The City of No Angels

Detective Barker’s words hit Vulpecula like a ton of bricks and, once more, all he could think about were his own meritable traits or lack thereof. Here, he’d been caught, at least on some level, for saving a young-boy from the prosecution of murder, but was that young-boy any better than Silas and Ricky Wilgo? The immediate answer playing in The Fox Detective’s head was a resounding ‘yes’, but, even if he had a better motivation than the hatred of an entire species, murder was still, in-fact, murder. How was Sanec Barker able to sleep at night? The way he was able to prosecute without hesitation had to have been a gained skill, Vulpecula supposed.

Vulpecula tapped his hands on the steering-wheel. No music played from his radio. He hadn’t started the car yet. He hadn’t even left the diner, merely watching as Detective Barker made his leave. Then, soon watched other customers do the same. How would Sanec have handled Nicholas’ death? Likely, for him, the last thing Barker would’ve done was care about what type of background the Wilgo brothers had. All that would matter for him was the safety of their last victim and justice for the victim who couldn’t be saved.

Or, maybe he would have. It was no coincidence Nicholas and Theodore were targeted. They were dogs, that’s why. Even in Urgway, a place where so many dogs called home, they could be targeted and killed for that detail alone. How would Detective Barker react to the situation. Would Nicholas Myers’ ghost follow him as well?

Vulpecula leaned back in his car, laying back on the head-rest. The blank chalkboard was no longer blank. His thoughts were cluttered, and it felt like a layer of fog was over his mind. He no longer knew how to feel. It was all too much at once. Unable to process any of it, he thought it better to simply stuff it down for a more opportune moment.

Since joining the Marybeth Police Department, his blank chalkboard had circle’s and intricates not unlike a spider’s web, woven without any rhyme nor reason he could make sense out of. Maybe Detective Barker’s expertise and experience would be able to help unclutter his mind and bring clarity. Maybe they’d be able to find out whether Priest Tiam’s confession was false, or merely a fact too difficult for his loved ones to swallow. Vulpecula turned the key in the ignition.

He wouldn’t be able to occupy himself waiting for Detective Sanec Barker. His head was too crowded; far overcapacity.

They had a lot in common, he and Barker. Vulpecula had lost his mother and father at a young-age and Sanec had spent time at an orphanage, a fact wedged in between clues on Vulpecula’s blank chalkboard.

Unfortunately, Detective Barker was a busy man. The fact Detective Barker wanted involved with the Priest Tiam dilemma showed something caught the Doberman’s attention, which also enticed Vulpecula. But Vulpecula also had his own share of loose-ends to worry about. He might not have made all the right choices, but he still felt in his gut many stones were left unturned in Tony Rockwell’s case.

2.

“When Raphael the Chosen wandered the cobblestone paths of Jerleak,” Priest Molayeth spoke, his inflection carrying a firm conviction behind it. “When his bare and bloody feet trudged the fields of Tuncid, and when Raphael’s body survived the thirty-day walk across the blistering Whispey Deserts, he did it with purpose!”

In-front of all the church people, Priest Molayeth shouted so loudly that, if there was a God, no doubt, his fingers were in his ears, trying to drown out the racket.

Vulpecula sighed at himself and his mental depiction of a large, muscular white fox, floating in the sky, wrapping a cloud around both his ears like a pillow. It was only a moment until his daydreams went on a tangent, an overtly complicated narrative about God calling his landlord to complain about his noisy neighbors. Who was the landlord, if not him? For that matter, why did God have to be a fox like himself? None of it made any sense whatsoever, but it served as a firm reminded for how dull he found churches to be.

“Raphael acted by God’s command and sought to free Maharris from constant chaos and suffering. The wars, the bloodshed, all of it!”

Vulpecula had his paws at his lap, digging his claws into the seat of the wood pew, carving scribbles out in a circle motion. The enthusiastic Priest Molayeth would surely be annoyed if he found out about Vulpecula’s destructive fidgeting, but once all the fascination Vulpecula had staring at the painted glass-windows of the church was used up, it was the only thing he could think of to occupy the time.

Priest Molayeth was a good enough replacement for Priest Tiam, as far as Vulpecula could tell. Not that he had a lot to compare him with. Hensley Noel would never need to write a “Father of the Year” acceptance speech, but at least V was thankful to say he wasn’t as caught up in religion as Tony Rockwell. Perhaps that was the more cynical side of Vulpecula talking, losing his hope in the world’s goodwill.

