Wolves of a Feather
by UnicornPammy
A/N: Hmm, my first foray into Due South ficery. I shall try to be worthy of the genre.
Disclaimer: Not mine. If you sue me, all you will get is my car note and my unpaid credit card bill.
Chapter One: Howl
Stanley Raymond Kowalski was cold, wet, and on the verge of total exhaustion. It was just past midnight, and it was raining, and he had lost his partner and his weapon more than an hour ago. His weapon was behind him, somewhere at the bottom of Lake Michigan. His partner was somewhere ahead of him, and steadily moving farther away.
You're such a fuck-up, Ray.
His breath misted white around his face as he ran, making it hard to keep sight of the ghost-white wolf loping fifty yeards ahead of him. There was a sharp stitch in his side, and his lungs were burning.
His phone rang.
Ray stumbled to a halt, leaning against a lamp post. He bent over with his hands braced on his knees, struggling to catch his breath. Without straightening, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He flipped it open and pulled up the antenna with his teeth.
"Aahh," he said into the phone by way of greeting, momentarily incapable of coherence.
"Detective Vecchio?" Welsh's gruff voice was tinged with uncharacteristic worry. "Are you all right?"
"Depends...on your def...finition." He could barely get the words out.
"Dewey informed me of Constable Fraser's abduction, and reported that you were tailing the suspects." Ray heard him mumble something like, "I assumed he meant in your car." "Do you have them in sight?" he said, louder.
Ray attempted to stand upright, still fighting for air. He glanced around the darkened warehouse-district streets. He couldn't see Diefenbaker anymore. Fear choked him, turned his stomach. "No."
"What was that, Detective?"
"I said no, I don't see him."
"What is your location? I'll have someone pick you up."
"No."
"No?"
"I'm following the wolf." He couldn't stop now, even though Dief was gone. He had to keep going.
"Detective-"
"I'll find him." He hung up. He started moving again. "Dief!" he called, despite the knowledge that the wolf was deaf.
The chilling sound of a wolf's howl was his answer. Ray's heart stopped, then ratcheted up to double time. He started running again, moving into a sprint, horrible visions of Mountie hamburger dancing in his head.
Dief's howl echoed down alleys, making it hard for Ray to determine the exact direction it was coming from. He felt like he was in a house of mirrors. Except instead of reflected images, it was ricochets of sound sending him in the wrong directions. He rounded a corner, and flew straight into a trash can, sending it and all its contents, and himself, crashing to the street. Dragging himself back up, Ray ran to the end of the alley, waiting for another long howl to guide him.
He turned to the right, heard the wolf again, and turned around. As he moved the sound grew louder. He was finally heading in the right direction.
When he spotted Dief again, the white wolf was seated below a street lamp, nose pointed up toward the sky, seeming almost to glow in its dim cone of light. Oh, Jesus, he thought. God, please.... He left the prayer unfinished, unable to put his request into words, trusting to God's supposed omniscience to fill in the blanks.
Ray staggered to a halt at the corner, fighting for breath once more. There was no bleeding, dying Benton lying there, but what was there chilled his blood more than a mangled Mountie would have.
Dief stopped howling, and gazed up at Ray, looking very pitiful and alone. Bereft, almost. Grieving. He whined, pawing at the torn, blood-stained, ruined Stetson that lay on the grimy concrete sidewalk.