Puppet Show

  Although no one would ever mistake Urgway’s hot, sticky weather for the cold, year-round jacket-weather of Hardan, it hadn’t prepared Vulpecula for the sauna that was the Whispey Deserts. The further south of Maharris an animal went, the hotter it became, it seemed. Not only that, but the ground became more unregulated and uncharted. Vulpecula flung his green scarf over his head; doing whatever he could to keep the sun from beaming down on his head. Urgway was the only city in Maharris that had any claim to the Whispey Deserts, but so much of it was more a hassle than a treasure of land to covet. 

   The venomous sand-crawlers and arachnids that frequented the sands meant it was too frightening a terrain for any tourist to offer a second look. Law enforcement avoided distress calls that went more than a few miles out of their professed jurisdiction, which meant the sands were even more dangerous than the concrete jungle of the greater city.  

   “Tofu, sir!? Sweet and spicy with sriracha, only three coin!” an older, frail fox hollered out, wearing his shirt, not over his chest, but over his head. His fur was as orange as the sands beneath him. 

   “No, thank you,” Vulpecula answered politely, as he had done with many other people with carts stationed around the area. 

   “Sir, I also have candies, if you fancy feeding your sweet tooth!” The red fox exclaimed once more only to be shut away by Vulpecula’s babysitter, a Great Dane named Duke Whidham whose long muzzle would enter a room far before the rest of his body did. 

   “I’ve always loved candy,” Duke confessed. “Every year for The Giving, my Papa would buy me a big bowl of the best kinds. When The Canes fell, Papa lost his farm. It didn’t help that candy started costing an arm to pay for.” 

   “Strange,” Vulpecula murmured. “My grandfather had all the candy he ever wanted, only cost him his foot.” 

   Duke was silent until the comment occurred to him and he met it with a small, hearty chuckle. Vulpecula couldn’t say for certain whether he liked Duke, as of late, it was becoming more and more difficult to say whether he enjoyed the company of anyone in-general.  

   This wasn’t what he had in mind when he called Detective, and now, Mayor of Urgway, Sanec Barker and professed his desires to return to Urgway. Sanec welcomed his return, but it was not without newfound hardships and restrictions. Perhaps Barker was smarter than Psitticus, who had hired Vulpecula and tried to coddle The Fox Detective and nourish him into the upstanding lunatic he was today standing in the Whispey Deserts with a heat in his chest either from the scorching sun or alcohol withdrawal.  

    “I’m told you spent most your life in Acera,” Duke began again, trying his hand at conversation once again. “I’ve always heard they have a strong sense of community, ‘specially in the smaller districts. It’s not something you often see in Urgway, everyone adapts a survival of the fittest mentality.” 

   Duke Whidham was Vulpecula’s navigator and babysitter, meant to subdue him should his desire to indulge increase beyond his will, and meant to keep him from becoming lost; broken moral compasses and whatnot. Duke was a sociable man in need of a livelier companion it seemed. Vulpecula, however, didn’t have it in him to entertain. 

   The Fox Detective bowed his head as he traversed the busy crowd of civilians, their shouts so indistinct from one another they might as well have been manufactured on an assembly line. They’d since left the cobblestone pavements and houses that actually resembled their namesake and had begun entering the boonies of the Whispey Desert, falling out of the Urgway jurisdiction or anyone’s jurisdiction, for that matter. If an animal went far enough in the Deserts, in a few days or more, they’d come to find Zeal; a collection of villages and larger cities not too different from Maharris. That is, if they could survive the heat that peaked at about a dollar and a half. Animals, instead, went with planes over death. 

   “I was surprised to hear about the grisly crimes that’d occurred. I would have expected serial-killers in any other city, but not Acera. Do you think they’ll be able to catch whoever has been doing it?” 

   “Only if they stop chasing their tails,” Vulpecula answered, and, as he looked back at Duke, he could have sworn his black-fur appeared even blacker; that his eyes were an empty wax with no light behind them. In a trick of the mind, Duke’s silhouette felt as though it burned into his retinas in-front of the bright sun. Vulpecula shook it off and smiled nervously, “Where did you grow up, Duke? You said your father worked at a farm in Jalint?” 

   “Papa loved his farm. The man spent more time out in the cornfield than he ever did with me or my brothers,” Duke explained. It was a sad thought, but Duke’s cadence showed more admiration than disdain. 

   “My father had his own distractions as well.” 

   They were nearing the part of the Deserts often dubbed the “Freedom Sands,” a literary term used by a lot of writers to describe how liberated it was. Stories were told of how murderers and thieves would escape law-enforcement by hiding out in the deserts; one of the few parts of the world that hadn’t been paved over with concrete. This was all mostly fiction. No one could survive that deep into the deserts on the long term and, in a manhunt, Rescue and Urgway law-enforcement knew to at least check the boondocks. If a criminal went further than that, they fled to their death. It was that fable, in part, that brought them there. A man named Isaac Holsh not only found access to a computer with an internet connection but he emailed Mayor Barker, patting himself on the back for the murder of Tony Rockwell. 

