Dangling in Derry
(a.k.a. Pleasing Mrs. Beasley, a.k.a. Miscreants of the Holy Bananaslug)
By: Abra Elliott
xilerui@hotmail.com
Date: 24 Aug 2001
Archive: um, if you want to...just let me know!
Spoilers: None.
Rating: Um, NC-17 for one or two words? R for everything
else?
Classification: MSR; RST; fluff; third-person POV
Disclaimer: I have no illusions about who the father of
*this* baby is...
Summary: Absurdity.
Notes: at the end
*****
Derry Twp., Maine
Derry Police Station
11:45 am
Suddenly, Mike Alcott was having a bad day.
Not that it hadn't started off well enough: waking to the
soft tingle of Lily's fingers brushing against his early-
morning erection...gently kneading his tightening
balls...fluttering against his chest...
No, the day had started off pretty damned good.
In fact, it wasn't until he spied old Mrs. Beasley pulling
into the parking lot of the small police station in her
pristine '66 Barracuda, her well-manicured French bulldog,
Pierre, firmly ensconced in her lap and yapping out the side
window, that he began to sense a shift in the pattern of the
day.
*****
Barb Beasley owned the Angel Pines Motor Lodge down on Rural
Route 20 and was wont to call Mike in on complaints - always
her own - about the noise level of visiting clientele.
Alcott had tried, on more than one occasion, to explain to
Mrs. Beasley that people sometimes used Motor Lodges for more
than just sleep, but the old woman, a devout member of the
Church of the Holy Bananaslug, would hear none of it. She
regularly insisted that Alcott come down personally to eject
those she had deemed "slatterns" and "whoremasters" from her
premises; an task which invariably evoked a kind of mental
cringe in the mild-mannered police chief.
She'd called in twice already this week, both times
complaining about a youngish couple occupying the room
adjacent to her own apartment; problem was, the couple
wasn't, in fact, a couple at all, but two FBI agents in town
on a case. Derry had recently been the scene of a series of
unexplained murders; the media, the state police, and the FBI
had all been through town long enough to get their pictures
in the national papers, but none of them had managed to bring
Alcott any closer to understanding the events surrounding the
deaths and disappearances. Only Agent Mulder, arriving weeks
after the media circus had died down, had been able to
uncover any clues that might be of use; and it was for this
reason, above all others, that Alcott was reluctant to pursue
Mrs. Beasley's complaints.
The first time he'd simply tried to calm her down, suggesting
that what she heard might be nothing more than the low
batteries of her hearing aid playing tricks on her. She
complained of bumps in the night, squeaking springs, and loud
voices, but Mike was hard-pressed to imagine such sounds
emanating from the room shared by the two low-key agents.
When Mrs. Beasley called a second time, smacking her usual
mouthful of bubblegum loudly into the receiver as she
insisted that Alcott come down to the Motor Lodge to evict
the two miscreants, he had no choice but to do her bidding
and at least put in an appearance.
As he drove the two miles or so down the road to the motor
lodge, it occurred to him that it was, in fact, a little
peculiar that the two agents were sharing a room at the
deserted little inn. Maybe the old biddy was right, he
thought. Maybe those two had a little something going on the
side. The guy was good looking enough, and the woman...well,
he had Lily, so he didn't go there. But it certainly wasn't
out of the realm of possibility.
He arrived to find their rental car parked in front of their
doorway, nary a sound to be heard from behind the closed
door. Sighing loudly as he slammed shut the door of his own
car, he loped up to the door and knocked loudly. The little
redhead - Agent Scully - answered, already suited up, with a
tired look on her face. Agent Mulder, cell phone in hand,
could be heard from the back of the room exclaiming over some
piece of news.
"...you found him *where*?? What the hell's a 'rave' and why
was Byers there? AND Langly?"
As her partner shook his head in mock dismay behind her,
Agent Scully wanly smiled up at Alcott.
"Good morning, Officer Alcott. What brings you out here so
early?"
Alcott tipped his hat and smiled down her.
"Agent Scully. I'm sorry to bother you like this, but would
you mind if we had a word outside?"
Looking back over her shoulder at her partner, who now lay
laughing on the neater of the two dingy beds, Agent Scully
nodded slightly and stepped outside, closing the door behind
her.
"What's the problem, Officer Alcott?" she asked, her eyes
studiously locked on the ground.
"Well, ma'am, I've had a call from Mrs. Beasley here..."
"Mrs. Beasley?"
