Chapter 6 – Rapturous Desperation
I was alone in the world then. I was so afraid, and angry that… I didn't know what I was willing to do to get her back and… No, that's a lie. I knew exactly what I wanted to do but… what I thought at the time was that 'this is the moment that breaks me,' the one where I finally pull the trigger, but I was wrong. To think that after all Ross did, in the end it really was Carrion that threw me off the edge.
~Nick Wilde
~o~~~o~
Panic, fear, despair, anger, a veritable amalgam of emotions boil inside Nick's core, a cocktail of such overwhelming sensations that Nick isn't quite sure what face he's even making. All he knows with any certainty is that his breathing has been ragged since he walked out on that road, his heart pounding in his chest, thrumming like a war drum.
But his hands are sweaty, squeezing over the wheel as he tears through the near empty road, and it only takes a glance at the rear view mirror to see that his ragged disposition almost makes him look pale.
He's disheveled, a mess of a man, and a fox like Nick would never willingly go out in public looking like a haggard corpse, but all sense of decorum is quickly forgotten, the world out his window passing by like a blur, where the streets mesh together and the people are faceless, unimportant little details that barely even register to him.
He pulls out his phone and hits speed dial. It barely even rings once before Lupin answers. "Nick, hey, what happened? Your door was wide open and there's—"
"Judy's been kidnapped," he interrupts.
There is a silence for a breath's length before the wolf manages to articulate himself. "What!?" he says firmly.
Nick doesn't miss a beat. "I need patrols all over town looking for Rostetler Rundi. Have Chief Bogo coordinate with the Sheriff and cover as much ground as they can. And there's a blood trail from the hotel room towards the elevator, into the lobby, ending at the foot of the parking lot. Have the trail and bathroom canvased and inspected in case I missed anything. A crack on the sink all but confirms that it's Ross and not Carrion but there may be something else."
Lupin doesn't complain, a credit to his character, his unwavering loyalty, but the man on the other end of the line is no fool. He very well knows that Nick's reckless abandon to find and secure his best friend and partner will forge its own warpath. "And what are you gonna do?" Lupin asks.
"Find my partner." He hangs up then, having said all he needs to. Nick's eyes fix onto the road, bearing hard as he pushes the Austin Terrier just below the speed limit.
He spares a glance at the passenger seat. The space she leaves behind haunts him, her warmth, her presence, there like a ghost, but cold to the touch with the idea that she might never sit there again. But the thought is folly, because if Ross wanted to kill Judy, he would have done so already.
No, Ross wants Nick, for a murder he deludes himself into thinking Nick is responsible for, and Judy is all but leverage to that end. And the idea sunders him. Not that he believes himself somehow responsible for it, but only that she might be harmed, irretrievably even. Or worse.
Judy is feisty, aggressive when the situation calls for it, and simply tying her up, he knows, won't work. He knows her, she'll try to escape, and if she fails, Ross might resort to graver methods of holding her down. Just stay alive, Judes. I'm coming for you.
He wants to go faster, get to the station and move on already, his impatience fueling every tense muscle as temptation to break the law just to get there quicker slowly ebbs into him.
"So what's the plan, Nick?" asks a southern voice in the air, the tone of a familiar friend in it.
His ragged heart slows only a little, calming his impatient nerves, dowsing what feverish fury he has bubbling up inside of him for a sparse moment of comfort. "Get everyone mobilized," Nick responds to the voice, "and grab all the information I can on Ross. Where he lives, what he drives, where he goes. They'll give me something, a place to start, maybe. Then…" he looks away, uncertainty gnawing at his already throbbing temple, turning his thoughts baleful and grim but forcing them away. "Then… then I'll find her."
As heroic as he may sound, the fact that he didn't say 'save' raises red flags, because he has no certainty of victory here, no assurance that he can even find Ross, but finding him isn't what troubles him the most. Because Nick is no superhero, he is not made of steel nor does he strike like a freight train, he is a man with limitations and flaws, and unlike those storied heroes, he is a realist who understands that finding them may be one thing but actually beating Ross is entirely another. He is an experienced officer with years on his belt, stealthy and cunning, strong and capable.
"Ya' sure about that?" the voice asks, disappointment in his tone.
Nick laughs sadly, sparing a glance at the rearview mirror, spying the sight of his late friend Smith sitting in the back. It is a hallucination he is grateful for, company for the long, arduous road ahead. "Losing faith in me, old friend?"
"Nah, Nick, I never doubted ya' fer a second," Smith says, suddenly appearing in the passenger seat where he can place a hand on Nick's shoulder. "I have faith that you'll crack this case with that partner of yours, I have faith that you'll give my late soul some peace, and I believe you'll bring 'er back safe and sound." There is a pause coupled with a sigh, and in Nick's periphery he can see Smith turn to face him, eyes locking onto him.
"But… despite all that, I'm worried that you don't."
Nick's eyes crack wide open, glancing to his side to find that Smith has vanished. Nick shakes his head, the delusion still fresh in his mind, on him like a fever dream that is gone the next moment, a jarring sense of clarity returning to him as he feels himself becoming entirely aware of his surroundings.
He almost forgets how fast he's going when he sees the station up ahead. As he slows the Austin down, he checks the rearview mirror and the passenger seat, finding no southern oryx in sight. He stops in front of the station and, as he pulls out the key, he spots Smith at the corner of his eye, waiting by the front door.
He pushes away the thoughts as he bolts out of the car, speeding into the door.
The deputies inside stare at him as he makes his way through the middle of the room. "Alright everybody, I'm gonna need patrols all over town! As of last night, Senior Deputy Rostetler Rundi has kidnapped Officer Judy Hopps out of her own room."
Disbelief, it's all over their faces. As if the revelations from last night hadn't been enough, the idea that Ross has taken his insanity to new heights so quickly is just something they'll have to register after processing what they already know. And perhaps his disheveled demeanor, including his lazily worn button-up shirt that is only tucked in on one side of his waist, does little to convey to them that he is a man of sound mind himself.
"Are you alright, officer?" one of them, a capybara, asks, approaching him slowly. "You… don't look too good." He looks Nick up and down slowly with frightful eyes, as if inspecting a potential predator.
"I'm…" He tries to settle his beating heart, his heaving chest still pumping in his still ragged breath. But then he pinches the bridge of his snout to quell another oncoming headache. "I'm fine," he almost grunts. "Just woke up to a mess, is all." He presses on and doesn't miss a beat, readying to smother all doubt. "A crack on the sink suggests that Judy Hopps was smashed into it from an overhead slam, dictating Ross's height and not Carrion's."
The eyes on him are more afraid than anything else, still not quite sure what to think, let alone believe, but he presses on. "There is a blood trail from her hotel room down to the parking lot, an ignorable amount that the staff has overlooked, but enough to leave medical problems so we'll need people asking about him at every pharmacy and the local hospital. The ZPD are already canvasing the trail itself, but it starts at a cracked tile against the wall, large enough to suggest that it belongs to a large mammal, perhaps Ross." He quickly pulls out a blood sample and hands it to a lemur beside him. "Have this brought to forensics to confirm if it's Ross's." The lemur nods before quickly bolting off.
He reaches the end of the room before the wall that lines most of the Senior Deputy offices, but the myriad whispers and lack of shuffling behind him indicates that they're still unsure of what to do.
Nick can't help but feel vexed at them, teeth grinding beneath his shut lips. Time is of the essence and they're wasting time being indecisive? Judy's life is on the line!
"What on earth is all this commotion about?" bellows the commanding voice of Sheriff Denzel Creed. He enters the room, a powerful presence radiating off the aged bear, his footfalls purposeful and thunderous, announcing him where his voice might not have. His glare is evident, causing the room to shrink before him as he stands beside Nick.
"Um," a lion starts, catching himself before he finally manages to speak. "O-officer Nick Wilde here has asked us to, um, patrol the town."
Creed squints at the lion who cowers at his pointed gaze and is all but relieved when his gaze shifts to the rest of the room, as if giving every individual the same look. "And he is acting head of this investigation, and as we are intimately tied with this case, we all take orders from him." His eyes rove over the room once more to affix his point. "And consider that a direct order from me."
"But it's not about the case!" Another dares to intone.
"Yeah," spouts a daring raccoon, "he's talkin' about how Ross took Officer Hopps or somethin'."
His head reels slightly, mostly out of curiosity. He looks at Nick whose expression is hardened and frozen, quivering with frustration. "And why does that change anything?" Creed asks them flatly.
"Because we can't be sure about his evidence," an otter says matter-of-factly. "We haven't seen it ourselves."
Creed pinches his snout, mirroring Nick as they mutually seethe. "After everything that's happened, you're all still so incompetent?" He bellows, voice rising in anger, clenching his teeth and fists as if he is about to physically erupt, the crowd straightening in immediate fear. "Since when has any of their evidence been anything but accurate? And the alternative? That he's lying? What on earth makes you sorry sods think he'd do that in the middle of a fucking murder investigation!?" He steps forward, his footfalls louder than they were, echoing along the hardwood floor as the crowd seems to back away as he nears. "And on top of all that," he says slowly, his glare so sharp that a choice few swallow at the sight, "someone is currently being kidnapped! Now quit your faffing about and get to fucking work!" His fist slams onto a table, the whole crowd dispersing at the sound.
He returns to Nick who is simultaneously relieved and terrified, his face can't decide which one to go with. "Uh, thanks, Sheriff," he says.
Creed raises a brow at him, finally noting the way his breathing seems bated and irregular. He thinks it's just nerves and looks out at the scrambling crowd. "Regulation count be damned, I'm firing them when all this is over…"
"A little harsh, that, but well deserved," he wants to say but time is of the essence and he can't spare a moment for small talk, especially since he wasted so much time with the deputies already.
"So what's this about Ross and a kidnapping?" Creed asks.
Nick blinks at him. He'd assumed that he came in for just that express purpose. "Chief Bogo didn't contact you?"
Creed shrugs. "He's at home, sleeping. Was patrolling all night with the rest of the ZPD."
Nick shakes his head, he doesn't have time to process that either. "Doesn't matter." He waves it away. "I need someone who knows Ross."
"That's just about everyone."
"One of them has gotten particularly close lately. A Miss Ta'darie Laoenne?"
