Date Story Created: Friday, March 19, 2010, 7:51:39 AM
LAST UPDATED: March 19, 2010
Uploaded? When and where: Yes. MySpace. Revival Patterson’s blog
Cross Posted to: Live Journal community: dsresurrected
Story Title: Picking Up the Pieces
Fandom or Universe: Dark Shadows Revival
Genre: Horror, Romance, Supernatural, Comedy and Tragedy all in the Gothic vein
Author or Artist: If I post this doesn’t this stand to reason it’s actually MINE?!?!?
Rating: PG (References to smoking and alcohol)
Safe for work?: Yes
Characters or Pairing(s): Concurrent Timeline: Sheriff Patterson, Deputy Harker
Spoilers: George Patterson couldn’t remember the last time he had picked up a book solely for the pleasure of reading it. His library for the past few years had consisted of police reports, training manuals and the semi-daily ritual of reading the local newspaper, The Collinsport Star. After Michael Woodard’s death, Sheriff Patterson had made arrangements with the University of Rockport to be able to retain on loan some of the old man’s books in light of the on-going investigation into recent deaths of the Collinsport citizenry.
Summary: Patterson and Harker sift through some of the late Michael Woodard’s research material looking for answers to the many questions surrounding the attacks on the citizens of Collinsport.
Vague references to: DS Cannon. VERY vague references anyway.
Potential Triggers: Vampirism, falling, ghosts, inclement weather, neck biting, authority figures, general snarkinesss (shush Roger!)
Author Notes (A/N) and/or Warnings: (Revival Season 2) This story takes place after Dark Shadows Revival Season 1.
Disclaimer: The universe and characters of Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis production. I just write here even though I do believe I’d love to live here.
Tags: Sheriff, George Patterson, Deputy, Jonathan Harker, Michael Woodard, Revival, Season 2
Classification: As Cannon as logically possible, but Cannon is edited for coherency, continuity, and general nit-pickiness. (I can’t help but pick nits.) Face it. Danny-boy never did worry a bit about continuity.
George Patterson couldn’t remember the last time he had picked up a book solely for the pleasure of reading it. His library for the past few years had consisted of police reports, training manuals and the semi-daily ritual of reading the local newspaper, The Collinsport Star. After Michael Woodard’s death, Sheriff Patterson had made arrangements with the University of Rockport to be able to retain on loan some of the old man’s books in light of the on-going investigation into recent deaths of the Collinsport citizenry. If it had been anyone but Woodard, the Elder Academician would not have even considered the temporary loan, but considering the Professor’s eclectic interests and the fact several crimes had been committed so close to the University (Rockport being only 12 miles and a 5 minute drive from Collinsport), the Dean approved the loan. God forbid this epidemic spread to his campus. If the Collinsport Sheriff’s Department was already trying to solve the case than more power – and books - to them the Dean considered it a wise investment.
Across the desk from him sat Jonathan Harker, silently reading another of the Professor’s ancient volumes. He hadn’t really been interested in staying at the station to do his reading preferring to go home to cook a hot meal and sleep in his own bed, but once he started he found himself taking a seat not two steps from the box of books and breaking out his cigarettes. At some point, Patterson had produced a bottle of Cutty Sark and two glasses.
“Find anything yet?” Patterson asked.
Harker looked up from his reading, rolled his tired shoulders in a stretch, and crushed out the butt of his long dead cigarette in the ashtray. “Theories, speculations and fairy tales for the most part,” he replied, bored with the whole thing.
George put a piece of paper in the book he was reading and closed it. “I admit it’s a dry read, but there has to be something in all this to tell us how to identify this thing when we see it.”
“You mean before it bares its fangs and tries to kill us,” Jon snorted picking up the glass of alcohol. Before he could raise it to his lips he looked at it, wrinkled his nose at the sudden unpleasant smell, and looked his watch. “It’s long past dinner. Want to grab something to eat before we drink ourselves blind?”
A smile broke out on Patterson’s face at the though of actual food, and he chuckled. “Might as well. I get the feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
Harker looked at his watch again as of he hadn’t seen it the first time. “Inn’s closed by now.” He paused. “How about Whale Burgers with all the fixings?”
Patterson stretched his neck. “Yeah, what the hell. I could stand some noise right now.”
(… to be continued…)
current mood: creative