A/N This is not a werewolf story! This is a detective story ! A huge thank you to Elyse and Matt for saving my ass! I am so grateful, you don't even know.
Disclaimer bla: I don't own Glee and I borrowed some language from Skyrim, which I also don't own.
Let me know what you think :)
+++ Groathmuir was the name of a little town, right in the middle of Mhlahir Forrest, which was also called The Grey Valley because most time of the year, the area lay in dull colours, and mist hung over the heather covered moorland. It was a peaceful place, in which magic still existed and mystical creatures lived amongst the civilians. Of course, like everywhere on earth, peace never meant that everything was perfect. It was the responsibility of the regional police department to maintain the safety of the city and its residents. One day, a series of murders shocked the village and its neighbour town Shorstone. A challenge for homicide inspector Santana Lopez, as the investigation required all of her knowledge of lycanthropy and magical creatures. +++
Fragile – Part 1
It was already the fourth killing this week. Again it was murder, again the same lacerations. The wounds were cut ugly and uneven; it looked like the suspect had stabbed the victim in a hurry, or even in rage. Maybe a sign that he or she didn't feel satisfaction in their action.
"Still, this was not a random murder," murmured Santana absent minded, putting the tweezers aside.
"What are you saying?" enquired Arthur, second assistant of the local police detective. Arthur was a short and stocky man, which was because he had spent about half of his life in a wheelchair. He examined Santana with a questioning look, as if he wanted her to present the solution to this case right away.
"The trace evidence," Santana repeated, "tell, that it was the same person who had stabbed Mr Hudson on Sunday."
"Good God," muttered Arthur. "This guy must have been angry."
"I am not sure about their motive," said Santana. Again and again, she ran her hand through the fur in the neck and belly area, but she couldn't find anything abnormal.
"No sign of combat at the claws of the victim, and the fur is alright as well. It almost seems like they all didn't resist when the murderer attacked them. What's the result of Hudson's autopsy?"
"He was conscious when he died. The victims were all conscious. It's impossible that they got surprised by the suspect during sleep."
Santana got up, peeling off the gloves and ran her hands through her long, dark hair. For once she had no clue how to put the puzzle pieces together.
"Arrange another autopsy for this one here, what's the name?"
"Kitty… Wilde, Ma'am."
"We'll probably achieve the same result. In the meantime I'm going to find out if there is a connection between the victims. Please, give me her ID."
Arthur pulled the identity, a simple laminated card, from the pile of confiscated items and handed it over to Santana.
Kitty Wilde
67 Haalvut Close
Groathmuir
"Interesting," it escaped her lips. An idea shot through her head. An idea that had to be put into action immediately. With a nod, she wished Arthur a good morning and headed down into town, to continue her investigations.
67 Haalvut Close was a big and ambitious, three level building with several doors and corridors. As Santana walked through the entry, she was watched by women who gathered together on the sofas in the lounge, quietly talking to another. All of them were scantily clad, and Santana thought it was too cold to be wearing those kinds of outfits, but it wasn't her problem and even less it wasn't her job. The name of the man at the counter was Puck; Santana had seen him a few times in the local pub, the Ruddy Lion, but they never had a proper conversation. What she knew though was that he owned a brothel with several female and male prostitutes, and that business went well. He had even offered her a girl for half the price once, but she had refused the offer with the argument that she is too good to ever have to buy sex.
"Ah, young Lady Lopez," he called her, remembering her face. "Have you considered accepting my offer?" He grinned at her mischievously. "Or are you coming for a private meeting with me? Threesomes are available, too."
"I'm not here for amusement," Santana hissed and smacked Kitty's identity card on the counter. "I have questions. Questions you better answer."
His eyes went wide. "Follow me."
Without hesitation he showed her the way to the back room and gestured her to sit down. But Santana remained standing.
"You better sit down," she said. "Your employee Kitty Wilde was murdered last night. I am the detective in charge of that case."
"Murdered?" Puck's voice sounded husky and shocked. "But…"
He sank down into the next chair and buried his head in his hands. "No, no, that is just… Is this a joke?"
"No joke," Santana answered in serious, yet soft voice. "I was just there. I saw her."
"Are you sure?" Puck croaked. "Blonde? Hazel eyes? Brown leather-"
"Brown leather jacket, yes," she interrupted him. Puck let out a yowl. "I am so sorry."