Creed scans the room and spots Javan weaving through the panicking crowd. He calls him over, the rhino slips through the mass of bodies milling about him, and those who manage to shoulder him get an irritated snarl puffing from his nostrils.
He manages to squeeze his way to them. "Nick, Sheriff," he regards them, "what do you need?"
"We're looking for Tali," Creed says, "and I know for a fact that she isn't in her office."
"She's not in today. A personal matter at home." Javan responds, his tone evasive. "Why do you need her though?"
"I need help," Nick begins, speaking slowly and seriously, a pleading in his eyes coupled in his still haggard breathing, "Ross has kidnapped Judy and I need someone who knows him enough to catch up to him. I can't waste time. Please, if you know where she is, I'm begging you to tell me."
"You want her to help you catch Ross?" Javan can sympathize with Nick, and a kidnapping is nothing to scoff at, but Tali is important to him, a good old friend he's tried his hardest to keep out of harm's way, emotionally and physically. And right now she's more fragile than ever, and something like this might only make things worse. "I don't know… she's had it rough lately and I'm not sure how she'd handle that. He rejected her last night and I'm not sure what that kind of conversation will do to her."
Nick wants to scream, beg, and a million other things that he swallows down. He shakes his head, blinking away the pain still throbbing in his head as he looks at the rhino, heart tightening in his chest as he feels himself fail, his resolve thinning as his breathing quickens. The idea of losing Judy still fresh in his mind, haunting him as it tears at his skin, raking through every ounce of strength he has. "Javan, please, the woman I lo-" he gasps, choking on the words in a bitter despair he can't quite name, "…my …my partner might very well be dead and I can't just sit here wasting time trying to prove that what I need from Tali is absolutely vital."
He sees the pain and desperation in his eyes – like Calvary's, like Tali's, like Ross's, – the kind that screams at the open sky, a bitter pain surging through every inch of their body. And he pities it, aches at the sight, and swallows his fears and hesitations for him.
"Alright," he says finally, "I'll show you where."
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Ross treads the damp stonework with a hint of reminisce in his gait, eyes drifting along the old walls of the underground tunnel, finding the markings he'd etched onto them as a young man with his fiancé, finding a place to settle down and earn a living. Words and numbers, of milestones and their dates, litter the tube-like path, thrumming like a heartbeat with his echoing footsteps.
He emerges then from the path into a wide open room made of similar, hardy stone. Faded colors scar along old pillars as they dot the area into the next hall just barely in the distance. Here too does he find markings etched into the stonework, stopping meditatively at one in particular. The year is gone, lost to time and the elements that dampen the cold floor, but the rest is still there if he squints at the barely intelligible pen-knife carving. February 15, it reads, the date of his wedding.
It is lit by glass in the ceiling that feeds rays of sunlight that flood much of the area, heaven reaching into its ancient bones with its golden glow.
Bisecting the wide area is a river that runs through the entire subterranean structure, a path for boats that once ferried goods in and out of the once grand equine city, now town for the farm folk.
His bandaged hand runs through the glistening, slate black fur on his head, eyes skyward at distant memories he feels are slipping from his addled mind, his senses becoming unhinged as his remaining facets – if he can even trust them anymore – jolt to life at the sound of some distant coughing that echoes through the old walls.
He passes a single pillar before he sees her, Judy Hopps tied to a plastic mono-block chair. With all her strength she could probably break it, he thinks, but the moment isn't right and she won't attempt an escape so early. She's looking straight too, her back towards him. She may have looked around to try and find a feasible route out of here but quickly righted herself the minute she heard him coming back. She's clever, but he knows the tells of a calm and collected captive – though much less than an aggressive one but enough to know how she'd handle herself like a professional.
He comes into view just to give her an excuse to speak but she spares no words passed a weary gaze that he is surprised to find has no anger in it. Curiosity dots those lavender irises, perhaps a hint of worry in them alongside everything else in that clever little head of hers.
He pulls out a can of tomato soup from his cargo pants and slowly, almost methodically, cuts into it with his clawed thumb. He pays it more attention than he does her, and he only spares a glance at her when he's finished, lifting the metal cover off like a lid. He produces a plastic spoon from the same pocket, scooping up a clump of the squeezed juices mixed in with some garlic and still visible basil milling about somewhere beneath the utensil.
He leans over to Judy, the spoon raised to her lips. "Eat," he says flatly.
She doesn't protest as her tiny mouth takes it in. She knows she needs her strength and something to eat would help, but it doesn't stop her from feeling just a little bit awkward about being fed like a kit. And yet – given the situation – she realizes that there are far more important things to focus on.
He walks over to the river with the half-eaten can, swallowing the last bits of the meal in a single swig. With a wipe of his stained cheek, he kneels into the water and washes out the remaining contents. When he dips it in again, he takes a gulp of water, an act that makes Judy pop her dry lips.
He returns to her with a full can again, and a gentle hand lifts her chin as she drinks the water he pours down her throat. It's practiced, she can tell, clearly having experience with children. Perhaps behind his dull, flat eyes, he might have truly been a man ready to be a husband and father, but the life is clearly drained from him, rendering his movements robotic.
He carries on, footfalls slapping into the puddles at his feet, a hint of fondness in a particularly big splash, a joy that is quickly dispelled the minute the room is filled yet again with silence beneath the mild river rapids. He sits at the river's edge, cross legged as he watches his reflection distort in the clear waves.
"Ross?" she asks, getting him to tilt his head in her direction, "What is all this about?" She already knows the answer, it would be remiss of her if she didn't, but she's curious if he'd lie, she's curious if he's thought this through.
"Catching a killer," he responds plainly, his voice no higher an octave than it's always been. She can almost hear the old Ross, the one before this mess before her.
"When he finds you he won't be alone." She wants to reason with him, to see, nay hope, that there is enough sanity in him left to listen. "This is pointless," she says cautiously, trying to warn him, "and you know it."
He chuckles to himself, rising from his position. She sees the way his tired bones stop relaxing as his body defaults to an imposing formation, the lines over his body turn hard as his weary arms seem to bulge like a threat as he stretches his aching muscles. "You see, Miss Hopps, that's where you're wrong." His eyes seem to flash as he turns to regard her, approaching her slowly, some amusement in his tone as well as the minute curl of his lips.
"You may know him better than anyone, but I have lived in that pit he's in." His eyes appear pained, smiling at the torment he had – is – still living in. "That crushing loneliness, where the one you love the most is stolen away from you. And I assure you, that if there was even the slightest chance that my wife might still be alive, I'd have torn through this town, barreling through everything and everyone in my way just to get to her, regardless of consequence, never stopping until I find her."
He breaks eye contact, watching the river speed through the room, his mind elsewhere from the waters. "Everyone else is too slow for him, too… cautious," he continues slowly, as if speaking to the room and not just her. "He's living every moment wondering if he's already too late. So he'll come running, faster and further than anyone else. Cause he thinks that if he's just a little bit faster, just a little bit further ahead than everyone else, he might just save you from something… irreversible." He says the last without malice, almost with pity even, but his tone is even, almost as still as the room.
"Is that a threat?" There is no fear in her voice, nor is there any sass conjured to challenge him, only the steady want to clarify. It's a methodical question, an inquiry about her situation rather than a prompt for her own safety. He feels that she perhaps considers herself relatively safe, his intention not really aimed at harming her.
He approaches her again, crossing his arms as he speaks seriously, speaking moreover to instruct rather than address her question. "Keeping you alive is a courtesy to your innocence. But in the bigger picture, do understand that catching him is far more important."
"So my life isn't even a priority?"
He shrugs just the tiniest bit, treating a hostage situation as mundanely as getting morning coffee. "He'll come here regardless. Your survival depends entirely on your willingness to cooperate."
The sudden shift in her expression is enough to tell him that she has understood. He doesn't quite know what that almost determined face says, but if it's meant to challenge adversity, then it is futile and pointless. Things will go according to plan, he believes, and all her bravado here will mean nothing when her partner is jailed, and perhaps executed, for his crimes.
He's already half way back to the river when she speaks again.
"And you're not even going to try and convince me he's Carrion?"
He looks her up and down from over his shoulder, as if to gauge her. He's rather confused about her asking such a question. "You're in love with him," he answers as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "There's nothing I can say or do that will convince you otherwise."
She doesn't feel the need to correct him, no sense in arguing with a madman. Instead she chooses to say no more as she watches him cautiously, noticing the way his breathing seems to mimic her own: uneven and unnaturally gaited, both quite uncomfortable with the atmosphere.
Ross resumes his placement as he forces his eyes onto the water, catching sight of drifting leaves and the occasional branch. He busies himself by watching them continue into the endless succession of rooms just like the one they're in, but more often than not, the water has nothing drifting through it, and so his eyes catch glimpses of a figure's reflection on the opposite shore, staring at him from across the bank.
Judy notes the way his head tilts up slightly, eying something on the other end of the room that she can't see.
Ross stares into the haunted eyes of his old self, the man crossing his arms as his stern expression is mixed with disappointment buried beneath his vivid agony, thrashing and wailing in his own chaotic mind as he clutches himself. His veins pulsate and his gaze is pointed, demanding an answer for the torment he has left behind, the hell he has awoken to, and what he has done with the man he once was, the man Eli loved.
When Nick steps out onto the pavement, he realizes that the entire street is barren. The only sounds in the wind is Javan's Rodanta station wagon racketing its own engine beneath the faded ivory hood, and the crows circulating overhead, cawing as they do under the pale morning sky, as if they are stalking dying prey. Nick is uneasy at the sight, watching an ebony feather flutter downward to stand between two cobblestones, the ominous thing twitching in the calm breeze as if coming to life, beckoning him to the house before him.
"I'll circle the Village here for my patrol," Javan calls from his vehicle. "She'll be inside on her sofa, I imagine, reading one of her books so she'll likely hear you when you knock. Just try not to startle her." He drives off, his rickety engine quieting in the distance, leaving him alone with the crows.
Perhaps it's because it's still rather early on a Saturday morning, but the way the street stands still without Javan in it makes it look like time has stopped here, the world frozen in her absence, slowing to a crawl as the dull colors fills the spaces in his mind.
The town feels so bleak now, so devoid of life and energy that it seems nothing like the way it was when he first came here, or even just yesterday.
