Aftershock

Headaches, they had plagued him ever since Vivian Herms, the Director of Rescue, had given him the information on a group called The Shock. As it turned out, The Shock was a group of computer hackers causing havoc throughout several countries. Rescue hadn’t been able to pinpoint them and they were assembling a team to try a new approach.  

Barker had left the office without giving a definitive answer to Mrs. Herms. He wasn’t much for group efforts. As a matter of fact, he hated groups. People wanting to chime in with their crummy ideas, or trying to take over the role of leader; no one led Detective Sanec Barker.  

Barker sank back further into his newly bought couch and held his head with his paw. The headaches had been coming more frequently with the thought of this group. Every time a headache occurred, Barker imagined the face of Vivian Herms looking at him with a certain plea to her expression. She needed him, that, he was sure of.  

A knock at the door brought Barker from his perpetual daze. The voice accompanying that knock brought him to a sigh.  

“Get up,” said the squawking parrot from behind the door, “you are late for work for the third day in a row,” it finished.  

Barker didn’t need to be a detective to figure out that his boss, and head detective, Psitticus was staring at the peephole with a grimace spread across his ugly face.  

Barker thought about letting old bird brain knock his life away. He thought about sinking further into the couch and sleeping. Then, Psitticus knocked again, loud this time, and Barker’s headache flared even more.  

“Fine,” Barker started, getting up off the couch, “I am coming,” he yelled. Psitticus must not have been happy with the answer because he knocked again. Barker envisioned strangling the parrot but thought better of it. It is always messy killing someone in your own home.  

Barker reached his paw out and unlatched the lock, then the chain, then opened the door. Psitticus stood before him, dressed in a disheveled grey suit. The head detective was never much for dressing snazzy. Barker didn’t step out of the way; he had no intention of inviting Psitticus into his home.  

“What do you need?” he asked, still guarding the doorway like a nightclub bouncer. Psitticus didn’t try to struggle past him. He knew this game already; Barker wasn’t much for pleasantries or house calls.  

“I want you to return to work,” Psitticus started in a squeaking voice, “You haven’t been in for three days. Cases are piling up and the Mayor is on my tail.” Psitticus glanced over Barker’s shoulder into the living room. “What in the name have you been up to anyhow?” he asked.  

Barker wasn’t much in the mood to explain to anyone, let alone his boss, about the situation with Rescue. He didn’t feel like fumbling through some lame explanation about why he was so disheveled himself. Barker instinctively reached up to straighten his collar, only to realize he wasn’t even wearing a shirt.  

“Been busy,” he replied. Psitticus scoffed. He knew better than to ask twice what Barker already answered once. It would just become a verbal sparring match and Psitticus was at least smart enough to realize he would lose that battle.  

“Do you plan on returning to work anytime soon?” it was formed as a question, but Barker knew birdbrain had wanted it to be taken as a command.  

“Been busy,” Barker said.  

“So, you have said already, but that doesn’t answer my second question,” Psitticus countered.  

Barker grabbed at his head, it was in full throbbing mode now. He needed to get rid of Psitticus. He needed to return to the couch and sink into the cushions until he didn’t exist anymore. Instead, he did the sensible thing. “I will be in this afternoon,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just say tomorrow morning. It was probably something to do with the stern look on the face of his boss. Even if he didn’t respect the man behind the title, he at least had to pretend he respected the title.  

“We have something important to take care of…” Psitticus started. Barker stepped back and slammed the door. He wished it would have smashed the beak of Psitticus back into his throat, but it hadn’t, probably for the best.  

“I said I would be in this afternoon,” Barker yelled. He could imagine Psitticus’ face on the other side of the door. Scrunched and angry. It almost made his head feel a bit better, almost. Not enough so that Barker didn’t return to the couch, rubbing his temples and praying for a few hours of sleep. 

2.  

The office was just as Barker remembered it, crowded and stuffy. His headache had faded a bit, but his mood had failed to enhance. Barker trodden and a little disheveled plodded through the door.  

“Good of you to join us,” Psitticus was sitting at Detective Lucky’s old desk. What he was doing there was a mystery, one that oddly Barker didn’t feel the need to solve. Instead, he ignored the trite comment and moved over to his own desk. “There is a folder there for you,” Psitticus pointed with his skinny fingers, “Straight from the Mayor; the council is getting quite worried about this one, Barker.”  