Puck needed a while to gather himself. The loss of his prostitute seemed to distress him more than she thought. Who knew how close they maybe were.
"What kind of connection did you have with Miss Wilde?"
"In quite a professional, I would say," he replied slowly. "I liked her a lot. But…"
"Did you sleep with her?"
Puck squint his eyes. "Is that relevant to the case?"
"Of course," Santana said. She had to admit that she was curious and the question had just popped into her head, but anything could be relevant to the case. Anything. Puck sighed.
"We had sex a few times. She wanted it," he admitted. "How could I resist her?"
"Did you notice anything unusual during?" she asked further.
Puck starred at her speechless. After a few second he said: "You know it's odd that you ask because there was something I noticed."
Arms crossed before her chest Santana waited for him to spit out the details. The boy really seemed confused and out of it. She wasn't doubting that he was crestfallen.
"In the middle of… well, when we were doing it," he began, "she was getting so different all of a sudden. So… wild. Almost like a beast. I thought she would rip me in half any moment, she was that rough."
Santana nodded. Yes, that fit together. Apparently Puck had no idea.
"Do you know if she had any enemies?"
"No, not that I could think of."
"Was there anyone she was close to? Friends? Family? Someone who could give me further information about her?"
At first Puck shook his head, then he seemed to remember something.
"Wait, there was someone she was going out with sometimes. A woman. First I thought they were sisters or something. Only seen her once. And I haven't seen her for ages... I never asked Kitty why they never met up anymore. It's her private life after all. But please, tell me, what has this to do with her sexual behaviour?"
Santana hesitated for a moment. But then she decided to tell him the truth.
"Your employee Kitty Wilde had Lycanthropy. She was a Werewolf." That hit home. The pale on Puck's cheeks turned into green.
"Don't worry," said Santana. "It's not contagious. Not unless you get in contact with higher amounts of blood."
"All the hair down there makes so much sense now!" Puck exclaimed frantic. "Oh my God, now everything makes sense!" He jumped from his chair and began to walk in circles in front of Santana. "My customers kept telling me that they loved her, although her breath wasn't pleasant and she had so much hair…FUR! Fur in places, where you would never believe it to be possible. But she was selling so well in high demand, better than anyone! If you are in this kind of business, of course you want to keep someone like this. She was even taking two at once if they were into that. At once!"
What was he even talking about? Santana clutched her hands over her forehead, sighing. She couldn't help but imagine the scene. The mixture of fascination and disgust was messing with her mind.
"Of course I couldn't belief it until I had proven it for myself. And what can I say? The customers were right. The girl is… was a goldmine. A pleasure mine! My God, she is dead? Are you really sure that this is no joke?"
Twenty minutes later, Santana was on her way to the other village Shorstone, together with the information about Kitty's mysterious friend, who could maybe be able to give her a clue.
She knocked three times until an old lady opened the door.
"Good day, my name is Santana Lopez, detective and specialist for Lycanthropy and magical creatures. I'm investigating a serial murder case and have a few questions... "
"I do not buy any creatures!" croaked the old but still tough and stout woman, and swung her stick threatening at Santana. "Yesterday someone was here also and tried to convince me to buy a Caladrius. And you would think those young cheeky magicians would know that not even Caladri could save me from death. The youth of today... " She sighed.
"You misunderstand me, ma'am," Santana said eagerly. "It's about the murder of four people who were killed in this last week. I have just one question."
Then the coin dropped.
"The murder of this young, talented singer? Joe Hart? "
"And three other young people."
"This is awful. You should hang the person immediately. I bet it was one of those young lads who do nothing but laze around these days. Do you already know who it is? "
Santana didn't have much luck today with the co-operation of their clients.
"Has a Kitty Wilde lived here?I'm looking for her-"
"What? No, there are no Kelpies around here at night. You'll have to go to the mountains if you wish to see them."
"KITTY WILDE!" Santana yelled, startling the woman who shrunk together at her outburst.
"Wilde?"
"God's sake, yes. Wilde. "
The woman pouted and thought about it for a while. But then she seemed to remember.
"A Kitty Wilde lived here a long time ago. Are you her friend? "
"Excuse me?" Said Santana mildly irritated. "No, I'm investigating her murder case."
"She's dead? This is terrible. "
"She is one of the murdered Lycans."
