations. She realigned the desk lamp to illuminate the pages. 'Do you consider him a suspect?' 'Well, his name does start with a J…' Coop contemplated. 'He is suspicious, but he doesn't strike me as the type for it. I had him in for questioning this morning, in fact, he just left,' He straightened his tie. 'Laura was his patient, if I recall. Did you try to get something out of him about their sessions?' 'He was unwilling.' 'Of course,' She scoffed. 'But he knew about Laura taking cocaine. His psychological assessment deemed it as a good sign.' The pen in Victoria's hand stopped abruptly, and she raised her eyebrow at her colleague: 'He thought a seventeen-year-old sniffing cocaine for her mental health issues is a good thing?' 'He apparently had that opinion I'm afraid,' The man sighed. 'I'm so glad there are people like this in the world we can trust with our deepest issues,' She noted sarcastically, taking a sip of her coffee. 'What else? How'd that secret meeting with the boys go?' 'You know about the organization?' His jaw dropped and leaned ahead. 'Now I do,' She replied with a mischievous grin. 'To be fair, it is a close-knit community in a secluded area. There's bound to be a secret society of some sort, protecting the values of the community from outside attacks. And I heard you leaving the hotel not long after we said goodnight.' 'You'd be a wonderful detective,' Dale smiled with proud amazement. His conclusion earned a light blush from his colleague, but she was quick to brush it off. 'So, do I get a run-down on it or am I too much of a girl?' 'They had Bernard Renault in for questioning; he's the younger brother of Jacques Renault. They are smuggling cocaine over the Canadian border, but he was unwilling to cooperate. Still, he isn't the sharpest tool in the shed.' 'What else about Doctor Jacoby? Did he say anything else?' 'He saw a red Corvette the night Laura Palmer died. Harry said it must be Leo Johnson's.' 'If we confiscate it can I take it for a test drive?' Vicky crossed her legs as she sunk comfortably into her chair. 'Doesn't it contradict the rule of not disturbing the crime scene?' The agent retorted, but she was quick to remind him: 'I still have your greasy thumb filed under evidence for the Tallak case. Don't play with me.' 'Did you speak to Albert today?' He enquired. 'In the morning, but not since. Why?' 'He wants Sheriff Truman fired,' Coop explained. 'He handed in an OOJ and an AFO to Gordon.' 'Ah, Dale, I don't wanna be part of this...' Vicky pulled her mouth to the side. 'Coop,' Sheriff Truman stepped into the room. 'Hawk found the one-armed man.' 'Be right there, Harry,' The agent raised his palm then turned back to the woman. 'Please. For me.' 'Oh, alright… I'll talk to Albert,' She promised and Cooper's face lit up before the two men darted out. Victoria sighed as she returned to her work, but not before laying out a detailed list of things in her head: a list of things the agent better do to make things even. She knew she'd never hand that list in.

After a while, the lines blended together, regardless of how many times she blinked. She instinctively reached for the pack of cigarettes lying just across the table, only to find it empty. 'Typical,' She muttered to herself, brushing a strand of hair from her face, then checked the time. It was already past one. Vicky grabbed her wallet and her coat. On her way out, she stopped in front of the reception boot. 'Lucy, wanna come along for lunch?' 'I can't,' The receptionist whined. 'Sheriff Truman is out and I can't leave when they're not around.' 'Oh… Anything from the Double R, then?' 'A tuna sandwich would be nice.' 'A tuna sandwich to be delivered. Gonna grab lunch together some other time.'

'Tuna sandwich…' Vicky smiled to herself as she got into her car. Immediately, she shivered and drew her coat closer together. She was quick to start the car, hoping it would warm up during that short ride. While driving, she was reminiscing over a childhood friend of hers - Anne Marie and Lucy showed an uncanny resemblance, not in their features, but in their character. Anne Marie had dark hair and eyes, and hated tuna with all her might, but she was an avid fan of love stories. They frequently snitched their mothers' erotica novels only to stay up way into the night, reading each paragraph with crimson cheeks and excitement. Anne Marie was maturing physically at a much quicker rate, and she was only twelve when she was...