Barker sat in his seat, not the comfy seat of Rescue, but the hard seat of the local Urgway Police Department. Barker didn’t ask Psitticus what the case was and he pondered on not opening the file at all, just to make the bird wriggle in his seat.  

“It isn’t a suggestion,” Psitticus said, pushing himself from Lucky’s desk, “You do the case or you find a new job.” The parrot walked over to where Barker was sitting and flipped open the file for him.  

Inside the first page was just a series of pictures. Several men and women staring star eyed out into nothing. Mug shots and quite a few of them littered the printed sheets. “All of them picked up within the last week. None of them competent enough to talk about what happened, but all of them showed the same symptoms. Glazed eyes, confused expression, and the inability to communicate, but that wasn’t the end of it.” Psitticus flipped another page in the file. This series of pictures was much more grotesque than the first set.  

“This seems to happen if you lock more than one of them in the same cell,” the head detective stated.  

The pictures were easy to figure out. Bodies showed bite marks, missing chunks of flesh, and even one mutilated hand with missing fingers.  

“They are eating each other?” Barker asked, astounded it had taken Urgway this long to self-destruct into cannibals.  

Psitticus looked disgusted by the pictures. Barker was quite indifferent about the whole situation. People did grotesque things.  

“They seem to have no conscious left. One of the men was a lawyer on Monday and by Wednesday he was eating a lady’s face for dinner. It doesn’t make any sense,” said bird brains.  

Barker eyed the pictures a little more in depth. Teeth marks were aplenty. Some of the victims looked to have been held. Some showed prolonged restraint from handcuffs. The local police department was beyond their grounds on this one.  

“Drugs?” Barker asked. He flipped the next page with his claws. It was a series of toxicology reports from the lab. Seemed as if each victim had been tested for all known substances on the streets in Urgway.  

“All of them test clean for anything we know,” Psitticus added without need.  

Barker could clearly read that not a single one had shown signs of drug use. What was even odder is that most seemed to be respectable individuals. Not the scum of the earth you would usually suspect to eat one another.  

“What has been done so far?” Barker asked. He closed the folder. He knew that the work laid out before him wouldn’t help him a bit. Not a single police officer knew a lick about detective work.  

“All patients have been moved to the local psych unit. A Doctor named Doyle is watching over them now. None have changed since they started their rampage. No signs of getting better or worse. Not a single one of them is worth questioning.” Psitticus looked dumbfounded, or normal.  

“Well, okay,” Barker said, pitching the folder into the waste bin beside his desk.  

Psitticus stood by him for a moment longer and then sighed. “Just figure it out, Barker.” 

Barker reached up instinctively to adjust his tie but found his hand instead rubbing his temples. That damn Vivian Herms.  

3. 

One bad thing about being the best detective in Urgway was that Barker didn’t get to take any time to himself. It was always case after case. So many files stacked with other files. Most of the time, Barker could thumb through and solve a case quite quickly. Other times, he would file them away and come to his own conclusions. Urgway didn’t always need answers, sometimes Urgway just needed to move on. Barker was there to help them with this.  

This case was different. At least in the sense that someone was targeting the rich and powerful. Someone was scaring the pants off the Mayor of Urgway. This meant that Barker had to at least put on his best face about the situation, even if he didn’t give a lick about the case. The Mayor could make Barker’s life a lot more difficult. It was best to be on his good side.  

So, while Barker wanted nothing more than to figure out the case of The Shock. He instead found himself strolling the crummy medical district of Urgway. While a million dollar allowance had been set aside for a new hospital complex on the west end of town, the rest of the medical world was still in the dark ages. Any building that wasn’t attached to the hospital was old and falling in on itself. This included Urgway’s psych unit; which was aptly named Concave Corporations.  

“The reports are all the same, Mr. Barker…” the doctor called Doyle slammed the binders onto the desk, “read them if you want,” he finished. The good doctor didn’t seem too interested in the case. It wouldn’t get him a medal or any award. The man had clearly been an army doctor and had very little use for the mentally insane. “Druggies have no place in a psychiatry hospital,” he continued.  

Barker wanted to zone him out, but the doctor had one of those painful screeching voices. The kind like nails on a chalkboard made even worse by Barker’s already pounding head.  