"What? She is an Owlman? "
Santana's patience had slowly come to an end. Damn this job and damn those bloody people. Why was there was no magic for the improvement of old ears yet?
"Kitty's friend! I am looking for Kitty's friend."
"Oh her… She stayed here as well. Until recently even. She lived on the first floor and suddenly disappeared one day. She said something about Mngwas. I assumed she wanted to go and buy one. "
"What was her name?"
The old lady scratched her chin. "Lucy, I think."
"Wonderful. May I come in and look around? "
"You do not sell creatures, right?" the lady asked once again to be on the safe side. Santana squeezed through the door; her patience was being tested today. The house was spacious, cosy and old. A fire crackled in the living room and it smelled of freshly baked biscuits that didn't seem to be available. Instead, there was an alchemy lab and tons of herbs hanging from the walls, rabbit skins and mushrooms, as well as troll eyes and human teeth. With a gesture, she pointed Santana up the staircase that led to a single room. When Santana turned the knob and opened the squeaking door, she was met by a surge of dust. The door must have been closed for ages. The room and all the furniture itself seemed to lie under a thick layer of dust. The window was closed except for a little gap. It was impossible that anyone had lived here in the past few months. Kitty's friend must have been long gone. Well, what did it matter? Maybe there was still evidence about Kitty to discover, anything that could give her a clue about anything. She carefully brushed the dust from one of the many books on the shelf. She had had quite a collection. A book lover… The desk showed a whole mess. It had not been cleaned up at all and it was probably how it had been left when she moved out. Parchment paper, quills, metal staples; everything was scattered over the table. Santana picked up a notebook and tried to read the scribbly writing. It was the recipe for an energy drink. Nothing special. She opened the drawers, but they were empty. Also the cabinet next to the bookcase was cleared out except for a few bowls and a vase. Nothing, absolutely nothing contained information on Kitty or other friends of hers. In fact the stuff didn't even give information about her friend, Lucy. She was about to turn around disappointed when she noticed something. It was a small book, old and worn at the edges, and it lay open and upside down in the middle shelf, as if it was hidden in plain sight. Santana took it in her hand, carefully making sure that she didn't rip it by accident, and read the title. In simple, silver letters read: Werewolves. A handbook.
That was usually nothing special. Everyone should have a book about werewolves at hand, it was part of school lessons, and it was nothing bad to know about. Only Puck had apparently ignored this book in his education. At least in the older generation, everyone had learned about werewolves. Today, the situation was much safer. There were ways and means to protect themselves as well as protect the werewolf from the people. Santana would have put it away again if she didn't know that Kitty was a werewolf. And maybe, just maybe, the book could give her some kind of information. Santana took it carefully, and put it in her bag before she left the room.
"Tea?" The old codger held out a cup of steaming, yellow liquid for her to take. Something floated in it, which looked very similar to saber cat hair.
"No, thanks" Just looking at the drink made her feel sick. "Thank you for letting me in and letting me see the room. I might get back to you again later. "
She left the house as fast as she could. She really had no desire to stay here any longer, not when there were more important things going on. Not when a maniac killer was out there, able to strike any minute, and Santana still hadn't found any big clue about how the victim and the offender could be connected. Whenever something like this was the case, there was only one solution. And this was located in Moorside Inn.
"White, dry? And a glass of water? The usual? "
"As always, Will," said Santana, as she dropped on one of the heavy barstools. A lot of times when Santana had found herself in the situation in which a glass of wine helped to get her mind going more than any witness and found evidence together. Sometimes the hints were not even far from someone, but they lay hidden because her head tended to think too hard about every detail, and overlooked the obvious.
The bar was unusually full for a Thursday evening. To Santana's surprise the young daughter of the milk vendor in Groathmuir was also amongst the guests. She was tall and slim for her age and with the most wonderful blonde hair that Santana had ever seen. They would meet here together sometimes to have one or two drinks each. Brittany was her name. Santana liked to watch Brittany, to observe how the corners of her mouth pulled up when someone made a joke and how she squeezed her eyes together when she looked sceptical. But today, Brittany looked crestfallen. Santana believed that the boy she was talking with was named Jake. He had his arm protectively around her and spoke reassuringly to her. Almost automatically Santana leaped off her stool and floated towards them. Only when she stood in front of them Brittany noticed who she was.
"Santana?"
