tapestodiane | 028

_{[And that snaps him back into something that resembles control, but is mostly defense.]}

You were the one who killed her, Windom. Not me.

Is that what you tell yourself when the guilt catches up with you? Oh, I killed her, but you failed her.

[They're still at a distance, but he lowers the flute and uses it as emphasis to make a slow, deliberate jabbing motion — the sort that, were they standing close enough for it to connect, might strike Coop just below his heart.

He should find that one all too familiar.]

That was always your downfall, my boy. I'd take your queen and the rest of your game would just...fall apart.

_{[He does, and actually takes a small step back, a flinch like Windom really had stabbed him again, but also backing away from the words.]

[He can't argue with them. It's true. He did fail her. There are so many little things he could have done differently. She should have lived. She was getting better, and they were going to get a break and put Windom away, and she should have lived.]

[Maybe not with Coop, maybe in fear, but she could have been alive. And that was on him.]

[But still, he's aware of the mind games, despite how they get to him. For the moment, he tries to detach himself from Windom's words, precise as they are. And really, he needs answers. He's gone so long without understanding what happened and it's tearing at him.]}

You failed her first. You tortured her. And then you drove us together just to tear us apart. Why?

[For a minute, there's silence, as he gives Coop plenty of time to stew in his thoughts; when he does finally reply, it's after lightly wagging a finger at him, and his words are singsong — a very deliberate echo of something Coop himself said earlier.]

That'd make it too easy, Dale. Even for you.

[Like he'd ever give you the one thing you want to know most.]

Besides, you've put a new queen on the board now, haven't you?

_{[How does he know? The fact that Cooper assumes that he does rather than figures it's an assumption, or a bluff, is telling of how he really, in the end, does NOT underestimate the man.]

[And the flex in his shoulder is back when he again, reflexively, wants something to defend her with.]

[Which is likely confirmation enough.]}

No. _{[Not denial; rather, "I didn't put her on the board. Don't touch her." He measures his next words carefully.]} There is no board, Windom. These are human lives. Are they really so easy for you to take?

Of course they are.

[He says it so pleasantly, so simply, like he's discussing the weather and not murder.

Cooper is so easy to manipulate sometimes, strung and played like a fine violin. A few plucks to tune it up and what follows is the most elegant concerto of misery and despair.]

It's as easy as pulling a trigger. There will always be death and sacrifice — the only aspect in question is whose it is, and when, and how.

_{[Except, he thinks, it's not as easy when you're using knives. That takes force. Commitment to the act in a different way than a gun does.]

[He takes a breath. Testing.]}

And you will decide mine.

And you will decide theirs. One by one. All around. Each and every move you make.

[And now, at last, he takes a step forward. Just one step, but a definite invasion.]

Two kings, Dale. Only one left standing in the end. Everything else is incidental.

_{[He holds his ground; feels like he has no other option. He tenses a little bit further, though, and his breathing slows.]}

And if I resign?

No, no, you're not ready yet, not nearly ready yet.

[He seems to say this more to himself than to Cooper, low and rapid, musing aloud. And then, abruptly, intense, shouting—]

That's not how you play the game, Cooper!

[And then his voice drops low again, but it's not smooth this time, it's edged and threatening and feral, like a dog on the end of its leash.]

And you will play, or I will find someone to take your place. And you, you won't die, but you'll wish you had, because I'll make sure she doesn't die, either, when I send you her fingers and ears and eyes. And if she does? Whoopsie-daisy, we start over again tomorrow with a fresh slate and a full board, again. And again. And again.

_{[Cooper remains in place but feels increasingly helpless, something he's trying to fight. There has to be a way to solve this, get out of it. Protect the people he knows. The one Windom is referring to most of all.]

[Stall, he thinks, that's what they'd been doing in Twin Peaks. But that had been different. He'd had help. They'd all been looking. Now Windom Earle is right in front of him and setting the terms. It's vastly different but the feeling is largely the same. Only worse.]