“No changes since they arrived,” Barker didn’t bother to look at the files. He supposed the doctor told it straightforward, very boring case files. If this man couldn’t diagnose and figure it out, he would sweep it under the rug. It was a lot easier than looking incompetent.  

“Honestly, I grew tired of them after the first day. We padded their rooms. It is rather archaic down there now. Most of them are in padded rooms, strapped to their beds, and dosed with the highest sedation I can prescribe without killing them..” the doctor tapped his thumb and forefinger together, “though, technically it would be a service to them if I just squashed the disease from them that way.”  

Barker didn’t disagree. He wasn’t so respectful of life that he didn’t know when a rabid needed to be put down. This wasn’t his call, however. This was the call of the Mayor and he wanted these people back on the streets, not in coffins. It was a pity really, be a much easier case if the victims were already dead. Then, Barker could have focused on the case from Vivian Herms.  

Not that he was so eager to help her. He was just eager to lose this beating in his brain. He reached up and pulled loose his collar. It was hard to presume decency when your head was splitting and your mind was about to bulge through your eyes.  

“I presume you will want to speak with them, Detective?” the doctor asked. “It will be a sad waste of time, but I know how your type are.”  

Barker didn’t have the energy to trade jabs with this white coat. He would let him have the day, because clearly if Barker couldn’t figure this out he would have just jumped to the number one suspect.  

4. 

The basements of these kinds of places were never clean. They smelled of cleaning product and ammonia – or urine – mostly urine. Then, there were the noises. People with debilitating disorders of the brain never seemed to stay quiet long. They had to make noises at all times. Even random noises, that didn’t make a lick of sense. They just couldn’t abide by the stillness without noise.  

“I assume you’re Detective Barker?” asked a middle-aged otter in a purple lab suit. Her mouth and eyes were covered as if scared she may catch the crazies.  

“Just point me in the direction of the face eaters,” Barker replied.  

The lady tapped her pin on the clipboard. She knew where they were, but everyone was in theater these days. “They are the forth door down. Looks like they are all strapped and sedated. Won’t be getting much from them.”  

Barker didn’t bother replying. He was getting even less from her than he would from the patients. He didn’t need their testimonial anyhow. He only wanted to see their reactions. Wanted to see if any semblance of who they were was left inside their hollowed minds.  

Unsurprisingly, the answer was no. Sedated would have been one way of putting these former high standing citizens mental state. Another would have been to say their brains were flushed in an industrial sized toilet. The majority drooled down their cheeks. Their eyes were rolled into the back of their heads. Bodies were limp and unusable. Whatever they had these people on was the equivalent to death.  

All except one, that is. One of the patients hadn’t even been fitted for their gown yet. His eyes were not alert in the sense of a normal person. However, he wasn’t drooling and bleary-eyed either. Whenever this patient had come into the unit, it had been recent enough that they hadn’t killed what was left of him yet.  

Barker moved slowly towards the man. He was tied down, but better safe than sorry when it came to facing eating people. The man, who was a suit-wearing otter, stared blankly towards the wall. He showed no emotions at all as Barker stood ten feet back from his tied down body. Barker made to step a few feet closer. The man still sat as if he had no cares in the world to give. Barker moved a little closer and the man lunged forward. His eyes moved from nothingness to full on rage. His teeth clashed hard against one another, in what Barker would have thought was enough to break his jaw. The straps held, but Barker still stepped back. Barker’s paw went up and readjusted his tie and then wiped the sweat from his brow.  

With his heart pounding rapidly, Barker moved in a circle much slower and further away from the man. The otter had stopped pulling against his ties, but he continued following Barker with his eyes. The eyes that promised to rip Barker to shreds if he was given the chance. Barker wouldn’t get close enough for that.  

“What did you do to yourself?” Barker didn’t expect an answer. He moved behind the patient and watched as the man turned back forward and went still again. It was almost as if the man had forgotten Barker was there. The man’s body went limp again and the tenseness fell from his muscles.  

Barker moved quickly out in front of the man again and again the man lunged to try to attack. Barker jumped behind the stretchers and out of view and the man went slack again.  

“So, it is all about sight,” Barker thought out loud.  

Two nurses came into the room. One was carrying a large syringe filled with a yellow liquid. The other must have just been there for moral support. The man started to go rabid again as the nurses came into sight, but with a quick stick of the needle, he was gone from the worries of this world.  