   Suggesting that dastardly crimes weren’t always committed my masterminds, it wasn’t difficult for Urgway law enforcement to find the person’s IP address. After, they traced it back to a chain restaurant called Duchess that allowed WIFI free of charge to its customers. They, then, set up a parameter and, after some finagling, was able to uncover a storage-container belonging to Isaac Holsh; a missing man with a criminal record to boot. The shed was gift-wrapped with classic crazy person memorabilia. The storage container had ‘trophies’ suggesting involvement with other murders and cut-out newspaper clippings that highlighted Tony Rockwell’s ongoing trial. On his computer, they found coordinates that led out to the Whispey Deserts. It was a cut-and-dry declaration of Isaac’s attempt to flee to “Freedom Sands” and Vulpecula’s objective was, more-or-less, to find the body.  

   Duke did the talking, smiling at and shaking the hand of a wrinkly primate in a dirt-stained white shirt and bicycle shorts that left little to the imagination. Although you’d find the occasional sand skiers in some areas, the fastest and most cost efficient way to traverse the Deserts were by riding Sand Rays. Sand Rays were flat creatures that resembled large burnt pancakes able to breezily skid across the Deserts. 

   “Sanec Barker is a careful and ambitious man. What is it about you and draws him in? I’ve read The Rescue Tribune and that lizard’s blog about the wondrous Fox Detective, how’re you planning to wow me on our adventure?” Duke spoke in a firm manner, but Vulpecula could detect a brevity in his cadence that told his requests weren’t meant to be taken seriously.  

   “Everything you’ve ever read about me is fiction. The Tribune wrote kind words because Vivian Herms made it so and Lacerta wrote kind words because he was naive enough to think I wouldn’t let him down in the end. In case you haven’t noticed, none of them are writing about me any more. I saw to that,” Vulpecula answered. “I can’t wow you.” 

   “The fact Sanec believes in you is some reason to be impressed. He isn’t upfront about it, but he’s always keeping tabs,” Duke countered. 

   Duke stayed at the reins, holding the fastens in his paws, steering the sand ray to his heart’s content. Sand was strew about around them, like the ripples of the sea when a small boat drove through. The sound was soft and inoffensive; unobtrusive to their conversation. Vulpecula fidgeted with the fur on his chin as the heat became hotter. 

   “I appreciate Sanec Barker’s faith in me,” even if his faith would only lead to their downfall. Vulpecula chose to finish the sentence in his head. 

   “Do you really think we stand to find this guy, this Isaac Holsh fellow?”  

   “No,” Vulpecula answered. “It’s something else. If a person is intelligent enough to infiltrate a high-security prison and murder Tony Rockwell, they’re intelligent enough to find a private network and hide their location. They’re intelligent enough to log off of their accounts if they know they’re not coming back, or, better yet, discard of the computer altogether. Isaac gift-wrapped the coordinates to this location for us to find.” 

   “Why would he do that?” Duke inquired, beside himself for how V came to such a conclusion. 

   “It could be for any number of reasons. It could be because he knows no one is in any position to stop him. If you want to flee by the Whispey Deserts, you walk a direction and you keep walking it til you’re dead. If he was meeting someone, Isaac could have known someone who owned a plane and flew off with him. I honestly don’t even know why Barker is following up on such nonsense.” 

   “He didn’t follow it up himself, he followed it up with you. If you’re here, it means you’re not drinking yourself under the counter. Consider it busywork til your in a proper state of mind,” Duke said; a fair point. 

   “I can’t help but wish Barker’s busywork would have seen me travel someplace cooler.” 

   As they arrived at their destination, it was realized long before the GPS system announced as much. Vulpecula said nothing as Duke stilled the sand ray, and, as fate would have it, neither did Duke. They, instead, beheld the wealth of evidence in-front of them. Vulpecula felt lost, but interested; his emotional bread and butter. The Fox Detective stepped on the sand ray and continued forward. Whoever had done this had been careful and direct with what they wanted to articulate. It was a historical macabre, for lack of a more apt description. It must have taken specific additives to prevent the wax figurines from melting down into the sand. 

   “What are we looking at, Noel?” Duke said, at last, having had to chew on the scenery for a time before he found the right words. 

   Vulpecula ignored Duke’s question, choosing to merely behold the visual for himself. If what stared back at him was to be believed, this was Acera’s serial-killer sending them on a field-trip to the Whispey Deserts. It wasn’t though. It couldn’t have been. It didn’t match that killer’s modus operandi and had an entirely different message to uncover. This was an homage to one serial killer to another, or, at least, that’s how it seemed. 

   Vulpecula searched the proximity. Eight bodies lent themselves to the perpetrator’s creation; all of them situated in natural ways. They reenacted a war, donning heavy-armor and, … Vulpecula reflected over one body in-particular. This man, a horse, Vulpecula believed, wielded the Sword of Tertius in his hand. Vulpecula had to fight the urge to smile at the nostalgia stroll down memory lane the Sword carried. It was in Italina that Vulpecula found Harriet Collins’ responsible for stealing the famous sword from the Malane Museum, only to have it stolen again shortly after. This was where that sword went, it seemed. 