The teachings established with the Water Lily were even more contradictive than those of The Aeonian. This is documented, however, for some reason, when doubt is cast against certain parts of the teachings, instead of questioning their reliability, the church opted to retcon chapters like one might do a comic-book or a movie.

For instance, as Priest Molayeth put it, Raphael the Chosen survived a walk through the Whispey Deserts, but earlier editions of the Bible plainly said he lived off a small amount of bread and water from cacti in the deserts. The problem with that, and the reason it’s left out now, is that if sought nourishment from a cactus, you’d find the water is very acidic and that all cacti in the Whispey Deserts contain toxic alkaloids.

Obviously, God’s will could surely escape such a plot-hole, but if God’s involved, why not lift old Raphael the Chosen by the collar of his shirt, lift him up, and take him straight to Maharris? Why not have a more convenient chosen one? What’s wrong with Billy the Chosen from Acera or Cynthia the Chosen from Italina?

Vulpecula squirmed around in his seat for a second, having a one-sided argument with himself really isn’t what he came to the Church of the Water Lily to do.

Priest Molayeth continued his sermon. At one moment, he even seemed to have noticed The Fox Detective’s presence, stopping mid-sentence because how taken aback by it he was.

Vulpecula wasn’t exactly for certain why he came to the Church. Never the religious type, the teachings of the Water Lily weren’t even practiced in any district in Acera where he was raised.

Instead, Acera focused more strictly on The Aeonian, which was the Bible most commonly accepted in all Maharris, for that matter. Thing is, oddly enough, despite their disagreements and wars that date back way past The Canes Vinatici, The Aeonian and The Church of the Water Lily are practically the same book and same God. They both believe God sent a bunch of magical men to the Mountain of Jalint, and that they put up force-fields or veils or something, over all five major cities, forcing everyone to play nice with one another. The only difference is that the Church of the Water Lily believe that Raphael the Chosen was a prophet of God and was equipped with the Water Lily, which acted as a vessel needed to contain all of the Aeonians’ powers to make those veils or force-fields or whatever. That’s it!

“Every one of us is afraid,” Priest Molayeth said, shrugging his shoulders to convey it wasn’t a big deal, “All of us have fears that bind us, all of us have sins we think would be easier to give into than fight against. It wasn’t only by the strength of God that Raphael the Chosen was able to overcome the obstacles he did. And it isn’t only by the power of prayer and God you’ll conquer every demon you encounter. Inner-strength and conviction will participate in every journey you embark on. The faith in your own judgment towards God’s judgment, and the fortitude to stay the path despite all oppositions, whatever the cost.”

Vulpecula wasn’t for certain whether he was witnessing a sermon from a priest or the speech of a motivational speaker. How much of a difference was there when it was all said and done?

* * *

Priest Molayeth’s dialogue was thorough and more than informative enough, offering detailed recounts of the Bible. Many of these, even Vulpecula already knew about, which begged the question of how many times he reiterated the same passages over and over again. Sooner or later, he dismissed everyone, although, not before a collection plate was handed around, collecting funds from anyone willing to partake. Knowing it could benefit him, Vulpecula made certain to throw in a couple coin.

As the crowd began to disperse, Vulpecula leerily approached the Priest. A small group of individuals still interacted with him, shaking the Priest’s hand, large smiles on their face that the Priest was more than happy to reciprocate.

“Detective Vulpecula Noel, to what do I owe the pleasure!?” Priest Molayeth said, drawing attention to Vulpecula that wasn’t particularly desired.

The Priest walked away from several of the churchgoers and made eye-contact with The Fox Detective. An ape, Priest Molayeth stood up straight and gave off an intimidating, towering presence, one that made Vulpecula yearn for when he still had a walking stick to use as a weapon.

Vulpecula coughed, clearing his throat before he spoke, “I’ve been thinking a lot about monsters, lately.”

Priest Molayeth held a smile, shaking his head, “With the amount of crimes committed in Urgway, I can’t say I blame you for that. I can tell you that The Church of the Water Lily has been a sanctuary for a lot of different people.”

“The Priest before you were arrested for stealing the Water Lily and one of your most notable members, Tony Rockwell, was arrested for the murder of a man named Finn Saldana.” Vulpecula said, surprisingly, with some assertion, “Unless I’m mistaken, that means The Church provides sanctuary for the monsters as well.”

“By that statement, I can guess you’re not interested in hearing my pitch for reasons to join the church?” Molayeth said. He followed it by a chuckle that seemed forced, but not nervous. His entire aura seemed to give off that of someone very difficult to rattle.

“I’m afraid I’ve never been the religious type, Father,” Vulpecula replied dryly.

