CH 3 Crime Scene

One month after the attack on Monarch Mountain Pack.

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(I was going to change this to third person but it just has such feels in first.)

Jon Lance POV –

Merle was back in Westcliff from wherever he disappeared to. I watched as he hunched over a computer reading faster than any human could. I can't help the flutter I feel when I watch him and the pain too. I know 'we' are only a transient thing in his near immortal lifetime. Closing my eyes for a moment, I remind myself that here and now in this lifetime, he loves me more than any creature on this world could. Merle Greyson was something I never expected to find after thirty-five. I will be fifty-five next week, most of my life has passed and I will be dead and dust long before him. At least, I hope so; I have lost so many already. HIV, cancer, addiction, and hatred. There are many ways for a gay man to die in this world, but for this season, I am his and he is mine. For as long as I live, he will protect and love me.

As I go to make him his favorite tea, I remember how I was ready to die when I met him seventeen years ago. I was working in the Las Vegas PD Criminal Evidence Lab.

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After photographing a friend's autopsy and processing the evidence of their murder to convict those who committed such a hateful act, I was done with life. Depression worse than I had felt since I was a teen was eating me alive.

My friend had gone out once again to talk to drug peddlers and prostitutes about safe sex and drug use. As she did on so many Friday and Saturday nights after her club act, still wearing her signature red dress and black bobbed wig inspired by the 1920's cartoon character she took her stage name from. Betty Boob's real name was Brian Wolanski. He was from Detroit, and he had come here two decades ago looking for his runaway sister. Brian couldn't save her from street life, so Betty made it her mission to save others and she did. So much so, that it wasn't safe for Betty or Brian to go into the slums of the city that never slept after dark anymore. But it was Debbie's birthday, and so Betty went out, trying to save others because she had not been able to save her sister.

They beat her to death, cut out her breast implants, mutilated her genitals, poured industrial bleach onto her face, and then tried to burn the body. I knew who the body was instantly and everything inside me just shut down as I did my job. Betty was a good friend, who had helped me find myself as a homeless young gay man and gotten me into college. Gathering evidence of a hate crime against the least hateful person I had ever encountered was the hardest case I ever faced. Betty Brian Wolanski was someone who had every reason to lash out at the world, but instead fought to save those who were lost.

There were shoe prints in the mud made from her blood, they led me to tire tracks in the dirt which led me toward an intersection with a traffic camera. By noon, we had three suspects in custody and a witness willing to testify. Betty's death didn't even make the morning paper or the noon news.

My boss, Dr. Grishm told me, "Good work, Jon. Are you okay?"

I lied, "I'm fine."

His graying eyebrow went up, "Are you certain?"

"We got them, and they are going to spend a long time in jail... I'm fine."

His look said he didn't believe me, then he told me, "Why don't you take a couple of days, you have plenty of vacation time available. I know Betty was your friend. It's okay to grieve."

I left the LVPD lab and went to Betty's to tell everyone we knew that the nicest person I ever met was dead, and then I sat down at the bar and ordered the first drink,

"The MacCallan eighteen single malt, give me the bottle, Casius."

"It's three-fifty a bottle but... Betty wouldn't want," trailing off he hesitated.

Cas was in my AA group, Betty's AA group. I looked at him with eyes that I knew were screaming while my face felt expressionless and dead. He put the sealed bottle and a single rocks glass on the counter.

"Send over the fifteen when this one is empty." I handed him my credit card, keys, and putting my five-year AA coin in the tip jar, I walked away, over to a private corner booth.

I'm fine...

My mantra lasted for days, slowly becoming a scream of anguish in my soul as single malt poisoned my blood. I was to the point I couldn't even taste it anymore.

I'M FINE!

Ghost Betty's falsetto taunted me, 'Mmhmm... You know what FINE stands for don't you, Lance darling?'

Yes Betty, I know. F-I-N-E. Freaked out, Inconsolable, Neurotic, and Emotional!

I sat at the bar for two days, consuming one bottle after another of single malt whiskey one shot glass at a time. Whenever anyone asked, they all got the same answer.

I'm fine...

