The following is what I hope to be the first of many stories from the case files of a rather unusual detective, her past, her present, and a town of faded dreams and unmet glories. I hope you enjoy, and support my Ko-Fi if you wish to see more.
"It's not real."
Acrid, smoky air burning in lungs. The wet mud against cracked skin. The grip of cold steel.
"It's not real."
A flash of ... lightning? Thunder? Fire? A woman's face, sobbing. Thumping heartbeats through bruised veins.
"It's not real."
Cold rain down a hot back. The crunch of dead bones and dry leaves. The unyielding mass of a great kapok tree.
"It's. Not. Real."
The rush. The pounce. The knife rending flesh.
"It's not real!"
Red hair and red blood. The mirror's reflection. The crack of a gunshot.
"It's ..."
The ringing. The ringing. The ringing.
"Fuck!"
She woke in the dark, clutching her head, pain cascading through her skull. It took her a moment to register the bulkhead directly in front of her forehead, and the cacophony of the doorbell ringing somewhere down the corridor.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!"
She groped in the dark for the lamp, then found a robe, throwing it on quickly over her and stumbling out towards the hatch. The bell rang out again, and she uttered a curse or two at herself for having the thing installed.
"Just a minute!"
She climbed the steps to the main hatch and pried it open, wincing as the light streamed into her eyes like rays of fire. It took her a moment to make out the vague shape of a woman beyond the crack in the door, and she held up a hand to try and shade her eyes from the light.
"Carlyn True?" asked the voice of the woman.
"Who's asking?"
"Someone told me you knew how to find people."
Right, work. Time to be professional. "Come on in." Carlyn pulled the hatch wider now, and gestured down into the darkened bowls of the boat.
"Th-thank you," the woman replied nervously, but seemed to hesitate to actually accept the gesture.
"Right." Carlyn reached toward a wall in the dark and flipped a handful of switches, and the cabin below finally lit up.
The cabin was small, but big enough to hold a dining booth, a long bench sofa, the navigation and radio desk, and a galley with a small bar island. Beyond, down a very narrow hallway, were the head and shower, a spare bunk room, and at the bow, the captain's quarters. The decor was heavy on faux wood paneling and yellow accents, though the ashtrays scattered round gave one to wonder how much of that was the original color.
Carlyn made her way to the galley, and the woman followed gamely after.
"You take coffee?" Carlyn asked.
The woman shook her head politely.
"Suit yourself. Most important meal of the day, LT always said."
The woman looked back in puzzlement. "It's 2 in the afternoon."
Carlyn just shrugged, and set about starting a pot of something very black, and very strong.
In the light of the galley's fluorescent overhead, the woman could get a better look at her host. Carlyn was tall, six foot and then some, broad shouldered, and the robe hung open enough to tell there was muscle there. Her face was angular, with a prominent nose marked by a scar along the bridge, and her unkempt red hair was just barely shoulder length, but shaved at the sides.
With the coffee maker burbling away, Carlyn set to rummaging through the detritus atop the counter until she located a small blue packet, and fished out a cigarette. She was about to put it to her lips, when she seemed to remember her guest again.
"Right, sorry. You smoke?" She held out the pack to her guest. "Parliaments. Only the best."
"S-sure. Might calm my nerves." She accepted the offer, and pulled one from the pack.
Carlyn fished in a robe pocket and flipped open a windproof lighter, and held it out for the woman with a surprisingly elegant air. She leaned forward and lit her cigarette, before resting onto a stool and taking a long drag.
"So what's your name, sweetheart?" Carlyn asked, as she lit her own smoke.
"Um. Delia. Delia Darling."
"Well ain't that a sweet one. And who are you looking to find, Ms. Darling?"
"Mrs." She corrected, somewhat curtly. "And it's my husband."
Mrs. Darling reached into her handbag and produced a small portrait, and slid it across the counter. It was a young G.I. with a "fresh from basic" smile that said this was taken before the war. Could've been stamped out by a machine, but for an odd birthmark on his left cheek and a familiar distant look in his eyes. A Dreamer.
Carlyn's expression was flat, routine, and hiding something. "Now, I gotta warn you, I don't do infidelity cases. Not my line of work. You need a professional stalker, I can get you the yellow pages."
Mrs. Darling set her jaw for a moment, but swallowed any indignation. "N-no. No. It's nothing like that. It's just ... he's been missing now for three months. Police won't even look, you know how they are about vets."
Carlyn closed her eyes for a moment. The weight of something showed on her face. "Yeah, yeah I do."
"We were high school sweethearts, you know. But ever since he got back, he's been strange ... something changed him over there. He'd go off for a few days sometimes, but not like this, and never without leaving some kind of message."
"War changed a lot of folks," Carlyn said flatly, punctuating it with a drag.
"You served?"
"Yeah. Drafted, though you wouldn't have thought it to meet me then."
"Sorry, I ..."
Carlyn tossed her cigarette in an open beer can on the counter. "Don't be. We all make mistakes."
Mrs. Darling shifted uncomfortably, then shook her head. "Mike said he was gonna be a big damn hero. Said he had a special gift and he was gonna take it to the Reds ..."
"Damned fool."
Delia looked up sharply, but Carlyn did not so much as blink as she continued. "We were all damn fools. Ain't nobody goes into a war for smart reasons."
Mrs. Darling fidgeted again, and took another long inhale as if to escape the tension.
"Sorry. Old soldiers make bad habits and bad dreams." Carlyn met Delia's gaze with a weary smile.
"Mike certainly had a lot of those."
Carlyn nodded. "Me too, Mrs. Darling. Me too."
They both fell quiet with their thoughts, as the boat rocked and creaked around them, and the Mr. Coffee behind Carlyn burbled away. Carlyn took another long look at the photograph, as if reassembling the pieces of Mr. Darling's face in her mind. If it came together to mean anything, she didn't show it on her face, but after a long moment, she spoke.
"200 a day. Plus expenses."
Delia looked up at her, a mix of worry and gratitude. "Th-thank you, Mis--" She stopped the word mid-syllable, as if catching a flub.
"Miss is fine, ma'am," Carlyn replied flatly. "I need you to understand though, that I can't make any guarantees. Cases like this, they don't always want to come home."
Delia nodded.
Carlyn rummaged around the counter top, and found a small metal case. She flipped it open, and produced a business card. "Think of it as my answering service. You think of anything that might help, give a ring and ask for Laney. Carlos always forgets my messages."
