Chapter Text
Even before his car broke down on the side of the road, Murphy had been having a horrible day.
“Fantastic,” he sighs as a thin trail of smoke rises up from the rattling hood. The engine sputters out, loudly proclaiming its exhaustion after having travelled somewhere around five hundred miles to bring him to a seaside town in the middle of nowhere. Murphy’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen a sign of civilization for at least an hour. Now, the looming Welcome to Sanctum - Population 5,000 sign in front of him is the only indication that he’s not the last man alive on Earth.
He curls his fingers around the rough leather of the steering wheel, gritting his teeth in annoyance. A minute goes by before he gets a hold of himself and he slowly pulls his phone out of his pocket, getting out of the useless car as he does so. The door squeaks as he closes it, the paint flaking off and scratching a little bit more than it already was. Really, it’s been a piece of junk for a while now, and Murphy supposes he should be grateful that it even got him to the town at all.
His phone, though, still works, and the couple bars of reception are enough for him to dial a number he’s used so many times he’s completely memorized it. “Hey, boss,” he says, static crackling through the connection.
“Murphy - you make it out there alright?”
He casts a weary eye over his car, still stalled and smoking at the side of the road. “Mostly,” he says. “You sure this is the place?”
“We’re sure. All our latest information points to her having gone back to Sanctum, her hometown.”
The sun is beating down onto him, so much so that he has to squint to look further down the road. He can see the small seaside town off in the distance, its harbour the most notable aspect about it. A slight breeze from the ocean rushes by him, catching the ends of his coat in its embrace. It’s a nice landscape, to be sure, but he’s yet to see a single sign of life. In the time he’s been there, no other cars have passed him, and he’s barely heard a sound. “It doesn’t strike me as somewhere she’d go,” he says.
He hears laughter on the other end of the call. “Maybe that’s the point.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Murphy says, though he’s not convinced. There’s something more to this. He’s been doing this job for long enough to be able to tell when the story isn’t as simple as it appears to be.
“Good luck, Murphy. Call me if you need me - but I have a feeling you won’t.”
He chuckles. “When this is all over, you’re going to owe me big time for sending me out to a place like this.”
“Sanctum might surprise you. Give it a chance. You never know what you might find out.”
“Sure thing, boss,” he says, and then sighs, hanging up on the call. Somehow, he doubts that the town in front of him, now partially obscured by rolling fog, has much to tell him about anything.
The car beside him is very much still unusable, and he’s no mechanic. With a deep breath, Murphy adjusts the badge in his jacket and the gun on his hip, and starts walking down the road to make his way into town. This may turn into the most boring assignment of his life, but he’s here on business, and that’s always been what he does best.
His boots click against the uneven pavement as he walks down the road in utter silence. Murphy’s really starting to wonder if he’s actually in the wrong place when he hears the first sign of a life barreling towards him. A large grey truck, its headlights on and burning into the fog, is roaring down the road at a far faster speed than the legal limit. It honks its horn once, and then twice, and it takes Murphy a second to realize the horn is directed towards him. He steps to the side of the road just as the truck flies past him, not slowing down for a second, not even when it passes his still-steaming car a little ways away.
Murphy bites his lip as he watches the truck fade into the distance, and then turns back to look at the sleepy town in front of him. He’s a federal agent - he would be well within his rights to stop the truck or report its license plate, but he does no such thing. All he feels is a newfound sense of curiosity lighting in his chest. “Alright, Sanctum,” he mutters, “maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye.”
Nobody answers him. He realizes, then, that he’s talking to the air on the side of the road. Quickly, he looks around, making sure that there’s nobody around who could have heard him, and then he continues on down his way.
His walk is once more drenched in silence until he makes it to the entrance to the town itself. The road begins to narrow, and finally a real sidewalk is available at the side of the road. Small, old buildings are now visible, lining the main road a long ways down. The only side street he can see has an obnoxiously big sign, declaring that The harbour is this way! Murphy suspects that this is one of those towns with one long street and nothing else to it, and already, he feels incredibly bored.
Even here on the street, fog still rolls by, and as Murphy walks further he can’t help but feel slightly refreshed by the ocean breeze that passes him. It’s calming, almost, and even though the sky looks more grey than blue, he figures that maybe this is why people choose to live by the sea. Almost confirming his suspicions, he starts to see the silhouette of a few people milling about the street through the fog.