“Please,” Priest Molayeth said, putting his hand-up, “Call me Jim.”

“Tell me, Jim,” Vulpecula started again, not making eye-contact with the ape, and instead, looking at the angel statues behind the altar. “What makes a man of the clothe as devout and dedicated as Priest Tiam steal the most coveted item in his religion, what makes a man with the conviction and inner-strength of Tony Rockwell take the life of someone else in cold blood?”

“Before I took the reins, I knew Father Tiam very well. I knew Tony Rockwell also. It saddens me to hear about Tony’s behavior which I have no doubt was meanness awakened from years and years of being stuffed down and repressed, never dealt with,” the Priest spoke plainly and without hesitation, “I believe Tony Rockwell left a breadcrumb trail to the truth. One you must be willing to look at objectively. I can’t imagine the things he must have been exposed to, working with your father, and I mean this with no disrespect, but being on the frontlines like that? Did Finn Saldana have surfacing past trauma or did Tony Rockwell, and did it magically make Finn Saldana disappear, or the person we knew Tony Rockwell to be?” His voice carried a surprising amount of empathy, something Vulpecula hadn’t truly expected.

“And what do you have to say about Priest Tiam, what made him steal the Water Lily like he did?” Vulpecula asked, loosening up some from the Priest’s last response. Maybe Church was someplace else that Hensley Noel wrongfully kept him from, another place he could’ve belonged, but wouldn’t.

“Someone willing to do something so heinous never had an ounce of good in them,” Priest Molayeth replied fast and with a teethy sharpness in how he spoke.

Vulpecula was taken aback by the swift, suddenness with Priest Molayeth’s reaction. In a second’s time, Vulpecula’s demeanor tensed up once more. “Seems peculiar,” The Fox started, “You are willing to expend so much sympathy and understanding to a murderer, but immediately condemn a thief.”

“It isn’t only the act of thievery, it is also what he stole,” the Priest corrected.

“The Water Lily means more to you than a human life?”

“When a person dies, Detective,” Priest Molayeth’s voice had a holier than thou certainty that Vulpecula could never understand someone having about something so uncertain, “their soul is surrendered to God to face judgment, to find their paradise or submit to their damnation. The Aeonians didn’t have their paradise. Their souls were sacrificed and contained in that Water Lily,” The Priest put emphasis on the name and pointed toward the front of the altar, a fact Vulpecula thought was strange, like he’d forgotten the Water Lily was no longer there. “Quite a cruelty, stealing souls for some coin.”

“Some seem to think Priest Tiam might not have been responsible,” Vulpecula mentioned, thinking back to Samuel’s words, wondering why Samuel hadn’t contacted the church about his suspicions.

“Is that why you’re here, Detective? Following a lead about the Water Lily? Our church would be willing to expend all resources if it means the Water Lily’s returned.”

“Would anyone else have been able to steal The Water Lily, anyone besides Tiam?”

“Maybe, but why would Tiam have confessed to stealing the Water Lily in the first place?”

“He could have been forced. They could have threatened his wife, perhaps?” Vulpecula suggested.

“Heads of the church aren’t allowed to marry or have sexual engagements, it comes with the priesthood.”

Vulpecula was already aware of this rule but was doing his best to lead the conversation toward confirming his suspicions about the relationship Tiam and Samuel had together. “Was he married before that?”

Priest Molayeth shook his head.

“As I’ve suggested, I am also investigating Tony Rockwell’s case, some things I’ve begun uncovering have helped me find more about him. Both of the cases are similar, both individuals have confessed to the crimes involved.”

“Which begs the question of how much of a case exactly exists for either of them, Detective. I understand Tony Rockwell’s relationship with your father, but, Tiam, especially, it seems like you’re grasping at straws.”

“What would you say if I told you that I’ve found information that leads me to conclude Tony Rockwell was a closeted homosexual?”

Vulpecula knew how much heinousness such an accusation carried before Priest Molayeth even spoke a word, simply by the appalled look on his face. “That I’m glad he’s off the streets, Detective.”

“Hmm…,” Vulpecula muttered, checking off the reason why Samuel wasn’t willing to risk turning to the church for help.

“Is there sins troubling you, something you want to talk about with me?”

“There is this nice-looking bartender,” Vulpecula jested, then, shook his head in irritated disbelief, “Honestly, I don’t think I have any sins I wish to share with your church.”

“I take it you’re not a believer, do you follow, perhaps, the traditional teachings of The Aeonian?” Priest Molayeth asked, after showing relief when he realized Vulpecula was kidding about the bartender.

“I follow the monsters, Jim.”