Mrs. Darling accepted the card. "Thank you, Miss True."
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish my breakfast."
Fully caffeinated, freshly dressed, and her client having since departed, Carlyn made her way down the pier to the boathouse. She was checking her mail when she heard a familiar meow, and looked down to find a lean, gray tabby cat, who rubbed himself against her legs.
"Well, I wondered where you'd got to. How's my little devil?"
She scratched the cat behind the ears, and he gave a pleased sound, half purr and half meow. He shook his head, and the tag on his collar jingled. The inscription read "Old Scratch, Slip 23, Greyside Marina".
"Little devil is right, he's been at my bait bucket again," came a voice from behind her.
She stood, and turned, to see a short man with a dark mustache rounding the end of the boathouse and carrying a net on the end of a long pole.
"Morning, Carlos. Any messages?"
The man grunted. "Hmph. No one calls for you. There was a lady here looking for you though."
"We found each other."
"Good. I hope its work. Your slip fee's still late."
"Yeah, yeah. This one's money, I'll bet on it."
"No bets. Just rent. Or don't be surprised if you and kitty wake up one morning floating down the Mississippi."
Carlyn shrugged at this, and looked down at the handful of junk mail in her hand, before tossing it in a nearby bin. She looked down at Old Scratch, and inquired in a cheery tone, "Gonna go for a ride, you wanna come with?"
Old Scratch looked up at her, tilted his head, and let out a curt squawk before wandering off down the pier.
"Guess not."
She made her way to the garage, and pulled open the door to reveal her pride and joy: a 1961 Oldsmobile Starfire, in gloss black, with full leatherette upholstery. She paused to take a look up at the day's weather, deciding it should be safe to take the top down.
She climbed in, and fired up the engine, taking a moment just to listen to the thundering rumble of all 330 horsepower of its Skyrocket V8 engine. Satisfied that her bigger cat was also purring nicely, she pulled out of the garage, and set out for the city.
25 miles south of Greyside Marina was the city of Bluegill Fork, at the intersection of the great Mississippi and the Bluegill River, one of its largely forgotten tributaries. The spot had been a minor shipping hub in the days of riverboats and barge traffic, and the port still did some small business, but its biggest claim to fame came in the 1920s.
Paul V. Dettweiler was the owner of the one theater in town, and had quickly made himself a small fortune with the rise of the cinema and Hollywood, but he found himself struck by a bigger dream. All these promising starlets were running off to New York and Los Angeles to chase their hopes of fame on the silver screen, but why were we letting the best talent in the Midwest go without a fight?
So the ambitious Dettweiler ran for mayor, campaigning hard on a plan to make Bluegill Fork the next great film hub, right smack in the heart of the country. He even paid to have a huge "Gillywood" sign erected on a hill behind his home as a campaign stunt.
The plan started well. Dettweiler was elected in a landslide victory, and he set to work immediately, borrowing hard against the city coffers to fund tax incentives and sales pitch tours to the major studios on both sides of the country, to encourage them to shoot their next big picture in his new Gillywood.
Soon, pilot studios from Warner Bros. and RKO set up shop, alongside new upstarts and independent productions, looking to take advantage of the mayor's generous subsidies for new studios. Before long, some of the first productions were hitting theaters nationwide, and it seemed almost a certainty that Bluegill Fork would be the next big home for American cinema.
But all was not well for film itself in the 20s: Hollywood was developing an image problem. Fire and brimstone preachers like Father Coughlin were taking to the radio to decry the moving picture as a font of vice and sin, and while Bluegill Fork had always had a bit of a rough and tumble atmosphere like any port town, it was still deep enough in Bible country that the new moral panic started to spook the voters.
As quick as voters had jumped on board with Dettweiler's Gillywood, he was just as quickly ousted, and many of his programs were quickly axed, or set behind "moral standards" requirements that scared off the bigger studios, even after the onset of the Hays Code. The city's debts then slammed directly into the onset of the Depression, and the town's film industry was never the same again.
The boom had busted, but the town limped along. The river port's trade proved just valuable enough during the war effort to keep the town afloat, helped along by the presence of the nearby Fort Gorman, and while Gillywood never achieved the glamour of Tinseltown, it built a character all its own.
Today the town boasted an odd mix of small studios pumping out everything from religious films to exploitation, arthouse to straight up pornography, most of it independent productions cobbled together from the kind of locals who couldn't afford to run west to chase their dreams, and just hoped to make a living somewhere near a camera. WBF, the local independent TV station, even got picked up for rebroadcast here and there, enough to pay for a few original shows.
After the war, Carlyn had felt drawn there, as had so many other Dreamers. It was the City of Broken Dreams, after all, so what better place for a burned out vet to end up? The energy of the place just seemed to draw a stranger crowd than one might expect for a town in this part of the country, and that was just how she liked it.
At least it kept the job interesting, and she had a feeling that this Darling case would be no exception, not least because Mrs. Darling was not at all subtly tailing Carlyn.
She'd spied the car about a half mile from the marina, so she'd at least been that smart, but she clearly wasn't exactly a surveillance expert. Carlyn could easily spot the woman's bouffant hair through the window of a '68 Chevy.
Carlyn rolled her eyes, and did her best to catch the woman's eye contact through the rearview mirror, but if Mrs. Darling realized she'd been made, it didn't affect her driving.
Carlyn shrugged. Probably just making sure she was getting her money's worth, and she wouldn't be able to follow where she was going anyway.
Still, it was a clear sign this latest client was going to be a handful, and probably worth keeping as much an eye on as her actual target.
The Olds pulled into town around half past, and she made her way toward Old Town, and her destination: The Morpheus Hotel.
The hotel was almost the icon of Gillywood's faded grandeur. Once the favorite of movie stars and legendary directors, it was now more of a crumbling halfway house for the lost and neglected, thanks to cheap weekly rates and affordable drinks at the hotel bar.
She pulled into a spot around the corner and put the top up on the convertible for a little extra security. She was just stepping to the curb when she found herself blindsided by a robed figure who was almost immediately in her personal space.
"Have you heard the good news, Mister?"
Carlyn grumbled, and puffed her chest slightly. Oh good, one of these. "It's Miss. And no thanks, I'm all full up on religions."
"Not this one, I betcha," came the strangely chipper voice.
At this, Carlyn raised an eyebrow. It was not the reaction she was used to from a street preacher, and Lord knew this town had plenty of those. "How much?"