Murphy takes a couple of steps more down the sidewalk, and his eyes catch view of someone standing quite close to him. He’s tall, and he’s wearing a dark, puffy jacket over his shoulders that seems far too thick for the current weather. His curly hair rustles in the breeze, so much so that it’s going all over the place, but the man doesn’t seem to mind. No, what’s most intriguing about him is that despite the fact he’s standing in the middle of the road, he’s nose-deep in a very thick, very old-looking book.
For a couple seconds, Murphy does nothing but stare at the man, who is very slowly making his way down the road, only looking up from his book a couple of times to check where he’s going. It’s amusing, and honestly, somewhat adorable. Only in a small town, Murphy thinks, and then he moves closer, set on asking the man where he could find Sanctum’s police station, when he hears the car coming.
The headlights are the first thing he sees as they pierce through the thick fog, so bright that it seems they’re intent on setting everything in their path alight. The engine roars through the quiet ambience of the town and he hears a couple of people cry out in surprise at the disturbance. Somehow, though, the man in front of him only glances up, and then returns his gaze to the book.
The car comes closer, now visible as it races up the street, heading out of town. Much like the truck from before, it’s driving far too fast and more recklessly than it should be. Murphy glances at the car, and then at the man in the road, and he realizes what’s about to happen.
“Hey!” he calls out, and the man glances up at him, blinking in surprise. Still, he doesn’t move, the book still open in his hands. The car comes closer, showing no sign of stopping, and only now does the man seem to realize what’s going on, but he’s too close. There’s no time for him to move, and they both know it.
It’s easy, really. Murphy does what he’s been trained his whole life to do. He lunges forwards, takes a hold of the fabric of the man’s jacket, and drags him back towards the sidewalk. The car races past, showing no signs of stopping even for a moment, as if the driver has no clue as to what they almost did. “Watch it, asshole!” Murphy yells loudly as it passes, but he gets no response or reaction.
He turns his attention to the man, who still has yet to say a word. Perhaps he’d pulled him out of the way a little too hard, as he’d lost his footing, and now is sitting at the edge of the sidewalk, surprise still etched on his face. The book lays face-down next to him on the curb. “Here,” Murphy says, reaching down to offer him a hand. The man takes it and slowly stands, though he takes the time to retrieve the book first.
“Thank you,” he finally says as he stands, dusting himself off.
“Sure thing,” Murphy replies, casting a curious eye over the man. There’s something about him that’s caught his attention, and he can’t for the life of him figure out what that something is. “Maybe be more careful if you’re going to read in the middle of the road.”
The man runs a hand through his hair, looking slightly sheepish as he grins. “Right. Yeah, I’ll remember that.”
Murphy smiles, but it quickly falls from his face as he looks down. The man’s jacket has slid to one side and it’s revealed a small handgun in a holster at his waist, almost shining as it sits there. Ah, fuck, Murphy thinks, but then he stiffens, steps back and draws his own weapon. The man’s eyes instantly narrow and he takes out his gun, pointing it at Murphy, and suddenly the two of them are engaged in a standoff on the side of the street in the middle of town.
Murphy’s starting to think this might not have been the best move on his part, but he can’t forget why it is that he’s here in the first place, and he keeps to his training. “You want to tell me why you’re carrying that?” he asks, making his voice as authoritative as he can.
“How about you tell me first?” the man replies, his voice just as steely. He holds the gun un-shakingly in his right hand, and keeps the book in his left.
“I’m FBI,” Murphy says. “Who are you?”
“Sanctum PD. Who are you?”
Murphy blinks, pausing only for a second. “I just said, FBI.”
The man tilts his head in a shrug. “And how am I supposed to know that?”
He rolls his eyes, though he’s starting to suspect the man in front of him is telling the truth - only a local cop would conduct themself this way. “For starters, this is government issue,” he says, looking at the gun he’s holding to gesture it, “and they also give us one of these.”
Murphy starts to reach into the pocket of his own jacket to show the man his badge, but he’s stopped by the man speaking once more. “Keep your hands where I can see them, alright?”
“What am I going to do? Pull out another gun?”
The man thinks on this, and then nods, allowing him to keep going. With a sign, Murphy pulls out his badge. The man looks at for a second, and then nods, slowly holstering his weapon once more. “Alright,” he says, “you are FBI, then.”
“Yes, genius, I know,” Murphy says, though he keeps his gun level. “I showed you mine, it’s time for you to show me yours.”
The man concedes, using his now-free hand to pull out his own badge from his jacket pocket. Sure enough, it labels him - Bellamy Blake - as an officer in the town of Sanctum. “This good enough for you?”