I'm imagining things. He shrugs it off, trudging along the cold cobblestones, breath still hitched and ragged, and him becoming more and more aware of it. He clutches his still thrumming chest to calm himself but his headache won't subside, perhaps possessed by some madness of his own that demands he move quicker than he is, that he act with all abandon and bust through the door. But he is a civil man with enough of his faculties to reasonably differentiate himself with the madman who took his best friend.
Tali's suburban home is atypical save for the dark red roof, the shade of runways and theater curtains. The rest is aglow with flush white, newly painted it seems and it makes it look brand new. The windows are clean, the grass cut, cobblestones polished and the porch swept. She is a meticulous woman, he can tell, organized and clean like she's always afraid someone will criticize the state of her home and she'd die of embarrassment.
He doesn't mean to make any noise when he steps onto the front door, but apparently the inside of the house is silent enough for her to hear him before he even has a chance to knock. She stammers inside, her hurried footsteps coming then… stopping?
Then he hears the scrape of weighted wood against her floor, likely moving a shelf out of the way. Then the door clicks open, the shining brass of it glistening as it twists.
Her head pokes out, swerving about as she looks from side-to-side.
"Expecting someone taller?" he asks, startling her as she finally looks down. He means it as a joke but it comes out awkward, and his eyes turn despondent for a brief moment when he realizes that she's been expecting Ross.
"Oh, my, I'm so sorry," she apologizes quickly. "Please come in, Officer Wilde." Her polite invitation is more than a little jarring, so thoroughly off his expectations that he doesn't quite know where to put himself when he's inside. Javan had told him that she's likely incredibly sodden, and that she might even be a little unresponsive but the woman before him seems in control of all her faculties.
Kangaroos tend to skip when they're in a hurry, a prominent quality of their rather robust legs, and though he's seen quite a few of them perform well to the stereotype, none of them do so like Tali. She skips over her furniture that clutter her living room like a maze, landing with the strict control of a ballerina, a token to her womanly opulence.
In fact, now that he can see her outside of her uniform, he is surprised to find just how petite she is. Though her wide hips are a staple of her species, the rest of her is actually quite slender. The tribal tattoo on her face alongside her teal tank top and short shorts actually make her look younger than she actually is. Nick wonders if the look is intentional in that regard, perhaps part of the way she's coping with the rejection.
Then she's out of the room, leaving him behind the blockade. The place is an organized mess of sorts as the furniture and the shelves – with their book and assorted curios – are all dust free and already very much put together.
"Sorry for the mess!" she calls from the kitchen beyond the living room. "I tend to rearrange my rooms to occupy myself."
He hops over a sofa to get to the kitchen, the shelves displaced around him tower over his much smaller form, ready to topple. "That explains the fresh paint and trimmed grass."
"So to speak," she says as she turns from her kitchen counter with a pair of mugs, smiling at him when she finds him already at the doorway. "I did them earlier this week. I figured I'd take the day off and do some mid-autumn cleaning. I know most people don't talk about us but… me and Eli were best friends. I didn't think having to be at the station would do me any good."
She seems incredibly open to him, a stranger, and he isn't quite sure why. But perhaps she has a lack of alternatives. Javan, for all his tenor and grit, seems like a very passive man when it comes to her. And Creed? Well he doesn't seem all that concerned. In fact, back at the station he just said that she'll get over it by tomorrow, to which Javan woefully disagreed, suggesting that that would be too soon.
"That why I didn't see you at the party earlier this week?" he asks under a meditative sip of his coffee. He wants to accelerate the conversation but the woman might secretly be hysterical, doing her best to hide her frustrations in meticulous redecorating.
"Yeah, I needed some alone time. I'll be honest though, I'm glad I didn't go. I wouldn't have wanted to be there. I heard most of the attendees didn't get much sleep then."
Nick remembers the crying and the screaming, the panic and the inconspicuous weight of his gun. He remembers running down the alley too, chasing a shadow in the distance, a car parked down the path that almost certainly held the town's resident sweetheart now taken from them all too soon. He also remembers the pain that once jolted through the back of his skull. It was a trying time, where every moment since has only gotten worse and worse.
The green of her eyes is telling of some derelict pain, a torment locked away in a set of fear not entirely dissimilar to his own. But when their eyes meet, she is surprised to find the intensity in his sorrow, and she laughs at herself for being so emotional.
He turns away, his fingers rapping against his mug, each digit tapping against the porcelain over the emanating heat. "You're surprisingly open in the company of a stranger," he says distractedly.
"You're famous for your discretion so I see no harm in telling you." She jumped to that pretty quickly… "Plus, I figured all my other candidates aren't very reliable at this point," she's embarrassed to admit, slumping her shoulders as she attempts to hide herself in them for a moment.
"Oh?"
She sighs, the first honest expression of sadness he's seen yet and she carries it with grace, never slumping. "Javan worries too much. He thinks I'm frail, easily broken. Creed on the other hand thinks I'm essentially unshakable but that's mostly cause he compares me to that woman, Sam, and he can see all her flaws since he's basically adopted her. I'm not sure Creed sees mine, if I'm being honest. And Calvary's been much too busy lately."
"You're close to Calvary?"
"Oh, yeah. Me, him and Eli go way back. We had our own little circle back in high school." She bites her lip at the memory. "Javan was an upperclassman so I didn't really get to know him till we were on the force together. But even then he still had a different partner."
Nick notes the distinct absence of a particular name, one he takes advantage of. "I take it Ross isn't a local then?"
"Oh he's from Orca, like Eli, but she was here in Bronc Town for two years before going back there. Didn't think she'd ever come back here after that, and especially not married."
She's surprisingly calm at the mention of either of them. So he takes it as a sign to go ahead. "I'll be honest, Miss Laoenne, I'm not actually here for a social call."
"Oh, I know." Of that he had no doubt. The woman is intelligent, maybe overly meticulous. It serves as no surprise that she's perceptive as well. "But you'll forgive a girl for indulging in some pleasant company while she still can… I very much doubt the rest of this day will get anywhere near this comfortable."
"So you're familiar with what's going on?"
She hasn't been ignorant to the steady, pulsating rise and fall of his chest, nor the way his eyes are shaded just a tiniest bit with a hard red. She chalks it up to some pent up frustration or anger for Ross, the kind she isn't quite sure she's sharing.
"My neighbors, the Avery's, they have an old military radio that's locked on police frequencies," she says, trying not to meet his eyes. "They don't like living in the dark about anything here. Anyway, I only know that Ross has run off." She shrugs. "And that you're in a hurry to catch him for some reason."
He blinks at her, the woman clearly having no idea why he's so harried. The look he gives her builds a mounting sense of fear, a sign that she's missed something important. "He's kidnapped my partner, Judy. And I don't know where he's keeping her, but I need to find her. And fast."
She meets the pleading in his eyes, a part of her demanding that she stay in her seat but in the next moment she's out of it. "Let's go. We can start with his place. He won't be there but there will likely be something we can find."
She's already at the doorway when she realizes that he hasn't followed her.
He sits there at the counter, body refusing to move as he shakes his head. He then downs his coffee in a single gulp before slowly pulling himself up from the stool. "Sorry," he says, "didn't think I'd be this tired."
"How long have you been up?"
"Just before dawn. I had a rough morning, you could imagine."
She inspects him as he tries to push himself to hurry. She pities him and shakes her head. "Look, we'll take your car but I'm driving. Ross's place is on the other end of town so it'll take a while. Just use that time to relax, alright?"
He nods wearily, feeling no need to protest as he tosses her his keys. He picks up the pace when she bolts out of the kitchen. He hears her open some cupboards and move the sofa out of the way. She's already out the door when he makes it to the porch. Then he jogs after her as she enters his car.
She tells him to take the backseat and when he gets in he finds a makeshift cot made of some full cloth, the end folded in to make a pillow of sorts.
He thanks her when he decides to lay on it, feeling his body relax as the car pulls out and away from Stable Village. He feels no shame in accepting the kind offer, even if he's being taken care of by a woman he barely knows.
Bit by bit, his senses return to him, strength filling his aching limbs. He realizes that he hasn't even had breakfast and it's almost noon, and he's likely going to miss lunch too if he keeps this pace. He needs to take care of himself if he's going to give his all to save Judy. He can't just forget about taking care of himself.
His eyes drift to Tali in the driver's seat, a determined look to her that glances at the rearview mirror just to check for him. She's a caring woman that's for certain, almost motherly. Speaking of which… "I heard you wanted to become a mother," he says, catching her off-guard.
Her gaze returns to the road, blushing as she does so. "I'm a busy woman too caught up in her own head to properly take care of another living thing. I need a partner first before I even try… but Sigurd was already pretty much grown up. I guess I thought he'd be the closest thing to having a son without actually having one of my own."
He figures that she just wants to talk about her pain, not explore them. Ross rejected her and Sigurd's already part of the body count, and yet it's the reminisce she's caught up in. It isn't that she's in denial, but perhaps the way people treat her at the station, as if she's stoic or, in Javan's case, fragile, she never really gets to talk about her problems the way she sees them.
"You don't sound very confident on your chances of finding someone for yourself." He tries to sound neutral about it, like a therapist might, with just the tiniest hint of sympathy to appear impartial yet compassionate.
"I've been strung up on a married man," she laughs, "and the only other man I fell in love with is apparently gay. And I swear, even if I somehow convince myself that Javan is a proper option, he'll never stop looking at me like his junior on the force, like a girl and never a woman."
Another woman who can't find love, he thinks with a worrisome bite to his lip. And on top of that, she's lost a pseudo son and her best friend. This woman can't catch a break but she's not as far gone as most would be in her position, a token to her resilience. But he can't help but feel pity for her. "Wow," he mutters sadly, "women have terrible luck here."
"To be fair, a lot of the men are widowers now. Most of us are lucky that all we have is a broken heart."
He sits up, watching her carefully. He can tell that she's suffered through similar pains in both accounts but she doesn't say it aloud. He says no more, settling into his seat as he watches the town whoosh by through tinted glass. She is perhaps thankful for the silence herself as he finds her gaze out onto the town as well, waving at some passersby through her open window.
