What Time Can't Heal
Also known as...
(Yay, Joey's Dead)
Part One
By: Carrie, and stormluver
5 years later...
The face of the fifth victim stared Pacey in the face as the television glowed in the wee hours of the morning. The girl looked like all the others. Long dark hair, soulful eyes, a finely boned face.
Pacey sighed after he took a long draught from the bottle on the table. He had killed these girls. He'd killed them by freeing their assassin after he'd murdered his first.
Still, the eyes stared into his. The caption underneath caught his attention. Alejandra Olguin. Age 14. Hometown: Las Cruces. This meant that Dawson had moved into the southwest.
Of course, the murderer could have been anyone. The only factors that made Pacey think it was his old friend was the similarity in looks and the constant use of the same type of weapon.
"Where the hell did you get a gun anyway..." He shook his head, eyes still glued to the television where they were now playing a clip from a home movie. Ale, as her friends called her, was smiling into the camara, pushing a lock of hair behind her left ear.
As much as he tried to ignore it, the pounding at the door wouldn't cease and Pacey swore as he struggled to get off the couch he'd collapsed onto the night before.
Fleetingly, he wondered if his eyes were puffy and red, not only from the liquor, but also from the tears. He pulled the door open, peering out at the cop on his doorstep.
"Are you Pacey Witter?" For half a second, Pacey stared at him, unable to believe his ears.
"Yeah. My dad is the police chief." He tried not to smile. "Sam, you've known me for years.
"We're all well aware of that, sir." He swallowed. The man didn't look any older than Pacey. "It's standard procedure. Anyway, I was hoping you would come with me down to the station." He opened a small notebook and read from a page. "There's a Detective Ryan to see you there." Pacey frowned.
"What does a detective want with me?" As if you didn't know. They've only been hounding you for the last five and a half years.
"Sir, he's looking for information about your friend Dawson Leery." He blinked, sucking in a breath. "I also heard him mention something about the killing in New Mexico." He looked at Pacey, as Pacey's expression remained unfazed. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?"
Pacey contained his eye-rolling and ran a hand through his hair.
"You can tell Detective Ryan that I'll be at the station in an hour." The cop nodded, and shut his notebook.
"I'll see you then Pace." The door shut and Pacey leaned against it, letting out a huge breath.
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, now would you Pace?" he said to himself. He shook his head, grimacing slightly as he spotted the empty bottle on the table by the chair and the television, still on, still tuned in to the news, still broadcasting the story of the adolescent girl that had been gunned down in her backyard.