Vicky stepped into the break at the red light she almost passed by.

Love did not turn out to be anywhere near that glorified image they formed in the attic of the vacation house. It was not filled with the thrilling mystery that sent butterflies to their stomachs. It didn't take their breath with passion and soft words. It didn't warm their limbs with the softness of the July sun or shock them like the freshness of the spring they jumped into from the heat. It wasn't ultimate. It wasn't lasting. It wasn't happy.

It wasn't real.

Victoria arrived at the Double R and rushed in to wash the dreadful taste out of her mouth. A nice cup of joe should do the trick.

She thumped down into the barstool with such a force it let out a creek. Norma was quick with a strong brew and her red lips widened into the blissful smile of a mother. 'Good afternoon, Miss Davis. Tough night?' 'Nah, night was fine. Must be this damned weather.' Vicky sighed. 'How are you, Norma?' The woman tensed visibly at the question and there was no sign of the previous smile on her face. She caressed the coffee pot in her hand. 'My husband's due a hearing… About his parole.' 'Oh,' The forensic scientist added. 'And you, um, expecting him home?' 'Of course,' Norma replied dryly, but the very next second she followed as if the little innuendo didn't happen. She was a professional in her own right. 'What can I get you, Miss Davis?' 'Damn I didn't even think about it… It will be a tuna sandwich on the go and... Let's make that two, please.' 'Two tuna sandwiches,' The woman nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

The more she drank from her coffee the more she contemplated about lips. The lips of a certain individual to be exact. Wondering about the words those lips formed yesterday. Seeing them as closely as years before… Wondering about whether they still taste the same…

'My log has something to say to you,' The sentence was embroidered with loud chewing. Vicky glanced up. She was confronted with a pair of big, strong glasses and a pouted lip. A log rested gently cradled in the arms of the woman next to her. She didn't even give Victoria any time to reply or oppose. 'There are bruises that stay on the skin forever. Others remain on the soul. Innocence is taken from those who rob others of it,' The lady chanted, then resumed to chewing whatever she had in her mouth. 'Margaret!' Norma scolded the woman. 'Don't scare Miss Davis with that nonsense!' To which the woman only spat the pine resin on the counter, and forcefully darted out.

As Victoria was driving back to the police station, the sun peaked out twice - maybe even three times - from the clouds. Two tuna sandwiches on the passenger seat: one whole and one barely touched. After the initial hunger, her stomach dropped again as she replayed the words of the old lady. Was she going mad? What did the woman with the log know? It wasn't the absurdity of the riddle that upset her.

What did upset her was that it made way too much sense.

[emeraldinthesky]

STRANGE TRAILS - Chapter 2 - Kiss for the Dead

Victoria was smoking by the backdoor: it was about mid-morning, and they hadn't slept since their departure from the headquarters. The dark circles under her eyes were more prominent than ever, and her facial features appeared almost stretched by gravity. She took a long, lazy drag from her cigarette but when that gesture yielded no results, she searched the pocket of her lab coat for her lighter. The flame danced around in the moist wind then vanished under the metal lid of the zippo. She stared ahead, now with smoke-filled lungs, although she could hardly make out any detail of the wooden, pine-y area at the back of the building. The air was fresh, although she knew it would only give her a more difficult time to readjust to the pungent scent of rotting flesh she'd gotten so used to in the past few hours. They were certainly past the tricky part: that hour of the night when they are both unable to verbalize their thoughts, as if fatigue saw shut their mouths. These were usually the minutes the investigation came to a painful halt - painful, because they weren't making progress, and that also meant they couldn't go to sleep anytime soon. Their colleagues, Chris and Jeremy chose that very time to return to the hotel and catch up on some sleep. Albert was somewhat sore about it, but Vicky didn't bat an eye; if they're ready with their work, by all means, they shouldn't stay for the entertainment of two (frustrated) pantomimes. Luckily, that period passed just half an hour after the boys left, and since then, they were bouncing ideas off each other, at some point resorting to grotesque and eccentric reenaction of the crime. The denier checked on them, only to spin around and leave the very next second.

