2021-11-07 - Murder She Wrote

Alexander's house doesn't look great. The drainage on Elm sucks, so when the storm came through, it backed up and flooded the house. And good damned luck getting the ostensible landlord to lift a finger, plus, Alexander doesn't remember what he was doing after the storm, but it apparently wasn't cleaning the house.

This is getting rectified. There are signs of repair work on the outside, and Alexander is currently in the livingroom, with the sofa out in the back yard, as he's taken up the carpet and is slowly replacing it with another (equally cheap, but less moldy) carpet. The banging can be heard from outside as he staples things in place.

Bennie doesn't do Fall or Winter. In fact the cold tends to make her down right miserable with all the layers she has to put on. She's enduring the exercise with a quiet protest of loud colors, her yellow knit hat and her blue wool coat (mis)matched with her favorite pair of pink and purple mittens. Her hair is also stick straight, which has only occurred twice during her friendship with Alexander: when she and Easton broke up, and when Easton got Lost. Hopefully, it's not just a barometer of her relationship with the former Marine.

There is a muted thud of knuckles padded in fabric as she knocks on the door and proceeds to do a little foot shuffling dance as she waits for the man of the house to answer the door, trying to keep the blood flowing to her extremities as she waits.

The sound of stapling comes to an end when there's the knock on the door. Alexander stands up, brushing himself off, and goes to the door to peer through, then open it. He's in a dusty, oversized, jumble-shop sweater, and dark jeans, his hair mussed as if he hasn't brushed it today. But is smile is quick and warm, as warm as a hug even if he doesn't volunteer it, and he opens the door wider to let her in. "Mind the nails. Hi." His eyes flick up to her hair. "What's wrong? Want a drink?"

Bennie tilts her head slightly with quizzical eyeing as she tugs her hat off her head. "Why, did you just get them done? Kind of silly to get a manicure right before home improvements." Her smile is likewise warm, if not full and beaming. It's a testament to their friendship she doesn't feel the need to plaster it on. "Does something have to be wrong for me to visit you? And yes, yes I would. Though I'll settle for something warm because I think even my organs are cold. Why does being cold make a person's skin itch, anyways? What's up with that. Like it's not bad enough shivering until my teeth chatter, I have to feel like I rolled in poison ivy too." She prattles on before giving him an air kiss to not-even-close to his cheek and walking in. "Oh, you're replacing the carpet. Does that mean I have to re-christen the new one?"

Despite his overall air of slightly-sweaty grumpiness, Alexander snorts a laugh at the joke. But he also waves at the floor where a few nails are sticking up in ways that could be unpleasant to Bennie-feet, depending on how thin her soles are. "Hot cocoa," he decides, and wipes his forehead on his sleeve and accepts the air kiss before heading into the kitchen. Hands and arms washed first, then sleeves rolled up as he starts to boil water for the cocoa. "You're a summer creature," he says, with a smile. "And no, it doesn't have to be. But you didn't do anything with your hair. Usually you do, unless you're unhappy."

"Don't you dare," he mutters at the last, giving her a (mostly) mock glare from under too-long bangs.

Bennie follows him to the kitchen mindful of her step, finding a slice of counter to lean against as he cleans up. "Says the man who is about six weeks of needing a haircut. And I'll have you know, it takes a long time to make my hair this straight out of its usual rat's nest of sun dappled beach waves. So either that means a Brazilian blow out - way different than a Brazilian wax, mind - or a date night with my flat iron. Maybe I was just bored." Which is certainly a possibility, although an unlikely one judging by the slump of her frame.

She focuses on something else, instead. "I mean. Easton can probably be over here in like, five minutes. It can be our Christmas present to you!"

Alexander runs a hand through his hair, which is definitely too long, and hmphs. "I don't do things with my hair. You do. Deviation from habit is usually correlated with some level of emotional disturbance." He points at her. "In other words, you don't fool me." He turns away then to check on the water, which is just about to boil.

At the last, though, he stops, and gives her a very odd look over his shoulder. His brow furrows, and the oddness is explained when he asks, with apparently genuine confusion and a little bit of alarm, "Are you asking me to watch you and Easton having sex? Or participate? Is this a thing I forgot?"

And to not fooling Alexander, Bennie gives a very mature tongue stuck out of her mouth and raspberry noise. Flapping her hands, she manages to fling off her mittens which are attached to the wrist buttons of her coat by matching string. Because she's an adult. "I mean, if that's what you're into now, but I figured you'd at least turn your back while we imprinted our everlasting mental imagery on your new berber. So did you solve your case? I mean, that's where you've been disappeared to, right? Solving some great mystery WITHOUT ME. Or did you go," Grimace. "Cult again?"