It is minutes later that he finds the strength to get off the backseat. He slips onto the passenger seat, smiling at her. "How much further?"
"We're almost there. It's just down that road that skims the woods." She points into the distance, watching the path disappear into the treeline. "It's an expansion of Stable Village itself so it goes by the same name. It didn't get much bigger when it turned out that most of the local graduates weren't looking for new places to live. Some of the homes are unfinished too, a couple basements that are largely untouched."
"You thinking he might have her there?" It's a little close to his own home so it might not be the best choice, but he's gone nuts and it's difficult to question the logic of someone who doesn't like making all that much sense whenever he chooses to.
"It's not very inconspicuous, but there are few options like it."
"I'll phone them up," Nick says as he dials Clawhauser's number and puts him on loudspeaker after a single ring. "Ben? Hey, where are you right now?"
"In the APC, hooked up to the radio," the leopard says between his chews on his donut. He then audibly swallows. "We're parked in the station's yard so we can work closely with them."
"Find anything?"
"He stopped by a convenience store at the foot of town this morning. Bought a pack of plastic spoons, an energy bar, and some gauze." They hear him chuckle. "He had a bandage at the back of his head. Looks like Judy put up a fight." His jolly demeanor hides all of his fear from Tali, but Nick knows him better and he catches the slightly more serious tone of his voice that tells Nick he's very much worried.
Ross probably didn't think his stop would be risky at all. And his purchases are almost ignorable. Maybe he did it to leave a message? "You send anyone over there for the surveillance?"
"Sam and Deputy Kaenid. Apparently he was watching the cams and didn't even park anywhere near them. According to them, it looked like he made sure he wasn't giving away what vehicle he had with him." He's careful, still enough of his sanity is operational to maintain his cunning. Nick didn't think it would be easy, but a little leeway might have been nice.
"Moot point, honestly," Tali says, "cause unless he got himself a fourth car, whatever vehicle's missing from his property is the car he's using." But he delayed the inevitable, Nick considers, and perhaps long enough to purge any recent memory from onlookers of his car in the time it will take to find out which one.
"Anyway, Clawhauser," Nick continues, "we're heading for an extension of Stable Village at the northeast end of town inside the forest, just off the Banana District. There's some unfinished housing here and we'll need eyes to look them over, their basements specifically."
"You got it, Boss," Clawhauser remarks playfully, laughing further at the clear groan he hears from Bogo behind him.
"Boss?" Nick asks, wondering at the unfamiliar term on him. "This an inside joke or something?"
Ben doesn't even get to laugh when Bogo picks up the phone. "You're head of this case, Wilde, and now this rescue operation. So you better find my star officer." He tries to sound serious but it's clear they're only teasing.
He also doesn't miss the way Bogo doesn't mention that Nick is anywhere near a star officer himself, but again, teasing.
"You're all heart, chief," Nick drolls sarcastically, as he ends the call. At least the ZPD are doing what they can to lift spirits. They'll find Judy for sure, but it'll be an arduous task.
Hidden beneath the canopy is a row of houses on one side of the road. Towards the end of it is an extravagant home akin to a Spanish villa, and Nick is all but shocked when they stop at it. "He lives here?"
"Ross is a well-earning cop from Orca and Eli was a sales consultant."
He steps out of the car onto the tiled pathway, eying up the white stucco walls crowned by terracotta roofs, the bold arch of the doorway and the wide side garage. It's not a home he'd get himself, Spanish architecture is incredibly pretty but not modern.
As they make their way towards the front door, Tali stops to observe the drive way. "There's nothing outside, and the garage only has room for two." So whatever's inside isn't the one.
Tali opens the door with a spare key, and they enter the room where she had just yesterday found Ross resting on the wall, a cut deep into his cheek from his encounter with An. It was excessive, yes, but they'd all been real antsy this week, and it was only a matter of time before people started hurting each other. Still, she finds little comfort from the once tender memory when his hand had gently graced her cheek, only to realize that the woman he was staring at was not her, but a derelict illusion of Eli plastered over her own form.
She pains at the memory, approaches the spot and almost wills herself to sit there again, perchance to conjure the moment once more in what she can only hope is willful bliss. But she is neither so ignorant nor so senseless.
"Ash?" Nick says, passing her by towards the adjacent ajar door.
She never really paid too much attention to it before but it's intriguing to say the least. She follows closely behind Nick as he slowly opens the door, the ash built up against the door from all the wind giving way at their feet.
Nick squints at the vast amount of it, eying charred wood where once mighty embers billowed from their cracks in golden swathes.
Tali gasps at the destruction before her, barely able to recognize the once captivating alcove beneath all the remains. "This was their garden…" she whispers as her eyes drag through the dull gray expanse.
Nick picks up a cracked picture frame, its contents having long been burnt save for the golden border he recognizes all too well; a police officer's diploma. "You sure this was their garden, or just his?"
She doesn't know what he's getting at but answers anyway. "He…" she barely utters, still lost in disbelief. "He made it for her, to… christen the home, so to speak. I guess he really just viewed it as a pet project. He wanted to try making one so when they eventually moved, he would know how to make a better one."
"That explains it."
"Explains what?"
He hands her the frame, confusing her for a moment before her eyes go wide at the golden border she too recognizes. "This is his," she mutters.
"As was all this," Nick gestures to the garden. "And I'm sure there's more of his things in here, all burnt, forgotten. Or at least he tried to." He picks up the melted rear of a metallic toy dump truck. It was probably a safety hazard, once upon a time, but it might have been a piece of his childhood. "He gave up everything that made him, him. All for her, so he could focus on taking revenge."
Tali shakes her head. "Idiot," she mumbles. Nick doesn't know if she's talking about Ross or maybe even herself, but it's clear to him that she's experiencing some deep regret.
"C'mon," he gestures for her to follow him out of the alcove, "let's look around and see what else we can find."
He presses passed her to encourage her to leave, and she does, but not before he manages to catch her glancing back at the garden, a painful ambivalence over her features.
They enter the kitchen beside the entrance hall and Nick immediately notices the slightly ajar cupboard. He clambers up the counter as he reaches for it, opening it to find some cans and a lot of empty space between them. He pulls out his phone to light up the cupboard's floor, revealing some clear circles in the dust at the back of it. "Looks like he pulled out some of his cans to take with him."
"That explains the spoons. Too bad his shopping list doesn't give us anything."
"But we know he was here to stock up." Nick plops onto the counter, crossing his arms.
"You think he came back here?" she asks, leaning against the island counter in front of him. "Wouldn't it make more sense that he got all this before kidnapping Judy?"
He shakes his head, considering the situation but never meeting her eyes. "I don't think he intended to turn this into a kidnapping at all. This entire fiasco wasn't pre-meditated. The way he disregarded any subtlety at the hotel when he clearly should have enough faculties to stay out of the camera at the convenience store tells me that he didn't anticipate Judy interfering. No, he was after me."
"Then why didn't he just take you?"
He looks up at her, expression grave. "Cause when he had Judy, he found a very different opportunity. To make me feel what he felt, to have the person I care about the most be ripped from me, perhaps forever."
"Oh my god…"
"It won't come to that." He hops off the counter, pressing on as they continue their search.
Tali manages to check the garage where both of Ross and Eli's cars are parked. She had heard that Ross found the keys to it on the hood the morning of Eli's kidnapping. She shudders to consider what kind of poetic justice Ross thinks he's serving up.
"Ben, have everyone on the lookout for a white Cheri Zimpala," Nick says over the phone. "Looks like Ross took his brother-in-law's car."
They exit Ross's home just as the deputies and Officer Francine arrive on the scene to investigate the half-finished homes. The pair looks over all the ground that needs covering and Tali thinks that it's going to be a long day.
But Nick watches the search party and shakes his head wearily. Time is running short and every minute they waste looking in what he believes is the wrong direction, only increases the chance of him losing her.
He will have no part in this. He needs to keep moving, needs to keep making progress towards finding her, and he quickly realizes that he knows exactly how to do just that.
"Where are you going?" Tali asks as Nick hops into his Austin.
"Going into town to cash in a favor."
She doesn't press on as she joins him on the passenger side, not willing to leave him alone just yet.
Nick won't admit that he's comforted by the company, but such things need not be spoken. Cause it's clear to him that she needs that reassurance just as much he does.
So he takes off into town once more, looking for a very different rabbit. A very Italian one.
-̸͏͏-̸̛̀͜-̧͟-̴̢͏-͢-̵̨̢͠͝-̵͘͞͞͡-̶̀̕͢-̧̛́͞͠-̶͜-̴̵͘͠-͝-̵̵̡-̵̧̕͝-̕͏̢-̷̕͝͞-̢̡̢-͜͜͠͝͞-̸̨͟-̧͢͝-̡͡͏͜-̶͜-̧̛-̷-̛̛-̷͝͠҉-͡͡-̵̨-̷̵͡͞-̴͘͝-̛́-̷̵̀-̧-̷̀͟-̵̢-̛̀-̵̛͏̕͝-̕͜͡-͏̸́͘-̨͘͠-̀͞-̵̢̨̧͠-̡̀͟-̶-̧̀-͘͠-̶̛͢͝-̶͜͞-̡̧́-̴-̨-̧͜͏̵-̵̵̡͘-̴̧-̀͠͝
All Judy can hear is the rushing waters of the bisecting river, thrumming through the tunnels endlessly. She does not know where the waters go or if they lead anywhere safe, but she doesn't want to take her chances. She's more likely to survive above the water than beneath it for as long as Ross doesn't openly attempt to kill her, or at least cripple her enough to keep her in place.
But she'll not give him that chance.
She is alone here at last, having slept her way through Ross's company who is suspiciously absent, but she's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth and trouble herself with his whereabouts just yet.
She pulls at the rope around her wrists and snaps the base of the plastic chair's backrest. She then slips the bindings off of them before she rolls them from underneath her, seeing the thick layered bindings before her. The knot is thick and expertly tied, she'd have an easier time just cutting them instead of undoing them, so she instead decides to just keep them on. She doesn't need full mobility to get out of here anyway.
Judy sneaks over to one of the pillars in the distance where she's seen Ross take his things.