Murphy nods, and then he holsters his own weapon. Thankfully, they hadn’t drawn a crowd, and for the first time he’s glad that the town is this small and sleepy. “So - are all your drivers that reckless?”
The man, Bellamy, adopts a small grin on his face, but there’s something behind his eyes that says there’s more to this story than meets the eye. “Only this time of year,” he says.
“Right,” Murphy says, slowly, but he decides not to press the issue. After all, he’s here on business, not pleasure. “Well - if you’re not too busy with that book of yours, you mind taking me to the station? I need to talk to your chief officer.”
“Of course you do,” Bellamy says. He starts to walk down the sidewalk, gesturing for Murphy to follow him. “All you bigshots are the same. No time for the little guy.”
It’s far from a compliment, but Murphy laughs all the same. “What, are you saying that you’re the little guy?”
“Not in this town,” he replies, “but to you? Absolutely.”
“Ah, please. I don’t even know you yet. I can’t pass judgement.”
“We’ve pointed our guns at each other. Surely that’s enough for you.”
Murphy raises an eyebrow, smiling softly. “Buy me dinner first, why don’t you?”
Bellamy clicks his tongue, and he’s about to respond, when there’s a sudden crackle of radio static. He quickly picks up a radio from his belt that Murphy hadn’t noticed before, as it blends in with his dark jacket. “Possible 11-24,” someone is saying on the radio, and Murphy feels his cheeks flush slightly as he realizes what’s going on. “Just outside the entrance to town. No sign of an accident, but the engine’s fried, and it looks like the driver just walked away.”
Before Bellamy can reply, Murphy nudges him with a sign. “The car’s mine,” he says, quietly.
Bellamy raises a brow, saying nothing into the radio. “And yet you pass judgement on the drivers in town?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to leave it there forever, but then someone pointed a gun at me,” he snaps back, not sure if he’s annoyed just because he’s been forced to come to this town, or because a local cop has gotten the better of him.
“Of course. Perfectly reasonable excuse,” Bellamy replies, and then he laughs, and after a moment, Murphy can’t help but laugh, too. He pockets the radio, and Murphy realizes that despite the very thick jacket on his shoulders, he’s wearing no gloves.
“Which is it?” Murphy asks, glancing back at his exposed hands.
Bellamy’s brow furrows. “Which is what?”
“Are you hot or are you cold?”
“You think I’m hot?”
“Shut up,” Murphy says, jokingly, though his curiosity doesn’t waver. “Seriously, though - it’s an odd fashion choice, that’s all I’m saying.”
Bellamy pauses. He’s still holding the book in one hand, but he lifts his free hand up higher, curling and uncurling the fingers a few times and looking at them carefully. “Can’t be too careful,” is all he says, which answers exactly none of Murphy’s questions.
“Sure,” he sighs, turning his attention back to the task at hand. There’s something not quite right about this town, he knows that for a fact - but he isn’t sure he wants to stick around long enough to find out exactly what that is.
It doesn’t take them long to make it to the police precinct, mostly because everything in Sanctum is within walking distance of everything else. All of the town’s buildings look the same to him, too - they’re all old, and clearly haven’t been updated in many, many years. The further he gets into the town, the more he feels as though he’s entered somewhere completely out of time, standing by itself regardless of what’s happening in the rest of the world.
His meeting with the police chief, a man named Kane, doesn’t last long either. It’s very clear that Murphy’s presence isn’t welcome here, but it’s tolerated because it has to be, and so Kane grants him privileges to do whatever he needs to do in town and speak with whoever he needs to speak to. It was one of the easier meetings he’s been to, until, of course, Kane tells him that Officer Blake is going to be with him every step of the way.
“Think of him as your partner,” the chief says.
“With all due respect, I don’t need a partner.”
“Well, I think you do.”
Murphy sighs in frustration. “I don’t need to agree to this. I’m on FBI business - you can call up my boss whenever you want, and he’ll confirm that to you.”
Kane looks up at him, and it’s clear he’s not giving an inch on this. “Oh, I will be,” he says, “but in the meantime - consider this a courtesy to the town. If you’re going to come in here and disrupt our business, then I am going to insist that one of my officers accompany you.”
There’s two ways he could go, here, and neither of them he particularly likes. If he insists not to take Bellamy with him, then he’s out of favour with the local police and, likely, the people of the town as well - and he needs them to be willing to talk to him. Yet, taking Bellamy along with him isn’t too enchanting of an idea either. Something about him is unsettling, in a sense that Murphy can’t quite figure out yet.