   The wax figurines were no doubt meant as a callback to the murders in Acera, but it, other-wise, wasn’t very pertinent to the creation. Vulpecula closed his eyes, then, opened them: all of them were soldiers. They were warriors battling to the death over the frivolous things warriors fight over. Was it pride? Was it power? Or, some other possession? Vulpecula’s eyes looked over the armor donned over each of the men. He watched as they swung their swords and yelled obscenities at each other. This was a battle more personal than anything else; this was battle of livelihood. 

   “It’s a reenactment of The Great War. The inclusion of the Sword of Tertius attests to that.” For a second, Vulpecula almost felt relief. It was a fleeting comfort, realizing that Acera’s killer hadn’t done these crimes, but it left him when he realized it meant another murderer was among them. “Don’t suppose you’re secretly a history major?” 

   “Couldn’t even stay awake during my high-school class,” Duke confessed. 

   Vulpecula admired it a moment longer. It was a puzzle with its pieces missing, that much was clear to him. Who were the seven victims? Why were they chosen? Why was it important they reenacted The Great War? Was it a political message or something more personal than that? 

   “We’ll need a lab as soon at the scene as soon as possible.” 

   “The early word has some reason for optimism,” a man with a laminated name-tag hanging from a lanyard that read “J.D.” explained. “The bodies aren’t fresh. Instead, they’ve been snatched up from cemeteries across Maharris. That’s plural, which means, whoever did this was particular with who they dug out from their graves. We’ve called around to see which cemeteries might have been robbed, but, so far, we haven’t found any information.” 

   “If no one is mentioning stolen bodies, then, what makes you think that they’re from different cemeteries?” Vulpecula asked, standing beside J.D. as the gloved rat continued peeling the wax-coating off one of the skeletons.  

   “The dirt,” J.D. answered frankly. “Whoever did this didn’t exactly buy everyone a new suit and scrub them down. I’m not a dirt expert, but the dirt from Urgway isn’t as pure as the dirt in Jalint or, even, Acera’s. At the very least, some dirt on certain people is a lot different than others..” 

   Vulpecula nodded his head and turned away, knowing nothing about the subject to agree or disagree with his logic. Instead, he turned and met eyes with another detective, a larger fellow with an upright demeanor that suggested authority. The zebra looked at him, “J.D. tell you about how all the bodies are from different places?” 

   Vulpecula looked at him knowingly and replied, confidently, “The dirt.” 

   The zebra who was easily twice The Fox Detective’s size lowered his neck down til he was nearly at Vulpecula’s level: “The dirt? What for heaven’s sake are you on, boy? No, we found notes left behind in each ones’ pocket. Told us everything we needed to know about this.” The zebra shook his head some more, “This fox talking about dirt, pfffffft.” 

   “I know!” J.D. exclaimed, “I can’t make him shut up about it!”  

   Vulpecula sighed. “So, the perpetrator’s left notes then. Do they say anything about why the victims might have been chosen. Who they were, for instance?” 

   As the question left Vulpecula’s lips, a third man came forward. The cheetah’s eyes appeared worried and saddened. 

   “Blake, you’re just in time! The V-man has some things he wants to tell you about dirt!” J.D. yammered, but the cheetah, Blake, didn’t appear to be in a playful mood. 

   “Detective Noel,” Blake began, “One of the bodies is your father.” 

   J.D. tightened his demeanor at the realization. Meanwhile, Blake merely stood, in his hands was an index card, detailing, presumably, why Hensley Noel corpse had been desecrated, molded, and propped up in a suit of armor. Blake wore gloves as he held the paper in his hands, but The Fox Detective’s intrigue had the better of him. He snatched the card from his hands and inspected it: 

   “Our swordsman, wielding his weapon of choice, is Hensley Noel, founder of the organization called Rescue. Seen as an honorable man among Maharris for starting the revolution that saw The Canes Vinatici’s fall, Mr. Noel exploited his celebrity status and treated his followers as expendable, so long as it benefited his cause and fattened his wallet. Hensley is survived by his son Vulpecula Noel, an alcoholic and ex-officer of Urgway’s Marybeth district, pegged as the prodigal son by bias newspapers, Vulpecula arrogance shines through even the thickest curtains draped by his affiliates.” 

   Vulpecula looked over to the skeleton Blake had been at – it now had a face: Hensley Noel. The card hadn’t revealed any information Vulpecula hadn’t already known about Hensley, although, it had its fair share of falsified information. Hensley was never the type of person to enjoy the fruits of his labor. The man tortured himself with obsession til his bitter end. As far as calling Vulpecula an arrogant alcoholic, that was merely good journalism. 

   Vulpecula kept his eyes on his father for only a moment longer before he drew his attention away, looking over at the other six remaining bodies. Each of their cards showed about them as well. The single-most significant name from the list was Niles Hadtre, one of the front-runners of The Canes Vinatici, and the father of Mayor Sanec Barker. That fact was one very few knew besides Vulpecula, however, and even Barker wasn’t aware he knew. His inclusion was obvious enough. His card had no qualms with arguing Hadtre’s faults, of which, there were many. The man was fast with his temper and always came with demands. Vulpecula could recall many bedtime stores made-up only of horror stories Hensley told Vulpecula’s mother without knowing Vulpecula was on the other-side of the door listening in. Most of them were about Niles Hadtre. 