“Medication works quickly,” Barker said.  

The nurses turned as if just noticing the detective was standing in the room. “It works quickly but doesn’t last as long as normal. Something about their state awakens them in only about an hour.”  

Barker had presumed it was something strong. He doubted all of these people being lawyers, doctors, judges, and businessmen had found the same low life dealer. So, that just left the method of administration. How had each of these men and women gotten the same substance and suffered the same effects? 

Barker followed the nurses out of the room. There was no need to bother with questioning the comatose corpses. He thought again about just pinning it on the doctor named Doyle but figured he would hold it off as a last resort. Then, he left the hospital. He had the names of the people; the next step was finding the cause.  

5. 

The best thing about the patients being immobilized and incapacitated was that their homes were now empty. This meant Barker wouldn’t have to go through all the extra work of getting a warrant to search them. He could just as easily walk up to the door, finagle the lock, and then walk in.  

Like the people, the homes were rich and fancy; not at all the picture of man-eating habitats. The first home Barker visited belonged to a lawyer named Steve Honest. He doubted the last name was a good indicator of his nature.  

The man lived in a two-story, blue home. He lived alone with a small pet fish. An odd choice for accommodation since the man’s cleaning skills indicated there would be no women coming over anytime soon.  

Barker poked his nose into the front hallway and called out to make sure he hadn’t been wrong about anything. When no one gave a returning answer, he walked in further. Clothes littered the front room couch and chair. The television still blared some old western program. Barker didn’t bother walking into the room; clearly, the man wasn’t sitting in there often.  

Barker made for the stairs, as it was likely that the man slept somewhere on the second story. Barker found the room easily enough and just like the living room, it turned out to be a mess. The pillows and blankets were strewn across the bed. Old cans of soda and beer littered the side table. A few prescription bottles laid on the edge of the dresser. None of them were interesting or would cause him to eat another man.  

Barker rummaged through the drawers. Most of them were empty. The clothes were all down in the living room. A second doorway led into the bathroom, which smelt like day old death. Barker covered his nose and flushed the toilet a few times to disperse some of the smell. It didn’t work all that well.  

Barker rummaged around on the counter. There was a soap bar with matted hair, a toothbrush that was well past its best by date and several mounds of change. 

Nothing indicated that the man would soon be running full steam ahead off the deep end. Barker left the room and returned downstairs. He rummaged through a small pile of mail; which turned out to be boring. Then, he moved into the kitchen and rummaged through the bare cabinets. The only item of real food Barker found was a small takeout box of Chinese that had no logo or name. Barker threw it back into the fridge and closed the door. He left disappointed.  

The second home was the home of a big-time corporate CEO. Her name was Lucile Goods and she was filthy rich it seemed. The home was so large that Barker could have camped in a room for several months and he doubted the woman would have even noticed.  

It turned out this woman did have a husband, but the man was rarely home. Lucile didn’t look like the most hospitable person. This made it even stranger that she would purposely impose madness on herself.  

Most of the pictures on the wall were of Lucile making some type of business deal. She was always dressed in a power suit and heels. Her face always screamed prune. The men in most of the pictures almost seemed cowed into making the deals with her. Even Barker felt like he was adjusting his tie more and all he had witnessed of the woman was pictures.  

The rooms were a lot cleaner than that of Lawyer Honest. Barker presumed that Mrs. Goods had a maid or two to help her on that accord.  

Barker rummaged through the living rooms and found nothing but expensive paintings, furniture, and china. He went through two rooms, as it seemed the happy couple didn’t bed together any longer. The rooms had plenty of gold, silver, and diamonds, but nothing that would induce people eating madness.  

Barker double checked his notes. The husband had not gone mad, so whatever it was that had occurred the husband had not partaken. Barker moved through any room that seemed to show evidence of life. He found nothing at all interesting.  

Like the home of Mr. Honest, he went to the kitchen last. It was least likely that the patrons would be doing their drug of choice in their eating area. But, at this point, Barker was getting a little hungry.  

The cabinets had a lot of food, but Barker hadn’t heard of most of it. He moved to the refrigerator. Inside were the basic condiments and lunch meats. Barker flipped through the contents on the shelf and grabbed a plain white Chinese box. It had no logo or name, Barker opened it up and looked inside. It was just plain noodles, but he was hungry. Barker started to rummage through the drawers for a fork; he had never mastered the use of chopsticks.  