[He could bluff. But he knows full well there's nothing he could say that Windom would buy or that would fall short on closer inspection.]

[He could play. But that's the worst option of the three. It's giving up, because he could never win that game. Accepting to play would be a death sentence. The difference there is just that he's not quite sure whose sentence he'd be signing.]

[That leaves reasoning. Which is stalling by another name, in the end, but Coop's ready to grasp for straws by this point.]}

Please.

_{[It's the most he's ever put into the word, but he's already sure it won't be enough.]}

This isn't you, Windom. Something happened when you disappeared. Let me-

_{[And something cuts him off. It's painful, and he can already hear the laughter that's inevitable to follow what he'd meant to say, and he feels like he's fresh out of the Academy again and trying to live up to Windom's expectations and being scared of falling short.]

[But this time he knows he will. He's trying so hard to not accept it as a truth, but it certainly feels like one.]}

Something wonderful happened.

[The look in his eyes, it's manic, too-bright, glittering with almost unearthly enthusiasm. Wonderful isn't the word any sane person would use for what happened to Windom Earle when he disappeared, why he came back changed.

But wonderful is the word he uses now, because he knows what he saw and found and was sent back to do, and he knows how much it destroys his former partner to remain in the dark — about him, about Caroline, about everything.

And his despair, his fear, that broken note edging in his voice, is so exhilarating.]

And someday it will happen again.

[It is happening. Again.]

_{[It stirs in his mind that it could all be connected. Windom, the Little Man, his visions and BOB, and fire walk with me, but it's only a flicker of an idea that doesn't get much hold. Instead he thinks of Caroline.]

[Her and Windom had been happy, once. And Cooper couldn't save either of them.]

[It really hits him, right in that moment, when he sees it this close, that he's lost Windom too. He'd known that before, of course, but this is different. This is a confirmation that's another knife between his ribs. It hurts that much.]}

Where did they take you?

The Black Lodge.

[And they are Lodge Brothers, aren't they. And they will be again, someday, when poor Dale's self-sacrificing nature comes back to haunt him in the worst way.

His moves are as predictable as his chess, and this is why he never wins.]

I'll kill her, Dale.

[It's so simple, so easy, so devoid of theatrics. Deadly real, fatally reliable.]

_{[And that's where he takes half a step back to reclaim the space that Windom had invaded those few minutes ago. He needs it to look at him. Needs it to think. He's mouthing an echo of the words, "The Black Lodge", and it makes sense.]

[It just does. It falls into place.]

[And it terrifies him. Because they are Lodge Brothers. The Soulless. He just doesn't know it consciously yet. But it's there; has always been.]

[And that's what makes Windom's worth so true, too. He's thoroughly lost to Cooper. Is probably lost to himself. But something else knows what it's doing, and it guides it all with a firm, steady hand.]}

I can't let you.

_{[Even to his own ears, it sounds just a bit false.]}

Then stop me.

[His laugh, when it comes, starts out faint and low and then burbles up from deep within his throat.]

It's your move.

[And he begins to back away, back into the concealing shadows of the trees, simultaneously daring Coop to hinder him and confident that he won't.]

_{[He's right. He won't.]

[He swallows as he watches Windom go. He debates doing many things, but ultimately feels like he can't do any of them. And once Windom's gone and Coop starts moving away from the area, he feels it all come over him in waves of weakness and guilt and grief, but he doesn't let it stick, not yet, not now.]

[He's going to make a few warning calls.]}

[It's only after Windom has disappeared into the trees that the laughter starts.

Slow. Menacing.

Then louder, faster, more out of control. Wild, reckless, screaming hysterics that echo through the open air in a cacophony of sound.

It's almost enough — almost — to cover up the screech of the owl.

It descends fast, talons out, and then suddenly around Coop's head it's flapping and feathers and a flurry of commotion, lasting just long enough to bring the terror to a peak before it manages to shake free and careens off into the woods after its master.

Sweet dreams, Agent Cooper.

This owl is precisely what it seems.]

028 - 4th wall

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