   Vulpecula fidgeted with his fur as he thought over the piece in-front of him. It was a criticism. That much was obvious. It was a lobbying for betterment constructed through the use of decades-old corpses. For someone to go through so much trouble, it stood to reason whoever committed the act felt very strongly about the message as well. And yet, it aimed itself at no particular target, a nihilistic approach that scorched everyone in its wake. What rhyme or reason did it have? Vulpecula suspected it had neither. Instead, it was only an angry man’s creation meant to provoke with no ulterior message behind it. It was the equivalent of an “internet troll” doing it for humor’s sake. The morbidity in the realization and how his and Detective Barker’s fathers were both stage-props for the spectacle hadn’t been lost on him. 

   This lack of motivation would make it difficult to find the guilty party, if not impossible. If Vulpecula was correct, he saw no reason they’d strike again and no reason it’d be similar to what was currently in-front of him. If it wasn’t fueled by a deeper need, then, why would they start a pattern? Who’s to say their second go-around would resemble their first at all? It’d be the second case in a row for Vulpecula that went without a resolution, mimicking the last one might as well have been a slap to the face as well. 

   Hensley Noel’s skeleton stood only by the wax molded around his body, giving it support, with it removed, Hensley’s corpse had since dropped unceremoniously to the sand. They’d gather up all his remains and return him back to his rightful hole in the ground. Hensley’s cemetery was pristine; the final resting places of one of the greats. On the other hand, Vulpecula had heard stories of vandalism to Niles and other graves belonging to old Canes members. For those whose lives were changed for the worse because Niles’ decisions, maybe that was justifiable. But, Vulpecula couldn’t help but wonder how Detective Barker felt, or wonder about all the lives his own father changed for the worse with his decision, either by design or on accident. 

   It wasn’t all a lost cause. Vulpecula turned to Duke who looked perplexed by the whole ordeal. “What do you make of this, Detective Noel?” 

   “It isn’t a lost cause yet, but evidence is slim-picking. The forensics will check for fingerprints or a strand of fur that will lead them in the right direction, but they won’t find anything. These guys went through such a complicated struggle to get eyes on it, and, not merely eyes, but the right eyes. Probably, Detective Barker’s. We can have officers search the nearby boondocks and see whether they witnessed anything unusual, like a group of people moving large crates or boxes out toward the Freedom Sands. They won’t find either. I have no doubt the perpetrator’s are banking that these people are hiding out in the Deserts for a reason and will want nothing to do with law enforcement.” 

   “Honor among thieves,” Duke responded, nodding his head knowingly despite the fact that he knew nothing at all. 

   “Honor among thieves or honest people who simply feel they’ve been given the raw deal in Maharris and have nowhere else to go.” 

   As the morning sun shined on from outside his hotel room window, between the curtains, Vulpecula arose to his feet. It wasn’t because of a restful night’s sleep, he never had those any more. It was because he heard someone’s paws hammering against the bedroom window. By the way the door nearly rattled off its hinges, he knew it wouldn’t have been the hotel staff with a complimentary bottle of champagne, and settled on the fact it was most likely Detective Barker’s assigned babysitter Duke. 

   “Well, if it isn’t my favorite Great Shepherd, what can I do for you!?” Vulpecula said, trying his best to come off across as genuine and enthused, and failing at said attempt. 

   “Have you seen this?” Duke’s head nodded an inch, drawing attention to the laptop in his hands. 

   “Seen it? I’m look at it right now.” 

   “It’s about the dead bodies in that armor, you know, the ones we found out in the desert?” 

   “So as not to be confused by the other dead bodies in armor we’ve found in our morbid friendship?” 

   Duke clearly wasn’t interested in Vulpecula’s teasing, and so, The Fox Detective merely humored him and took hold of his laptop, carrying it over to the small writing desk in the corner of the room. Vulpecula didn’t recognize the internet browser at first, it was then that he realized it was The Shock’s specially-made browser that was full-proof in masking the identity of anyone using it. The website was simple and amateur in its design, a big, red stage-play curtain served as the background, whereas a black box took up about one-third of the screen. It had a play button in the middle. Vulpecula clicked it. 

   The video on the screen was as home-made as the website itself, meanwhile, its content held Vulpecula’s attention far better. What started as a red set of curtains opening, ones that were added in as an effect through whatever software edited the video, soon took them to the Whispey Deserts. The video-quality was a black-and-white, old-fashion filter, but it was easy to see it was the same place that Vulpecula had been only a day prior. It didn’t take a hawk’s eyesight to see the thin strings hanging from each of the skeletons as they crudely walked around the sands. The wire would have to have been thick, given the weight of the armor, after all. 

   “I hate all animals. Me! Me! Me!” A voice exclaimed from the background, given the way the camera zoomed itself in on Niles’ skeleton, it seemed this was meant to be him speaking. 

   “I too am very arrogant! Me, … me, … me!” Another voice exclaimed, zooming the shot in on Hensley Noel’s skeleton. Vulpecula didn’t have a lot of memories of his father these days, but he knew his father didn’t have such a high-pitch voice.  

   Vulpecula laughed at the absurdity of what he saw, even though he knew it wasn’t the appropriate response to seeing such an unsettling depiction. This drew a surprised stare from Duke that Vulpecula merely ignored. Maybe he perceived it as a form of gallows humor, or, maybe, he simply hated his father that much.  