3.

The Suede Inn was the last known residence of Finn Saldana and was the only area that Vulpecula found himself drawn toward. He stared at the computer screen. It had seemed like an unnecessary use of time and resources before, but with no other leads to go on, he wanted to know more about the Suede Inn. The technology available at the Marybeth Police Department might have been more “dinosaur” than cutting-edge, but it had helped improve the structuring of how he worked on investigations.

Unfortunately, what it provided about The Suede Inn wasn’t exactly a gold-mine of information. The apartments’ landlord was a man named “Sonney …” who had owned the apartments for the last couple of years. The Fox Detective stared at his keyboard for a couple of seconds, like he was looking for a new letter of the alphabet that didn’t exist. Not unlike the cursor he moved on the screen, every time he tried to connect dots on this investigation, he froze, like he needed to buffer. Maybe Detective Barker wanted to help him solve The Water Lily case because he was afraid Vulpecula would ruin it.

Vulpecula stowed away his thoughts about Finn Saldana for a moment and brought the cursor back to the search engine. The last time he’d searched Detective Sanec Barker’s name, he hadn’t been able to find any real information, finding blanks where there shouldn’t have been. Fortunately, though, Detective Barker had dropped him a line, without realizing it.

When Nicholas Myers’ died, Vulpecula had been able to find his year-book online, but would an orphanage have an alumni page? Vulpecula left the Departments’ specialized search-engine for use of his regular browser, searching “Sanec Barker … Orphanage,” the results were scarce, and none of them had any bearing on what he was trying to find.

Vulpecula sighed, but after some consideration, changed his approach. Sanec Barker’s file didn’t have a lot of information on it, but, judging from the asterisk by certain fields, he’d been required to fill out at least some of the information. In-particular, one of them was his year of birth. Vulpecula reprised his search, changing it to the year Sanec Barker became a legal adult. To his surprise, Vulpecula did find out the orphanage had an alumni page, and also found out that, while it didn’t have an alumni page, it did have black-and-white newspapers snippets cut-and-pasted onto the website. Vulpecula found the right year, and beheld an old photograph with … students? (orphans?) lined up together, an older animal, a faculty member, perhaps, held up a sign that read the year.

Vulpecula scanned the photograph with his eyes. Obviously, Detective Barker wouldn’t look like he does now, but he’d certainly have, at least some resemblance to his former self. One detail Vulpecula was saddened to discover is that most of the orphans were canines, and most of those children were likely made orphans by his dear old Dad. A dalmatian, a maltase, and more than a handful of mutts, it was in the second row Vulpecula laid eyes on the only Doberman.

What Vulpecula saw was not the proud and confident Sanec Barker he had across from at Buddy’s Diner, and yet, V felt confident that he was looking at the same man. Or was that Vulpecula’s perception of the younger Barker? Did it benefit Vulpecula? The thought that someone who was now as levelheaded and as stable as Barker had once been weak, sad, and afraid, … like him?

Vulpecula fidgeted with the fur on his chin. What, really, could Vulpecula claim to see from an old photograph? It was easy to project onto a picture when its lack of color and grainy charm left so much to be desired.

Below the photograph, Vulpecula looked at the caption, which listed the students from left to right. His eyes eventually came to match the name to the person, but the name was not Sanec Barker, but, instead, Louis Yugo Pincher. Son of The Canes Vinatici’s head honcho, whether indirectly or not, Vulpecula wasn’t wrong to sense he and Sanec Barker had a connection. Both of them, the sons of opposing extremes, and resentful for it.

4.

Vulpecula drove his vehicle into the Suede Inn’s parking lot, finding a suitable location, one of the few parking spaces reserved for guests. Stepping out of his vehicle, he was greeted by a woman, a lizard, in-fact.

“You must be Detective Vulpecula Noel and you’re here to inquire about the vacant apartment, is that right? My name is Rachel Donahee, I’ll be the one giving a tour of the place.”

“I don’t recall mentioning my name or that I was a Detective,” Vulpecula replied, trying to sound more surprised than like he was making an accusation.

“Your name proceeds you. I read an article just the other day about how you figured out who killed that burnt kid in the Rescue Tribune.” There was a southern twang to her voice that made Tribune sound like it had one too many “U’s” in it. It was an accent most common in these parts of Urgway. “Then again, I guess that burnt kiddo wasn’t killed in the Rescue Tribune, really, was he? He was killed in a greenhouse.” Rachel Donahee stopped for a moment, seemingly waiting for Vulpecula to laugh, unable to contain her own amusement, “That there’s a grammar joke!”

