Episode II Cold Open, Part 1

Three separate things stir in the dead of night.

First- a heavyset man in baseball cap, white shirt, and jeans- everything about him screams trucker, leaning against the red hood of his car near the railway tracks. He is standing completely, entirely still, face obscured by the shadows from his cap cast by the setting sun. In his hand, a pair of aviators.

The second: Tall, lanky, just like Amanda Finch was- is? Jamie Smith has her face and it’s only partly obscured by the red lenses over red eyes. The jacket sticks out like a sore thumb, bright yellow against the forest backdrop. Conceptually, she should be a masterclass at blending in- in practice, she’s doing a poor job. She’s trying to smoke, unable to remember which end Anders told her to light and trying to figure out why Amanda liked these damn things so much.

The last thing approaching has a build somewhere between the two, white dress shirt tucked into black slacks, black tie, and a pen in his breast pocket. The shine from square glasses covers his eyes. He is adept not only at imitating appearance, but the stiff gait this man once had.

The “trucker” speaks first, lurching suddenly from eerie stillness into perfect acting- vague Alabama accent, mannerisms, pretending-to-breathe and all.

“I think I speak well for the remaining two of us,” he begins, gruff-sounding, “when I say that you are quite possibly the most idiotic little creature here.” It’s irritated, angry under the surface, and it’s directed at Jamie.

Jamie has plunked herself down on the tracks to sit casually. She snickers- this is funny to her, apparently. Mr. Suit-and-Tie folds his arms and rolls his eyes.

When neither of them seem to share her amused sentiment, she scoffs.

“Entirely because of you-“ the trucker speaks again, “I have had to two-time my way into this man’s form,” mid-gesture, the body changes- growing taller, thinner, hair changing length and style. The clothes change too, a flannel under a brown coat with Westerfield’s deputy badge pinned to it, and something similar to a ranger’s hat atop his head. “While he still walks town, just to steer the law away from you. Do you know how difficult that is?”

Jamie looks offended, sputtering into speaking. “I don’t- we don’t need you to baby us by playing Deputy!” It’s like watching a teenager trying to argue with her parents. “And poor you, sorry that it’s hard.”

“I ain’t playing!” He snaps, and it is clear now that his voice has dropped as well. “And I wouldn’t have to were you not stirring up suspicion in every cardinal-direction in Riverhollow! Two weeks is all you wait,” he jabs a finger at her, “two! Before you prance on into town wearing the face of someone you killed- thinking that a new outfit and name is gon’ be enough for nobody to care?”

“I didn’t think she would die!” Jamie interjects to defend herself, completely missing the point.

The “deputy” inhales sharply. “You need to take a different form. Your little Amanda Finch charade ain’t working.”

Jamie’s shoulders immediately droop, and her face contorts in disgust at the mere suggestion. “I don’t want to,” she whines, “the only other ones I’ve picked up are some weird kid and a greasy-ass radio man! I don’t want to be either of them!”

“That is a you problem.” He retorts. “Fine! But don’t expect either of us,” he gestures between himself and the silent third, “to bail you out if you get into too deep of shit. I am not coming for you if they find your ass and drag you back. Or kill you.”

Jamie shrugs- but apparently seems satisfied with this conclusion. Humans are way too fuckin’ weird for her to want to pretend to be one that already exists- why can’t she be someone entirely different with a bit of effort and straight-up lying?

The deputy sighs, head dipping as he spends a moment to massage his brow. Then, he gestures to the third. “And what about you? Tell me that you have some sensible plan for yourself in mind.”

The last one nods. “The mayor’s daughter. Jennifer. I assume her mother’s position might provide us some leeway must we do anything… less than discrete. I’ve spent the time watching so that I may play a… more accurate part.”

The deputy nods, satisfied with his planning. He shoots at a look at Jamie- very much a side-eye of see, is that so hard?

The other continues. “She’s, ah- almost universally disliked, I’ve found. Mostly on accord of her… well, entire personality.” It chuckles. “If anyone does question any inaccuracies I might portray, I plan on- well. Heel-turning her personality, essentially. Framing it as some kind of change of heart. I doubt anyone will complain much so long as she’s finally acting sweet.”

Another nod, another glance to Jamie that says see, how hard is it to think ahead? “Well, sounds like you’ve got shit covered. Let me know if you need any help-“ he pauses, “…moving the original aside.”

“I will.”

He sighs. “That’s it, then. Remember to keep a low god-damn profile,” he jabs a finger at Jamie again, who puts her hands up in a who, me? gesture. “I’ll move the Deputy, soon. Only person I gotta worry about is his daughter, but- she hates him,” he shrugs, snickering, “so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

The deputy tips his hat to them- reverting back to the trucker’s look and finishing the gesture with his baseball cap. “Until then.”

He turns to leave, back to the car. “Where’d the fuck did you get a car?” Jamie shouts after him.

He just snickers. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He pulls away, and Jamie stumbles to her feet. “That’s why I’m asking, you fucking dick!” He’s out of earshot in a split second, but she lobs a rock in his general direction regardless. Jamie turns to the other.

“I will get back to my observing.” He says, and begins to walk away- off into the forest. Apparently, he’s got a party to watch for this evening.

Jamie scowls and kicks pebbles on the tracks.