   The video continued. Soon, as they continued a bickering back in fourth, another figure came into the shot – this one wasn’t a skeleton. Instead, it was a bad depiction of Tony Rockwell, constructed solely from water balloons tied together. 

   “Guys, guys! Don’t fight! We’ve got bigger things to worry about! People are disappearing left and right during my therapy sessions!” Not-Rockwell exclaimed. 

   “It seems you’ve sprung a leak my friend,” not-Hensley commented. 

   “Either a leak, or a thousand!” not-Niles jested, drawing a loud canned laughter over the video. 

   Then, on cue, the balloon popped in several places, spilling out a red liquid as not-Rockwell screamed in exaggerated agony. 

   Vulpecula’s smile had dropped the second Tony Rockwell had entered the shot, and by the end of the atrocious reenactment of his brutal death, his interest in seeing the perpetrator’s arrested had grown exponentially. 

   This was meant to insight rage, and it would undoubtedly ruffle feathers, but Vulpecula couldn’t help but feel specifically targeted. The video faded to black as Vulpecula’s went toward Duke whose head nudged forward to suggest the video had yet to end. Following Duke’s instructions, Vulpecula’s eyes went back to the screen and continued to watch. Two figures stepped in-front of the screen, donning black hooded sweatshirts, denim jeans, and ski masks draped over their heads. In a flicker, the bright sun overhead was replaced by a moon as a small light kept the two figures visible.  

   Vulpecula felt his fur stick up on the back of his neck. The hooded men brought their gloved hands near their faces. Would it be a fake out? Vulpecula assumed as much. But, then, to his surprise, the figures removed their ski masks, revealing faces that had been on the back of Vulpecula’s mind since the whole affair began: Akil and Ajou Somali.  

   “What was once believed as a serial killer vigilante tormenting civilians along the alleyways of Acera has now went on tour!” The newsman Logan Norms exclaimed. “Police have identified the perpetrators as Akil and Ajou Somali, apparent siblings who managed to escape police custody on a previous occasion in Urgway. Although that shouldn’t surprise you, given that a mutt is now their acting mayor, it does beg the question of how many more hand-me-down criminals are great cities like Acera and Italina expected to inherent from Urgway? Should we be policing Urgway’s law enforcement to assure they aren’t buddy-buddy with the very criminals they’re supposed to thwart?” 

   Vulpecula walked by the television in the hotel’s main-lobby with little interest in what the journalist had to say. The Whispey Deserts hadn’t been the first instance of Akil and Ajou’s grave-robbing, but Vulpecula thought the differences brought fourth too many anomalies for them to be one in the same. 

   “So, if Akil and Ajou have come out and confessed, then, what are we still doing in the Whispey Deserts? They have to be, more-or-less, long gone by now,” Duke said, following Vulpecula as he sipped out of his cup of coffee. 

   “That was my impression as well,” Vulpecula explained. “But I don’t believe they truly have no reason whatsoever behind what they’re doing. They had to have had at least some motivation.”  

   The Fox Detective looked over to Duke, hoping to find inspiration somewhere scribbled on his muzzle. Nothing came to him, however. The Fox Detective thought back to how he’d solved Akil and Ajou’s previous grave-robbing spree. 

   Vulpecula closed his eyes and opened them. In that moment, he was back at the cemetery, all of the figures stared back at him. By his side, his friends Apus and Lacerta were there to remind him this was a far-off hallucination. Vulpecula smiled, nonetheless. Not unlike the Whispey Deserts, the case had been elaborate and convoluted. They had engraved epitaphs on tombstones with acrostics containing a hidden message a hidden message. V watched as the dirt on the cemetery yellowed until it was sand. The tombstones buried back into the Earth like moles hiding from a large mallet (such a crude, animalist game in-retrospect). There were no tombstones in the Whispey Deserts for the corpses to point at, bvhe observed. 

   As though his psyche had been waiting for him to come to that realization, the armor donning corpses held out their hands, each holding out their respective note cards. Could’ve it have been a callback to the earlier case? The Fox Detective wrote out the first letter to every word on his blank chalkboard. Gibberish. Vulpecula swatted the experiment aside with his paw and narrowing his search, now only focusing on the first letter of each respective index card. It, too, made absolute nonsense. 

   Vulpecula sighed, turning his back from the Whispey Deserts and seeing his hotel room once again. He walked by Duke and sat back down in the wooden chair in-front of his desk. 

   “They had to have left a clue of some kind. They wouldn’t have simply left nothing at all,” Vulpecula murmured. 

   “People on the internet seem to think the same way. The only thing they’ve been able to find is the letters eight, ten, fourteen, and five,” Duke commented plainly with a sigh of his own. 

   Vulpecula shot Duke a look, expecting an immediate explanation that didn’t come, after some time, Duke appeared to take the hint. Duke grabbed the top of his laptop with his paw and bent the screen upward a little. By doing so, Vulpecula was now able to see the dark-gray number fourteen hidden on the black-screen. 

   “The numbers eight and ten are in the website’s address and five was discovered hidden in the website’s code.” 