He was almost ready to eat as he recalled the same strange box inside the home of Steve Honest. Barker lowered the box and looked it over again. There was nothing special about it. It was odd that a restaurant would send out a box without a logo or a name. Barker folded the box back up.  

Barker found he wasn’t quite as hungry as he had believed.  

Barker visited three more homes that day. In each of the homes, he found that same white Chinese box. The food wasn’t always the same, but wherever they had gotten the food from was clearly the same place. Barker took all the boxes and even doubled back to Mr. Honest’s house and grabbed the box his home.  

The only way to know for sure was to take them home and do his own test.  

6. 

Barker didn’t fancy himself some super science man. However, he knew enough to get the job done most of the time. He hated using the lab at the police station. First off, it was old and out of date. Second, it meant dozens more people fiddling with your evidence and chancing it being bungled.  

Barker had bought the instruments he owned slowly over time. There was no need to build a superstation. He mostly used it to manipulate the evidence, not test it. Evidence was easy to come by if you made it yourself. That was Barker’s little secret. One that Psitticus, Urgway, and Rescue need not know.  

His paws released the container of cheap Chinese food onto the counter. He squeezed his eyes shut. The headache had returned about an hour before. It was about that time Vivian Herms had crawled her way back into his thoughts. Like a worm, she had planted an idea into his head and now it pounded at the walls to be free. Barker leaned back and let out a sigh.  

The headache reached a pinnacle and Barker leaned over, vomiting into the trashcan beside him. He tried to blame it on the smell of chemicals in his mind, but it was hard to fool your own brain.  

Barker reached forward and grabbed some water, swishing it around in his mouth. The taste of one’s old food was never a pleasant one. He had been working now for over two hours to split the compounds in the Chinese food. He had come up with the basic ingredients to Chinese noodles, orange chicken, and a couple other basic dishes.  

Barker stood up and walked away from the container and back to his tools. The things Barker had left after the food was taken out were simple things really. Most were normal household wares. The only thing that stood out was a chemical found in a plant far to the south of Urgway, a plant that grew mostly in the high heat of the desert. Tily, it was commonly called. Tily had been attributed to a mass suicide hundreds of years ago. It was said to have convinced hundreds of people that the sun had set them on fire and they jumped from a high ledge into a shallow ravine to their deaths. It is unclear who lived to tell the story, but it did the job of scaring people away from the desert flower.  

Barker was unsure how the flower had gotten into Urgway. It wouldn’t cause people to eat one another at least it never had those effects before. Something it had been paired with could have triggered a reaction, but Barker couldn’t figure out what that pairing could be.  

He went through the tubes again and tried to match something to the Tily, but it was useless. Without trying it out on something, he really had no shot at figuring out what the combination was. The process was intriguing and doable, but it could take weeks to figure out. Barker didn’t have that kind of time with the Mayor breathing down this case’s neck.  

Psitticus had already called his phone seven times in the last two hours. Barker hadn’t bothered picking it up. He had nothing to report and it made him feel better that Psitticus was squirming in his seat. Nothing made Barker happier than putting a grimace on that bird beak.  

Barker, instead, tried to figure out where he could buy that much of the desert flower. There had been several more people reported to have gone insane over the last day. The Mayor had been on television proclaiming that his men were well on their way to having it under control. It was a bold-faced lie. As far as Barker knew, he was the only man even looking for a solution.  

No flower stores around the area claimed to sell Tily. It wasn’t a surprise, no one wanted to be associated with such a plant. That left Barker in a tougher situation, however. He tried miscellaneous shops, but none answered to the flowers either. Barker checked in with the local mail carriers. Someone had to have delivered the flowers.  

That was when he hit the nail on the head. Maxwell District High School, Some small time arts high school in the center of the Maxwell district of Urgway. 

Maxwell was a small time section of the city. It housed those who had mostly made their livings in the arts; painters, musicians, writers; all small time bits. Barker very rarely had to visit the district unless it was due to theft. Most of the time, it turned out to be nothing, no one really wanted to steal second-rate art.  

Barker gathered up his files. He wouldn’t need them, but it was always better to look official. He threw on an overcoat, it wasn’t cold, but he liked the effect. Then, he shut the door on his apartment and started off towards the end of this case, and the beginning of being able to focus on this Shock business.  