Her footfalls are little more than pitter patter against the damp stonework, but she is afraid of alarming him nonetheless. She finally reaches the pillar, her hands grasping at the rough, red stone, and she hears nothing from behind it. Her skin crawls at the idea that he is quietly waiting behind it, stilling even his breath, ready to snatch her again.
Her heart races, beating out of her chest as she stifles her breathing. She nearly yelps when she hears something clang in a distant room. She swallows all sensations, quieting her mind.
She peeks over and spots various cans and some sets of clothes resting against it on the other end, thankfully all devoid of Ross, but it leaves to question where he even is. There are specks of blood about the cobblestone as well, clearly having been from Ross tending to his cheek and his knuckles. Among the assorted materials is also his phone atop a can of beans.
Quickly, she takes it, and nearly curses when she finds that it has no signal.
She shakes her head, perhaps she might find more luck with one of the storm drains here.
She almost sneaks about again but she then abandons the idea entirely. She could attempt an escape but he'll be more likely to find her if she wastes too much time. Plus he's both stronger and faster than her so fighting him off would be ill-advised. Not to mention the probable magnitude of the place – wherever she even is – might be too large for her to navigate safely. And if Ross is anywhere near as familiar with the place as he seems, he might even know it like the back of his hand. He has all the advantages, so she'll have to gun for her continued luck.
She instead decides to sprint into the tunnel Ross usually emerges from; perhaps a path to the exit. Wishful thinking, that, but it's as good a choice as any.
She immediately notices the larger puddles here, splashing against her feet as panic jolts through her spine about making so much noise. But she can't help it, it's pretty dark here and she doesn't have night vision even nearly as good as Nick or Ross's. So she clutches the phone with a mighty desperation, unwilling to loosen her grip for fear of dropping it.
And it doesn't help that what light the phone itself offers is barely enough to see her hand in front of her face. She tries to adjust the settings on it but the UI is unfamiliar and she decides not to waste time on it. It's not a model she recognizes but it irks her that despite its intuitive design, finding the damn light isn't so easy.
Distracted, her foot is then almost caught beneath a deceptively deep puddle, causing her to stumble and curse. She tucks the phone to her chest as she rights herself, feeling it rise and fall against the gadget as she shifts her gaze across the tunnel. She is anxious about how alone she is, but she spares no more time thinking on it.
As her footsteps echo dimly through the tunnel, she is wary of the thick darkness, barely pierced by the lights ebbing off the tunnel's mouth behind her or by the well-lit room off the side. She sees the light veritably pour into the darkness before it, almost like a floodlight, and it offers her hope. Because it's angular and bright, perhaps from a storm drain. And where the sun feeds its rays as greatly, there's perhaps enough open space above to get a signal.
She slows as she approaches it, warily touching the light as if it might burn her, because the room could harbor him, eyes locking onto the tunnel, patiently waiting for her to attempt an escape.
Her gaze then shifts to the end of the tunnel passed the lit room, where an iron door dimly glows around its cracks and the barred window on it. An exit if she can manage to open it but one to consider for later. If the lights are as dim there as they are in the large room she was just in, then it likely doesn't have signal either.
Judy then lends her ear to the side room and hears nothing still, granting her some confidence. Then she creeps into the light, scanning the area for any signs of life. She finds nothing but moss against the walls and vines hanging from the grating above. The room is circular and has clear wear and tear against its stonework, smoothing what etchings there may have been on them until they are no longer recognizable.
There is no sign of him here, and she allows her heart to settle.
That is until she looks down the entrance of the room to see the lit path shrouded in darkness. The room is a dead end and if he manages to find her here, she will have no place to run. She glances back at the phone and sees one, then two bars. She resists intoning her relief, looking back into the darkness across with a determined gaze.
She then rapidly types down what details she can about the area as she stands in the dead center of the room. She notes the old stonework which is clearly not of any modern make. She then notes the tall trees she can manage to see passed the grating above her. The sound of crows is strangely comforting alongside everything else, but then she actually sees the crows overhead, circulating as if they are monitoring prey.
Judy shakes her head, ignoring it as she continues typing.
Then she hears a splash from the tunnel, causing her to audibly yelp beyond her own control. She clamps a hand over her mouth, and it stays there when she looks up at what's standing in the light: Ross.
He looks straight at her, showing no signs of any emotion. His expression is eerily neutral, his muscles relaxed, unlike her own. There is no fear or fury in his eyes, but perhaps… curiosity?
She decides not to let him stop her, so she finishes typing the message as best as she can, hearing him approach her heart beats loudly in her chest, in sync with his footsteps that sound louder in her head than they actually are. She backs away into the wall, feet almost slipping against the curved wall's slight slope, kicking off some loose stone her shoulders tense and her body freezes.
And just at the last minute, as she is about to hit send, he snatches it from her.
It feels like it happens in minutes but then she realizes that it's been seconds across. Time seems to slow to a crawl even now as Ross tilts his head at the message, his form over her as his black fur turns into a living shadow, trapping her against the wall.
He tilts his head at the message, scrolling down to see it all. But then he looks at her, expression still blank without a hint of intensity behind it. Their eyes lock for what feels like minutes before he suddenly, and quite abruptly, hands back the phone.
She realizes then that her bound hands are still extended, having previously and feebly reached out for the phone.
She doesn't know what do with the phone then, staring hard at the untouched message and the bright green SEND button.
For a moment she considers why, but all too quickly does she uncover the answer: Ross wants Nick to find them, it's the reason why they're even there, and Ross is giving her the choice to push things forward or keep things stagnant.
Her eyes remain wide as she looks up at him. His careful gaze seems to urge her to press the button.
She could just be leading Nick into a trap, but the idea that Nick might never otherwise find them fills her with an uneasy sense of doubt. She doesn't want to give in to Ross's desires, but not doing so only to spite him might actually drag this on longer than it should, and it isn't like she's unaware of the fact that Carrion is still at large.
And then a stray, derelict thought bubbles into her panicking frame. Ross could be… no, he couldn't be…
His talent for staying absolutely silent, honed and perfected over the years, his sheer strength and speed, and his clever mind that, if he ever managed to stay sane, might have been something admirable or even imposing. And yet it somehow clicks together in her mile-a-minute thought process: that Ross might very well be Carrion.
A fear so great overcomes her, trouncing her sensibilities as her hovering thumb presses send in a moment of panic.
And then Ross takes back the phone, walking away with his still expression.
Judy takes it as a chance to relax, and with that comes the staying of her heart. And all too late does she realize her mistake. Ross is too tall to be Carrion and, were he really, truly the same serial killer, then he would have smiled at her before leaving, a mockery that is distinctly part of the killer's MO.
She's trapped down here with a madman but not a serial killer. And that somehow grants her a slight yet incredibly ill sense of comfort.
It's then that she sees that she's alone, the only sound around her being Ross's footsteps echoing down the hall.
She walks out and manages to spy him at the mouth of the tunnel. She doesn't know why he isn't seizing her but she's willing to take the opportunity for what it is.
Her eyes lock onto the opposite end of the tunnel where the iron door sits, light brimming off its static edges. She can still hear Ross walking on behind her, so she doesn't even look back when she runs for the door.
Her breathing is hitched when she doesn't hear Ross running after her yet, anticipating his snarl and pounce at any moment. Her footsteps echo loudly through the tunnel, clearly having already reached Ross, but she is thankful that he hasn't noticed.
A scant few feet from the door, she decides to turn around to see him, but she finds the puma leaning against the tunnel's end, looking at her.
She doesn't have time to figure out why, pressing herself against the wind as she nears the door.
Her bound wrists slam against the door as her fingers reach for lever on it. She twists it and then… it doesn't give. The door is locked.
She turns to the end of the hall and sees Ross shaking his head. She thinks he might have the key, the cheeky bastard. She tries to hatch a plan to snag it later, when his guard is down again, where she'll make a swift exit.
Her determination falters when he speaks, his voice echoing ominously through the tunnel, reverberating around her as if his voice is magnified. "It's locked," he announces, "and the key is on the other side, waiting for him to find it. Just as he'll find you… us."
She shakes her head in utter disbelief. Ross has apparently locked them both in here. And if no one finds them, they're here for as long as no one finds that door. But it won't come to that, she thinks, even as she falls to her knees in defeat.
Because Nick will find them… he has to. But as she eyes the end of the tunnel where Ross's silhouette cuts through the light menacingly, he appears like an omen of such grave things this town has wrought, another dark myth coming to life, and she's inviting Nick into it.
Nick stopped the car minutes ago when he received Judy's message, halting against the lonely street as he stares at the written text whose number – Tali finds – is Ross's.
Tali at first thinks that his silence is garnered by the idea that it is every confirmation that it is Ross who took Judy and not some errant perchance that it might have been Carrion all along. And the idea, grave and daunting, that perhaps Ross might have been both still lingers across her lips, almost daring to say it aloud.
But then Nick chuckles almost hysterically, breathing easy for the first time since she's seen him today, vestiges of tears slipping quietly down the dark circles of his eyes that soften readily as he turns to her. "She's alive…" he gasps, clasping a hand to his mouth. "She's still alive," he adds, a squint to his eyes that are determined, thankful, "and fighting."
She blinks at the fox, surprised or perhaps moved by his joy, but before she can formulate any response. She sees his heart quicken once more, haggard breathing continuing as he eyes the road and starts the car again.
He drives off without a word, and she sits there beside him, not quite sure how to feel. Her focus shifts back to the road ahead of them, and all she can think about now is offer what she knows.
"It's an old canal," she says. Nick tilts his head in her direction. "It's what Judy was describing. Back when this place used to be a great city for horses, they built a canal underground to transfer goods when their streets became too crowded, but it never finished. After the plague and the destruction of the city, this place turned into a forest with a little village at the center. Very few records from the old city survived, and certainly nothing about the canal, but it's clear that it still exists and is somehow still operational enough for Ross to hide out in."
"In a town this old, I doubt that place is much of a secret now," Nick responds, eyes drifting between her and the road.
"And yet it is," she offers immediately. "The place is a legend here in town, well known but shrouded in secrecy. Few people actually know where it is and… well, by the looks of it, only one of them is still alive."
"And that would be Ross?" He guesses, but doesn't really need to. Nick shakes his head. Certainly someone else might know where it is? "Who else knew about it?"