"What's up Britt?" Brittany lifted her head and looked at Santana with big, swollen eyes. She had been crying. Santana put her hands on Brittany's knees and looked into her eyes. As Brittany returned her gaze, her features softened.
"It is because of Sam."
"Sam?" Santana broke eye contact and let panic arise in Brittany again. She started to cry.
"He's, he's ... he's dead!"
Santana knew. Sam Evans was yesterday's murder victim. Santana had identified him herself. The sight of his pale corpse cut up, the torso looked much more like a pile of meat than a body, was still fresh in her memory. Somewhere she felt a stab in the stomach, as she saw Brittany looking so insanely sad. She could not help but think that maybe Sam had been more than just a friend to Brittany. Grimly she set the wine glass to her lips and drank.
"He was so good to me," Brittany sobbed. "He never cared that I'm not as smart or as talented as others."
Sure, because he was much less smart than her, Santana thought. She emptied her wine in two more sips and ordered a new one. She thought about everything for a while. There were the victims: Kitty, Sam, Hudson and Hart. The murder locations were the surroundings of the two villages and Groathmuir and Shorstone. Three of the victims had Lycanthropy and one, Hudson, was a Panshifter. The murders were committed with one blade or multiple blades; it was therefore ruled out that a shapeshifter could have done that in transformed form.
The victims had not resisted, but haven't been stabbed during sleep either. They must have been surprise-attacked and possibly died quickly. Any form of mutilation of the victim must have happened when they were already dead or very near to death. Santana really had to get back to Arthur and ask about the new autopsy results. She had no information yet on whether the victims had a connection to each other or not. She left behind Brittany and began to question the pub guests to find clues.
"Do you know a Kitty Wilde?" she asked when she got back at Brittany and Jake's table. Brittany was still sobbing and Jake shook his head.
"Kitty?" Brittany muttered. "Sam once mentioned a Kitty."
"Oh yeah?"
"He said she was a prostitute and Lycanthrope. He was asking me, if I wanted to do it with two werewolves at once. "
"Do what, Britt?" Something pounded unpleasantly against Santana's stomach wall. It felt like it was her breakfast.
"Making the beast with two backs."
Fine, so they had been fucking then.
"Did he mention anything else about her?"
"Only that the difference between me and Kitty is that I am not a Lycan and haven't got much fur. Otherwise, I would be as perfect as a werewolf. "
Santana felt reminded of the conversation with Puck and pushed the thoughts off as fast as she could. All right, so Sam knew Kitty. This was at least one connection between the victims. She turned back to her questioning. But no one seemed to be able to say anything about the victims. Some of them reported to have been one of Kitty's customers, but apart from this business they had had nothing to do with her and couldn't give any information... Information on Kitty's body, Santana had enough for today. It drove her crazy already. Werewolves could be so peculiar sometimes.
Apart from the ones who suffered under the illness of Lycanthropy, there were mainly two types of patients: The one who had fun enjoying the benefits of shifting into a wolf and the ones who give into their bloodlust and have to find fresh victims to satisfy it. The problem with the last one was that these people would have it harder with time to come down from the high that giving into bloodlust creates and therefore posed a greater threat to the citizens. A few years ago they had developed a drug that tempered the symptoms of illness, which decreased the number of deaths, but led to an increased use of the drug as an intoxicant. The persons concerned would fall into an intoxication of Lycanthropy, feeling the rush that came with fulfilling the bloodlust but without being able to do any harm. However, the increased use of the drug was harmful to the Lycan's health and could lead to the development of mental health problems. Often the affected would assume they were in a transformed state and behave like a wolf, while physically be in their human state.
By the time it got later there was one guest Santana had not interviewed yet. It was a young woman, sitting in the back corner. She was dressed in simple clothes, a grey hooded sweater she had pulled over her head. Golden blonde strands of hair fell out and over her forehead. She looked into a jug of steaming soup in front of her, her eyes dull. Santana walked over to her and sat down at the opposite side. The girl did not even look up.
"Hey, I'm Detective Santana Lopez. May I ask you a few questions? "
The girl shrugged her shoulders, her eyes still turned to the table.
"What is your name?"
The girl mumbled something, but it was impossible for Santana to understand.
"Sorry?"
"Quinn ..." it came quietly back from her.