The figure tilted their head, and caught Carlyn's eye. They were hard to pin down, but ambiguously dressed enough that Carlyn realized they probably weren't at least the usual Christian type. "Huh?" came a quizzical reply.
"Sorry, my bad. Took you for something else. So what's the score, kid?"
They simply smiled, and continued the sales pitch. "The Temple of Peace will be holding a public ceremony this Saturday! You should come, you look ... like you belong there."
"Temple of Peace, huh? You got a flyer or something?"
"Sure do!" The acolyte handed over a mimeographed sheet of yellow paper.
"Thanks kid. But piece of advice?"
"Hmm?"
"Careful with the approach next time. You don't wanna go bumping into some of the characters around this neighborhood."
"Ok Mis- Miss!" They gave a strange bow, and set off, presumably seeking the next mark.
Carlyn took a glance at the flyer. "TEMPLE OF PEACE - CEREMONY OF WISHES," read the headline, with a date and time set for 9 PM that coming Saturday. The center of the page was dominated by a symbol she didn't recognize, of a rainbow-lidded eye, casting forward a panopoly of symbols, from the Christian cross to the Hindu Om, and even a few she didn't recognize.
The sales pitch to follow read:
Do you seek fulfillment? The achievement of your dreams? Peace in this life? Religion only clouds the pursuit of truth. Let us show you a new way, the way of Mind Visualization. Dream your Wishes to Come True! Join us and bring your Deepest Wish.
Well, she thought. It's certainly a pitch. She pocketed the flier and made a mental note to investigate later. Bluegill Fork had its share of weird cults and fringe religious types, and it helped the work to keep tabs on who was moving into town.
Carlyn passed through the tarnished brass doors of the hotel, and greeted the doorman. She was a tall black woman who looked like she'd definitely had to throw out a deadbeat or two.
"Afternoon, Miss True!"
"It that late already, Miss Paula?"
"Afraid so, ma'am."
"Everyone behaving today?"
"Can't complain. Your usual room, Miss?"
"Just so."
Paula tossed her a set of keys, and Carlyn made her way to the elevator.
She inserted the key into a lock on the elevator panel, and turned it. A small hatch popped open, and she punched the button inside labeled "Sandman".
The elevator lurched, groaned, and finally started creakily ascending the building. After several long moments, the door opened directly on a surprisingly small hotel room, sparsely decorated, with a single bed.
Carlyn pulled the key, and stepped inside, making her way to the foot of the bed.
"I hate this part," she muttered under her breath.
She sat on the edge of the bed, closed her eyes, and inhaled sharply. She leaned back, and as her head hit the pillow, she felt a sudden splash as if hitting the surface of a pool.
Just as quickly as she registered the impact, she felt herself plunge through air as thick as water, and as dry as sand. The light of the room faded and dimmed as she sank ever lower and lower, until it was pitch black.
Finally she hit bottom, her eyes snapped open, and she sat up with a deep, gasping breath.
"Well, if it isn't our favorite detective," came a warm voice.
She shook her head, and grounded herself, taking stock of the scene around her. She was sat on a barstool, at the counter of a dimly lit bar, and behind it was a stocky, balding man in his 30s, who was looking at her expectantly.
She blinked a few times. Right, the Sandman. It always took her a few moments to recover her senses after going through the entrance.
"God I hate that door," she remarked in a breathy gasp.
The bartender merely chuckled. "You'd think you'd be used to it by now, you've got more experience than most of us here, Sarge."
Carlyn sighed. "If I got used to it, I couldn't do what I do, you know that as well as anyone, Dave."
Dave shrugged, but nodded his head in acknowledgment. "True enough."
Dave had been a Navy man when he enlisted, quite literally born at sea, but after his bunkmates on the Bennington kept waking up screaming with nightmares, Uncle Sam arranged a transfer. He was an amiable sort, and loved a good joke, though there was always just the slightest edge to him, a little hint at his gift lurking below the surface. It helped to discourage anyone from getting too rowdy.
"Your usual, Sarge?" Dave continued.
"Can't. I'm on the clock."
"When has that ever stopped you?"
Carlyn smirked. "When I got rent due."
"Fair enough, ma'am. So what does bring you here today?"
"Looking for a Darling. Pretty sure they're another Dreamer. You seen 'em around in a while?" She drew the photo Delia had provided and slid it across the counter.
"Hmm." Dave looked at the photo, deep in thought for a moment, then scanned the bar, taking stock of the scattered vets assembled in the Sandman that afternoon.
"The Odd Bunch", as the Sandman's members had come to call themselves, were all fellow Dreamers, of course. They'd served their time during the war, and come home to find the usual veteran's benefit organizations less than welcoming, and more than a bit unable to comprehend the problems of a Dreamer besides. There were fierce disagreements as to why, but somehow Dreamers tended towards the queer, and that was certainly no good fit for the local VFW.
Dave halted his mental roll call, having found his woman, and called out across the bar to a booth in the corner. "Hey Sheila, come here a second."
Sheila looked up, tilting her head at Dave as if to confirm she was the intended summons, and Dave nodded. She was older than Carlyn, pretty from a distance, with long black hair streaked with white, but as she came into the light over the bar the years made themselves plain on her face. She was twitchy, with a prominent sniffle, and a cigarette dangled from her fingers.
"What's up?" she inquired, nervously.
"Carlyn here's a friend of mine. Looking for a Darling. You know 'em?" He slid the photo across the bar.
Sheila shook her head, jerkily. "No, no, you got that all wrong. That's old news. But yeah, I knew her."
Carlin pinched her brow. She'd suspected, and she didn't like what it meant for the case.
Before she could speak however, Sheila's eyes unfocused, and Carlyn felt a familiar fuzzy ache at the back of her brain. She blinked, and found herself looking at Lily Darling, Delia's "husband", and her target.
"Like this, see?"
Carlyn fought her own reflex to resist the imposition and studied the image. The girl had lost some weight and muscle since becoming Lily, of course, and grown out her hair and more besides, but that same birthmark, and that same distant look in the eyes was unmistakable. She filed the image away as best she could, then shut her eyes, muttering under her breath: "It's not real, it's not real."
Dave, sensing Carlyn's discomfort, turned to Sheila. "That'll be enough, Sheila, thanks."
Sheila shrugged, and the image fizzled away into nothing, and the pressure in Carlyn's head subsided. "Ain't been around for a while though. Not to the bar, or the sober meetings. Last I heard she was shooting a picture, but that was months ago."