 It has barely been minutes since she was away. Of course, she had met the doctor and two other men down the hallway, but it never occurred to her that she would arrive back to an already escalated fight, or that their investigation was going to be cut short. Cooper and the Sheriff were already there and Vicky could hear the arguing from the end of the hallway – and stepping into a room filled with angry men pointing at each other sure made her consider taking a longer break. However, it changed instantly when she learned about the reason. '...Cuff him!' Albert insisted, instructing the agent. 'He won't release Laura's body to the funeral. He's not human.' Doctor Hayward opposed as he was joined by Harry. The woman knew this was only fuel to the fire; she heard enough of Albert's doubts about the sheriff's mental capacity, and just as she expected, her boss was quick to voice his opinion. It happened in the blink of an eye, and the forensic scientist received a punch from the town sheriff, that sent him right on top of the DB in question. Cooper sent his new colleague out to the car, and Victoria took the opportunity to soften – and potentially talk some sense into – the agent. 'Look, Dale, I don't like to agree with Albert.' She began after rushing up to him. 'But we can't properly perform an autopsy in a day.' 'Vicky, this funeral is important to the people. They need it to pay their respect to their passed loved one.' The black-haired man explained. He remained calm and spoke with a gentler tone, so she knew she could still persuade him into another couple hours or even a day. 'I know, but is the ritual more important than finding out the truth?' She darted back, trying with all her consciousness left to keep her voice quiet and decent. Apparently, she failed. 'Miss Davis.' Cooper's voice changed uncharacteristically authoritative, and his posture became more erect. 'We need the body to be handed over to the funeral. You knew the time limit before you started your work.' The woman's face turned bright red, even under the paleness from the all-nighter. Her brown eyes turned darker and despite the glasses, Cooper would've sworn to feel little sparks darting off from them into his direction - and not the type he enjoyed. 'Oh, I hope you'll have a time limit on your work once.' She muttered without batting an eye, but then refocused her attention to the old doc. 'Please, give us a second to clean up the body so we can hand it over in proper shape.' She asked in a surprisingly respectful, calm manner, then turned to Mr Horne investigating the corpse. 'Sir, Mr...?' 'Horne.' The man replied. 'Mr. Horne. Remind me again why are you here?' 'I am the representative of Laura Palmer's family in their absence.' 'Splendid. Then with all due respect: leave and don't come in 'till I say so.' Then, she spun around to her now a bit disheveled superior. 'Albert, you give me that or God sees my soul I'll drill a hole into your forehead.' 'You'll need my help if you want to be ready by noon.' The forensic pathologist pointed out. 'You won't be any help if you keep screwing around.' Vicky retorted. Cooper left the autopsy room with a mischievous smile on his face, keeping down a chuckle as he walked back to the police car. He knew he was somewhat responsible for the scene that escalated from the other, and he admittedly enjoyed how bossy Victoria was able to be, even around men; or especially around men. She'd singlehandedly put all grown men in the room to their place, and she was the only one that could manage Albert's behaviour - but, truth to be told, Coop feared he would be the next in line for his attitude. He did phone her after returning to the Great Northern the night before, to invite her to the funeral, but after this slip of his, he doubted she would join them in the cemetery.