"Hello Quinn. Excuse the interruption. I'm investigating this murder case, which you probably already heard of. " Quinn shook her head. Santana drew three pictures from her jacket pocket and placed it carefully on the table in front of Quinn. Kitty had no picture yet. After a few seconds, Quinn finally turned to look to the pictures.
"Do you know these people?"
"Don't know them," she said in a certain tone.
"Never before seen? Are you sure? They all lived in the area. "
"I'm not from here," replied Quinn, Santana looked up and received Quinn's gaze. A touch of green glittered in them, before she looked away again.
"Where are you from?"
"None of your business ," Quinn muttered, pulled her hands into her lap, and remained in a passive position.
"Do you know a Kitty Wilde?"
"No." The answer came spontaneously and without hesitation, but in a weak tone and softly.
"No?"
"No."
Where nothing could be done, nothing could be done. Santana decided to get up, but something held her in place. She looked at her again; her stares didn't even seem to irritate her. She just gave her no further attention.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
The question tumbled so quickly and easily out of her mouth, that it surprised herself. "You look like you need a beer."
It was true. Quinn looked pretty haggard and judging by her clothes, she was not the richest. Santana took pity on her. Quinn again shrugged her shoulders. If she had not been talking to Santana before, she would have thought that maybe she was deaf.
"I'll be right back," Santana said, smiling and lifted herself up towards the bar. Pretty shy, this girl, she thought. Or disinterested. No, in this case she could have refused her offer? Santana ordered two pints of malt beer. Brittany and Jake had made themselves scarce around a corner, talking quietly. Santana waved.
"Are you coming to join us?" Jake asked, tapped the empty chair next to him. Shaking her head, Santana pointed to the table by the door.
"I'm sitting with Quinn over there. Come over if you like. "
At the sight of Quinn in the distance Brittany suddenly jumped, knocking over a chair and slammed into another that stopped her from falling. She surely had a couple of drinks too many tonight.
"That's the bitch! This woman has beaten Sam almost unconscious! She was so mean to my Sam! "
Santana spun, but Quinn was already on her feet and on the run. Everything fell into panic, Brittany screamed and so did many others around here. Santana dropped both glasses and jumped after Quinn, who had already leaped out the door.
"Stop! Wait a minute! "
Santana followed chased Quinn down the street. The street in front of her was dark and wet. Rain pattered on the paved road. Quinn dove through the puddles at a rapid pace and took the road to the forest. The girl was nimble, Santana had a problem to keep up, which was not in the least caused by the cloak she wore; it was much heavier than Quinn's light clothing. In addition, the wine made her limbs heavy. Who would have guessed that she would have to run after someone this evening. The forest was even darker than the street, and the ground was muddy. No one should enter it in the dark, not even Santana herself. It was dangerous. But Quinn didn't stop and broke through even deeper into the undergrowth. Santana's vision blurred in a coat of darkness, and two seconds later she had lost Quinn.
"Crap," she exclaimed. There she was; the only clue, a witness who could perhaps say more about Sam, and she was gone and lost forever. Santana stretched her hand out, made a fist and said: "Kun-haal"
A ball of light, slowly expanding, forged in her hand when she opened her palm; it illuminated the area for several meters.
She looked around. Everything was quiet. Nothing moved, only the clouds, high in the sky that cast its shadows onto the earth. She took a few steps. Quinn couldn't be far. No sound was to be heard, and there was no evidence of movement.
"You don't have to run away," Santana spoke through the night. "I won't hurt you." In this moment, she wished to have cat's eyes. But she had never liked cats much. The thicket on her left cracked. Santana immediately directed her light onto the spot, just in time to see the little figure vanishing in the woods. She jumped after it. Branches whipped her face as she followed Quinn through the forest, but she didn't care. She had a trace on Quinn, she knew it. She just sensed it. She had to catch up with her, no matter what!
The thicket was thick first, but then when they broke through the bushes they found themselves in a small clearing in the middle of the forest. At daytime this was the most beautiful place on earth, idyllic, and great for a picnic. At night it was rather creepy. The trees were all crammed together, ringing the little fenced, grassy clearing like a wall of darkness. If it was cloudy, the sight was even worse. But tonight, a red waxing moon shone through the clearing, down on Quinn and Santana, who was chasing her. Santana gathered all her strength and overtook her in three big steps. Quinn tried to escape when Santana grabbed her wrist. She would have made it almost, because Santana's hands slipped away from her, but she was able to grab her leg instead and bring her to fall. Quinn stumbled and fell to the ground, and Santana fell with her.