   “I’m certain the website’s code is filled with numbers, what makes the five so special?” Vulpecula asked, looking at the address bar on Duke’s laptop to see the eight and ten for himself. 

   Duke shrugged his shoulders. “Must’ve looked out of place.” 

   Vulpecula considered his options for a second, analyzing the note cards left with the new found information, discovering nothing at all. Vulpecula climbed to his feet and headed toward the door. 

   “Where are we headed?” Duke asked. 

   Vulpecula stopped for two reasons. He had forgotten Detective Barker had assigned Duke as his shadow and, also, in truth, he wasn’t certain where he was headed. As he faced Duke’s eager eyes and pricked ears, he shrugged his shoulders, I need to inspect the bodies again.” 

   Duke’s soured expression made it seem as though Vulpecula had volunteered him for a heart transplant, “I do love dead bodies,” Duke said in jest. 

   “Noted,” Vulpecula answered. 

* * * 

   The bodies hadn’t yet been transferred back to their original plots; temporarily ceased as evidence for the Akil and Ajou case. The media and Rescue had ensured a manhunt throughout Maharris in their efforts to apprehend the grave-robbers, which made every second Vulpecula lingered in the Whispey Deserts side of Urgway feel superfluous, a fact that Duke mentioned repeatedly on the taxicab ride to the morgue. The morgue, in itself, felt a peculiar location to keep bodies this far beyond their expiration date. Vulpecula felt the coolness of the air and wondered exactly what was trying to be preserve d. 

   As Vulpecula walked inside, he was let in by a woman named Deborah, an elderly bunny rabbit whose hopping days seemed far behind her. Vulpecula thanked her as she waddled off, looking at the seven dead bodies lying on tables around him. The black tar had entirely been removed from off of their skeletons, which was unfortunate given how it took away any clues either cat might have left behind. 

   “Eight, ten, fourteen, and five,” Vulpecula said aloud, paying no mind to the fact Duke was standing confusedly behind him. “Something about it all comes together.” 

   Everything had to mean something, that’s what The Fox Detective kept telling himself, and yet, he had no real strong reason to believe it. What was the significance of them donning heavy-armor? there any significance? Vulpecula felt like he was starting to find an answer to that question. It wasn’t about the armor. It was replica armor bought at a store somewhere. It was about the Sword of Tertius. They had stole the Sword of Tertius only days after Vulpecula had brought it back, and yet, why had Akil and Ajou waited until now to acknowledge their crime? Because they hadn’t met me yet, Vulpecula answered for himself. 

   Akil and Ajou wanted to send me a message, Vulpecula, at last, accepted. It stood to reason then  that the only one who’d be able to solve their clues would be him and that it be sentimental to him. Were they toying with him? Was he the punchline to their joke? The numbers: Eight, ten, fourteen, and five. Did they actually mean anything at all? Or was it a red herring at everyone’s expense? What purpose could it even serve? 

   Vulpecula walked toward Hensley Noel’s remains and felt a small chill travel up his fur. His cellphone began to ring. He answered it. 

   “Hello,” Vulpecula said, looking at the wedding ring that still found itself left on Hensley’s finger. Why wouldn’t they have taken it?  

   “Hey, V, uh,” it was Lacerta. “It’s Lacerta. I heard about what happened at the news. It’s pretty crazy stuff.” 

   “Yeah, it is.” 

   “I know that things haven’t been right between us, but, just know that you don’t have to deal with whatever you’re feeling alone, and that Apus and I are both here for you,” Lacerta commented, Vulpecula could hear the sincerity and concern from the cadence in his voice. 

   “Thanks, Lacerta. I appreciate it.” Vulpecula smiled some at the sentiment. 

   “So, what are you doing now?” Lacerta said in an attempt to move on to a lighter subject. 

   “Oh, I’m looking at my father’s corpse to try and find if Akil and Ajou left me any clues.” 

   There was silence on the other end for a moment. “Why are you looking at your father’s dead corpse?” 

   “I’m not looking at my father’s dead corpse. That would be redundant. And, because I’m trying to find a message or clue that might tell me whatever it is that they want me to know,” Vulpecula explained dryly. He inspected Hensley for a moment longer, grabbing something that seemed suspicious, then, flicking it off; a piece of dirt. 

   “I see,” Lacerta responded. “And what have you found.” 

   “That my father was a lot smaller than I remembered,” Vulpecula jested, then, became serious, “I haven’t found anything. I can tell they’re both trying to say something to me, but I can’t say for certain what it is.” 

   “Maybe that you need to find a new line of work,” Lacerta said. His comment might have been delivered as a joke, but Vulpecula was able to find the sincerity hidden between the lines. “What is their line of reasoning? Why are they trying to send you and you alone a message?” 

   “The only thing I know about them was that I outed them for the cemetery debacle last year.” 

   “Are they angry with you? Maybe this way their way of seeking revenge?” 

   Vulpecula fidgeted with the fur on his chin. Then, ceased, remembering where his paw had been only moments later. “It doesn’t seem like an angry message. It feels … playful almost.” 

   “Playful? They dug up your dead father and fashioned him like a fantasy writer’s wet dream.” 