 Even when Albert delivered the reports and results in the conference room, she was nowhere to be found; this definitely signaled to Dale that he might have overstepped a line, because Victoria was eager to attend to these meetings - she often did more than analysing the evidence before her, peeking behind the curtains. The red velvet ones. Although they weren't always so glamourous. However, it was only the sour scientist, describing their findings while not missing one single opportunity to make a foul remark which ultimately prompted the sheriff to storm out of the room. Dale took this opportunity to enquire about the current state of the woman in question (interestingly, that not being Laura Palmer) - or rather his state on her dashboard. 'Why weren't you joined by Miss Davis?' 'Oh, you two had a quarrel alright if both of you call each other by their last name.' Albert noted with his usual, straight face. Cooper knew this spelled trouble: she rarely resorted to referring to him by his surname; not to him, specifically, but to others, unless they were in a stiff or unfamiliar setting. Her boss, however weird that sounds, did not check that box. 'So she's angry?' The agent insisted. 'I've been having my ass kicked since you stepped out of the morgue if that answers your question.' The other man admitted. 'Coop, even I wouldn't take that entitled authoritarian handling from you lightly. And it is quite unlike you to begin with.' 'You're right, Albert.' The other nodded. 'I don't know what got into me.' 'Anyway, make amends with her as soon as possible, because she takes the case from here.' 'What do you mean?' 'She's getting a promotion.' The scientist explained. 'Only a formality, but this is her test run. You two will have to work closely together so it's better to be on speaking terms.' 'I don't argue she well deserves one, but I admit, this promotion seems quite out of the blue for me. Did something happen I didn't know about?' The black-haired man insisted, a strange feeling twisting his stomach and chest. He wasn't short of fleeting theories, yet his reaction was primarily emotional - and he was feeling worse than at the beginning of this conversation. 'Seemed like the right time to me.' The scientist shrugged.

 ***

 A Ford pickup parked just by the cemetery and the mourning crowd; its light blue upper section was still shining clean, but the darker-toned half was covered in dust and dirt. One would have expected a tall, well-built man to step out from the driver's seat, but instead, a young woman dressed in a long black dress emerged; although much of her attire was covered with an elegant coat that cut off mid-calf. Her shiny high heels dug deep into the moist ground as she hopped out of the car. She had her dirty blond hair up in a tight french twist to cover her unkempt locks, and her makeup made you forget she had just arrived there from more than 24 hours spent above a dead body - the very corpse they were about to hoist to the ground. Cooper's eyes must have lingered on her longer than they should have, as the sheriff nudged him from his left. 'Friends, are we?' He asked with a knowing smile. Vicky joined them, after Cooper gestured her to stand by his side. He put his arm around her shoulder - he knew she would probably faint into the grave gaping before them otherwise. Little he knew of the coming scene. Audrey shot a jealous look towards the pair; her blue eyes were ice-cold and ready for the kill. A poisonous feeling emerged from her heart and she puffed her face in anger, slightly pouting her mouth. It was almost unacceptable that someone, almost ten years older than her, could blow her out of the picture. Yet it wasn't the teenage beauty starting the scene, but Bobby Briggs as he caught glimpse of the biker his late girlfriend was seeing behind his back. The tragic gathering took a turn for the grotesque, the whole turmoil culminating into the father falling on top of the coffin and the levers misfunctioning at the worst possible time.

 It was the second man falling on top of the poor dead girl that day.

 After the mayhem died down, the agent accompanied his colleague to her truck: 'Miss Davis, can I interest you in a coffee at the Double R? You have to try that pie.' 'Only if you quit calling me Miss Davis.' Vicky smiled back, and from the mischievous twinkle in her eyes, it was oblivious that she was open for reconciliation. 'You're staying in Twin Peaks?' Cooper asked as she hopped into her car. 'Since Albert refuses to.' Vicky smiled then gestured to the man. 'Hop in, Coop.'