"Get off!" Quinn hissed, trying to escape Santana's grip in vain. She had wrapped her arms tightly around Quinn's legs, holding firm against a few desperate kicks from Quinn.
"Stay calm," Santana gasped, managing to wrap herself around Quinn's hip. They wrestled on the ground. Oddly, Santana had the feeling that over time Quinn became, unlike herself, not weaker, but stronger. It was like something was driving her, like she drew new energy somehow.
"Stop!" Quinn finally pleaded. "Please."
"Then talk to me," Quinn pulled out of Santana's embrace. She paused. Santana sat up panting and wiped her muddy hands on her trousers. For a second, Quinn made eye contact with Santana, but then she sprinted off.
"Yool Toor," said Santana, holding out her hand. A tiny ball fire ball shot toward Quinn and set the hem of her hoodie on fire. The shock made her jump. Enough time for Santana to pounce on her. This time something strange happened. Instead of attempting to escape Quinn yelped and threw herself onto Santana, hands stretched forward and lashing out. Santana was hardly prepared for a counter-attack and had trouble parrying it. The first hit was followed by another which she could resist, hands held up in front of her face. But then the attacks grew stronger, faster and furious. Quinn seemed into fall into a rage and Santana, interpreting the signs, knew she would not stop unless Santana did something about it.
"Look at me," Santana croaked at the right moment, raising her hand. Her arms were burning where Quinn's fingers had left red marks. Quinn's eyes glowed through the night. Santana knew what that meant.
"Laas Zii, Quinn. Look at me," Santana managed to press her flat hand against Quinn's quivering forehead. The moment the girl's eyes fell on Santana's, her features softened, and the black in her eyes disappeared slowly.
"Hahdrim Grohiik. Free your mind. Free your breath."
Quinn sank slowly down into Santana's arms. So tiny, so fragile. And yet so strong. It wanted Santana to forget for a moment why she was even here. And when she heard Quinn's soft sobs, it was like her heart shattered into pieces.
"That's not me ... that is ... I've done nothing to the boy."
"Shh," Santana tried to reassure her.
"He has infected me. I was so angry! I ... I don't want to be a werewolf."
"Shhh, don't speak. Everything will be alright. You can be healed."
"No, I can't. It's taking possession of my thoughts and feelings. This bloodlust. This anger, I ... I feel so ugly." Her limbs began to tremble again as a new wave of anger washed over her.
"It's going to be alright. You are not ugly. You are beautiful."
It was not even a lie. Quinn was incredibly beautiful. Even the redness in her eyes right now didn't make her less pretty. Santana had to admit that she had a weakness for crying girls. She wrapped her arms around her little body and held pressed against her, let her feel the warmth that helped the cold Lycanthropy.
Rain began to fall a small drop from the sky while a light breeze rustled through the trees. Quinn's rattling breath slowed with Santana's. Her blank stare directed into the distance, and her head resting on Santana's collarbone, the two merged into one.
"Shall I take you somewhere?" Santana gently brushed through Quinn's blonde, matted hair. Quinn shook her head. "I cannot just leave you here." But Quinn seemed to want to remain there, and it bothered Santana to leave her alone tonight. What if she froze to death? She looked so gaunt and lightly dressed. "Come with me. I have a spare sofa," Santana heard herself saying, terrified at her own courageous words. Quinn didn't respond first, but then she shrugged her shoulders. It was not a no, so Santana took it as another yes.
The rain had soaked them completely by the time Santana turned the key of her front door. Santana quickly peeled off her coat and hung it onto the clothes rack, so she could prepare a bed for the shivering Quinn by her side.
"I'll let you use the bath tub first," she said. "You are wet and dirty to the bones. No offence. "
After Santana had filled the bath with fresh, hot water she went into the kitchen to set a water kettle on the stove. Then she pulled bed sheets out of her wardrobe as well as a big nightdress and a pair of cheap shorts that would be most comfortable for sleeping. They had about the same size, although Quinn looked much smaller all wet. Like a wet cat. Santana smiled at the thought. When she went back to her living room to prepare the bed, she caught Quinn struggling to pull her vest over her head.