“Fine,” he finally says. “I will take him with me - but I promise, I am trying to leave as soon as I can.”
Kane doesn’t react to this either. He only hums his agreement, as if he knew all along that Murphy would agree to his terms, and he, too, wants him gone as quickly as possible. Figuring he should leave while he’s ahead, Murphy steps out of the chief’s office, quietly closing the door behind him. When he turns around, though, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees Bellamy standing right next to him.
“Hi,” he says, grinning like a fool. The book is gone, but the jacket still hangs off his shoulders despite the fact they’re now indoors. “I heard you’re my partner now.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Murphy mutters. “I just need to talk to a few people, that’s it, and then I’m leaving this town.”
Bellamy just keeps grinning. “Sure,” he says. “First, though, we have a body to go see.”
“No,” Murphy says, “we do not. I told you, I just need to-”
“Go talk to a few people, yeah, I heard you,” he says, cutting him off, “but we’re partners, and I need to go see a dead body that’s been found, so it looks like you’re coming with me.”
Murphy pauses in surprise. He wasn’t sure what would happen with this arrangement, but he wasn’t expecting Bellamy to try and take control of it. “I’m FBI,” he says slowly. “I outrank you - by, like, a lot.”
“You’ve mentioned,” Bellamy says, but he turns away, leaving him no choice but to follow.
“This is not how I was expecting today to go,” he calls out, though he catches up to the officer and falls in step beside him.
“You’ve mentioned that, too,” he replies. “Now - I never got your name.”
“It’s Murphy.”
“Well then, Murphy,” Bellamy says, “welcome to Sanctum. You’re going to love it here.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he sighs, but neither of them say anything more about it. Instead, they walk in silence as Bellamy leads him to the coroner’s office, a tiny, grey room with nothing much in it except for an examination table and several paintings hung up on the walls.
Two women are already in the room when they get there. One of them reclines against the wall in the corner of the room, while the other wears a lab coat and is standing by the examination table, which is currently filled with the very dead body of a man.
“Bellamy, good to see you,” the one wearing the lab coat says. “And - you brought a friend.”
“He’s not my friend,” Murphy says, quickly, though he’s not sure why he feels the need to assert that. In response, the woman laughs, though the other one leaning against the wall doesn’t react at all, keeping her arms crossed and her expression flat.
Bellamy glances at him, smiling all the same. “I think I’ll change your mind,” he says, and for a moment as he stares at him, it feels like the two of them are the only ones in the room - but then he looks away and the moment is shattered. “This is Clarke, our medical examiner, and over there in the corner is Lexa, her wife. Clarke, Lexa, this is Murphy - as I’m sure he’ll tell you many times, he works for the FBI.”
Murphy glares at him for only a second before looking away, deciding he’s got bigger issues to worry about than the attitude of a small town cop. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says.
Clarke smiles at him, though Lexa’s gaze remains steely. “You’re FBI?” she asks.
“Yeah, I am.”
Lexa glances over at Clarke for a second, and then looks back at him. “And what does the FBI want with Sanctum?”
“Lex, it’s fine,” Clarke says, quickly. “I’m sure Murphy is just passing through - right?”
He looks between the two of them, trying to figure out what they aren’t saying, but he can’t puzzle it out, not yet. “Sort of,” he replies. “I’m just looking for some people, that’s all.”
“You won’t find them here.”
“Lex,” Clarke repeats, looking over at her wife. Some sort of silent communication passes between the two of them, and Murphy has the sense that this feeling of being out of the loop is going to become very familiar to him very quickly. Everyone in this town, it seems, is keeping a secret - but he’s not sure if he should bother trying to find out what it is.
Lexa rolls her eyes, but she still doesn’t move away from the wall. “Who is it, then?” she asks. “Who are you looking for? We can prove to you that they aren’t here, and then you can be on your way.”
He bites his lip for just a moment. “And why is it that you want me gone so quickly?”
“Maybe I’m just not a fan of the government being where they aren’t needed - or wanted.”
“I won’t be here long,” he says, keeping his voice low, “unless I find something that means I have to stay.”
Lexa’s about to respond, when Bellamy steps in. “Actually - why are you here?”
“What, Kane didn’t tell you?”
“No, he did not,” Bellamy says, and the way he says it makes it clear that Kane’s not someone who tells a lot of people a lot of things.
Murphy looks at the room, and then shakes his head. “It’s confidential.”
“Oh, please,” Bellamy laughs, “I’m your partner, at least for now, so that gives me clearance - and Clarke and Lexa have clearance for all Sanctum matters, too. Your business here counts as a Sanctum matter, right?”