 As they stepped into the diner, the agent had his arm around her waist. Although he barely even touched her, it was a gesture that bordered being protective, defending her from the weather and her slim figure from the curious eyes of other men. They unconsciously leaned in towards each other, already laughing loudly at an earlier case; the woman was never able to stay mad at him for long. She faintly pushed his chest away as she walked up to the counter, and Cooper followed, sitting down by her side on a barstool. 'Your wife, Agent Cooper?' Norma asked as she placed the clean white cups in front of them. 'Oh, I wish!' The man replied with a wide smile. 'Victoria Davis, forensic pathologist. She came to help me investigate the Palmer girl's case; an extremely skilled investigator I'm happy to have on my team.' 'So you'll stay with us, Miss Davis?' Norma turned to her as she served them coffee, filling the empty cups with the hot, dark beverage. The aroma instantly filled the air, and Victoria couldn't help, but inhale a little deeper to fill her lungs with the scent that was much more refined than the one of the coffees at the lab. 'Well, as long as they don't relocate me to somewhere else. I'll assist the Sheriff and Agent Cooper with the forensic evidence.' She explained. 'Now Miss, I haven't slept in two days and this man promised me a pie. What would you suggest?' 'I'd recommend the blueberry pie, fresh from the oven.' The woman in the turquoise dress replied in her usual, melodic tone. She was always a delight, and seemingly found joy in the playful conversation, but especially now, it was as if she was up to something. 'Sounds perfect. Two slices, please.' Cooper ordered, and Norma left with a smile.

 'I'm glad you came to the funeral.' The man said as he took the cup into his hand. 'It was an experience. I've seen men mourning their daughters, but this was quite a spectacle. Seems like this whole town gone crazy by this tragedy.' 'There really is something, isn't there?' 'The poor girl can't even rest peacefully in the ground, that's for sure.' The blonde eyed the steaming coffee ahead of her. 'She couldn't on the autopsy table either.' 'You mean Albert?' She finally turned to Coop. 'You know how he is. He's tired from the car ride here, we pulled an all-nighter and now he's throwing a tantrum like a kid when you try to tear his toys from him.' Cooper chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. His eyes wandered to her hands that were lazily caressing the edge of the cup. 'You look lovely.' He said, and they both paused for a moment when they caught each other's gaze. 'And you are sharp as always.' She smiled back. A brief silence settled between them: the woman turned her attention the brown beverage before her as if she was staring into a crystal ball - and indeed, her eye colour matched the shade of the coffee so perfectly, it could have easily been mistaken for a mirror. Coop eyed her intently, but with patience; and admittedly, he reexplored her features since they last met a month ago, still in the burning deserts of Nevada. Her skin hanged onto some of the gold freckles obtained under the bright sun (or she visited home in-between, but he brushed that idea from his head), and the scar on her neck was still faintly pink. Her hands were dry from the weather and the endless handwashing, fingernails cut short without any nail polish, and nothing on her fingers beside that small birthmark on her left index finger. A scent of amber, spices and orange lingered around her; the very perfume that enchanted him at their first handshake. She was the same woman he said goodbye to in Las Vegas, but something seemed different besides her tired posture. 'Vicky, is everything alright?' He asked and his voice gave away how worried he was. 'Oh, yeah. Sorry I just zoned out… You know how it is.' 'Are things going well?' 'I'd say so.' She nodded after taking a premature, hot sip of her coffee. 'There're just… Many things going on at the same time.' 'I've heard they offered you a promotion.' 'They did. I haven't accepted it just yet. We agreed that this case would be a sort of… Test.' She was twirling a cigarette around in her hand, then turned to Cooper without lighting it. 'You, on the other hand. Seems like you enjoy your stay here.' Vicky pointed out, her attitude much more easygoing now. 'I do!' The agent exclaimed. 'Have you seen those tall trees? Douglas firs.' 'They're mighty for sure.' She agreed as the pies were placed in front of them, and they both gave Norma an enthusiastic smile of gratitude. 'They look like they could reach the sky. And I did miss a little greenery in Las Vegas.' 'That was one hell of a Christmas.' He nodded as he took a bite of the pie. 'I wasn't this excited on Christmas Eve since I was 7.' Vicky became much more enthusiastic, especially since the combination of caffeine and sugar hit her bloodstream - and also, since she was having a lighthearted conversation with her best friend; all four of which, minus the caffeine, were missing from her everydays. 'Well, the New Year's Eve of the last year of the decade was certainly memorable.' 'Yes, you were like James Bond.' She joked nudging him from the side. 'Although you weren't able to sport this tan coat there. Is that why you prefer this climate?' 'There is something intangible about this place that makes me gravitate towards it. The people here; they are simple yet there's so much complexity and warmth. I haven't experienced this combination anywhere else.' He took a sip of his coffee. 'This town. It's so mundane, and the people living in it are so - human. I have grown to consider investing in a property here.' 'I knew you craved simplicity but so much so?' 'It is not so much about the simplicity but the community.' Cooper corrected. 'I see.' She nodded. 'So… Am I invited for the housewarming?' 'Vicky, you're invited to my house at any and all times.' This was the moment when they were painfully reminded of the fact that they both still had keys to the other's apartment; but that might be up for a change, in both of their lives, very soon. They simultaneously darted their eyes towards the table. 'As a matter of fact, I have grown to know you as someone who appreciates the simple way of living.' Cooper pointed out. 'And warm weather.' She added. The man knew that well: they were in the middle of dating when she invited him over to her family's vacation house. It was in a rural area of Texas, surrounded by forest and not a single soul besides the neighbours half a mile away. They sometimes got together for a barbecue night, or Vicky begged them to let her ride the horses, but the two of them spent most of their time alone. It was actually one of the afternoons he remembered most clear - they settled down at a field after an especially strenuous hike, lying in the grass as the sun slowly sunk under the horizon. She rested her head on his chest, and they listened to the faint change of sounds as daytime blended into evening; but the weather remained comfortably warm. 'Dale, I gotta admit, I'm pretty tired. Do you mind if we return to the hotel?' 'Not at all.' He replied in a softspoken tone he haven't used in a while. One that implied closeness and caring, that made him lose his composed façade; one he last used in the middle of August, 1987.