7. 

Barker remembered why he hated the Maxwell district before he even had to enter the suburb. It smelled oddly of disappointment and failure. The trees were all imported and looked fake, surrounded by the highlights of the city in the background. Even the grass was fake with an extra spring when you stepped.  

Barker exited the cab and was tempted to jump right back in. He had better things to do with his time. The Rescue had laid a whopper of a case on his plate. Something that he could actually sink his teeth into and use, but this case pulled him away. He reminded himself again that he needed the Mayor. He didn’t have to like the Mayor, but he still needed him to continue on.  

So, with reluctance, he shut the cab door, “Wait, here,” he yelled through the window. He was going in, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be stuck here.  

The Maxwell High school was decorated as if it were a museum of fine arts. It had cruddy paintings as you entered the door. To each side of the walk-in were statues that looked like they could have been made from play dough. Barker rubbed his temples; he wasn’t sure what caused the headache this time, the thought of the Shock or this school.  

“Excuse me, sir,” Barker looked up, “Can I help you?” asked a cat in a grey suit. Barker looked around at the walls and figured he didn’t expect anyone here to be any classier than the décor.  

“I am looking for any teacher who would have ordered an entire batch of Tily,” Barker replied. There was no reason to be coy or mysterious. Barker reached into his jacket pocket and whipped out his badge, for mere effect.  

The cat’s eyes widened. The confidence he had portrayed scattered like leaves in the wind. “I wouldn’t be privy to that information, sir,” he said. The cat started to look around for anyone to relieve him of this conversation.  

“Well, who would?” Barker asked.  

The cat seemed relieved to have an excuse to walk. “I will go get the principal.” With that, he was off down the hall, leaving Barker to stare at the hideous paintings on the wall.  

Only a few minutes passed before another cat in a grey suit waltzed into the entrance hallway. “May I help you, detective?”  

Barker didn’t bother turning. He could see the reflection of the man in the painting. One of the best parts of being a detective was to make the normal people antsy. “I need to know who ordered hundreds of Tily flowers from this school,” Barker said. Barker moved his paw up to the edge of the painting and flicked a large chunk of crusted paint from the corner. Even the color was cheap.  

The Principle didn’t step forward or make any reaction at all. “I see,” he said. He looked at the small piece of color on the floor. “Follow me,” he said, turning down the hallway.  

Barker followed. They moved down a small set of stairs and into a wooden paneled crevice that surely led to the Principal’s office. The carpet under their feet was a bright red and contrasted horribly off the walls. It was a wonder anyone thought this place was worth the time.  

The cat opened a small wooden door and they stepped into a medium-sized office. The cat moved around behind a sculpted desk. Barker opted to stay standing. Inside, the office was decorated with even more horrid paintings. These were presumably some of the better work of the students over the years. This was an even bigger indication that no one should bother with the school.  

“Now, you said the flower, Tily, correct?” the cat asked from behind his computer.  

Barker turned and looked at the Principle, who had put a large comical pair of glasses onto his face. “Yes.”  

The cat feigned some extra typing. “Looks like that would have been Mr. Watson. Though Watson has been on paid medical leave for about three weeks now.” The cat lifted the glasses from his nose.  

Barker didn’t have time to play cat and mouse with the man. “Where do I find him?”  

“Well, I..” the cat was going to continue the charade, but Barker’s head pounded and he wasn’t in the mood to play this silly game.  

“Tell me, now!” Barker said. Then, he slammed the badge on the desk. “Either that or you can come with me,” he said.  

The cat stopped playing games at that moment. “Let me just print you his home address.”  

Barker waited in the building just long enough to gather the paperwork he needed to find this Mr. Watson. Then, he happily moved from the school, intending to never visit again. As he walked towards the cab, he stopped for a moment to take a deep breath. His head was splitting and again the thought of Vivian Herms clouded his mind.  

8. 

Mr. Watson lived well above his means. Making salary at a high school could not have paid him to live so well. Yet, here he was living a modest dream life. A two-story home surrounded by a brown picket fence was where Barker stopped his cabbie. The car in the driveway screamed overpriced, but it seemed Mr. Watson was trying to live up to some image. Maybe he had sold a painting in the distant past and was still living off that dream.  