"Ross and Eli talked about their little getaway so it's clear they both knew where it was. Then there's Henry Avery. The badger buried an old friend of his near it when he came back from the war. Said that the river somewhere there was a favorite spot for him. But he's dead now too so we've no luck there."
"What?" Nick is genuinely confused. Miss Avery had told them a very different story. "I thought Miss Avery's husband died in the war. She said so."
Tali bites her lip. "Oof… that's a lie. She tells it to the visitors so they can look at the tank at the foot of the town with fondness. The idea that old Henry died from the war heroically is a much kinder alternative." She doesn't meet Nick's gaze, eying the businesses that zoom by, heart nearly stopping when she spots the flower shop the Avery's own in the distance. "Henry Avery was one of Carrion's first victims."
Nick doesn't know how closely she might have known him, but it saddens her regardless. He searches for a joke to crack but he does not find one. Thankfully, she finds other ways to distract herself. Her phone rings as she makes a call to Terence.
"Hey, Tali, we were just about to call you two," the wolf says over the loudspeaker. "Looks like we got a hit on Ross's car. Turns out a city vehicle as fancy as a Valiant sticks out like a sore thumb. It was headed somewhere north of town. Maybe even out of town."
Out of town? No… that can't be.
"We have more information," Nick says. "Judy just sent me a message. She's being held up in an underground canal somewhere in the forest." He looks to Tali, recounting her story. "Maybe by a river even."
"Ugh, the forest is thickest there," he moans exasperatedly. "And we've got miles of rivers to cover even there alone but… it narrows down our search. I'll have our guys and yours scour the area as soon as possible."
The call ends soon after, the silence in the car persisting for longer than is comfortable. Tali bites her lip as she mulls over things, not quite sure where to even begin at this point. They have a place to search with an army of people to search it, there's also the matter of Nick's estranged friend – whomever he might be – who's waiting for them at the Hector's Savory Bakery, but then there's Nick's behavior, which is all over the place at this point. But she decides on none of the above, her voice a little raspy when she says, "I know this is a silly thing to ask but… do you think I'm pretty, Officer Wilde?"
His answer is immediate, not even a breath's time between. "It would be remiss of me to say no, but I doubt confirmation on your own beauty is what you're really after."
She sighs, crumpling into her seat like a limp sack. "Then what am I looking for?"
"Someone to love," he responds as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.
She blinks at him, taking his insinuation of her own interests with the same nonchalance, giving her pause.
Nick glances at her dumbfounded expression, arms stiff at her sides as her mouth remains agape. He's sure he's on the money on that one, but that's besides the point. She is a clever woman who does not yet know her own value, but not because she thinks of herself less, only that she feels that the only person she seeks approval from hasn't looked in her direction, mad as he might be.
He sighs. "Let me take a wild guess here and assume that Eli has always gotten what she wanted. And for the most part, those were things you wanted too." Tali blinks again, a little more shocked now as she attempts to form words that die in her mouth, a little embarrassed of them.
"I'm not going to pretend I know how that feels. But I do know what it feels like to want something you feel like should be yours. It's dangerous to think that the world owes it to you, cause the universe makes no debts, and whatever happens to us just… happens."
"But that doesn't mean you have no control. Your life is what you make it, after all." He shrugs with his lopsided grin, dropping it almost immediately as he rolls his shoulders in his seat, sporting a sad smile. "But there's a fine line between wanting something and knowing what shouldn't be yours."
"What if there's nothing else I want?" Tali asks. She doesn't want to sound childish, refuting the world's rules so she can have what she wants, but it would be remiss of her to not be honest with herself at this point.
He chuckles at her statement. "Since when have we ever stopped wanting something? Trust me, there will be no shortage of things you'll want. And when you finally start paying attention to yourself, you'll forget all about the one little thing you couldn't have. And maybe," he pauses, laughing to himself again, hand falling to the badge in his wallet, "just maybe… you'll find something that'll take its place. Maybe something even better."
Tali is no stranger to his story – being famous tends to do that – and maybe he knows that she knows, but regardless, she makes the connection easily enough and considers that perhaps he's right. But the pit in her gut won't leave her so soon, but one day, maybe.
It's then that they finally arrive near the entrance of Stable Village, where a bakery – with its great plume of smoke billowing off its tall chimney – has cut into the wall as a welcome to all visitors, pressing into its back to serve as a hybridized home and shop.
The glass door creaks against old metal as they enter, the bell overhead announcing them to the room.
They wave at the ever busy pigs, the Hector father and son, but Nick doesn't miss the way Marcus nods at him with a sad smile, nor the way Marshal glances over at the tables set up by the window and nudges his head in that direction.
Nick reads his gesture and looks to the metallic tables to find the man he's looking for: Andrei Callahan, sipping coffee and eating a small plate of Spanish bread.
"Mr. Wilde, Miss Laoenne," the red-eye-white rabbit greets, "please, do join me."
Tali takes her seat with caution, a weakness in Andrei's eyes, but Nick sustains an aura of confidence, the kind you get from years in the presence of the mafias. But it is of little consequence.
"So I'm assuming you're here to cash in your favor? And yes, we're well aware who's involved," Andrei's tone is grave, sad even. In most scenarios, Andrei would have kept a self-assured attitude about him, but now is neither the time nor the place for anything like that. "We're not in the dark about what's happened. I'm afraid to say that much of the town is well-informed about it now."
His voice remains foreboding, any air of pleasantry lost. "The town is about to unravel, and it could really use some good news right now," Andrei adds.
"Then help me find some," Nick puts down his phone on the table, opened on the message Judy sent him. "These are the details she managed to send me, about some old canal she's being held in. It's in the forest somewhere north of town, along some river." He had intended to simply ask them to search for her too, but they'll serve a better purpose this way.
Andrei wastes no time giving his men a call, and a few minutes later, he's done. "We'll contact you with directions to it the minute we find the place."
"You're not gonna go in yourselves?" Tali asks, her green eyes flashing with some curiosity rather than any frustration.
"We're not really meant to be involved in the first place," Andrei says rather matter-of-factly. "But more than that, I'd rather not lose any more men than I already have."
Nick and Tali glance at each other. "You've lost men?" Nick asks for them both.
Andrei chuckles sadly, never meeting their eyes, lost in the dark swirls of his black coffee. "It's gotten… personal." His red eyes seem to burn down into the mug, hardening as his features twist as he grits his teeth before he looks up at them. "I came here with a good forty men. And now I barely have eighteen." He gasps, almost wheezes, his chest rising and falling with what looks to be an abject rage, a fury, white hot and pure, surging through his core. "Look further south, passed the forest – just follow the crows – and you'll find my men there, on a slope between the incline of three steep hills, turned into a mass grave."
The presence of Carrion returns to them, though they realize that the dread of him has never really left. They'd been so focused on so many other things that they had almost forgotten about the looming shadow over town, and the idea that he's changing up his style again
"We thought we could solve it ourselves then. Cause we were being picked off when we were being careless but we thought we could just catch him in the act, now that we're alert. But even when we stationed men up there with hard eyes looking into that damn pit… he still managed to get more bodies in."
He regards them with the strictest look, trying to mask the sorrow and, perhaps, the fear behind them. "This monster of yours. This… Carrion Killer? Something's happened to him. He's more than just changed, he's… evolved."Because the demon in town does not leave a body behind, but the ones he has conjured now are almost like an augury sign of his talent, or a test bed for a new approach to his killings.
And again it strikes fear into them, a bitter reminder that what they're doing to save Judy is only a temporary affair to the real hell still lurking amongst them, a bitter chill running through them as the air seems to turn ice cold.
Then Marcus walks up to the table, placing a chiffon cake between them. "This one's on the house." He smiles at them, regarding Nick at the last. "I know what happened and we're here for ya' if ya' need us." He walks off then, none the wiser of their conversation. He wouldn't want to know.
And that obliviousness reminds them that all the town is doing their best to forget what's still happening around them, a chance at ignorance so they might sleep at night. But every night there's a chance one of them might never wake up again, and that instills a fear that is long reaching, all encompassing.
Nick wonders if he'll even stay in town once he finds Judy again – as if she'd ever give him the choice. And then he wonders if he'll ever stop feeling so haunted, if this case will stay with him forever.
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Judy – with her wrists tied behind the new seat instead of onto it – finds little comfort in her captor being absent from the room. Knowing she can't escape him unless Nick opens that door, she otherwise would like to at least keep track of him. But despite intently monitoring him these last few hours, Ross has suddenly just vanished. She swears she just blinked when he walked off towards the river, just out of sight behind a pillar.
He's been missing for the better part of an hour now, and all she can do is be left with her own thoughts.
"Here's what's going to happen," Ross had said when he tied her to another chair. "He's going to come here, find you, then I threaten your life, get his confession, then I arrest him and we take all he's said to court. He'll be convicted, but you'll both be unharmed. A kindness, don't you think? Given what he's done."
But it will never hold in court. Confessions brought about by this sort of coercion is never recognized. You can get anyone to say anything if you pressure them like that, and it's an old and simple rule even. If Ross is even a fraction as intelligent as they say he is, he must know that it's a half-baked plan, one that will never work.
And… perhaps he does know.
Because Judy is afraid that he has ulterior motives instead. Even with his instances of sanity, Judy can tell that his faculties are still mostly functioning, so he should have long figured out that his plan is doomed to fail. So what else is he planning?
She leans her head back, her skull touching the backrest, causing her to wince. It still hurt, the bruise from her fight with him, a token of incredibly terrifying strength. And then it dawns on her that he is stronger than both herself and Nick, faster too.
Where their enemies were strong, they were fast. Where they were fast, they were stronger together. Where neither of those worked, they were most certainly smarter. But Ross has none of these weaknesses, nothing but his madness that only makes him more dangerous.
And what if Ross is right and Nick comes here alone? If Ross has anything graver planned, then coming here would be suicide! And yet Nick would chance it anyway, for her, as she would.
Panic rises through her form as she frantically looks about for another way out. Pulling the same trick earlier where she'd snap the monoblock's backrest would be significantly harder now that she's tied behind it. It would just press into her back, her spine resisting, but she could still break it. She huffs and puffs, the tempo in her chest, rapid and frantic as she realizes that she doesn't have a plan for afterward. Maybe she could sprint off into one of the other rooms, hiding from Ross until Nick came along. But what would that achieve? She certainly couldn't risk getting out on the off chance that there might be another exit here somewhere. And the river itself could kill her down the way and out with its rapids.