Carlyn shook away the last of the brain fog, and inquired: "You know the studio, by chance?"
"Yeah, it was one of the real ones, I think. She was real excited. Can't remember the name, but Karl Klein was the director. Said he made one of her favorite pictures."
Carlyn nodded. "Thanks Sheila. Buy you a drink?"
Sheila twitched and shook her head. "I'm clean six months now. But I'd kill for a bite."
Carlyn reached into a pocket and pulled out a handful of bills, and set them on the counter. "Set her up with one of your best burgers, would ya Dave?"
"You got it, Sarge."
Leaving the Sandman was fortunately much more pleasant than entering. Carlyn woke again in the room, and after shaking her head clear, she reached for the phone book on the nightstand.
Klein being Lily's last gig made this easier. He was the big man on campus in Gillywood, the local boy made good, and had his own studio on the east side. It was hardly the Warner Bros. backlot, but more than well equipped for an indie auteur like Klein. That meant it'd be listed, and not just a trailer in a vacant field somewhere.
She took down the address and phone number of the studio into her notebook, and headed downstairs to check out, handing the room key back to Paula with a smile and a friendly goodbye.
She made her way around the corner to the Oldsmobile, and was dismayed to discover a ticket tucked under the windshield wiper. "Well, at least I'm on the clock for this one," she muttered to herself, tucking the paper into a pocket.
She climbed in and started the engine, checking her wing mirrors. Her tail was nowhere to be seen, so they'd either got bored, or clever.
KleinFilm was right smack in the middle of the studio district, amid the half-abandoned lots of all the big names, the faded marquees of the preview theaters, and the scattered host of steamed chicken and crudite joints who catered to the image-obsessed stars stuck slumming it in Bluegill.
As Carlyn reached the gate, she reached into the glovebox and slipped on a pair of aviator's shades, before slowing to a rolling stop at the gate. She'd found in the past that a shiny car, dark shades, and a good suit had a way of selling "important" to studio guards.
True to form, the guard looked up from his paper, saw the shades and the wallet in her hand, and decided the latest funnies were more interesting than wasting time checking IDs. The gate lifted, and Caryln rolled on to the lot and found the head office, pulling into a parking space marked for guests.
As she entered, she found a squat, frazzled man, with a receding hairline, somewhat haphazardly rummaging through various papers scattered across multiple desks.
"Now where the hell was that script," the man muttered impatiently, his voice gravelly but pitched high. He scratched at the root of one of the long gray hairs stretching over his bald patch, and glanced around, suddenly startled to realize a tall redhead was standing behind him. "Oh! Hello, can I help you?"
"Umm, I'm looking for Mr. Klein," Carlyn replied, somewhat puzzled.
"You got 'im. Did you have an appointment?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Honest. I like that. You could've lied for all I know. Secretary's off and I can't make head nor tails of her notes. Come on into my office, but we'll have to make it quick, I gotta shoot in ..." He checked the watch on his wrist, staring blankly as if he expected it to tell him something it very much wasn't. "Hell, when was that? Anyway, through here."
Carlyn tilted her head, stifling her own amusement at the scatter-brained director, but followed behind into the man's office. It was similarly disheveled to the reception area outside, with scripts and drafts and folders full of more scripts and drafts scattered about the place, on tables, chairs, sofas, stuffed into bookshelves. Klein cleared off a leather reception chair of film cans and gestured to Carlyn to have a seat, before taking his own behind a large wooden desk.
"You smoke?"
Carlyn nodded.
"Good, then you won't mind if I do." Klein produced a cigar from a box on his desk, struck a wood match off the blotter on his desk, and set to toasting and lighting the end. "So what can I do for you, Miss ... ?"
"True. Carlyn True. I'm an investigator."
Klein cocked an eyebrow. "A PI, huh? Another actor's wife expecting the inevitable?"
Carlyn failed to fight a chuckle. "No, I don't take those kind of cases, thankfully. This is about a missing person."
Klein frowned. "Ah, sorry. Something more serious then."
"Maybe. I'm hoping not, but you never know with these things."
Klein nodded gravely. "Can only imagine. Who's the unfortunate soul?"
"A contact tells me you worked with a Lily Darling on a recent project?"
Klein's face visibly fell. "Oh no ... don't tell me ..."
Carlyn raised her hands as if to slow down Klein's train of thought. "Like I said. Just missing so far. Nothing yet to suggest anything's wrong."
Klein took a breath. "I hope not. She was a sweet girl. Cast her in a project I was working on. Well. Tried to."
"Tried to?"
Klein nodded, and took a long puff of his cigar. "Made it through all the auditions, signed a contract, even had her fitted for wardrobe. First day of table read though, co-star showed up and absolutely lost it. Absolutely refused to work with her, said he'd quit the picture if I didn't fire her on the spot, and then stormed out."
Carlyn's eyes closed for a moment, and her tone turned grim. "Can't say I'm surprised."
Klein gave her a knowing glance. "See that's the thing that puzzles me. I knew I might have a fight with the studio hiring ... someone like yourself, but I didn't expect it from Jim. He's not exactly pitching for the usual team."
If the comparison got any reaction out of Carlyn, she was careful not to show it. She picked up on the name instead. "Jim?"
"James Warrick. He was a studio pick. You might've noticed by the state of the lot, but things aren't going too great around here. New backer wanted star power or he'd walk."
"Hmm. Not exactly a star known for wild fits. And if it wasn't the usual, then do you know what set him off?"
"Can't say for sure. It was like he'd seen a ghost though. Turned pale as a sheet and kept shouting something about, if you'll pardon my language, 'don't let that bitch in my head'. Strangest actor freak out I ever saw, and I've seen some doozies in my time."
Carlyn's eyes sharpened. "Well, now that is something."
"I hated to let her go, she's a bright spark that one. I tried to fight him, but he wouldn't hear a word of it, and the studio leaned on the money."
Carlyn simply nodded. "Do you know how I could reach them?"
"Hmm. Jim's back in L.A. now, and all too happy for it, but you can try his agent. He's with Ashley I think, but good luck getting through. I can barely get them on the phone. As for Lily--" Klein rummaged through a card file on his desk. "Here it is. She's local of course, but the casting agents should have her on file. Carr & Remmick."
Carlyn jotted the names down in her notepad, along with the number and address from the card Klein produced. "Thanks. Gotta say, you've been more helpful than I expected."