Barker walked up the sidewalk and noticed that weeds had overtaken the flower beds. While Watson was clearly a man of image, he had let his lawn go. Barker made a mental note. Then, he knocked on the door. He heard a fit of coughing from the other side and then a low rumbling voice answer, “Be there in a moment,” it said.  

Barker stood there for much longer than a moment, but he heard the footsteps behind the wooden door. They were slow and labored. Much as if the man had broken a limb. Barker looked out around the neighborhood as he waited. The houses surrounding Mr. Watson’s were much the same. Barker guessed it was one of those committee neighborhoods where no one could paint, trim, plant, or itch without permission from the council. Barker shuddered to think of ever having to be so controlled.  

Not that his accommodations were exactly freedom. He still did as he liked.  

Finally, after over four minutes, the door opened. In the frame stood a large, furry bear of a man, or at least a once large man. Something had caused the skin to sag over what could have once been muscle. The fur which would have been a full brown and thick was now light and patchy. The bear drew his paw up to his mouth and had another coughing attack. Barker turned away, whatever it was he wasn’t keen on catching it.  

“Sorry,” the bear sputtered. It was a pathetic scene.  

Barker waited for another fit to pass before introducing himself. “I am Detective Barker, from the Urgway police department.” Barker pulled his badge from his jacket pocket.  

The bear nodded. “What can I do you for?” he wheezed.  

Barker flipped the badge and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Seems that you have bought an awful lot of a certain flower called the desert flower or Tily,” Barker pulled out a notepad. He didn’t need it, but it always made people more talkative to see him writing something down.  

The bear wouldn’t be much more talkative. Mr. Watson coughed again and shook his head, “I haven’t ordered any Tily,” he stated.  

“Would I be welcome into your home, Mr. Watson?” Barker asked. He would need to see the inside of the home before he decided. He was coming in with or without permission, but it was easier if the bear just agreed.  

After yet another coughing fit, the bear waved Barker in behind him. “Sorry for the mess, been a little under the weather here lately.” Mr. Watson led Barker into a small sitting room. Here, Barker noticed several test tubes and small burners sitting around the edges of the room. He didn’t follow Watson as he sat in a large armchair. Instead, he moved towards the equipment.  

“Those didn’t turn out too well,” Watson started, “Tried to find my own cure for the cough, but it turns out I am not much of a scientist.”  

Barker thumbed a small beaker and sniffed his thumb. The paste was thick, but Barker doubted it would do much good against a cough. “Didn’t order any Tily to try and help with this experimenting?” Barker asked, still snooping through the supplies.  

“Nope…” started the bear, but it turned into a coughing fit and, for a moment, Barker wasn’t sure he would breathe again. But, breath, he did, with a large swallow of air. He sat for a few moments, not saying a word. “Just stupid home remedies I saw on the internet, none of them worked as you can tell.” Watson took another deep breath and pressed further into the chair.  

Barker could tell that these items hadn’t been touched in weeks. Whoever was making the drug that caused the user to eat another man hadn’t come from these generic supplies. It also hadn’t come from a man who could barely walk to answer his door. No drug dealer who was on his deathbed would make a good seller.  

There was absolutely no way this man was faking for a show either. He had invested too much time and effort into his image just to let weeds take over his flowers, and his grass grow ankle high. This man was dying. Barker could smell it in the air.  

Barker turned to look at Mr. Watson. The bear had closed his eyes and almost looked dead already, but his chest heaved with struggled breathing. Barker decided to let himself out. He didn’t need to disturb this bear anymore. It was enough that he wouldn’t make it through the month.  

Once outside, Barker glanced at the road and noticed his cab had moved on. Barker cursed under his breath. He had explicitly told the man to stay put. It was a long walk back to Urgway from here. He had found nothing of use, had solved nothing, and now, he was stranded. Barker kicked at one of the only surviving flowers on his way out the gate.  

Barker turned to start up the road, that was when he felt the touch on his shoulder and suddenly his knees went weak.  

9. 

Barker went to hold his temples, his head was pounding beyond belief, but his paws were tied down. He sat in an old wooden spindle chair, both his legs and arms tied. He didn’t bother to wiggle. Whoever had gone through the trouble surely wasn’t stupid enough to leave the ropes loose, and wiggling would only tighten them.  