 He drove themselves back to the wooden hotel – it has been a hot minute since he was on the driver seat of the truck as Victoria was always insistent on driving. She might have driven his own car more than he, himself.

 'Vicky…' Coop began before they departed in the hallway. 'I am so sorry about how I talked to you today at the morgue.' 'It's okay, Dale. We have a stressful job and are human.' 'No, it is not okay.' The man insisted. 'You are my co-worker and friend. Your input into the investigation is vital and I should appreciate the work you do. My attitude didn't represent those values I hold dear, nor did I gave you the respect you deserve. I can assure you it won't happen again. Not to mention that you were right.' 'What you say my dear? I'm afraid my hearing is…' She imitated an old woman, cupping her ear with her hand and jokingly leaned closer, but Cooper was already grinning. 'I said, ma'am…' He elevated his voice and leaned towards her ear himself. 'That I'm sorry for your loss of hearing!' They burst into laughter that echoed through the wooden corridor. The pair surely woke a couple residents, but it was the least of their worries. They were friends again.

 Right?

[emeraldinthesky]

STRANGE TRAILS - Chapter 1 - Through the Pines

A/N: I've been rewatching Twin Peaks and couldn't help but fall in love - again - with our valiant agent. This story will contain dialogue from the series. You can also follow this story here.

SUMMARY: Agent Cooper does expect his colleague, Albert to arrive in Twin Peaks to assist him in the investigation of Laura Palmer's death. He also hopes that Rosenfield will bring along a certain forensic pathologist of his team, who's special, not just for the FBI, but Cooper himself.

’Sheriff, this is Lucy.’ Cooper and Harry got alerted from the radio as they were inspecting the bloodsoaked towel in front of them. ’Is Agent Cooper with you?’ ’Yes, he is.’ The sheriff replied. ’Are Albert and his team here, Lucy?’ The man in the suit inquired knowingly as if he could see through the wall or read the mind of the naive receptionist. ’Yes, he is. They are.’ The dumbfounded phrases came through the digital terrain. ’We’re on our way.’ The agent assured her confidently, and they headed out to the hallway, but not before Coop alerted his new friend about the forensic leader's peculiar nature. That being, that he's the best at the corp, but also, an asshole to interact with.