"Well, you know ... I know how hard it is out here for you folks, and I'd hate to think of anything bad happening to that girl, especially after what happened. I hope you find her."
"I hope so too."
Carlyn said her goodbyes and left the office. She found a payphone on the lot, and dialed the number for Carr & Remmick, the casting agents Klein had told her about.
The phone rang, and a somewhat deadpan female voice soon greeted her from the other end of the line. "Carr & Remmick, how can I help you?"
Carlyn pitched up her voice and put on her best Midwestern auntie. "Hello there, miss. This is Sally over at the KleinFilm office. I hope you can help me, I'm kinda new here, and Mr. Klein asked me to track down one of our actors."
The voice on the end seemed to pitch up in response almost on instinct. Not necessarily cheery, but at least a little less flat. "I think we can probably do that, what's the name?"
"It's a Lily Darling. Karl said y'all helped in casting her on a project a few months back, but don't you know, this place has been a mess ever since the last secretary quit, and I couldn't find anything around here without a flashlight and a shovel."
The C&R receptionist stifled a chuckle. "I can believe it," she remarked wryly. "Let me go take a look, just a moment."
The phone went silent for a minute, and the woman returned to the phone. "Gotcha, Lily Darling." She read out the phone number and address for what Carlyn recognized as somewhere in Palm Orchards on the west side of town.
"Oh lovely, thank you so much, uhh ...! What did you say your name was?"
"It's Carla, and you're welcome."
"Well, thank you so much Carla, you've been a big help, really appreciate it."
"No problem, but ... just to know, this ain't for a new project is it? 'Cause I'd have to bill for the commission."
"No, no, just wrapping up some old invoices from the last one, not to worry, and my lips are sealed. You have a good day now, y'hear?"
Carla seemed satisfied enough at the answer, and was now almost jovial in reply. "You too, Miss, thanks."
The line clicked, and Carlyn tucked her notebook away. She dropped in another dime, and this time dialed Lily's number.
A tentative female voice picked up the line, "Hello?"
Carlyn kept up the Midwest mom voice from the previous call, and answered, "Hi, this is Sally, I'm a new secretary over at KleinFilm. We're tidying up our records and just wanted to verify, does Lily Darling still live at this number?"
"Yes."
"At 12 Manzanita Court?"
"That's us. She's not in right now, though, should I tell her you called?"
"No, that'll be alright. We'll get in touch if we need anymore information. Thank you."
Carlyn hung up the phone, and ticked both number and address. "Bingo."
She took the highway to the west side, pulling off at the exit for Palm Orchards. It was an odd place, looking almost out of character for its surroundings, a neighborhood full of cozy looking bungalows and courtyards and sickly looking palm trees clinging to life in the wildly unsuitable Midwestern climate. The neighborhood had originally been built back in the 30s for film folk, but with the decline of the local industry, a lot of it had declined, and it was as like to be inhabited by retired actors as it was cocktail waitresses and bus drivers.
She pulled to a stop at the corner of Lily's street, and gently patted the dash of the Oldsmobile. "Alright girl, time to be nice and inconspicuous for me," she remarked in a hushed tone, as she turned the corner. That dull ache came from the inside out, now, but the rumbling of the V8 engine suddenly got strangely quiet, and it was if the light didn't quite strike that glossy black paint in the same way. To any passerby, the once striking lines of the Starfire became as dull as any ordinary family station wagon.
She pulled to a stop across the street from a bungalow court that matched Lily's address, and killed the engine. She slipped her shades back out of a pocket and back on her face, as she settled into her seat to prepare for what could be a long stakeout.
It was around 4 when a dingy, green Dodge Dart with a dented door panel pulled alongside the sidewalk opposite. Carlyn watched as Lily climbed out, and snapped a couple photos with the Polaroid she kept in the glovebox.
Lily's hair was blonde now, unlike the image Sheila had shown her in the bar, but it was unmistakably her. She was thin, too much so, and she slumped as she walked as if the weight of her own mind was too much for her. She unlocked the door to one of the bungalows and Carlyn could just barely hear an exchange of greetings, no doubt with the roommate she'd spoken with on the phone.
As the door closed, Carlyn ruminated. She'd clearly found her mark, so all she needed next was to pass on the message from Delia, but she usually had bad luck knocking on doors. Nobody likes a surprise visit from a detective in any environment, but they especially don't like knowing that someone they've been trying to avoid might know where they live.
She got her shot about two hours later. Lily emerged from the little cottage and climbed back into the Dart, and Carlyn fired up the Oldsmobile, shadowing her from a safe distance as the two made their way to a local Dairy Queen about a quarter mile from the house.
Carlyn slowly passed her as she pulled in, and, relieved to see that she'd parked, circled the block once to give Lily time to settle in. Carlyn parked the car and made her way inside, ordering a chicken basket and a Coke, both to look more like a natural customer, and because she was frankly starving after spending all day in the car surviving on peanuts.
She spotted Lily, and ambled toward her table, stopping with tray in hand and asking, "Mind if I join you?"
Lily looked up with the expression of someone preparing her hundredth shutdown of the week, but seemed startled to see a woman's face looking back, and even more startled when Carlyn turned her arm to show the tattoo on her wrist.
It was a rough job, and marred in one spot by what looked like a knife scar, but Lily immediately recognized the emblem of the sleeping serpent coiled around a basket of rotten apples, an unofficial symbol of the Dreamers. She nodded cautiously, and Carlyn took the seat opposite her.
"Much obliged," Carlyn remarked as she sat. "I am famished. Haven't had a bite since breakfast."
Lily raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
"I'm Carlyn, by the way. Nice to meet you."
"I know," replied Lily, breaking her silence, but not the ice.
Carlyn cocked her head. "Oh?"
"You're the one everyone calls 'Sarge', right? I heard about you. Seen you at the bar a few times."
"I guess my reputation precedes me then."
Lily shrugged, but her eyes fixed on Carlyn as if sizing her up, or at least sizing up her intentions. She decided on the blunt approach: "Why are you here?"
"Can't a girl get a bite in this town?"
Lily stared flatly.
Carlyn smirked. "Yeah, I wouldn't buy that one either."
"You're a detective, right?" Lily pressed.
"Private, but yes. Someone asked me to look for you."
Lily tensed, and in that moment Carlyn's eyes caught the light glinting off a pendant hanging around Lily's neck: an eye, half-closed and lidded by a rainbow.