“Right,” Vulpecula responded dryly, unimpressed with the frank, callousness Odin District was also known for.

Vulpecula could feel the sweat on his paws, the heat was especially notorious in this part of Urgway. Not far from the Whispey Deserts, The Odin District was one of the biggest anomalies, trading the concrete jungle Urgway’s legacy suggested, for sand and wide open-spaces. It was also a much cheaper district to live at.

“Well, step on over, De-tec-tive!” The woman said, leading him up the stairs to the second-floor apartments, the apartment where Finn Saldana once lived.

Although, Vulpecula already knew the word “Detective” was a word with three syllables, he’d never known it more than now, after hearing it from Rachel Donahee’s thick accent.

Vulpecula followed the lizard. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it before, but he wanted the chance to see it again, and knew Psittacus wouldn’t be willing to sign-off on the idea.

“A lot of others interested in the apartment?” Vulpecula asked.

“Oh, yes, The Suede Inn draws in a lot of customers,” Rachel said, at once, her voice sounded so enthused and nice, like everything Vulpecula said was brilliantly articulated.

“So, I’m not the first person who has visited today?”

Rachel Donahee shook her head, doing an eye-roll gesture, as if such a concept was ridiculous.

This, unfortunately, was not the truth. Vulpecula knew this, for a fact, because he’d been surveilling the apartment the whole day, hoping to find suspicious activity. What struck him as interesting was how, when the day started, the parking lot had been widely encumbered. As the day progressed, the parking lot all but entirely emptied out. Very few of the vehicles returned. This could’ve been chalked off to tenants going to work, but the cars that stop by in the parking lot were ones Vulpecula hadn’t seen before. They didn’t think twice about ignoring the designated parking assigned for each apartment either.

Rachel Donahee unclipped a chain of keys from her belt-loop and thumbed around until finding the right one, unlocking the door, and ushering Vulpecula into Finn Saldana’s former apartment.

“As you can see, it’s a nice enough living arrangement, close-quarters, but, more than enough room for a bachelor like yourself, Detective.” Rachel Donahee walked forward.

“Everything comes, as is?” Vulpecula asked.

“As is. There’s no washer or dryer, I’m afraid, but we’re not very far from a laundromat.”

The first thing Vulpecula noted as strange about the apartment was how everything had been unchanged from when Finn Saldana entered and when he left. Evidently, everything Finn Saldana had to his name had been left in the migrated home of Zeal, because none of this was his. Did Finn Saldana even live here? He may not have been a rich man, could even have been an absolute minimalist, but, surely, he would have left some discernible evidence about himself.

“What are the neighbors like?” Vulpecula asked, it was a common question, and for how easy it was to lie, most renters wouldn’t even bother with the lowball effort, but The Fox Detective didn’t act without purpose.

“They’re lovely, there is the sweetest young married couple right next door,” Rachel Donahee answered.

Vulpecula smiled, that might not have been her second downright lie, but it was the second suggestion that all may not have been how it seemed. Vulpecula distinctively remembered the neighbors from when he interviewed them after Finn Saldana’s disappearance, and next-door, there hadn’t been a couple. Someone could have moved out, but considering all V had seen so far, it struck him as a red flag.

Rachel Donahee’s presentation of the house was direct and straightforward. Although she’d allegedly interviewed other potential tenants today, she seemed as enthused and as vibrant as if Vulpecula had been her first all day.

It wasn’t a lot of information to work with. Especially with this case, he felt like he flew by the seat of his pants, finding cryptic tidbits, but nothing that he could make sense out of. Something was off about the Suede Inn, about Finn Saldana’s residency and about Tony Rockwell’s farce confession, and that, at least, was enough to prod further.

Rachel Donahee led him out of the apartment, offering pleasantries and a warm smile on her face. Vulpecula saw the eyes of a salesman with nothing behind them.

“So, I can expect a call about the apartment then?” Vulpecula asked, finally breaking the silence as he approached his vehicle.

Rachel smacked her lips in a way that suggested reluctance, “I’m afraid I have a lot of others I’ve interviewed today, so I can’t say absolutely for certain, but I can promise we’ll let you know some time in the next couple days.”

On some level, Vulpecula sensed Rachel knew he had suspicions. The Suede Inn had expected him. He’d borrowed a vehicle from impound, carried neither a wooden cane nor a green-scarf, and yet, Rachel Donahee knew exactly who he was. She hadn’t stepped outside at all to meet with anyone. The Fox Detective was the only one on her agenda, and, from the very beginning, Vulpecula was never considered in contention for the vacant apartment. This was a front.

