[Original - original fic] Searching for Gravestones.

Jack Dalliard & Neddy Muldoon. Implied slash between them. R for utterly creepy and death.
Written July 28, 2008 by Zekkass.

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Jack Dalliard was not cremated. That was a fact that he had long ago found out. (The Assistant's last words. "He'll be hidden, not set to flame." Oddly cryptic, even for him. It all made sense now.)

They had instead put him in a coffin and buried him. Oh, they were not honorable - they had placed a different name on the tombstone, and burned the files that said which graveyard held him.

It was near impossible to find him - especially with his Assistant gone - but he would be found. Somehow. (He had started out with a shovel and records and had gone through graveyard after graveyard, disturbing bodies far too often.)

Of course he had not found him. They had changed the dates, too, and even added a little engraving that said 'Beloved.' (And he was. Just not by them, the ones who had buried him.)

He supposed he should have stopped looking by now - he was older, he knew better. But something compelled him to make the nightly excursions, and to make the daily digging in Records.

(He was respected, now. Worked like his cousin, was independent.)

Records revealed little, until that special, precious day -

"This is it." He said to himself, staring at the file. "This is it."

With trembling hands, he opened the file, and scanned the numbers and columns.

There it was. Hidden, and misfiled - no wonder he hadn't found it, no wonder it wasn't burned. (He wished he had found it years ago.)

J. Dalliard - (his eyes read across the column, ignoring numbers, looking for the name) - Dorian Stonewall.

There it is. The answer. His hands are shaking, he knows he won't have much time left -

He feels like cheering, but doesn't. Instead, he puts the file back, and returns to work after memorizing the cemetery and plot and number and address.

(It is two days before he can get the shovel out, make the trip, successfully dig up the coffin.)

He brought a crowbar for this purpose. He pries out the nails, pulls up the lid - and there.

(There. Now he can be properly buried.)

There is Jack Dalliard. Dead Jack Dalliard. Dead with closed eyes and a bullet hole and dried blood on his forehead that was never cleaned up Jack Dalliard.

(They find old Neddy Muldoon curled at Jack Dalliard's feet in the morning, dead.)

(The medical examiner cannot explain the death.)

("Perhaps he died of sheer terror?" He suggests.)

("Or pleasure?" He doesn't say. The insane smile on old Neddy Muldoon's corpse will never leave his mind.)

(MI5 will bury the incident. One last casualty of Jack Dalliard's Cause.)

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