"It's Delia isn't it." The remark was not a question.
Carlyn nodded.
"Fuck."
"I had a hunch that might be your response. Guessing she didn't take 'Lily' very well?"
Lily exhaled, seeming a touch relieved by the understanding. "You could say that."
Carlyn sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. "Look, I'm not a cop. You're a grown woman and I can't make you do anything you don't want to. I figure, I pass on that she's worried about you, give her some proof you're alive, and that's the end of my role in this."
Lily snorted. "Worried? She must be a better actress than I am."
Carlyn raised an eyebrow. "I take it there's more to the story."
"Money, what else?"
"Of course," Carlyn replied wearily.
"The family business fell to me when my father died. While I was off 'doing my part,' she ran things instead. Now I'm back and ... this ... she wants me committed, so she can claim power of attorney and keep control of the company, while I rot in a padded cell."
Carlyn grimaced. "Hell."
"I don't even care about the business, I'd honestly let her have it, but it's all bound up in trust, so even a divorce wouldn't be enough. My old man never trusted her, now I know why."
Carlyn stared into her basket of fries, her stomach suddenly lacking in appetite. The two sat in silence for a moment, the reality of the situation hanging in the air.
Finally Carlyn exhaled, and said, matter-of-factually, "Well, my job's done then."
"Hm?" Lily looked up, confused.
"My war's over. I don't sacrifice people anymore. Especially not for a couple Ben Franklins."
Lily looked somber. Carlyn stood, and lit a cigarette.
"Piece of advice, though," Carlyn continued. "She won't stop with me."
"I know." That weight on Lily's shoulders returned, and she stared into her lap.
Carlyn reached into a pocket, and set her business card on the table. She started to turn to leave, but stopped herself.
"Before I go, do you mind satisfying a bit of professional curiosity?"
"Hmm?" Lily peered back at the detective.
"Your almost co-star, Mr. Warrick. What happened between you to spook him so hard?"
Lily startled. "Umm," she paused, reaching for the words. "M-my day job. He was a client, but he didn't respond well to the treatment."
"You're a therapist?"
Lily seemed to hesitate. "Something like that."
"Huh." Carlyn took a drag, and seemed to be processing the reply. "Guess some folks just really don't take well to it."
"Unfortunately so," Lily said, warily.
"Well," Carlyn started, nodding. "You have a good night, Ms. Darling. Don't hesitate to call."
"I won't."
Carlyn finally made her exit, leaving the basket of food behind with an unsettled Lily.
Carlyn took the scenic route home, riding along the river towards the marina, lost in thought. After a while, her thoughts being no closer to any useful conclusion, she turned on the radio, letting the local blues station and the sound of the Mississippi wash through her mind as she made her way to the marina.
The light was on in the boat when she arrived. Carlyn checked her watch, and rolled her eyes, before climbing aboard.
"This your way of collecting the rent?" she asked, as she climbed down into the galley.
A blond woman was sat at the counter, shorter than Carlyn and softer around the edges, with the fading dimple and twinkle of a former child actor. She looked up at Carlyn from amid a trio of recently opened cans. "Well, it's not like you don't owe me. Plus, we're out at the house, and I didn't feel like driving into town."
Carlyn sighed, and lit a cigarette of her own. "What am I gonna do with you, Laney Moreno."
It wasn't a question, but Laney answered, rising to greet Carlyn with a peck on the cheek: "Nothing, of course. 'Cause I'm so cute."
Carlyn shrugged and slumped into a nearby bench. She took a drag from the Parliament, rested her head back against the bulkhead, and exhaled straight up.
"New case going that well, huh?" said Laney, sitting down next to her, with a concerned look.
"She's one of us."
"You mean like ... a vet, or the other way?"
"Both."
"Shit. So many of us going missing lately, of course you'd find the one that don't wanna be found."
"Yeah... Something about it all ain't smelling right. I ain't about to sell out one of our own, but I have a feeling the client isn't gonna take no for an answer."
Laney pondered a moment. She reached for Carlyn's hand, who without a word passed over her cigarette, and Laney took a drag. "Big money on the line?"
"Damn big. Should've tripled my rate kinda big."
"What are you ..." she stopped herself, realizing the irrelevance of the question. "You don't want the money, not for this. Rent or not. I'll talk to Carlos."
"Thanks," Carlyn replied, with a sign of relief, taking back the cigarette for another long draw. "You staying the night?"
"Do you need me to?"
Carlyn exhaled, and stared at the ember on the end of the cigarette, as if to consult the gently burning ash for advice. None forthcoming though, she simply nodded. "Not sure I'll sleep without company tonight. Might not even with it."
The two leaned into each other, one fitting the other like a familiar but forgotten glove. They sat in silence for a long moment, but soon the conversation returned, whiling away the dwindling night hours over cheap beer and listening to a Cardinals night game on the radio.
As the Birds hit the 7th inning stretch of a sleepy one, the two drifted off themselves.
This time the dream was just his face. Over and over and over again. Every twitch and twist, and the look in his eyes. Fear and madness and then blackness. As if something had hollowed out his soul.
Why did it have to be Tommy? The brightest eyes leave the darkest coals.
Carlyn woke in a sweat with that name on her lips. The clock struck 3 as she rummaged for another smoke, and the keys to the Starfire.
Back down the river highway into town, top down to take in the stars, she drove silently through the night. The case tumbled over and over in her mind, but none of it quite connecting.
As she rolled over the Little River Bridge, her headlights struck a skinny blond figure, standing at the railing and gazing into the water below. Carlyn pulled to the shoulder, and called out to them.
"Horrible way to go, you know."
"Huh?" The figure turned, as Carlyn climbed out of the car and approached.
"Drowning. First thing that hits you is the cold. You never expect how cold it will be, and it never warms up like it does at the pool or the beach."
The figure resolved as Carlyn drew closer into that of a familiar face: Lily Darling. She continued her little speech, almost as if it was one she'd memorized.
"You shiver so hard your muscles ache, and all the while, each spasm is costing your very last breaths of air ... and then the burning starts. Like knives in your lungs, even as the freezing, muddy water starts to fill them."
Lily let the soliloquy continue, with a look of perplexed horror.
"Finally things start to go black, but only after your body has clawed every last atom of oxygen out of itself by whatever means it can. That's when you start feeling yourself die, alone, in the dark, no sense of up or down or left or right ... and then the fear comes, like you've never known, and it lasts forever."