"Wait, I'll help you," she said, approaching Quinn and tugged at the sleeves that dangled helplessly above Quinn's head. Two seconds later, the wet clothing was removed. They faced each other, Quinn silently, she had hardly said anything. Santana wondered if she was shy, or afraid? In any event, she would not hurt her.
Santana took the wet clothes and handed her the dry ones. Then she sent her to the bathroom.
"There's a towel hanging over the tub. Call me, if you need anything."
It was a strange feeling in Santana that the girl was triggering in her. It wasn't a bad feeling at all, but she didn't know what to do with it. It puzzled Santana how this girl could just show up in her life, and next thing she did after fighting her in the mud was to pull off her clothes. She carried Quinn's clothes into her room and hung them over the old cord spanned across the room. As she threw the vest over it, her pockets emptied itself onto the floor. Groaning Santana bent down and picked up copper, a pocket watch and a few pills that looked like painkillers. She put it carefully onto her drawer and went back to the living room to finally make the bed.
Santana had just put the freshly infused herbal tea onto her little coffee table when she heard the bathroom door and Quinn came back into the living room. Her eyes looked glossy still and her face was all red from the hot water, and she smelled like the honey oil she had let her use. Santana thought the smell of honey fit Quinn's shiny golden hair. Santana just stared at her, not able to form a word describing how she felt at the sight of the girl. Quinn's ears flushed when she returned Santana's smile bashfully.
"Here is your tea," Santana heard herself whisper. "And again, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Sleep well and get some rest."
Sighing, Santana sat down at her desk and put her head in her hands. The day played through before her eyes again and again, giving her a headache. Seriously, was there anything she had achieved today? What information had she gathered? There was a possible connection between Sam and Kitty, who could have been a costumer of hers. She needed to find out more about that. Also, she had met Quinn who knew Sam because Sam had given her lycanthrophy. It wouldn't necessarily mean that Quinn knew more about Sam or Sam's friends and contacts. She should ask her tomorrow how it happened, that he infected her. She hadn't found a lot of clues so far, and it frustrated Santana. What if the murderer struck again tonight? Sighing, she reached for the old corded phone on her desk and dialed the number of the office. It rang, and after a while a very sleepy Arthur picked up the receiver.
"What is it, S? My shift ends in two minutes."
"Any news about the autopsy?"
"Like expected, we got the same results as before. Where have you actually been? I tried to call. Well, anyway… Turned out that the weapon she used must have been the same type. The blade was sharp on both edges/sides and about 10 inches long. No sign of combat. The killer has stabbed very specific areas. The injuries on the neck and thigh were probably the ones that caused her death. Any… chopping afterwards must have happened when the body was already lifeless."
Same knife. Well, at least the suspect was not adventurous with their weapons. It made the investigation a tiny bit easier.
"Something's on your mind, Lopez? '"
"Not really," Santana said. "A connection between Kitty and Sam Evans existed. It's likely that Sam was a customer Kitty's, but I have no evidence for that yet."
"Oh that reminds me! There was this guy called Puckerman, rushing into the office," Arthur interrupted. "He yelled at me, and refused to believe that Kitty Wilde was dead."
"I questioned him today," said Santana. "He was talking gibberish. I'll send you the report later. But what did he tell you? "
"Well, I asked him where he had last seen Kitty. He was under the impression that after her day shift she didn't retire to her room like usual, but preferred to go elsewhere that day."
"Where to?" She could almost guess the answer. Of course. How could she be so blind?
"Into the Lycan hostel in Shorstone. This is the place appointed by the government to provide safety and security for people with Lycanthropy. It makes sense that she wanted to go there after all those attacks. "
"And yet she was found in the woods ... Have you called them?" Santana asked, biting her lip, listening to Arthur's report.
"I did. They told me, no Kitty Wilde had checked in that day or the previous days. They must have attacked her while she was on her way."
Santana's head throbbed from the exhaustion of the day. Thinking became exhausting.
"Arthur. Tomorrow we will pay this place a visit. There has to be one damn clue, I will ask each and every person in the entire hostel if necessary."
"Yes. I still have one more a clue, Lopez. "
"Spill!"
"There were still more tests to be done on Hart's body. His cuts revealed a certain form of grinding. And like I said it was a 10 inch blade. A 10 inch refined moonstone blade to be exact. These are only produced by Anderson."