Barker sat calmly but still squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stamp out some of the pain. He heard the footsteps before he saw the people. He didn’t bother opening his eyes. It didn’t matter what they looked like. It didn’t matter what they held. They had the advantage, but Barker still had his mind.  

“The famous Detective Barker,” a rough voice said. Barker nodded his reply. He indeed was everything that man had stated so far. “I would lie and say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I am not one much for false statements. I hope you understand.”  

The man left a moment for Barker to reply. Barker knew better, it was a trick he would have used. The man was trying to trip him up and make him look stupid. It was too bad for the man that Barker was smarter than him, even if he was currently trapped in a chair.  

“Quieter than I expected,” the man continued. Barker could hear him pacing. He had intended to scare Barker. He had not suspected that anyone could sit with their eyes closed and be so calm in a situation such as the one Barker found himself in. “No matter, I intended to do much of the talking anyhow.” The footsteps stopped right in front of Barker’s chair. Barker could hear the man’s breathing. He also knew three others stood in the room with them. They were probably there for muscle purposes. None of them would be talking with Barker this evening.  

“You are a canine. You are within the age of forty to forty-five. You haven’t worked much in your life, but when you did you were a salesman for I am guessing a small firm. Your accent puts you from out of Urgway, but you fit in nicely here with your petty crime. I am going to go out on a limb and say that you didn’t take kindly to Rescue coming to me. You are more worried than you would admit, but you won’t say it out loud in case these three other gentlemen hear you utter fear. You aren’t a big man. You probably have never killed another man in your life. You are more of a behind the scenes type, but this is important. You have to be seen as a leader in this. So, you hired these thugs and you gathered some nerve to confront me. You need for me to be scared away. But you failed to realize that I am not a coward, nor am I a runner. You can continue when you like,” Barker leaned his head back. He feigned boredom, even if his head was pounding and his heart ached to know more about this man.  

“You are as good as they say. I didn’t doubt that. I won’t be killing you, Barker. You hit the nail on the head. I don’t need to kill you to succeed in my endeavors. All I need to do is pacify you. Or I could continue to keep you too busy to look for me. Ordering a hundred Tily flowers under a name like Mr. Watson is only the tip of the iceberg as to what I can do. Making respectable men and women eat one another isn’t usually what I do, but I make exceptions from time to time. You’re right, I haven’t killed a single soul, but I do doubt those people will ever be the same again. What you can do with a few clicks of a button on the internet is amazing. Make your own Chinese restaurant. Cater to the rich. Hell, I even delivered it myself. Those idiots ate it up and then ate each other.”  

The man started to pace again. Barker could tell he was nervous.  

“It is all in my power to destroy you. To destroy the Mayor, or to take down Urgway’s communications. I can do it with the click of a button. Rescue can’t stop me. That’s why they came to you. No one can stop me, Barker. It isn’t a matter of being caught that has brought me to you. It’s the competition you represent.”  

The man placed his own hand on Barker’s nose. “It is what you want, is it not?” he said and ran his claw down Barker’s chin. “You don’t want to destroy the Shock. You want it for yourself.”  

Well, the man wasn’t completely wrong. Barker let a smile creep onto his face. “Fear is often a man’s own undoing,” Barker said.  

The man stepped back. “I do not often exchange words with people. I am, as you said, more of a behind the scenes type of man. So, do excuse me if I grow tired of this conversation. I will do what I came to do then I will leave. You will have been warned. You will have been informed. The Shock is mine. Urgway is mine. Soon enough, Acera will be mine. You can keep your nose out of my business and survive. Or, you can continue to meddle above your pay grade and be put down.”  

Barker felt two sets of hands grasp his head. He didn’t bother to fight. Again, he was strapped down and fighting was useless. The two sets of hands pushed his head forward and covered his mouth. Barker drew in a breath through his nose and figured out too late that powder had been placed before him. His head instantly swam and then again his body went weak.  

10. 

Barker awoke on his couch. His head still pounded. He rolled over and grabbed an old bottle of water from his stand. He took a few large drinks. Then he rolled up and placed his feet on the ground. The Shock had struck and tried to sting him. Rescue had set him into a fury of pissed off bees.  

Neither of them realized what they had gotten themselves into. Barker put his hand on the cushion of the couch and pulled out a small notebook. He flipped open the cover and grabbed the pen from the spindle.  

He put a check mark next to the first item on a small list.  

-Find Them-