Carlyn reached Lily's side. Lily tilted her head. "You've done this before."
"Tried. Someone pulled me out."
Lily stared into the inky waves below. "I'm sorry. But you don't gotta worry about me. I just like watching the water. Helps me remember."
"Remember?"
Lily nods. It is her turn to teach a lesson. "That you cannot change people."
Carlyn cocked her head. "I don't follow."
"Look at these two rivers," she said, gesturing out towards where the Bluegill and Mississippi joined. "Even though they are both just water, some sense of each river remains, but the mighty Mississippi still dominates the result. We can never reach true unity, while some sense of self remains, and some will always overpower others."
Carlyn looked out over the water, as if trying to see what it is that Lily saw in that water.
"Like a military unit. We all work together, but at the end of the day, someone's in charge, and someone's giving orders."
Lily nodded. "And what keeps those soldiers motivated to follow those orders, without losing themselves in the process?"
Carlyn thought for a moment. "Decent chow and good booze goes a long way, but the big stuff is what gets you through a whole tour. Someone back home, or plans for the future, or ambition for promotion."
"Dreams, in other words."
"Now that you mention it, yeah."
"Do you have a dream, Sarge?"
At that, Carlyn sighed. "I had one. Then I woke up."
Lily closed her eyes, and nodded somberly. "It's dangerous to live in a dream, but without one, who are we?"
Carlyn didn't like where that conversation was headed, but her curiosity had to be sated. "Is that what you do, your work? Showing people dreams?"
"It's what I try to do. Some people can't see them any longer, and I help them find them again. Help them see a way to move forward as themselves."
"But some people are like Warrick."
Lily shakes her head. "Some people ... the dream becomes a nightmare. A trap. So all they see when I open their minds is pain."
Carlyn was silent for a moment, images of Tommy flashing through her mind, but she shook them clear to find another thought waiting behind them.
"Do you have a dream, Lily?"
Lily nodded. "I want a world where our kind are at peace... but all I have to give are dreams."
"Do you think they'll come true?"
Lily tensed at the question, a sore spot. "No. Not until we all share the same dream."
Carlyn felt a familiar crackling heat growing deep in her mind, and she looked intently at Lily.
Lily looked back at her with a briefly haunted expression, but it quickly returned to the serene, and she bowed her head slightly. With that, the heat faded.
"Good night, Sarge," she said, and faded off into the night beyond the Starfire's lamps.
Caryln woke the next morning from a mercifully dreamless sleep to the smell of burning eggs, and stumbled into the galley to find Laney standing over a frying pan in a look of total exasperation.
"How the hell do you cook anything in this kitchen, it's like this burner has a mind of its own," she asked, as she shook a blackened fried egg out onto a plate.
"I don't," was Carlyn's curt reply, as she lit a morning cigarette.
"Well, that tracks. Some of us can't live off coffee and cigarettes, you know."
"Why are you cooking here, anyway? Didn't Carlos just build you a brand new kitchen at the boathouse?"
Laney shrugged. "I thought I'd be a little domestic for once. Not like Carlos is the breakfast in bed type, anyway."
Carlyn shrugged and took a piece of toast from a plate on the counter and stared at it, as if trying to weigh her own appetite against her sense of social obligation, then took a somewhat listless bite. Her eyes wandered the countertop and she found this morning's newspaper, the headline announcing "Father of two disappears in the night: Wife says his dream was to be a riverboat captain."
"Huh," she grunted, taking another bite of toast. Her face twisted with slow, partial recognition.
"What's up?"
"Dreams... ran into that not-so-missing person again last night out for a drive. She kept talking about dreams."
"It's weird, isn't it? All these family types just up and ghosting?"
"Maybe..." Carlyn rose and crossed the room to the coat rack, and started rummaging pockets until she found a somewhat crumpled piece of paper. She unfolded it and read out: "Dream your Wishes to Come True... Huh."
"What's that?"
"You're more up on this New Age stuff than I am, you ever heard of something called the 'Temple of Peace'?"
"Temple of Peace, huh? Hmmm..." Laney pondered a second, and then remembering, grabbed the newspaper and flipped through the pages before turning it around towards Carlyn and pointing at an ad on the page. "Thought I'd seen it somewhere. Even the slogan's the same, must be them. You think your MIA might be in with these kooks?"
Carlyn chuckled. "Kooks, says the crystal lady of Greyside Marina."
"Hey!" Laney objected.
Carlyn smiled, and went to speak, but before she could utter a sound there was a rapping at the hatch. The sound was urgent, loud, the knock of someone both very large, and in a hurry.
"Hang on, hang on," Carlyn replied to the sound, and rose to open the hatch, but before she could a large figure burst in through the door and down the stairs into the galley.
He wasn't much taller than Carlyn, but his massive shoulders alone seemed to add a foot of height. He had a face like a weathered boulder, and his eyes quickly darted around the space, assessing the standing Carlyn and the startled Laney like a predator sizing up prey.
"Hey, what's the big idea, Lumpy?" Carlyn shouted in protest at the intruder, only to have the wind knocked out of her with a swift punch to the gut.
As she staggered to maintain her footing, a second figure descended the steps into the galley: Delia Darling.
She too scanned the room, as if looking for something, and scowled.
"Ms. Darling," Carlyn breathed. "You know I was just getting ready to call you." Her tone was only as confident as her breath, so the bluff landed on deaf ears.
Lumpy set about tearing the place apart, while Delia approached the counter, and noticed the flier for the Temple of Peace. Carlyn caught her rolling her eyes, and Delia stuffed the paper into her handbag without a word, then gestured to Lumpy, who halted his dismantling of the interior and made for the door.
Carlyn, having now realized the set up, simply eyed Delia coldly. "Let me guess, she called you first."
Finally, Delia spoke: "He did, yes. Your services will no longer be required." She drew an envelope from her bag and tossed it on the counter. "I suggest you stay away from him, before you do any more damage."
With that, the damsel turned domme pivoted on her heels and followed Lumpy up the stairs and out of the battered hatch.
Carlyn stumbled to the table and slumped onto a stool. She took her still burning cigarette from the ashtray and took a wincing draw, then grabbed the envelope and gave its contents a peek, finding 5 Ben Franklins staring back at her.
"Good news, Laney," she half-coughed. "Carlos'll get his rent."
Carlyn arrived at the Temple just after 9, an unassuming brick warehouse with only that same rainbow eye above the front double doors to indicate it had any purpose beyond storing old mattresses and rusty barrels.