They stepped out of the conference room, and just across, at the entrance, there they were: three tall, suited men, two of which kept on their aviator sunglasses even inside. As Cooper spotted a young woman along the three tall men, his eyes lit up and an affectionate smile spread his face. Her light blonde hair cascaded onto her shoulders, and her brown eyes resembled the shade of a perfectly brewed, hot espresso. She was dressed casually, with the widely recognized navy blue FBI jacket zipped down in the heated building. This broke the pattern of the group, although only meant that she was one - or the one - to drive up here. 'Agent Cooper.' She nodded to him. 'Miss Davis.' He returned the greeting. ’What the hell kind of a two-bit operation they’re running out at this treehouse, Cooper?’ The tall man in the middle interrupted their small banter. ’Albert, this is Sheriff Truman.’ The agent introduced them to each other without batting an eye at the comment the other man-made, but Albert remained similarly oblivious to his words. ’I have seen some slip shop blackwater burgs, but this place takes the cake.’ The girl Coop addressed as Miss Davis rolled her eyes and shot an apologetic glance at Lucy – so the agent knew his forensic colleague wasn’t acting up to par since they entered the station. While Albert continued his heated monologue, Davis turned to Cooper, and after a suggestive look at the man next to her, she crossed her eyes and the agent couldn’t suppress a chuckle. ’What are you waiting for, Christmas? We’ve got work to do, dammit. They’re putting this girl in the ground tomorrow, and we’ve wasted half the day traveling here to the middle of nowhere. ’Well, Albert, I suggest you and your team should get started.’ Cooper agreed with a fazed expression, after elevating his gaze from the woman. ’I’ll have one of my men escort you over to the morgue.’ The sheriff included, although he was noticeably not pleased with the manners demonstrated by the lead investigator of the forensic team. ’That’d be fine.’ He nodded. ’Results from a local pathologist’s report.’ The black-haired man handed them the files, and Albert took a brief read into the report. ’Welcome to amateur hour.’ Rosenfield scoffed. ’Looks like an all-nighter, boys.’ He shut the files close in a theatrical fashion and was just about to leave, when Harry grabbed his shoulder: ’Albert. Got a minute?’ They separated a few feet away from the group and the sheriff had a close heart-to-heart with the scientist. In the meantime, Coop exploited this opportunity to turn his attention to the blonde. ’So, Vicky, how do you like Twin Peaks?’ ’I threw this manchild out of my car halfway here and now I'mma spend the night with him. I’d say I’m in for a treat.’ She retorted, and it was the first time her Texan accent made an appearance. Although it grew weaker over the years, her tonation haven't lost its melodic aspect. ’And how are you, Agent Cooper?’ ’Never been better.’ A wide smile spread the man’s face, but Rosenfield abruptly left the police station and that meant the end of their small exchange. ’See ya, Dale.’ She waved to them and went after her team.

’So, what did you tell Albert?’ Cooper inquired from the curly-haired man when the other returned to his side. ’That he’ll be looking for his teeth if he keeps up with that attitude.’ Harry explained, still tensed and annoyed by the encounter. The agent gave him an appreciative nod. 'And you two, how long has it been?' The sheriff cocked an eyebrow at his partner. 'How can you tell?' Cooper asked, although his voice was fainter than usual. 'Body language.' The man grinned widely. 'Sheriff, I have to give it to you, it was a keen observation.' The special agent turned to his new friend, now much more like himself. 'Three years ago when she began working at the FBI, we had a brief affair. It was a negative influence on our professional sphere so we've put an end to it shortly after. We've been friends ever since.' 'Seems like both of you have more than friendship in mind.' Harry noted suggestively. 'She's the brightest investigator on the forensic team. And one of the youngest to make to the FBI.' Cooper continued with proud amazement. He used a similar tone to describe her as he did with Rosenfield, but a certain gentleness mixed into his expression. He meant every word, but they also meant something else. 'How old is she?' '27 this October. Already promised her a nice cup of coffee for that day.' The agent responded as they retreated to their task in the conference room.