"Yes, ma'am - the woman who runs the motel here..."
Other than a sudden flush of her pale cheeks, Agent Scully
showed little sign of recognition.
"In regards to...?"
Alcott loudly cleared his throat, feeling a blush creep up
his own cheeks. He hated this part.
"Well, ma'am, Mrs. Beasley called in complaining of some
noises coming from your room...I'm sorry to bother you with
this, but she's getting on in years and insisted that I have
a talk with you..."
Agent Scully's eyes grew wide, but she barely missed a beat
before explaining, "Oh, uh...Agent, um, Mulder and I were
arguing about some of the, uh, case details last night, and
we may have gotten a little loud..."
Failing to notice the woman's growing discomfort, Alcott
unthinkingly asked, "Oh - do you have some new insights into
the case?"
Agent Scully looked nervously up at him, and cleared her
throat softly.
"Um...well, Agent Mulder thinks...uh...that these
sightings..."
"The guy in the clown suit?"
"Uh, yeah. He thinks these may be a form of mass
hallucination brought on by a shared trauma, perhaps dating
as far back as the victims' childhoods..."
"Mass hallucination?"
Regaining some of her composure, Agent Scully continued,
"Yeah. I'm of a somewhat different opinion; while I agree
that some form of shared hallucinogenic experience may be
involved, I'm, uh, currently of the opinion that it's more
environmental in nature..."
As she spoke, Alcott spied Mrs. Beasley peering at them from
behind the thick curtains of her living room. Suddenly
reminded of his somewhat sordid mission, he smiled back down
at the still-blushing agent.
"Well, Agent Scully, I'm looking forward to hearing your
thoughts on the case later on. I'm sorry to have bothered
you; I'll just stop in and explain the situation to Mrs.
Beasley - no need to worry."
Agent Scully offered Alcott a sickly smile.
"Uh, I'd appreciate that, Officer Alcott. We'll, um, be sure
to keep it down the next time we, uh, discuss the case..."
With that, she turned abruptly and reentered her room, firmly
closing the plywood door behind her.
*****
This time, it appeared to be personal.
Alcott watched as Mrs. Beasley slowly emerged from her
cherry-red Plymouth. He could never reconcile the car with
the woman, but he had heard rumors that she wouldn't part
with the thing for reasons that bordered on the psychotic,
and he knew better than to interrogate the mystery too
closely.
Fastening a leash to Pierre's collar and reaching into the
back seat for a small handkerchief-wrapped parcel, Mrs.
Beasley entered through the station doors and made a beeline
for the police chief's desk. She plopped the parcel - an
unbreakable Corningware plate - onto the desk and sat down in
the empty chair facing Alcott.
"Mornin' Officer Alcott. Brought you some goodies from the
oven..."
The well-meaning old woman beamed as Alcott reached out to
untie the handkerchief wrapped around the plate. A small
pile of dark-brown discs came into view.
"Say, Mrs. Beasley, you've brought me more of your homemade
scones. You shouldn't have..."
Mrs. Beasley poked a bony finger in the direction of the
plate.
"Those'll keep you regular, and they're not like that
newfangled cooking you see on the TV these days...none of
them foreign spices or olive oils like you see that chef
use...just good old-fashioned American flour and butter, like
the kind my ma had."
Carefully re-covering the bricklike biscuits, Alcott tucked
them on a shelf next to his desk for easy disposal.
"Well, that was awful kind of you, Mrs. Beasley. Now
then..." He paused, dreading the next words. "What can I do
for you today?"
Mrs. Beasley shifted ceremoniously in her seat and held her
head high as she primly announced, "Officer, I want you to
arrest those two heathens using my facilities."
Swallowing the first words that came to mind, Alcott took a
deep breath, counted quickly to ten, and said, "Still the
noise, ma'am?"
Mrs. Beasley pounded a withered fist on his desk and loudly
replied, "Ayuh. All last night and into the mornin' - why,
they were still at it when I decided to come on down here.
So much racket...sounds like ghosts have taken over the
place, what with all the rattlin' and bumpin' and
screamin'...I can't get no sleep and poor Pierre here's been
goin' crazy listenin' to all that commotion..."
Trying - and failing - to imagine any such scenario involving
the monotonous Agent Mulder and his pretty-but-dour partner,
Alcott squelched an urge to laugh, simply replying, "Well,
would you like me to have another word with them, ma'am?"
Pursing her wizened lips, Mrs. Beasley vehemently replied,
"No, Mike; I want them out. Today."