“When I first came by the Suede Inn, right when the allegations against Tony Rockwell surfaced, I distinctly remember the chalk-drawings of a swirling thunderbolt. I’d seen it before, but I can’t think of where that was. What does it mean?”

Rachel’s facade dropped. It wasn’t a drastic change, but Vulpecula was certainly able to notice it. The nothing behind her eyes felt exemplified, meanwhile her jaw appeared tightly clenched. “I don’t know, Detective. Why does someone from Marybeth need an apartment all the way out in Odin?”

5.

The Fox Detective wasn’t certain why the Thunderbolt chalk-markings stayed with him the way they did. Vulpecula knew he had seen it once before, but he couldn’t think of where for the life of him, his blank chalkboard too cluttered and nonsensical to offer any real, valuable assist. However, when he sent a sketch recreation of the drawing to Lacerta, hoping he’d have some remembrance of it, perhaps from an earlier case, Lacerta found it image in only an hour.

The Thunderbolt emblem was just that, an icon advertising that the Suede Inn was “Thunderbolt” friendly.

Thunderbolt was a special browser that used overlay networks for areas of the Internet that require special software, configurations, or authorization in-order to be accessed. The darknet had content on top of content, purposefully not open to public view, masked through encrypted websites and scrambling its users’ IP addresses. The browser was unknown to the mainstream public until recently, when Detective Barker apprehended The Shock and it became a cultural phenomenon. Unfortunately, the second it became known to the public, it shriveled up into inadmissible evidence of foul play.

Many niche markets had already taken full-advantage of the “Thunderbolt” web-browser to become “hip” and “edgy” to their customers. Case and point, as Vulpecula stared at the fully-colored, high-resolution Thunderbolt emblem, and it was then he recognized that it was at “The Slug” where he first saw the emblem.

“Could be a marketing tactic. How many times have you seen a hotel claim their 13^th floor apartment is haunted? The videos online about Thunderbolt aren’t gangsters or drug-lords, it’s ghost-stories and ridiculous claims about encountering serial-killers,” Lacerta said on the other end of the phone.

“The Suede Inn is an apartment complex, not a hotel, its end-game would be more about long-term clients than short-term novelty,” Vulpecula said back, shaking his head at someone who couldn’t possibly know he was shaking his head. “The Suede Inn uses Thunderbolt’s browser for something, I don’t know what it is, but it’s something illegal.”

Lacerta was silent on the other end.

“I wonder if Sonney is aware of what’s happening with the apartments, doesn’t seem like he has much involvements in its day-to-day operations.” Vulpecula mumbled.

“How does this lead to Tony Rockwell being framed and Finn Saldana being murdered?”

“Because nobody cared about him,” Vulpecula said quietly, feeling almost ashamed for the realization.

“What does that mean?” Lacerta asked.

“Finn Saldana left from Zeal in-search of opportunity, or, at least, that’s the narrative we’ve seen fed to the news outlets, that’s the line Tony Rockwell fed to investigators. But the guy drives all through Urgway, all the way to the other side near the Whispey Deserts, and winds up in the Suede Inn of all places?”

“I don’t suspect it’s a five-star apartment complex, but we both know the closer to the Desert, the cheaper the rent,” Lacerta pointed out.

Vulpecula snarled his teeth. “I don’t think so. There are too many coincidences. No one has been able to find Finn Saldana’s body. Nobody has been able to find any trace of his family in Zeal. The only evidence we have is the photograph from an I.D. at his apartment and that his name was on-file at the Suede Inn. One of my earliest cases was a kidnapping that never happened. When I joined the Marybeth Police Department, Detective Barker made a ridiculous case for a kidnapping that never happened. What I’ve learned is, sometimes something is simply not what it appears to be. What if somebody has dirt on Tony Rockwell or is threatening him? Why else would Tony even start with that made-up story about Finn’s disappearing in thin-air? Finn Saldana could have procured a passport through the Thunderbolt’s anonymous browsing service, and the Suede Inn could be a front to both the public-at-large and uninitiated browsers of the darknet.”

Vulpecula could hear Lacerta sigh on the other-end of the phone before he spoke, “I think that you had a manic breakdown whenever you saw a severed hand in a bathroom once, and I think that, now, seeing the remains of a small-boy who was tortured to death, seeing the ugliest side of Maharris, you’re trying to find answers,” Lacerta said, his voice might’ve sounded calm and collected to the untrained ears, but Vulpecula recognized it as obnoxious.

“I’m following where the evidence suggests,” Vulpecula fired back at once.