Alexander's laugh is rusty, but genuine. "If people are having sex in my house, I reserve the right to watch. And comment. And give you both some sort of written critique afterwards. So...no, the carpet does not need christening." The kettle starts to whistle, so he quickly scoops it up with the oven mitt and pours into two large mugs. Powdered mix (with tiny marshmallows) is added to both, and then he places one by where she's standing. "I don't know," he says, after a moment. And tries not to hyperventilate at the thought of it. He licks his lips, shakes his head. "I don't know. I don't remember anything past...late March? Around there? Wait, that's...not quite right. I don't remember any of the last three months at all. After that, it gets hazy. Like a dream. Incoherent."

"Mm." Bennie makes a rather noncommittal noise about Alexander 'watching'. "I expect perfect tens across the board."

"The time slip. I guess you took longer to break out of the haze than most. Some were just Lost, while others seemed to have continued on in a banal daily routine with no memory of living a 'normal' life. Any indication on which category you fell into? Check stubs, text messages, unexpected babies?" She sheds her coat and drops it over one of his chairs before reaching for her mug, curling the warmth of it into a nestle against her breast bone against a grey fuzzy sweater that lacks the pizzazz of her outerwear.

Alexander grins. "At least you have confidence. That's good." He follows her to the chairs, although he stays standing, leaning against the wall as he warms his hands with the cocoa and watches her. "I...both. Apparently. I seem to have gone missing in May. But I seem to have come back sometime in July. I have...notes. I took cases? But I didn't do all the things that I would have done. I think." He waves at the carpet. "My carpet was moldy from flooding. If I'd cleaned it right after the storm, it'd be fine. But," he shakes his head. "For some reason I didn't. I'm trying to put it all together."

He stares at her. "What about you?"

Bennie's nose wrinkles up at the thought of mold, and not only that it had a chance to grow, but that Alexander was blindly living in those conditions. "You should let me do a little..." Her finger ticks up and down form with an accompanying whistle to indicate a Glimmer scan. "Spores are a beotch, toxic or not."

When it comes to her own experience, the answer must be written out in the bobbing marshmallows in her cup. "Apparently, my time slip self not only set a record for how many shifts I didn't call out from, but became annoyingly punctual. It set a horrible precedence for current me."

"Mm." Alexander continues to stare at her. "You can if you want. Sure as hell don't want that shit growing here." A pause, then smile. "Thanks." He takes a slow swallow of cocoa, but his eyes don't leave the blond as she talks to her cup. "That seems to match other people I've interviewed. Behavior that is...not drastically changed, but uncharacteristic in small ways. Don't know why." He clears his throat. "I'm told that I found some information for you, before I disappeared."

"This house shall be clean!" Bennie declares in her best imitation and contortion of the words from the Exorcist. "After cocoa." Her feet get pulled up into the seat of her chair, shoes tucked up underneath her as she goes criss cross applesauce. Lips pursed to blow a cooling breath across the surface of her hot chocolate pucker slightly more tense. "You found out the address John was using in Seattle, yeah." Not her dad, or her father. But just using his first name in an effort to emotionally distance herself from the answer. "Thanks again for that."

Alexander laughs. "Do we need to grab some sage and a crucifix?" He lets her relax, savoring his own cocoa and its tiny, melty marshmallows. But he's watching her with that flat, unblinking stare. "Did you go?"

"I mean, this is Gray Harbor, so it couldn't hurt?" But Bennie's smile doesn't quite form as she continues on with the joke, she even loses interest with the warm drink she asked for and she sets the mug aside. Arms cross and her hands get tucked up under her arm, thus completing the most closed off visage as she can unintentionally muster. "Easton told me that the pair of you were looking forward to the drive up there. Possibly with firearms or a baseball bat wrapped with barbed wire." That's not a no.

Alexander shrugs. "Whatever's here has nothing to do with God, I think." And look, he's been in multiple cults. He should know. He takes another swallow of his cocoa. "I wouldn't recommend either, but Easton cannot be separated from his guns. Luring him down here, though, opens up some options. To ensure that he goes to jail, stays there, and is too afraid to ever bother you again. If that's what you want." His voice is toneless, giving no indication of his own preference - unusual for Alexander, who usually has no difficulty showing what he's feeling.