“Sure,” Murphy says, slowly. He knows he shouldn’t reveal his motives, not here with civilians, but something about Bellamy’s insistence makes him want to. He’s never felt like this on any of his assignments, but the more he thinks about it, the more Sanctum is pulling him in - he wants to know its people and, most importantly, he wants to know its secrets.
“So?” Bellamy asks, pressing him. “What business does the FBI have with Sanctum?”
“I’m looking for Charmaine Diyoza,” he says. “Do any of you know her?”
The three of them glance at each other, a heavy silence falling over the room. They know something, that much is clear - but what, exactly, he can tell he’ll have to work to discern. “Her daughter lives here,” Clarke finally says.
“Hope, yeah, I know,” he replies. “I’ve got information that she’s returned to Sanctum, possibly to reunite with her daughter.”
Bellamy nods, slowly, biting his lip in deep thought. “Well, Hope just returned from out of town a couple days ago,” he says, “but I haven’t seen her mother in years. Why are you looking for her?”
“Because,” he says, and though he hesitates to say more, Murphy figures he’s revealed too much already and he might as well finish, “she’s wanted for five different murders across the country.”
Immediately, the temperature in the room drops at least ten degrees. Murphy thinks he’s imagining it but then he shivers, and when he exhales, he can see his breath in front of him. “Bad air conditioning,” Clarke says, very quickly, looking over at Lexa.
Lexa’s closed her eyes, and she’s pressing her nails into the palms of her hands, so tightly that her fingertips have turned white. “I’m sorry,” Murphy says, “I didn’t want to upset anyone.”
“It’s fine,” Clarke replies, though she isn’t really paying attention to him. Instead, she keeps watching Lexa, relaxing only when her wife finally opens her eyes and relaxes her hands, the room returning to a somewhat normal temperature moments later. He looks over at Bellamy for answers, but he notices that he’s the only one who didn’t seem to notice the cold in the slightest.
Murphy pauses, glancing up at the ceiling, and seeing no signs of vents or that the room has any kind of air conditioning at all. “You should really get that fixed,” he says, knowing he shouldn’t press further, not yet, even though he can’t for the life of him figure out what’s just happened.
“We’re working on it,” Clarke agrees, but her expression is troubled.
He looks over at Lexa, who seems even less relaxed than she had before. “Are you alright?”
“Of course,” she replies, far too quickly. “I just don’t like the cold.”
“Yeah, you’re not the only one,” he says, softly, glancing over at Bellamy once more. The tips of his ears are still tinged pink from the sudden temperature change, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.
“Anyway, enough about all this,” Clarke says. It’s clear she’s rushing to change the subject, but he lets her. “You’re here for him, aren’t you?”
“We are,” Bellamy agrees, coming closer to the examination table with the dead body on top of it. “What can you tell us?”
“Carl Emerson, 38. He was found close to the cliffs,” she says. “No sign of an accident or an attack - I think it’s a heart attack, but he seems far too young. Pass me that scalpel, would you?”
Bellamy keeps on asking questions as he grabs the scalpel to pass to her and begin the autopsy, while Murphy turns away, keeping an ear open to listen to their conversation but looking around the room as he does so. The paintings around the room keep drawing his attention. Now that he’s got a proper chance to look at them, he can tell that they’ve all been done by the same person, and each one of them is hung inside of a glass case, so that he couldn’t touch their surfaces even if he wanted to.
One in particular grabs his attention, hung in the center of one of the walls. It’s a landscape painting, done of a town, and he realizes as he gets closer that it’s of Sanctum itself. All of the details are evident, from the main street to the large harbour. It’s intricate, and he can tell that whoever did it spent a very long time on making it perfect.
“Careful,” Lexa says, watching him closely as he approaches the painting. Now that he’s practically next to her, he realizes that she’s still holding herself with lots of tension, as if she’s scared of something in the room - though he can’t tell what that could be.
“It’s protected behind glass,” he says, gesturing to the painting. “What am I going to do?”
Lexa looks at the painting, and then at him, the indents of her nails visible in the palms of her hands. Her fear is palpable, and the closer he gets to her, the colder it feels. “Just be careful,” she repeats.
He wants to ask more, even just to check that she’s alright, when Clarke cries out from behind them. “Bellamy, you’re bleeding!”
Bellamy curses, and as Murphy walks over to them, he sees that she’s right - there’s a long gash in Bellamy’s hand, and it’s dripping blood onto the floor. “Must have been when I grabbed the scalpel,” he says, though he doesn’t seem particularly fazed by the wound.