"My goodness, why didn't you mention this earlier?" Santana shot. "Another place we have to visit tomorrow. Meeting you at the office at 9?"
He agreed. She wished Arthur a good night and hung up the phone.
Santana stood up from her desk, took off her clothes she used to wear for work and changed into a comfy sleeping shirt (to be honest she could have used a bath as well), but it was already late and she was tired. She just washed her face instead and lay down onto her soft feather bed. When she pulled the blanket over her, her thoughts wandered back to Quinn, who had probably fallen asleep already. The girl had to be tired after all that stress she had been through today. Santana considered getting up to reassure herself that she was really sleeping and everything was alright. No, not better. She was already way too concerned about Quinn without even be able to explain it. She wasn't just pitying her. There was something interesting, something mysterious about her that Santana couldn't quite wrap her head around. The thought of having a random girl sleeping in her flat made her heart beat a little faster. It had been a long time since someone visited, and it had been even longer since somebody stayed overnight. Eventually Santana couldn't take it anymore, so she hopped out of the bed and crept carefully out of her room, down the hall to the living room. Luckily the door was not barred from inside and just ajar. When she quietly pushed it open and peered inside, a sight was offered to her she hadn't expected. Quinn sat there, cowering on the sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest, shivering. Her eyes were directed forward, but seemed empty and absent. Even though she didn't move at all, Santana was under the impression that the girl noticed her enter as her ears perked up slightly.
"Is everything okay?" Santana whispered carefully, coming closer. Obviously not everything was okay. Quinn's eyes, dull and empty, troubled Santana. She looked beyond sad, like someone who had lost everything they lived for. Seeing her like this broke Santana's heart. She hoped that Quinn had something to live for. She sat down next to the girl, placing her hand on her knee. She wished she could help her somehow. Make her feel better. She wished she could make her feel something.
"Talk to me?"
Santana squeezed her knee gently. It was followed by a long silence. All they could hear was their breathing and the ticking of the longcase clock next to the sofa.
"I no longer know who I am." She muttered after a while.
"You are Quinn." Santana replied. But she knew what she meant.
"I'm a monster. You saw me." Quinn's voice grew a little stronger, and her neutral gaze formed into a frown.
"You're not a monster."
"Yeah? What am I, then?" she barked, clenching her fists. "Is there any difference between me and the monster? I have no control over the animal."
Santana was silent, thinking. To her she was everything but a werewolf. But what did people like Santana know about this illness after all? She could know everything about it, still she would never know how it felt when she wasn't ill herself. Like with everything people did, they would only really know when they were involved in something.
"I understand."
"No, you don't understand nothing. How could you? I'm sure you have not been disowned by your family, because they look at you with disgust. I'm sure you have friends that you go out with whenever you want to! And you need not worry whether emotions have a huge impact on you and your environment."
Her voice and her body began to tremble. Santana gently touched her arm to steady her. She could literally see how Quinn struggled to control herself, to not let the wolf take over her.
"I do not understand what it feels like," Santana said intently. "But I understand how it is when you have no choice, or when choices are very limited."
"Oh?" Quinn looked up at her.
"Yes .."
Santana slowly ran her hand along the petite shoulders of the girl and smiled. She wanted to reassure her, tell her that it was going to be alright. Quinn, however, began to cry softly. Big, warm tears fell down over her cheeks; tears just as beautiful as she was.
"Everything is a struggle. I don't want to struggle anymore..." her voice was cracking.
"Sleep now."
Her hands brushed over her back in soft strokes, drawing circles into the skin of her neck, gently massaging her shoulder blades. She leaned back until she lay on the sofa, pulling Quinn gently further into her arm. Without hesitation Quinn let it happen, leaning her head against Santana's chest, and her hand resting on the sides of Santana's hips. Santana's stomach twisted when she felt Quinn's breath tickling her skin. Her breathing got calmer, and quieter. Then she felt small hands slowly wrapping around her and Quinn softly pressing against her. She couldn't see Santana's wide smile against the mess of Quinn's hair. She ran her other hand through it and over her scalp, feeling how Quinn's breathing became steadier and steadier. Santana tried to replay how she first met Quinn in her head, breathing in the honey scent, as the long day and the exhaustion finally caught up with her and no thought would come into her mind anymore. Her eyelids dropped shut in seconds and she fell asleep, just like Quinn.
To be continued…