She parked the car and pulled a blued Colt 1903 from the glove compartment, checking the magazine and safety before stuffing it inside her overcoat. She left the door of the Olds unlocked as she climbed out, in case she needed to leave in a hurry, but took the keys with her.
She circled around the back, and carefully let herself in through an employee entrance. As she made her way through the hallways of what seemed to be the warehouse's office section, she could hear a slowly rising chorus of indistinct chanting, growing louder as she made her way toward the main warehouse floor. Clearly whatever ceremony Lily had planned was already beginning.
Finally she came to a foreman's office, with a window looking out into the main area, and peered out from cover cautiously.
Lily was leading the congregation in the chant, the words of which Carlyn still struggled to make out. Not all of them seemed to be in English, but what few there were, plus a few she recognized from other tongues, all contained the same fragment of a mantra: "JOIN THE DREAM."
"Shit," she swore to herself. She was too late, and now ...
But the thought didn't conclude. Suddenly the whole room beyond seemed to shimmer, and that dull ache rose up in the back of her head, before she could even begin to prepare her defenses. For a moment she thought she locked eyes with Lily through the glass, but then the world began to fall away.
She was there again. But where was here? The jungle. Yes. The old fear, the adrenaline. Tommy's blood. And her.
"Alice?" she heard herself ask, to nothing.
The words breathed. Took form. Harrowed but beautiful, with long dark hair and eyes like glowing coals.
"Yes. Don't you remember?" The woman said, and the question burned Carlyn's heart.
"Of course," Carlyn replied through damp eyes. "Of course, but ..."
"Don't be silly, come here now," said Alice's ghost, "it's all over now. Be with me."
Carlyn's head swam, clawing at reality like a cat behind glass.
"You're ... not ..." she couldn't finish the words. What were the words? Did they matter. Alice was here. Alice would make it ...
Smoke filled her lungs, and warmth embraced her. The specter smelled of crackling ash and summer fruit.
"Why was she here? What was her purpose?" she thought aloud to the phantom, and found herself reaching for her pocket.
"Who is she, my sweet?" the image asked her kindling.
"Someone in need." Carlyn's voice crackled. Her mind felt like fire.
"You need me, flame, nothing more." Tempting, comforting, a warm hearth in the dark.
Carlyn's hand felt cold steel, and she closed her eyes, shaking. "No. I need to ... I can't let this happen again."
With that, the world shattered. The smoke screamed, and glass showered around her.
"Lily! Stop!" she shouted, and her ears rang from the report of the hammerless gently smoking in her hand.
The warehouse suddenly rushed into view around her. The ache snapped, and voices in the room beyond screamed and scattered, while Lily frantically clutched the podium from which she had lead the service.
The window of the foreman's office was shattered, and Carlyn locked eyes with the throng's leader with a white-hot intensity. She'd never know how, but in a flash she had stepped through the broken window and closed the gap between them, as the parishioners all fled for the exits.
Lily's spell was broken, and she looked back at Carlyn with stunned helplessness as the taller woman approached, gun still in hand.
"Don't you ever do that to me again," Carlyn said, fury in her voice.
"I--", Lily stammered. "I'm sorry, I ... I don't choose them. They choose their own dreams." Her voice was listless, dazed.
The realization that her target was in no state to fight dawned on her, and Carlyn sighed. She'd need to be more gentle from here.
"It's ... It's alright," she said, stuffing her anger aside as best she could, and lowering the gun to her side.
"What did you see?" asked the smaller girl.
"Someone who never was."
Lily nodded, knowingly. "Those are the hardest ones. This must by why I'm ..."
Lily suddenly stumbled, as if about to faint, and Carlyn rushed to her side. She put an arm around the girl to support her.
"I haven't seen anything like that since the war," Carlyn said breathlessly. "You must've over done it. What were you trying to do?"
"I wanted them to live their dreams, our dreams, together," Lily replied, voice almost vacant. "We were all going to sleep. To dream forever. To be free."
Carlyn stared at the girl, dumbstruck.
"Are you going to take me away, Sarge? Or will you put me down, like Tommy?"
Carlyn's chest stung. "No," she said after a long pause. "I'm not a cop. That's not my place. I was just supposed to find you. Delia is--"
Her words were cut off by more commotion. A new group of intruders was muscling its way through the last fleeing worshipers. It was Delia, and a group of uniformed cops.
Carlyn swore under her breath. She'd expected this, but she had hoped for more time.
"Michael Darling! You come here this instant!" Delia's voice rang out, dripping bitterly.
Dammit, Carlyn thought, I just needed a few minutes. She looked to Lily, and started to say, quietly, "I'm sorry," but Lily interrupted her with a shake of her head.
"I'm sorry too," Lily said.
Carlyn heard a loud noise, and felt something tear through her stomach. She looked down to see the barrel of her own gun pressed into her, and she lost her grip on Lily, dropping to her knees. The room spun, then came that familiar fuzzy ache again, and a smoky voice in her head spoke words made of silver.
"Rest now, lover."
Everything went black.
She woke to the sound of her own heartbeat, as played by the simple beeps of a heart rate monitor. Her head swam, and she felt a hot, aching void in her gut, and the sting of stitches on either side of her.
As her eyes gained focus, she saw a figure at the edge of her vision. Alice? No ... no she shouldn't be here. She shook her head weakly.
"Morning, hero." A familiar voice. Laney's voice. Carlyn breathed a sigh of relief.
"Don't call me that," Carlyn croaked in reply, her mouth almost too dry to make the words.
Laney handed her paramour a plastic cup of water. "Here, bleeding out's pretty dehydrating, or so I hear."
Carlyn tried to laugh, but her stomach quickly reminded her that was a bad move. She nodded in thanks and took a long drink before trying to speak again: "Lily ... what happened to Lily?"
"You don't want me to call you hero, but your first question is about the girl who shot you?"
Carlyn shrugged. "Call it professional curiousity, if you like."
Laney sighed. "Bolted. Remarkably, at least one of the cops in this town had the sense to keep you alive for questioning, but that left them a man down in the hunt for your new friend. Probably half way to San Fran by now if she's smart. Canada if she's smarter."
"Hey, I'm supposed to be the cynical one."
Laney sighed, her tone more serious. "What really happened in there, Car?"
Carlyn rested her head back into the pillow. "Believe it or not, I think I saved this one. Time will tell."
"Like I said. Goddamn hero."