“That’s got to hurt,” Murphy says, wincing in sympathy pain.
“No, it’s fine,” Bellamy says, even as Clarke grabs a bandage from a drawer. “I don’t even feel it.”
“Sure thing, tough guy,” he replies, scoffing at the words. Small or not, the cut is deep enough that it’s still bleeding, even as Clarke covers the wound.
Bellamy grins, though he says nothing more about it. “You’ve got to be more careful,” Clarke says, quietly. “Especially now.”
“Yeah, I know,” Bellamy agrees, and once again, Murphy gets the sense that there’s a lot more being said here that he’s not privy to. “Thank you - let us know what you find out about Emerson, alright? If there’s no evidence of foul play, it probably was a heart attack, but we’ll ask around.”
“Sure thing,” Clarke says. Murphy looks down at the body once more, seeing no sign of foul play himself, but he does notice a thick tattoo on the corpse’s left wrist. It’s of a swirling circle with small symbols that he doesn’t recognize on each corner. He’s never seen anything like it before, and can’t for the life of him figure out what it’s supposed to mean.
“This tattoo looks fresh,” he points out. “Have either of you ever seen anything like this before?”
Bellamy looks down at the drawing, and then shakes his head. “No,” he says, “but it is odd, that’s for sure.”
“Doesn’t really mean much,” Clarke says, “just that Emerson here had an odd taste of body decor.”
“True,” Murphy agrees, but something about the tattoo seems to draw him in and demand his attention. He can’t place it, but he feels like he’s seen the symbol somewhere before - but that can’t be possible. He’d remember having seen an image that distinctive.
Bellamy hums, checking the cut on his hand once more, clearly satisfied once he sees that it’s stopped bleeding. “Right, then,” he says. “You need to find the Diyozas, and I need to go check the cliffs, where Emerson died. Lucky for us, Hope lives right by the cliffs, and they are all the way across town.”
“How is that lucky for us?”
“We can go sight-seeing, of course,” Bellamy replies, as if this is obvious.
“I really don’t have time-”
“Sure you do,” he says. “Besides, everyone in Sanctum knows everyone. Meeting the locals and seeing all the spots in town is going to help you more than you think.”
Murphy sighs, not seeing a way out of this one since he’s been burdened with taking Bellamy along with him. “Oh, fine,” he says. “Show me around your town, then, if you must.”
“I must,” Bellamy says, thanking Clarke and Lexa. Murphy gives them a wave on his way out as well, both of them politely smiling at him as he closes the door to the medical examiner’s office.
Just before they’re about to leave, Murphy glances down at Bellamy’s hand, looking at the cut and the bandage. “You sure that’s okay?” he asks, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s reaching down and gently taking hold of his hand, lifting it so he can see the wound. Bellamy says nothing - he only stares at him, wide-eyed as Murphy gently holds his hand, checking the cut until he’s satisfied that it is, indeed, fine. Even as he lets him go, he says nothing at all, only blinking at him in pure and utter surprise.
“What?” Murphy asks. “What is it?”
Bellamy exhales, softly, and then shakes his head in wonderment. “Nothing,” he says, though that is obviously not the case. “I, uh - nothing at all. Let’s go.” Quickly, and without further words, Bellamy turns away and quickly begins walking down the street, an urgency in his stride that had never been there before.
Murphy watches him go for only a moment, not sure of what just happened between the two of them, but he knows, without a doubt, he wants to figure it out. He’s only met a few people in this town, but there are more secrets here and more skeletons in closets than he knows what to do with, but - it’s intriguing. For the first time since he’d become a federal agent, Murphy himself feels a genuine sense of wonder, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, Sanctum might have more to offer him than he once believed.
“Hey, wait up!” he calls out to Bellamy, quickly catching up to him. “You alright?”
“Of course,” Bellamy replies. The shock is gone, and he seems just like he did when Murphy had first met him - though now, it’s clear to him that this happy-go-lucky persona of his is a facade.
For reasons that are beyond him, he wants to know who Bellamy is without all the exterior, and he wants to know the truth about him - but he knows he’ll have to wait to find all that out. For now, he’s got to be content with being shown around a seaside town, so full of fog that he still can barely see down to the end of the street. Just an hour ago, Murphy would have contested this, and done all he could to avoid being stuck in this town for longer than he has to be - but now, he’s starting to think maybe it won’t be all that bad.
“Okay, then,” Murphy says, “lead on.”