"You should...probably talk to Easton." Bennie's mouth screws to one side and then the other, as if tasting words on her tongue she's not sure if she wants to spit out. "I, uh. Well, I need you to look into one more thing for me. About John." Her knees start to bounce, slowly at first until it looks like she's trying to flap away by the end. Finally her nervousness causes her to unfold from the chair and stand to pace away. "You don't have any weed, do you?"

Alexander's eyebrows go up. "Okay," he says. Just that, although he's watching her knees, then her face, then her knees. When she moves to start pacing, he finishes off his cocoa and takes the mug to the sink. The water hisses as he washes out the cup. "No. Sorry." He thinks about it a bit. "Do you want me to go down to a dispensary and get some? I have some cash."

Bennie waves away the offer with an errant gesture she normally wouldn't be so rude to make. "I have some at home." Her thumbnail must be terribly tasty judging by the way she starts to gnaw and pull at it with her teeth. "I think he's dead. At least, like, ninety-nine point nine percent sure. And I know this because...well..." She gestures to herself with a sweep of her hand. "Because I'm a fucking walking disaster. You know, I accused Easton of not wanting to marry me, but you know what the truth is? I'm not worth marrying. I don't deserve to be married. I deserve to be the one to rot away in a jail cell for the rest of my life. So before I turn myself in, I need to make for sure sure that this all happened and wasn't just in my own fucked up brain."

Alexander is sharp, whether he wants to be or not, and as soon as Bennie says I think he's dead, the investigator's head comes up, and by the time she gets to turn myself in, he's already fought back control over his emotions. He dries off his hands, and slinks back into the room where she's pacing. "First, don't be an idiot. Of course you're worth marrying. Second, what makes you think that you killed him?" A pause, then he lifts a hand. "Start at the beginning. Whenever I told you the address. What was your next step, and the one after that, up to what makes you think but not know that you killed him."

Blue eyes blink at Alexander for a moment, her bottom lip starting to tremble before her jaw stubbornly juts out to quiet it. "Nothing at first. I intended just to forward mail to him from Gray Harbor. So that he would know that I know. That he was still alive. That he was behind or at least part of ten years of..." She shakes her head and looks away. Oh look, the cabinet handle is awfully interesting. "But just before the storm, there was a woman in the park reading tarot cards. And something she said just stuck with me. About a father figure. Needing to cut someone substantial out of my life. I don't know, it's all jumbled in my head."

"Baba-fucking-Yaga," Alexander supplies, helpfully. "It's a Veil creature. I don't know what it was doing here." His fingers twitch the urge to stab it, though. He sidles closer to her, although still out of easy hug range. "And so, you had your fortune read. What happened next?" It's a patient, but relentless sort of question, and his expression is not calm but focused. For all that he's a social disaster, Alexander has experience with interrogations, and seems to be trying to conduct a gentle one now.

"Which is why I should never walk around this town unsupervised." Clearly Bennie never heard about the Baba Yaga, or worse, she had and then promptly forgot about it. "Then. Nothing again. With the preparation for the storm, I was working long days at the Station. Sometimes with no sleep. And then these weird dreams when I finally could sleep. Something was coming, something was changing. And then the night the storm was going to make landfall, I...I don't know. I was in the Jeep heading north, popping pills, driving through the rain until I was at his door. And he was smug. So smug. So pleased with himself. And I know we fought. And I felt the warmth of my juju deep in my gut, just as strong as if I were in Gray Harbor. But it was different this time. Darker. After that it's just flashes. Images like photographs snapped out of sequence. The snap of bones, the gurgle of ...blood so much blood on my hands and the steering wheel when I was driving back home."

"Popping pills." Here, if there is any, is the investigator's disappointment. Alexander scratches at the scruff of his beard, eyes skittering away from her for a moment. He takes a deep breath as he listens. "Dreams. Disassociation. Blood. Not yours, then. Have you checked the obituaries and crime reports?" His voice has gone all business, each word brisk and sharp, like little stones thrown in her direction.

Bennie knows that look of disappointment, and it makes her shrink back against the counter and tuck her gaze down away in shame. "When the haze of the time slip lifted, I..." She bites the corner of her lip and shakes her head. "Easton almost caught me a few times looking online. After that, I just sort of...I couldn't face telling him. So I just started ignoring it. Pretending it didn't happen. Ignore it hoping it would just go away. Lost in the ether that is the huge dark spots of my memory."