And just as she's fresh out of ideas, Ross comes back into view, walking passed her towards the tunnel.
Her heart stops, watching him walk slowly, eyes menacing as he seems to stare at something at the door. She wonders if it's Nick he sees, but then he'd be at her throat to make good on the threat. And she doesn't want to think about the alternative, that Ross might abandon the plan altogether and just go for Nick's throat.
Ross eyes the tunnel with caution managing his footsteps, feeling his madness consume his vision. Normally he'd back away from such an illusion, but his fists are still aching from their last confrontation and – albeit feebly – he wants nothing more than to try and beat the ghost again.
The shadows that coil around the tunnel merge into a slate black texture, almost viscous where the water might be.
In the light he sees him, his old self staring back at him, arms crossed, with shades of pity in his irises. But more than that, the figment seems taller, stronger, an imposing figure that is nothing like the broken man before it.
And somehow, Ross himself feels like the shadow to this glowing apparition, this ghost of yesteryear.
"This abandonment will only end in pain and misery," his other self says. "Stop now and save yourself."
"You and I both know it's too late for that," Ross says, quelling his anger as he walks passed his old self, into the side room where the light pours out of the grate up above.
He stares hard into the beam of sunlight of mid-afternoon and wishes Eli were here to stand in it like she did when they were newlyweds, dancing under the sun in their safe little haven. Here where the world forgets them, where all they are is each other.
But she is gone now. Even the memory seems to slip form his mind, all aspects of him having long since been lost, and now her… she fades into obscurity, the warmth at even the thought of her disappearing in his growing madness.
A numbness coils into his feet, running cold into his spine as his mind seems to fall into it, his delusions consuming his vision as the sun disappears, and the trees up above turn to tendrils that lash into the sky like shadows dancing against the flame. They are ethereal, weightless as their tips cascade vestiges of ash over his form till even his clothes fade into the darkness.
What is he now? Is he a vengeful spirit? A walking husk? Is he Rostetler Rundi? Or is he something else?
And the crows caw and his eyes shoot open, the sky darkening as night consumes the day. How long has he been standing here?
"It's never too late, Ross," his other self says, his voice seeming to mimic someone he can't quite remember.
"Nothing can bring her back." He turns to the apparition, his expression heavy with some dejection as he watches the cleaner man level his eyes, hope in there somewhere. "It's all… pointless now," Ross says gravely, gritting his teeth.
Ross growls, fury ebbing into his veins. "But I will set this entire town on fire if it means I kill him in the process."
He makes to pass the apparition by but a steady hand stops him. He stares into the eyes of his better half, the one that might still be inside somewhere. But with grit teeth and another scowl, he rejects it entirely.
He swipes at the figment, his claw slashing harmlessly against his cheek but causing him to stumble back. Ross hooks him with his left, uppercutting with his right just after. He tackles then pounds his fists into the figure below him, his own fists bleeding from loosened bandages. He strikes and claws at the impenetrable illusion, growling and screaming as water splashes into his face and burns into his eyes, but he goes on, and on, and on, the world erupting around him as all he knows is pain.
And then he cuts him, the old him bleeding from the cheek, the burning, slick red pouring out of it only serving to encourage him further. And again he strikes at the man who doesn't lift a finger to fight back. He tears into him, ripping out flesh and muscle with an unabated anger, volcanic and viscous against his bruised knuckles that burn against the force pulsing up his arms and into his elbows.
Then his claws find purchase, hooking into him to tear out more, and more, and more until his vision turns a deep dark red and the man beneath him no longer has a face to recognize.
Then Ross wipes his eyes, trying to clear the blood but leaving more instead as his knuckles shake from their reopened wounds. He feels a soreness that rockets through his arms and the hard, bated breathing that he feels pool out of his throat. On his knees, he clutches himself, sobbing as he begs for her warmth once more, roaring into the deep dark sky as the figments fade away, and all that is left is the clarity of his madness, now all consuming, destroying the world he knows because in his mind it no longer exists.
And in his madness, Ross is left adrift in the darkness as he shuts his eyes and feels her warmth touch his injured cheek one more time. He raises a hand to take hers, but instead all he finds is the bleeding cut that stings to the touch, and her lost in the ether of some far away afterlife.
Alone and hopeless, despairing at the crushing defeat, Ross pours his pain into the ancient walls that echo his derelict madness back to him.
It fills the spaces and surges through the halls, even where Judy can hear it.
Were circumstances different, she might have pitied him, but all she can think of is how the man has openly abandoned everything in his madcap search for Carrion, immersing himself in a worthless theory just so he can tell himself he's still moving in some direction rather than staying stagnant like the rest of the town did all those years ago.
Desperate and furious, Ross embodies the peak of Carrion's curse. And Judy knows only to fear a man like that, one with nothing left to lose.
Liz Waterdale doesn't know what she's doing. Actually, no, she knows exactly what she's doing. She's willfully allowing a man to take her virginity in a trying and desperate time in the backseat of her squad car... and it isn't with her boyfriend.
Suther Reese is everything she's been told never to look for in a man. He is not future-proof, but he lives in today and lives it doing what he loves. He isn't a musician, but he loves all the music she does and he doesn't even know she can sing. He isn't a romantic who does nothing that would typically sweep one off their feet, but he listens to her pains and squeezes them away till all she can do is laugh and he doesn't stop until then. He isn't of an academic mind, but his is a practical one, creative enough to work a case.
And most of all, he isn't an otter, but she's actually taken the time to fall in love with him instead of being told she has to.
She most certainly didn't think she even is the cheating type but she knows she does not love Reeder as much as she loves Reese.
It isn't like her boyfriend has any negative qualities. He's an academic, an athlete, a good man, and an old friend. But history is not a basis for love, it is a facet, and if that is all they share then how can they call it love?
All she knows with any certainty is that she loves the armadillo hunching over her, kissing her amidst his steady tempo, and meets every thrum of his heart with her own desperate gasp, clutching onto his uniform as she arcs her back upwards, her chest meeting his in a cognizance's folly laced with pains and sorrows pouring out of their lungs in ignorant euphoria.
And she whispers sweet nothings to him as the cascade of their mutual woes – the idea that this is wrong and altogether too soon – is buried beneath their sweat and saliva, a volley of fluids that mixes with every heated meet of their lips.
Then he stops kissing her, taking a moment to look down at her with a breathlessness that overwhelms her, watching his hands slowly caress each and every inch of her before leaning down to kiss as much of her as he can, as if worshipping her every feature and fault, every crevice and curve. And suddenly, Liz Waterdale, feels more beautiful than she ever has before as he reveres her body, fingers running along her fur as if she's a precious gem, glistening, and rare.
And with all the world swirling in the mid-afternoon sun, Liz spies the quiet pains etched into his features. The scarring along the shell cupping his head seems to glow against the sun, burning hard as what pains that might have come from it inch out as if the wound were reopened. She sees the momentary trembling in his grasp, struggling to perform for the woman she hopes that he loves. And her hands fall to his chest, finding his rapid breathing thrum against her grasp. She feels him ache, knows his terror and his suffering, and takes it with all that she can, and kisses him once more.
The heated moment ends all too soon, as his final plunge tosses her off the edge with him, bursting in a cry that would tear the sky in two. And when the moment is over, reality slowly returns to them as the crows cawing just outside the car window reminds them that they're still in a public area, no matter how secluded the rear parking of the Rogue's Gallery might be.
She huffs and giggles, kissing him as he falls to her side, pulling her up to rest against his chest, gently relishing in the moment for all the few minutes it might still last.
So he cradles her still, lets his hands wander so he might remember this moment forever. Every curve and every feature, etched permanently, reverently, feverishly.
She pulls her head up, staring down at her lover with what she hopes looks like adoration, tilting her head at the lopsided grin he returns. "I feel safe around you," she says, voice so low he could have sworn it was a whisper.
"You make me feel complete," he says in an attempt to sound romantic, prompting her to laugh. Cause it's cheesy and corny and so out of touch with what courtship is like outside of fiction that it's charming in its own way. Because she honestly doesn't know a whole lot either, and she's almost certain that this might be the first time she's ever truly felt it.
When they're done cleaning up and sit together at the front seat of the car, Liz lets herself go and crawls into his seat, sitting on his lap as she kisses him once more.
"You love me, right?"
"I don't think I'm capable of otherwise." That's better, she thinks.
"You've bewitched me, mind, body, and soul," he continues, voice dramatic and tempered. "And I, for the weaknesses in a man, have been awed and captivated beyond my ability to speak – with any articulation – of what this coward's heart feels for such an impossible, unreachable, and utterly divine thing."
She is almost cowed into thinking he'd come up with that himself, staring long and hard at him before she cups her mouth finally with her little hands, as she violently shakes away the fluster and mirth in her cheeks. He pokes her in the belly, and she laughs and swats his hand. "Pfft! What are you quoting?"
He grins readily. "Movies you'll never watch, with lines that I'll claim for my own."
For a moment they feel that they can forget the world outside of the car, but it's ephemeral and altogether foolish because they have a job to do. But they are defiant young things with too much to want and not enough to lose.
So they lean into the seat as they let their exhaustion catch up with their bodies, muting the town and the crows, the whispers of townsfolk and their footsteps.
And Reese falls asleep to the sweet hum from her tiny lips.
Sam remembers Ross's villa when it once belonged to Alexander Wolfgang, and back then it was a different time, almost a different life. They chased a ghost then, more myth than man, and everyday it felt more and more like they'd never catch him. And yet, here and now, with a certain height, and feasible estimates on their board, identifying Carrion with some certainty, she feels like they're just about there, clasping at his coat tails, the demon just out of reach.
So once they divert all their efforts back to catching Carrion when this entire Ross debacle is sorted out, maybe they'll finally catch him.
And that hope alights a fire inside of her, the idea that her hauntings might finally be quelled is more than just a little exciting, it's relieving. And so her muscles loosen and her breath evens out, coming onto the cobblestone path towards Ross's front door.
Terence pushes the door open, glancing at her from over his shoulder. "You alright, Sam?"