The third midnight after her death, I went to the bathroom and passed out at a urinal. Someone caught me before I hit the floor; it was odd because I was sure I was alone. When I woke, silver hair and matching gray eyes were bent over me wiping my face with a damp cloth. I vomited next to where he laid me. Without a word, he picked me up and took me home. He showered me, fed me, and put me to bed. The next day, he made me eat, go to the bathroom, and tended me like an invalide. He never chastised me or asked me anything. He just cared for me every day. A week later, I woke up one morning and he was gone. I did not even know his name; I never asked it, I hadn't spoken at all during the time he stayed with me. Breakfast was waiting and a business card, Dr. Merle Greyson, PhD. Clinical Psychologist, DDV, Animal Behavioral Specialist.

On the back it said,

Lance, I am here to speak at the veterinary convention on animal rehabilitation and veterinary behavioral training practices. I would like to have lunch with you between lectures today. Please come, Merle

As I ate slowly, I tried to think of every reason I could not to go, but nothing came. I called the crime lab to see if there was a case I could work. I was not expecting what Grishm told me instead.

"You know you can't. We all grieve in different ways, Lance. Take your time, I'm glad you have a good therapist. You were smart to talk to Dr. Greyson. Most of the time I have to force my CSIs into counselling."

"Uh, yeah. Well, going and getting black out drunk was my other choice," I responded, unsure what to say and wondering what Merle said to Grishm about me.

My boss laughed like he thought I was kidding then declared. "Since you have three months of paid vacation saved, you could use it if you need to. I will see you in a month for the trial. If they don't take pleas to avoid the death penalty."

"Uh, Grishm, about my... doctor..." I started but he interrupted.

"I promise to say nothing to anyone about your condition. PTSD is something we all must face in this field. Get better, Jon. Goodbye."

I stared at the phone for a long time. Walking downstairs from my condominium, a dark-haired young woman was leaning against a Towncar; she smiled at me and opened the rear passenger door. When I stared at her, she just gave me a smug smile.

"I'm Nic. Greyson said you might need a ride to the convention center if you got out of bed today."

Traffic was heavy, and as we sat at a red light, I asked, "So how do you know Dr. Greyson?"

"He and his niece helped me get away from my abusive family and he is sponsoring me through medical school," She answered. "I'm between semesters, so I'm chauffeuring him, he hates to drive."

"Oh," I thought I knew what that meant but didn't say anything, then she started laughing like she read my mind, and I decided maybe I didn't.

She gave me a knowing look in the rearview mirror, "It's nothing like that. Greyson helps people, he's compulsive that way. He sees inside them, knows what they need, and helps them become more than they dreamed possible."

Nic walked me to the giant conference room where my new, I didn't know what to call him, friend was speaking. For two hours, I listened as he talked about the methods for rehabilitating abused and feral animals into pets. He spoke with such passion and earnestness about healing the most broken creatures. There was something in his voice when he spoke of them, and I realized it was love. He loved them, and I wanted some of that for myself, but the angry voice that haunted me since I came out to my parents, whispered in the sound of my father's hatred, 'you'll never be loved because you are an abomination.'

Suddenly his gray eyes were on mine and I heard him say in a sad but harsh tone, "Don't say that about yourself."

I blinked and he was still talking about Bomber, a Rottweiler mix, rescued from a dog fighting ring and his forever family. No one else turned to look at me; it was as if I was the only one who heard him. Soon he dismissed everyone and thanked them for coming in such a genuine way that many went forward to speak with him. I saw Nic and a beautiful brunette intercede and move the crowd away. I looked down at my trembling hands wondering, What am I doing here? Meeting someone so out of my league?

A gentle hand took mine. Looking up into those striking silver-gray eyes, I could not describe what I felt, other than I was surprised he managed to get to me so quickly.

He grinned, it made his distinguished features look almost boyish, "I am so glad you came, Jon, and I believe I promised you lunch."

"Dr. Greyson... I..."

"Please," he interrupted, "Call me Merle."

A month later after the murderers of my friend were convicted on plea deals, I was moving to Boulder, Colorado to live with him.

Looking back, I now knew how he slipped away from the crowd of admirers and to me in a matter of moments, and how he chastised me with no one else hearing. He was not human; he was an Angelus Fae, my own personal guardian angel who had been seeking someone with my particular soul's colors for centuries.

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The tea kettle sang, summoning me from my memories. I spooned his favorite tea blend into a copper bobber and added it to the hot water in a mug with a bit of honey. After setting the mug beside him, I put my hands on his shoulders and began to knead the tension he had carried there since the Revelation Night. It took some prodding but eventually he told me his suspicions, and every month since more of them were proven true. We were the only ones working from the inside of the largest crime scene in the world. An act of terrorism that made all others pale. His fear was that it would be repeated.