“When my parents got divorced, I had both trying to win me over. It wasn’t even a custody battle from my perspective. I was always going to be with my Dad. He was my hero,” Lacerta said. “When I looked back at things, my mother was skin-and-bones and stressed out a lot. She was the north star, guiding my way throughout my whole life, but I never saw it that way. My Dad was my hero, but maybe he shouldn’t have been.”

“I want you to save your condescending, trash-bag life-lessons for Apus! I don’t see a hero when I look at Tony Rockwell. Heroes don’t exist. I’ve been at Urgway long enough to see that. In Urgway, there’s people who do bad things and people who do good things for the sake of their bad intentions. No angels, no answered prayers. I don’t need Tony Rockwell to be my North Star, because I have a clearer line on right and wrong than any of you, broken compass or not,” without thinking, Vulpecula threw the cellphone at the wall, seeing it shattered into pieces on impact as it ricocheted to the ground.

The heat was in Vulpecula’s chest now, his heart beating faster and faster. It was a feeling he didn’t fully grip, so distant from his own normal; unfamiliar. It wasn’t him, so clearly, it wasn’t him, and yet, the feeling came knocking like an old familar friend. The white-hot anger scared him, but he found something very reassuring in the way it suffocated him. It felt as though it would have been so easy to let go and give into its demands.

“My skin is burning…,” the latest auditory hallucination screamed. In flickers, his blank chalkboard amassed one crude illustration after another. The stuff of nightmares, of demons and Hell, his teeth on-edge through every flashing image in his breakdown’s slideshow. Part of him felt numb from all of it, distant and far away in the dark recesses of his mind, but not the right part. It wasn’t the part of him he fought so hard to repress and ignore. The Grey Fox, the bad side, the cruelty. “Less casualties, less casualties,” his own voice rang, again and again. “Let’s look around ourselves when it’s all said and finished,” Tony Rockwell voice added.

As the high started to dissipate and his light-headedness started to leave him, Vulpecula was left standing inside the empty Marybeth Police Station breathing heavily. He looked at his shattered cellphone and paid some thought to how he’d left Lacerta on the other line. “Goodbye,” he said.

6.

The light burned Vulpecula’s eyes when he tried to part his eyelids. Once he finally fought past the temptation to shut them, his eyes were allowed to focus. As the blurriness went away, he found himself in strange surroundings.

“Have a nice sleep?” A voice called out, one Vulpecula soon realized was Red’s.

Priest Molayeth’s gonna be mad, Vulpecula thought to himself, but, then, brushed it off, recognizing his surroundings as being One Step Back, the bar he once frequented.

“I have a splitting headache,” Vulpecula muttered underneath his breath. He must’ve blacked out and subsequently passed out, because he could not remember entering the bar, and certainly couldn’t remember getting knock-out drunk.

“I can imagine so,” Red said, putting his hand out to assist Vulpecula back to his feet, an act which Vulpecula accepted.

When he stood, V could feel the dampness in his fur, and once his senses started to come back to him, he could also smell how badly he wreaked of alcohol. So much for Urgway providing him a stable environment to build on from.

“I feel,” Vulpecula stopped for a moment, examining his thoughts and reflecting on how he wanted that sentence to end. To say it, felt pathetic. To say it, made it real, but, in a moment of clarity, he said it anyways, “I feel like I’ve lost my mind.”

Red offered Vulpecula a look that The Fox Detective didn’t know how to read, the look reminded him of Psittacus’ demeanor when they first found Nicholas Myer’s body in the greenhouse. “Why aren’t you with your friends in Acera?” Red asked, then added: “They seem like they’re you’re support-system.”

Red held Vulpecula a roll of gauze, for reasons, at first, unbeknownst to V. It was thereafter Vulpecula realized his right-arm was damp with blood. He looked behind him, noticing the broken glass on the ground that was likely knocked over when he passed out. Red unrolled the cloth and began to tend to Vulpecula’s wound.

“Sometimes I feel ashamed of my relationship with them. No matter how hard I try, I can be there for them the way they are for me. I know all the steps, but I don’t know how to dance.”

Red chuckled some, “Step on too many toes?”

“I’m afraid my dance floor’s a mind-field. One of these times, I don’t know when, I don’t know how, I will step on one of those mines and my obsessions will get everyone killed. Even Tony Rockwell sees it.”

“Some advice,” Red began. Vulpecula flinched when he felt the gauze tighten around his shoulder. “Maybe it feels that way because Urgway is an actual war-zone.”

Vulpecula said nothing in-response at first. He reached in his pocket, searching for his cellphone, then, stopped. He had broken his cellphone the day prior, that much he remembered.