Alexander watches. Then he steps forward and as she bows her head, he reaches out a hand to gently tousle her hair, if she lets him. Still, his voice is dry as he says, "Corpses don't, usually. Go away. Unless someone makes them." A breath. "Let's go look. I still have a computer in my office. Easton has been told all of this?" Normally, this would be the place where he walks away and assumes she'll follow. But this time his hand moves to her shoulder, if it allows, and tries to do a gentle but firm combination of pushing her towards his office and keeping her from running.

Bennie doesn't shy away from the hair tousle, just silently endures it like it's one more way of chiding her. "He knows. He was going to be the one to talk to you, I think. I honestly was just stopping by because I missed you and found out you finally resurfaced. Can't we just go back to cocoa and talking about inappropriate sex acts?" She all but whines as she turns with the urging of his hand.

"I missed you, too, Bennie," Alexander says, with a quick, warm smile. His office is still the same as it ever was - small, dark, filled with books and filing cabinets and a computer, but surprisingly neat despite the sheer amount of stuff there. He squeezes her shoulder briefly, then boots up the computer. It's old. It takes a bit, and the fan wheezes like a wounded asthmatic. As it works its way through coming to life, he looks back at her. "I can multiask. I like cocoa, and haven't committed any inappropriate sex acts lately that I can remember. What about you?"

In Alexander's office, Bennie doesn't quite know what to do with herself. She just wraps her arms up over her midsection and tries not to overly fidget, a tight and regretful smile given as he squeezes her shoulder. "I'm living with the sickest pair of abs any mortal shouldn't be allowed to possess. If our sex acts aren't inappropriate at least one out of every five times, we're doing it wrong. And parking the rig behind the bar during a shift for a little slap and tickle hasn't gotten old yet. Do you have any books on CRISPR?"

Alexander snickers. "Okay. As long as someone's having fun." Once the computer is booted up, he starts checking his bookmarks - Alexander already has most of the newspapers in the area bookmarked at their crime blotters, so it's not long before he has about a dozen tabs open, and is doing searches. "Do you remember about what date we're talking about?" he murmurs, proving that he can, in fact, multitask. Her question gets a look back at her, then he shakes his head. "No. Thus far, no significant amount of crime has been committed using CRISPR, and I'd never have access to any of the tech required to do...anything with it." He sounds wistful. "I wouldn't mind reading some, though."

The heel of Bennie's palm is pressed into forehead. "Uh, the night of the storm. May something? June?" She is painfully aware that's she's stone cold sober at the moment, no drugs or drink in her system and she's finding it hard to think. To focus. "Imagine being able to alter DNA like that. I read an article about mosquitos and malaria or something once." It's really no correlation to her current predicament, more just something she happened to remember she casually wanted to read about now that she's in among his books. Her fingers snap, "It was the middle of June. Try around the fifteenth?"

Alexander starts working through June records, humming something that probably involves a bitching drum line under his breath as he works. He enjoys the research part, and that's pretty clear from the way the line of his shoulders relaxes a little, even though he's checking to see if one of his best friends straight up murdered a guy. "The possibilities are fascinating," he agrees. "I remember...I was in middle school. The science book had pictures of plant genetic alterations that had been done. One of them was a tobacco plant that glowed in the dark. I thought it was really neat. Scary, though. How much can a thing change before it isn't itself, anymore?"

"What's the point of that? Glowing tobacco? So you can find your cigarette in the dark?" Bennie's lost any pretense of trying to stop herself from fidgeting. At least right now she's contained it to just her person, examining the ends of her hair for split ends. "You'd think scientists would have learned all the lessons they needed to from what, like four Jurassic Park movies?" She starts pulling out strands, not realizing how rude it is to drop blonde locks from the twiddle of fingers. "How's Isabella and why aren't the two of you having inappropriate sex shenanigans?"

It doesn't take long for a string of articles to start coming together. First a headline about a man found dead outside his own home under suspicious circumstances. Then a splash article about the gruesome nature of the deceased demise. Then an obituary with his false name. A throw away article about an investigation on-going with a Crime Stoppers phone number.

"I think it's because tobacco grows fast and is, or was, at that time, one of the easier genetic structures to manipulate using what was available. But that was...I think you would have been two or three when I was in middle school," Alexander muses, half to himself. There's a sigh as he reads. She doesn't have to read over his shoulder to know when he finds those articles; he sits up straight, no longer multitasking. His aged printer beings to chatter as he prints off the most informative stories. "Your father is dead."