Rosenfield wasn't exactly short in supply when it came to snarky comments about the town, and surely practiced them during the city seeing route it took to arrive to the morgue - at least, that was Victoria's speculation when she closed her car with the key, only to hear his boss make vicious remarks about the building and the weather. A tall, long-haired man with earrings emerged from the police car and nodded them to follow him inside. 'Look, the Chief wants us to follow. Maybe he'll whip out a calumet.' Albert scoffed as the woman rejoined them. A loud sigh escaped the blonde woman's lips as the men shared a chuckle. She had been working closely with Albert for 3 years now; being his assistant meant she was placed wherever he was, and she was unable to leave his side. It also meant that she grew almost immune to his unsavory personal notes and not-so-charming attitude, but Twin Peaks brought the worst out of him. She haven't seen him so sour since that time in Alaska, where the small hospital doubled as a lab and a morgue, and the heating system bailed on them, because, well, something went haywire and nobody cared enough to fix it. The policeman handed them off to a diener, to lead them to the corpse they traveled to examine. She expected from the report, that the only forensic scientist in the area was the senior physician; it was a remarkable accomplishment from the supposedly old man, but filled with inaccuracies, misinterpretations, and missing data. And just as she speculated - the evidence has been fumbled around with, greasy police-fingerprints all over, and she could have sworn to recognize Cooper's thumb on one of them. She had seen it enough times to tell. In his defense, he did get better at wearing gloves after she made him sit through an evaluation. These were the moments she understood how Albert became such a sullen character; when they don't respect your work enough to put a glove on after munching down chocolate-glazed donuts, you begin to consider to incriminate the police officer who doesn't understand the idea of scene contamination. Shit, maybe she was becoming like him. Vicky pulled her long hair into a bun, and she curved her labcoat on herself. She fished around in its pockets for her gold-rimmed glasses. Maybe that's the reason why, but Cooper's delightful manners sparked a slight warmth in her chest. Oh, who she was kidding - it was a bonfire that could burn down witches. Yet, it was so nice to have a friendly, intentive chit-chat, one that wasn't ornamented with decay, bowel containments, or the unsatisfaction with anything lower of standards than Harvard or the Bureau laboratories. Even hovering over a 7-day old corpse couldn't wash away that utter contentment, especially since Rosenfield and the boys focused their attention on the work to be done. Jeremy, their chemist and ballistic expert took the necessary samples, and so did Chris, their biologist and DNA-specialist, to retreat to their own corner. Victoria was left with her boss to further inspect the body and occasionally furthering certain pieces to the rest of the investigators. After years, it was still unnerving to phantom that this body lying lifelessly on their autopsy table, was not long ago was a young girl, just beginning her journey of unforeseeable and puzzling crossroads. It was nauseating for some, but for Vicky, it was fascinating. Opening up the skin to fold it over, marveling at the mechanism behind it and making the dead talk again. Piecing the information together and searching for answers and clues were invigorating for her; and the gruesome nature made it all the more exciting. 'Would you still like to work in a run-down PD like this?' Rosenfield asked her out of the blue. They were opening the Palmer girl's abdomen, rummaging around emotionlessly in the cold insides. 'You know, Albert, just because certain departments are not as well-financed, or the people working in them aren't as privileged as we are, it doesn't mean their work is any less meaningful.' She passed him an instrument then continued to secure the opening with metal clips. 'No. It just means it's worse.' He said with a cynical smirk and cut the stomach open. Another thing she mastered during their work together - sort out the constructive criticism, and let the remarks go; only this time, Albert was considerably more offensive than usual.

She knew it would be a long night.