She stood up, and Pierre began yapping. Alcott stood up with
her, wanting to talk some reason into the old woman.
"Mrs. Beasley, they'll be gone in another day or so - we've
just got some things to wrap up here..."
Despite the fact that she was barely half Alcott's height,
the look she gave him sent shivers down his spine.
"Today, Mike. I want them out today."
With that, she turned and waddled out of the station, leaving
a dumbfounded Alcott in her wake.
*****
Angel Pines Motor Lodge
12:32 pm
When Officer Alcott exited his car, his ears were met by the
sounds of muffled moaning emanating from behind the agents'
door. As he slowly approached, he heard the voice of the
presently not-so-monotonous Agent Mulder calling out,
"Scuullleeeeee...ohhhh God..."
Creeping quietly up and leaning an ear close to the door,
Alcott overheard Agent Scully saying sweetly, "Tell me what
you want, Mulder...ask nicely..."
Alcott jerked back, half in shock, half in alarm at the vague
stirrings her sultry sighs produced in him. He reached up
and pounded loudly on the door, and the agents fell silent.
He knocked again, and Agent Scully nervously called out, "Who
is it?"
Smothering a creeping smile, Alcott replied, "Mike Alcott,
ma'am. Can I have a word with you?"
Rushed and incoherent whispers followed his query, and Agent
Scully called out, "Uh...uh...can this wait? I'm, uh...I
just got out of the...um..."
"Sorry, ma'am, it's kind of urgent."
A flurry of bedlinens and one loud "Ouch!" ensued.
When Agent Scully finally opened the door, peering out at
Alcott from behind its chain, his detective's eye took in her
disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and the blue
button-down shirt that she had wrapped - unbuttoned - around
her small body. Peering into the darkened room, he noted
that the gray blanket of the bed closest to them was pulled
up over a long, lanky form, covering him from head to - he
assumed - toe. Only his hands, pulled up above his head and
handcuffed to the rickety bedframe, were visible.
Agent Scully breathlessly began, "Um, we're, uh...could
you..." before giving up and asking resignedly, "What can we
do for you, Officer Alcott?"
Considering the agents' predicament for a quiet moment,
Alcott reached into his uniform pocket, removed his keychain
and began extricating one of the keys from the jingling ring.
"Agent Scully, Mrs. Beasley's going to drive me crazy if you
all don't quiet down."
Agent Scully blushed bright red and nodded in embarrassment.
Alcott smiled back and continued, "Now, about ten miles down
the road there's a lake - Lake Quiny - and I've got a little
cabin there. It ain't much, but I think it'll do..."
Handing a stunned Agent Scully a small skeleton key, Alcott
explained, "Just take the left turn-off at route 5, go about
two more miles down the road, and there'll be a little log
cabin off to your right. 120 Quiny Pines Road. You can't
miss it - it's the only place for miles. You all head on
down there, and we'll get together tomorrow morning to wrap
things up..."
Agent Scully opened her mouth as if to voice a protest; she
paused, however, and merely mumbled, "Thank you."
Alcott smiled again, a little more broadly than before.
"Always happy to help out a friend. You know, Lily - that's
my wife - she worked with me on the force in Bangor for years
before we ever got together..."
Agent Scully blushed, as demurely as possible for a woman
with a man handcuffed to the bed behind her, and whispered
again, "Thank you."
From behind her, a muffled voice called out from under the
blanket, "Thanks, Officer Alcott."
Alcott turned to go; but before Agent Scully could shut the
door, he looked back at her and said, "And, Agent Scully? A
word of advice?"
Agent Scully cracked the door open a little wider and said,
"Yes, Officer?"
Alcott shook his head slightly, saying, "Those kind of
handcuffs are hell on the wrists, if you don't mind my saying
so. Have a look in the lowest drawer of the bedroom bureau -
I think you'll find something a little more to your liking,
and certainly more to his."
Agent Scully's expression got caught somewhere between a
scowl and a smile, and, rolling her eyes a little, she
replied, "Gotcha."
Alcott heard the door click shut behind him as he sauntered
out into the sunny afternoon.
*****
Suddenly, the day was looking up again.
*****
~finis~
*****
The IWTB challenge was:
1. One character doing a favor for another
2. Stephen King novel/character
3. Plymouth Barracuda
4. John Byers at a rave
5. French Bulldog
6. bubble gum
7. balls (of any kind)
8. olive oil
9. scones
10. advice from original char to anyone in #1