“I understand you want to save Rockwell. Something I’ve learned about you is that you want to save everyone who’s ever in-danger or inconvenienced. If you can’t, if you feel like you’re losing your mind, then, you need to take care of yourself, because, waking up with a bad hangover in a bar isn’t saving anyone,” Red said, and, for that moment, Vulpecula thought he could have easily been talking to another lizard, Lacerta.

Lacerta, that was someone he would need to apologize to. He’d have to remember to call him when he returned home to his apartment.

“I’ve found information about The Suede Inn. I know they’re involved with Finn Saldana’s disappearance. I haven’t made sense of it yet, but if I can find what’s holding everything together, I think I can take it apart,” Vulpecula said, his metaphor sounding as confused said aloud as he felt these days.

“If that’s true, I don’t think you have the time to fight your demons and save Tony Rockwell’s life,” Red said.

Vulpecula looked up at him in confusion, “What do you mean by that?”

“Right,” Red responded, rubbing the back of his neck, “It has been all-over the news this morning, they found Finn Saldana’s remains in a sewage pipe yesterday.”

“What?” Vulpecula asked, unable to hide his own shock.

“The prosecutors are asking for a death sentence, and considering the grisly story Finn’s body tells, the Judge looks like he’s willing to fast-track it, especially with Tony Rockwell unwilling to change his story. His lawyer, the shark, Kerry Shapiro, has been trying to drag it out, but it looks like he’s fighting a losing battle.”

“Then, I need to solve it then,” Vulpecula said, looking over toward the door.

“You need to go back home and start taking care of yourself.”

“If I do that, then, Tony Rockwell is going to fry, and I can’t let that happen.”

“If you try to solve it, you’ll ruin yourself and Tony Rockwell will be no better for it. If you truly believe Tony Rockwell is innocent, then, maybe you should tell Sanec Barker what you know. You said he was willing to help you with the Water Lily investigation, if you have something there, something that might even involve The Shock, then, I am certain he’d be willing to look at it.”

Vulpecula let out a sigh. As much as he wanted to argue the contrary, he knew that Red was right, and he knew that Lacerta had been right as well. He was in no condition to save anyone, especially not a matter of life and death as time-sensitive as this. Surely, Detective Sanec Barker would be able to succeed where he had failed.

7.

When Vulpecula returned home, he had only one message on his answering machine: “Vulpecula, hey, it’s, uh, it’s Tony,” Tony Rockwell’s voice stammered nervously on the other end. “Urgway law allows inmates a handful of phone-calls prior to transfer, uh, I’m sure you’ve heard the news about that by now. I wanted to call you, because, I don’t think I’ll ever have the chance to do so again. I tried your cellphone, but I didn’t, uh, honestly, I called Priest Molayeth too, and he, uh, you talked to him, didn’t you? I don’t think he likes me anymore, … uh, never mind, I don’t have a whole lot of time left and I’m not certain if what I have to say will even make any sense.” On the other-end, Vulpecula could hear Tony take in a deep breath and let it out, “When I gave everyone every chance to turn against me, you believed in me. I know that you’ll obsess about this, because I know how you are. Always looking for the good in everyone, either that, or trying to rationalize away the bad. I know that you harbor a lot of fear, and sometimes I wonder if you think that’s all you have. What you have in you, beyond all else, I believe, is a very pure form of goodness.” Tony stopped mid-sentence for a small second and chuckled, following it with a sniffle, Vulpecula was able to easily gather how upset he was.

“Times like this, it’s easy to lose sight of things. I know you’ve suffered. I hope that, through it all, you find it in your heart to forgive anyone that’s wronged you. I know you believe your father let you down. And, it’s an absolute truth that I did. I hope you can forgive me, but, more than that, I hope you can forgive him. He was a lot like you, really. All Hensley Noel ever wanted to do was help others and make a better life for you and your mother. I think he became lost in that. There comes a time when you try so hard you circle back and start making things worse, I think your father did that, and I think he overwhelmed himself. If you don’t forgive me and you don’t forgive him though, I hope you forgive yourself for the things you couldn’t control. Your mother loved you. Your father loved you, and I loved you, Vulpecula. Everything is going to be okay, remember that. Goodbye,” afterwards, Vulpecula was left in the silence of his apartment.

“Goodbye,” Vulpecula said, he could feel the tears filling his eyes, knowing he might never have a chance to say it back to him.

Soon, after he gathered himself again, he tapped some numbers into the phone, he needed to call Lacerta before it was all said and finished.