One day, Alexander might learn tact. That day is not today. "I'll need to examine the crime scene. See if I can get a read on what happened, since you only remember pieces. Easton will probably want to go. Will you?" At least he's handling it like a professional? At least until Isabella is brought up. Then he goes completely still. "I don't...I don't know. I think she's out of town. On work. There's evidence she's been here, while I don't remember anything. But--" he breaks off, takes a deep breath. "She's fine. I'm sure she's fine." His turn to refocus back to something less disturbing. Murder! "Did you keep any of the clothes or anything from the night you went up there?"

Aaaaaaand that's about all Bennie can handle. "Right." She merely clips off the word when he declares the man dead. Her ears have gone deaf to any plans, any questions, as her worse fears are realized and her stomach clenches hard enough to cause her to double over slightly. "I think I'm going to be sick." Which is usually the disclaimer given before someone tosses their cookies all over their shoes, but at least the blonde makes a beeline for the door and makes it down the hallway to the bathroom before the retching begins. Albeit in the sink, but, hey.

Alexander hesitates. Is throwing up after realizing that you may have killed your father the sort of thing someone does alone, or is company appreciated? He suspects this is one of those situations where having a functioning set of social skills is especially useful. He scoops up the articles, and puts them into a neat pile on the desk, before slinking his way down to the bathroom. He doesn't go in, because it's not really big enough for two, but he hovers, watching her with concern. He says, quietly, "Whatever happened, it sounds as if you were not entirely in your right mind, Bennie. And we still don't know if you actually killed him, or if you were just there. Maybe you and he got Lost, and he died. Sometimes that happens."

Thankfully Bennie didn't have anything in her stomach that can't easily be washed down the drain with a crank of the faucet which she blindly does so now as she rests her head on her forearm on the edge of the sink. Her hand falls limply away as the water runs. "Isabella's just fine, Alexander. We'll figure it out." She mumbles to the floor. With a shaking breath she forces herself up, looking into the mirror with blank eyes before she cups water into her palm and washes out her mouth almost robotically before shutting off the tap and drying her hands on her pants. "I need to go home and let Gunner out. It was good to see you, Alexander. Thanks for the cocoa."

"Mm." It's a noise of acknowledgement more than agreement, with Alexander's eyes locked on Bennie as she gets some things out. Literally. He reaches past her to grab a small hand towel and offer it to her as she finishes washing out her mouth. But, oh, there are the hands on the pants. He clears his throat and lays the hand towel on the side of the sink, instead. "You're welcome. Bennie - you're going to go home, let Easton know, and not do anything like turn yourself in, right?" It's stern - more marching orders than seeking reassurance. And she may feel the flutter at the edges of her mind as Alexander reaches out to try and assess her emotions and truthfulness about whatever her answer is.

Beenie's brain pan is like it always is, a wild jumble of images like some colorful acid trip. The common thread of her emotions right now is trepidation with an ugly layer of self loathing coupled with a crippling amount of anxiety and the want to stuff it all down into the dusty cardboard boxes in the corner of her mind where she stows all the unpleasantness of her past. "I won't. I mean, tell Easton, yes. Of course. But I won't...I won't do anything rash. Uh, for now. Look can you not do that, my sweet friend? You know it gives me a headache."

Alexander's mouth opens. For a moment, that flutter at the edges of her mind grows, almost becomes oppressive, like a weight pressed against her. Then his mouth closes, he looks away, and the feeling evaporates, his touch disappearing. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't. But I worry about my friend. My friend who is a good person, whatever she feels, right now." He looks back at her, sidelong. "We'll find out what happened. And if you killed him, we can handle that however you feel is best. But let's know, first."

Bennie's fingers steeple at one temple as she gives another nod, "I know." She murmurs and then reaches out with bleary eyes to pat him on the chest without thinking better of it. "Knowledge is power. Wasn't that G.I. Joe? Or maybe He-man. I don't know, my brain feels like scrambled eggs right now." And then she winces, "And the thought of scrambled eggs is making me want to hurl again. I'll, um, I'll text Easton on my way home. But for now I just want to crawl into my bathtub and shut out the world until tomorrow."

Alexander didn't expect the attempt to touch, but he notices it in time to not flinch back at her hand on his chest, and to even offer a brief, sad little smile. After a moment, he even returns the touch with the briefest of grazes of his fingers on her shoulder. Then he steps back. "Get some sleep. And G.I. Joe was knowing is half the battle. Functionally the same." He retreats through the house, stepping over the new carpet installation, to see her out. "Don't die, Bennie."