   “The balloon gag with Tony Rockwell was a little under the belt, but I doubt they knew he meant anything to me. It was likely meant to create brevity in the situation.” 

   “What about, …,” Lacerta stopped for a moment. Vulpecula was able to hear Lacerta’s clicking-and-clacking from his keyboard. “What about the letters they left all around on their website. Could that mean anything? What if it’s a code?” 

   Vulpecula walked over to one of the other corpses, for no reason other than a change of scenery. In his his head, he searched around his blank chalkboard. The simplest rational was exchanging the numbers for letters. The letter “A” equaling “1”, the letter “B” equaling “2”, etc. When Vulpecula did that, he was able to spell out a single word. 

   “Home,” Vulpecula said aloud, looking over to Duke, who seemed to relish the idea of leaving the Whispey Deserts and returning to his own. 

   “Akil and Ajou want you to head back home? Is that what you’re thinking?” Lacerta asked. 

   “I don’t know. I think that might be another deception.” 

   “Or, maybe it isn’t about you.” 

   Vulpecula closed his eyes for a second. And, as he opened them, he realized Duke was no longer in the room with him. He realized he had no cellphone in his hands either. “Lacerta,” he said aloud and received no response. His eyes wandered around the morgue for a moment. His eyes looked at all the bodies Akil and Ajou had chosen. It was equal-part Canes and Rescue, with Hensley’s right-hand men and the same for Barker’s father. 

   “Son!” A voice hollered, Vulpecula recognized it as Hensley’s. The Fox Detective complied instinctively, jutting his body out of the way as Hensley’s sword struck Niles’, saving Vulpecula. 

   Saving Vulpecula from what? A figment of his own imagination? Even in death, his father proved useless. Vulpecula watched the ongoing battles; the ongoing, pointless battles. What were they fighting for? Niles wanted supremacy? What did Hensley Noel want? Probably, the same thing. Or, at the very least, to be the hero. Hensley wanted to save everyone. And, in the end, he couldn’t even save … Vulpecula shivered at the thought. If Akil and Ajou wanted to send him a message, they brought the bones of the wrong parent. 

   The wrong parent. 

   Vulpecula dropped to his knees. Behind him, he heard the sound of swords striking against one another, of battle-cries, and cries of agony. 

   The wrong parent. 

   Nora Noel’s death had been one shrouded in mystery for years. It was believed that free members of The Canes Vinatici had snatched her up as she left the docks for a boat-ride across the Amisoic Seas; a rare romantic gesture from Hensley Noel. Why did he think about it now?  

   The wrong parent. 

   Vulpecula turned around to the fighting men and was met with a dark-sky overhead and a boat in-front of him. As it approached the harbor, he appreciated its sheer majesty. In his hand, he held another. Vulpecula looked up, seeing Tony Roxwale looming over him with a large-smile on his face. This was a memory of his; a memory he had kept buried. As the boat came to dock, Vulpecula watched as animals left it, and was not surprise when Hensley Noel came out; somber and alone. He had forgotten he’d been there. That Tony had looked after him and he’d been there to see the look on Hensley’s face. He’d forgotten many things. He’d forgotten the sit-down talk he’d had with his father afterward. He’d forgotten yelling at him. He’d forgotten about telling Hensley it should’ve been him. And, of course, he’d forgotten the funeral months after when it was. 

   Something else Vulpecula had forgotten about was the day she died and why they came back that morning in-particular. August 14th, 2005. 

   “My 10th birthday,” Vulpecula said as his eyes looked over to Duke, letting the cellphone out from his hands. 

   Another day went by. The Fox Detective hadn’t mentioned anything to Duke nor had he reported his findings to Mayor Barker. What was there to report, after all? That the numbers Akil and Ajou hid happened to correlate with the worst day of his life? It couldn’t have been a coincidence, however, Vulpecula felt confident about that. Akil and Ajou had toyed with him, but they knew that Hensley Noel wasn’t the loss he mourned over. His mother’s death had been the last straw for Vulpecula. His relationship between Hensley was never repaired. The day he died, Vulpecula anger at him had only increased. Hensley had been so committed to his “mission,” the man was blind to all the heart-ache and death he brought with him. 

   Vulpecula had hoped to miss Duke on the way out of the hotel, but wasn’t that lucky.  

   “I’m thinking it’s about time we report back to Detective Barker and call it a day, don’t you? The way I see it, Akil and Ajou’s case is already solved. Might as well not stay in the hottest part of Hell any longer, you know?” Duke asked, offering a warm smile as he sat in the dining area, eating a piece of toast. 

   “I have one more loose end I need to follow up on. It’s probably nothing, but it’ll bother me if I ignore it. It should only take an hour or so, but we have to head back to the morgue,” Vulpecula explained, trying to sound convincing with his delivery. 

   The warm smile on Duke’s face soured into a look of displeasure. That’s what Vulpecula was counting on. 

   “Or,” Vulpecula said, acting as though he had only just come up with a solution, “I could run by the morgue and look at what I need to look at and be back in an hour or so. It shouldn’t take long at all.” 

   Duke appeared apprehensive about the suggestion, but reluctantly agreed. 