"We need to check for those planes and any evidence," Merle said tiredly, leaning back into my hands as I massage the base of his neck. "I want so badly to be wrong."

Kissing the top of his silvery white hair, I agreed, "I do too, but you're not and we both know it. That airport is where the attack began."

He inhaled and exhaled slowly as he always did when he felt his extreme age and the weight of always choosing the hard path, before he declared, "Let's makes some calls. We'll need an escort go to your crime scene."

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Standing in our house in Sunshine Canyon for the first time since the Pure Human Movement terrorist attack that changed the world in one night. It was unnaturally quiet. Dusk came later in the summer, but the shadows of the mountain still brought darkness far earlier than on the prairie. We were expecting guest, a protection escort of sorts, while we searched for proof of the Project Elm Street launch point.

When the Revelation Night began, I was working at the Douglas County Sheriff's Forensic Testing Center. Merle stepped out of the mirror in the women's restroom and shouted for me. My supervisors, co-workers, and the sheriff's officers thought he was crazy until he showed them what he was. As reports of the attack began pouring in, we put the building into lockdown, no one left, but anyone who came to the door was brought inside. We took over the 911 call system for the state and began warning people and non-humans in the areas under the storm. The entire town of Castle Rock crowded into schools and banks and old bomb shelters. The howls and shrieks lasted until dawn. We knew it was bad, but we knew it was worse in other places, we had lost all communication by 3 AM except with those counties on the far eastern plains.

Because of Merle Greyson, all those in our tiny community were saved and so were the tens of thousands who lived in the city where I worked. As soon as it was daylight, the snowplows led the way east as everyone who survived, fled. However, Denver to the north and Colorado Springs to the south were not so lucky. Both cities lost most of their populations. The residents of Ft. Collins, Pueblo and Canyon City had been the least affected and managed to escape too. Millions died, but millions also lived because of Merle.

He helped with the rescue effort for days without rest until every surviving soul was found. Then, a week after that night, he woke me and said, "I have to go back and stay because I have to find a way to fix this. I do not know when or if I will return."

He was trying to tell me goodbye, instead I picked up the duffle I had been living out of since the evacuation and simply said, "Where you go, I go."

His grateful smile made my heart flutter, "I'm glad, we're going back to the Quarantine Zone to figure out what happened."

I almost groaned because the Q.Z. was a 3-5,000 square mile crime scene that no one was working.

A day later, we were in Twin Cliffs at a ranch owned by his friend. The next day, I began documenting the destruction, the death, and the devastation.

I was surprised that we hadn't gone home but when I asked, he simply said, "I am waiting for someone."

A week later, the first Raver showed up and we trapped it in the barn. It was the werewolf owner of the ranch. Merle was desperate to find a cure for him, but nothing helped, and he died as his monster. Later, Merle worked so hard with the surviving males as they struggled with the Raver Rage. At first, we had five werewolf males who recovered, but one by one they died by their own choice, except Rand who was later killed by other Ravers. Our little community began to become closer as I gathered their stories and Merle tended their physical and spiritual wounds. The eyewitness statements from those who recovered from the Revelation Night gave us both nightmares.

A month after we arrived, we met her, Shalom Smith, but her real name was Quinn Shalom Phillips and she was the beginning of the real work to find the answers. Her story was the worst one of all. Her family died on the Revelation Night, then she was assaulted and impregnated by her mate who was insane from the sweet-smelling snow. Most surprising was that she was the wife of the scientist who was blamed for it all, Dr. Troy Kenneth Phillips. She had her late husband's files and the more we studied them the more withdrawn Merle became.

When I tried to comfort him or discover the source of his pensiveness, he would only kiss me or hug me and say, "I fear it is an evil of the past come back to haunt me." Then one night, he told me the truth about the Dark Ages.

Tonight, I looked across the room to where my husband sat staring out into the darkness and prayed again that God would protect us. I had never been a religious person, unlike my ultra-conservative parents, but during my time with Merle, I learned to have faith, and that even angels prayed. He told me once that he could only love a certain type or color of soul, and in his 1400 years, I was only the third one he had encountered. I knew he loved me, I just wish he would tell me the whole story of what was and what would be. I knew he had seen it. I didn't want to die and leave him alone again, as he had been for the 600 years before he met me. But I didn't know how not to die, I was human, and he was not. A movement in the darkness drew Merle to the door.

"They are here."

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What do you think about Merle Greyson and Jon Lance's story?