* * * 

   On his flight back to Acera, Vulpecula was grateful that Vivian Herms hadn’t yet canceled the funds on his debit-cards. He hadn’t known a lot about the boat Nora Noel had disappeared on, hadn’t ever thought to look, but a simple search online told him everything he needed to know about finding it.  

   The hefty luxury boat hadn’t been active in over a decade and the area was now a lot for fisherman to dock their boats. 

   As Vulpecula’s boots touched the dock’s rickety, wooden planks, he beheld the Amisoic Sea in all its majesty. All of this trouble, and for what? Vulpecula smiled. No matter what happened, he didn’t regret the trip. The night’s moon loomed over him. It was the only time he knew he was most likely to be alone. Was Nora Noel one of the many ghosts Vivian Herms thought he needed to let go of? As if it was so easy a thing to do. For all he knew, it was the ghosts that made him the man he was today. Maybe that was the problem. 

   “Color me surprised. All that gobbledygook your lizard friend writes about blank chalkboards and intuition was, in-fact, not all gobbledygook,” a voice called out. 

   Vulpecula turned around. In-front of him, Akil and Ajou neared him. Their demeanor felt at ease and without malicious intent. “You guys dug up a bunch of dead guys to bring me to an old dock?” 

   One of the cats chuckled, Akil, Vulpecula believed, judging by the small black patch of fur over his left eye, barely distinguished by the moonlight. “Actually, after our piece, Ajou and I intended to find our way out of Maharris.” 

   “What happened?” 

   “One of our friends had a different plan. She stole our plane and left us stranded,” Ajou responded. He didn’t sound particularly offended by the occurrence.  

   “No honor among thieves, I surmise,” The Fox Detective countered. 

   “I wouldn’t call us thieves. It wasn’t like anyone was exactly using the bones and we did leave all their personal items intact,” Akil smiled. “So, this is where you discovered your dearest mother would never be seen again. My condolences,” his voice became serious for a moment. 

   “If I could offer some consolation,” Ajou began. “Only a year prior, Hensley Noel rejoiced on every television screen in Maharris. Hensley was coveted and revered as a hero and everyone held him on a pedestal. I know that I did, and my brother, as well. Every day we heard he would be speaking at a conference or anywhere else, Akil and I both were struck in-front of the television. Our mother and father never spoke ill of him either. They merely let us love the fox on the screen, who made us all feel like we could accomplish anything, and that we were enough, despite what The Canes Vinatici had programmed us to believe. Never did they make us ask the obvious questions, of how, even though all the animals Hensley showed were finding high paying jobs and opportunities, why was our whole town in poverty? We never thought about it. We never thought about how Hensley Noel had already written off martyrs to die at the wayside. They segregated all The Canes into Hardan they could. They filled it til was filled overcapacity. Every drop that spilled out was left to Urgway like poison. The thing about poison is, no one ever sees a cup and tries to separate it with the water. As far as anyone knows, that cup is soured and thereby, ignored.” 

   Vulpecula turned, seeing a ship approaching the dock, still a ways away from them. 

   “Imagine living it that worthless cup of poison, even though everyday a man you truly believed with all your heart was coming to save you filled your head with lies and deceptions. Then, imagine the angry outcry of dogs, some former Canes members, some not, rioting in the streets because they feel tormented against. Imagine as your father falls down in a puddle of his own blood and imagine your mother’s screams as she throws you out the window of a burning building as the flames scorch her to a crisp.” 

   “My skin is burning,” Nicholas screamed in agony as the greenhouse became engulfed by fire … Vulpecula felt a warmth in his chest, “I’m sorry for what my father’s mistakes have cost you.” 

   “We’ve forgiven your father,” Akil said, then, allowed Ajou to finish, “We haven’t forgiven his son.” 

   “Hensley Noel knew he couldn’t save everyone and so, he chose to save only who he valued, signing off checks he couldn’t cash. It’s … admirable in an unfortunate way. He found himself in the right position and made the best he could out of it. He tried and got it half right. Meanwhile, his son wastes away drinking alcohol and moping around, squandering the only chance we’ll ever get to right the other half.” 

   “I suppose you’re righting wrongs then, by having puppet-shows with dead-bodies and foolish acrostics with hidden messages?” Vulpecula asked. 

   “I can’t even afford a hotel for the night, you’re the sole inheritor of a multi-million-dollar company! And, you’re so foolish that you can’t see the monsters looking at you right dead in the eyes! The ones in the media, the ones in law-enforcement, the politicians, you’re a pawn in a game you’ve the rightful king of, and you’re too selfish and entitled to look around you.”  

   “If everyone’s so corrupt, why don’t you spell it out for me then? Throw me some names, I have contacts, we’ll look into it!” Vulpecula barked. 

   “If you still can’t see it for yourself, then, your journey isn’t over yet. It is for us, however,” Akil said with a smile.  

   Vulpecula looked behind him again. The ship would meet them in only a moment’s time. The ship, Vulpecula assumed, was their getaway from Maharris, once and for all.  

   “Where will you go?” Vulpecula asked. 

   As a rope bridge-ladder lowered off the boat, Vulpecula watched as Akil and Ajou leaped off from the dock and grabbed it. As Akil ascended onto the boat, Ajou took a final look at Vulpecula and smiled, “Home.”