She blinks at the quizzical wolf. "Yeah, I am." Fists pressing onto her hips, she gives him a smirk and a raised brow. "Why? Is there something on my face or something, hotshot?"
"No, but you seem… more relaxed somehow."
"Don't think about it too much, Kaenid, we've still got a job to do. My little nuances should take a backseat in that noggin of yours."
He would normally make to argue but this is neither the time nor the place. But Terence is a man with a curious mind and he can't help but watch how Sam seems to eye the walls with some reminisce. He knows she was here ten year ago for the first kidnappings but the spaces around them seem to fill her with some sense of mysticism.
He makes sure she doesn't catch him, but he gives up the minute she turns her attention to the kitchen, staying there as Terence wanders into the garden across the front door.
Sam herself is astonished by the place, most the same from when she first came here. Though she supposes that they sold the home fully furnished.
She remembers first meeting Wolfgang here, lazily munching a sandwich on the island counter as Bogo approaches him with a few hard questions. The cheeky canine even offered them one of his, and Sam would not deny that she partook. But it's only because that in comparison to the other suspects, Wolfgang actually made the effort to be pleasant despite – or perhaps because of – being marked as the most likely suspect.
He'd tried to charm her once, a bouquet of cheap flowers and a bottle of whiskey, all so he can convince her to get the ZPD off his back. He'd vanished not long after she declined, and Wolfgang was swiftly kidnapped by Carrion.
It is memories like these that give her pause as she oft wonders what the town might have been like had they not jumped to conclusions about who Carrion might be. Nick and Judy certainly didn't jump the gun and now they're closer than ever! But the comparison is not what pains her. Kurt Bellows gave his all until his dying breath just so he can avenge his family, Alexander Wolfgang went crazy to the point of suicide. Their involvement might have only encouraged more victims, and with the way Carrion has been operating, their presence might have forced his hand even further.
But regardless, it isn't like they can leave the town to their own devices. They'll find Carrion and bring this place justice.
Sam then takes a moment to really look over the place.
As far as she's seen the home, it's all been quite… structured. Everything is in its place, from the ascending bloodline in the pictures on the walls that end at Ross and Eli, down to the kitchenware that is neatly organized down to the polished china in the cupboards. Though all distinctly non-spanish, it feels like a home that is almost too clean to be lived in.
And the meticulous attention to an almost obsessively orderly home is everything that makes it all so jarring. Because Ross is nothing like the home he's been living in, and that disturbs her alongside everything else. It is a contrast that might never right itself.
And then Sam wonders what happens next. What happens after they catch Ross? Putting him in prison won't fix anything, cause as a man who has famously wormed his way through a cargo ship full of Luciano thugs undetected, she has no doubt that he would successfully attempt an escape. And who knows what he'll do after that?
She shakes away the thoughts. One step at a time.
Sam enters the garden then, spotting Terence picking away at the mesh of ash at his feet, particles flitting about him in the afternoon sun, the rays parted by the overhead trees, looking like smoke. "What'd you find?" she asks him, letting her footfalls crunch under the dead embers like gray snow.
He shrugs, hints of dejection in his eyes as his lips curl in a frustrated scowl. "Nothing yet other than a few useless memorabilia. I'm doubtful a boxing glove would yield anything for our investigation."
"Hm," she murmurs contemplatively, cradling an arm that cups her even mouth with her fingers. "What exactly did you find?"
"Well aside from the boxing glove…" he unzips the duffle bag he's had slung over his shoulder, pulling out the zip-locked items. "A pocket watch with Ross's name engraved on it, the remains of a baseball, a cotton sweater, and a few books."
She tilts her head at the way the books are charred at an edge along a descending pattern, as if they had been burnt together. "Let me have a look at that."
Examining them closely, she finds that some of the books, perhaps the heavier ones, might have fallen out of the stack. "Where'd you find these?" she asks.
"Behind this…" he turns back to eye the mess of collapsed wood that was once a gazebo, "well whatever it was, the books were stacked behind it."
Sam shifts over to that area, eying the collapsed structure with intrigue. It's like an effigy Ross failed to admonish, failing to destroy every part of him that she knows he tried to abandon. And if its symbolism sustains, then perhaps enough of him is still in there, enough that might be worth saving. But the world is very rarely so kind, nothing like the fairy tales. Then she considers that the parts of Ross that remained were only the husk, enough to make a madman but not enough to resemble who he was.
She finds the spot where Terence unearthed the books and eyes wearily along the sea of gray across from it. Her feet, sunken beneath the ash, ply their way through the dust, searching for something. And it isn't long until her toes find something down there.
Quickly slipping on a pair of rubber gloves, Sam digs for the remaining books. She pulls out three that have varying degrees of damage. "I found them," she tells Terence from across the small garden.
"Really?" he asks, standing up to look at her. "Anything good?"
"Two textbooks and…" She trails off, head tilting at the largest one, a rectangular brown one that she shifts to the top of the stack, cradling them under an arm. She opens it and finds the clean, almost expertly written cursive of Rostetler Rundi on and around some sketches of buildings and landscapes. She notes Ross's signature on the bottom right of it – well away from the scorch marks on the top right – and finds that the first few sketches date back to the year 1998. "It's an old sketchbook."
"Ugh," Terence groans, "useless then? I was hoping for a journal or something but a sketchbook?"
"Not so fast, hotshot," she cautions, flipping through the pages, "this is Ross's personal sketchbook. He might have written something important in it."
She travels through the sketches he's made over the years, all of them plans for the future or moments he's frozen in time. In some where his wife is drawn or simply mentioned, he writes little letters or poems to her. He was an articulate man, a romantic one besides. He promises her tomorrows filled with bliss, of candlelit dinners and hot coffee on rainy days. He worships days of yesteryear, where she is the center of all that gives him joy. And he gives her today, everyday, for as long as he lives, christening every morning and every night with silent reverence to her every feature and every flaw, and enshrines them in his very being, to love her with each heartbeat, loving more and more with each thrum, wanting nothing and no one else.
Sam is given pause, fingers running through the old handwritten text with some uncertainty. Ross was once a great man, a great husband and… perhaps a great friend. She can only imagine what all of this is doing to the people who knew him as such, being forced to recognize him as the crazed lunatic he's become. If anyone she's known were to change so drastically… she wouldn't know what to do with herself.
She looks to Terence as he works his way through the dust, finding what he can from the wreck, lifting some charred fur with some prongs, and she wonders just what the wolf thought of him. "Hey, Kaenid, what was Ross like to you before this shit storm?"
Her sudden question surprises him, but his expression quickly makes way for his sullen gaze, drifting to a life he isn't quite sure he even properly remembers anymore, and it was only a week ago. "There are reasons why everyone saw him as the up-and-coming sheriff. He was a good man with a level head, laced with tact and certainty, not a single breath wasted from him, not a single word unimportant. He was relatively quiet and reserved but spoke with brevity, fixed to be concise and…" He utters a single sardonic laugh, bitter and dour, hand pressing into his gray fur. His eyes then transfix to her, hard lines along his features. "He would have made a great sheriff," he says with all the seriousness he can muster.
"I know that you're next in line after him," Sam says, hiding away the seriousness with what she hopes is nonchalance. "But… do you still have hope that he'll recover?"
Terence shakes his head. "That job isn't important to me. I'll decline it as soon as Creed offers. And yes, I do certainly hope that Ross does, but I'm doubtful he ever will."
She asks no further questions, much to Terence's relief, both of them returning to work.
Sam leafs through the pages further and further until she finds repeats for the same one, a sketch of some structure with a river running through it. And then she realizes that they aren't repeats.
Her eyes go wide. This is the canal Nick and Tali were talking about!
Several pages are dedicated to mapping out a network built into a canal, and Ross makes notes of nooks and crannies, quiet places and routes in and out of the place. Some are notes of old secrets like a suit of armor pressing against a wall, a hollowed out space where an office might have been built, but best of all, Ross makes note of a large area and a favorite spot just passed a tunnel off the side of the river, into a wide open room where Ross had picnics with Eli.
To Sam it is every indication that he should be there with Judy. He mentions that he found the key to the only door into that place still stuck in the doorknob. It's wide and secluded, with only one exit he can easily keep tabs on.
"Sam?" Terence asks, drawing her out of her stupor, which she quickly replaces with a determined gaze. "What'd you find?"
"I found the layout of the canal. Phone Nick up. I'll map out a route later but I may know where in that hellhole Ross is keeping Judy."
"What do you have?" Nick asks over the video call, Tali beside him as they stand at the foot of the forest, the great barks towering over them into the misty canopy above.
"Some charred fur," Terence answers immediately before Sam can speak. "Looks like Ross almost burnt himself."
"He's suicidal now. You think he tried to burn himself too?" Nick doesn't spare a glance at Tali who he's sure is wincing at the idea.
"Looks like it." Terence glances back at the collapsed gazebo, where the ghost of the great flame that once consumed it. Ross, he considers, might have been mesmerized by it, the embers dancing like fireflies against the golden glow abreast with the skeletal remains of the structure, framing the tall and vibrant pyre like a gateway, an escape. "But if he tried to kill himself, then what stopped him?"
Tali nearly gasps as her lithe fingers press against her paper thin lips, the hard and bitter recollection of last night's events finally come together into something coherent. "The only thing that could…"
Nick turns to her, his jade irises flashing. "And what's that?"
"Eli," she tells them, daring to enlighten them, to perchance that her plight might yield something useful after all.
"His wife? But she's dead!" Sam intones over the phone, the hard line against her brows creasing.
Tali doesn't want to say, almost dares to tell them she is joking, but she cannot allow her insecurities to cloud her judgment on a delicate situation like this. "I don't know how accurate I'm being but… he was being affectionate to me before, but it wasn't like it was me he was talking to. He called me 'Eli' last night. He may have been hallucinating her in his madness over... me."
Nick blinks at her, trying to find the pain in her eyes that faintly etch her soft features. But even as she struggles not to show it, he can tell that she is harried inside, sundered by rejection and… something else. Something darker. Perhaps fear.
"So we're dealing with a loon who's also hallucinating?" Terence states over the phone, drawing them out of their moment.
"Well, fuck," Sam growls, palm pressing against her forehead, "as if the guy wasn't dangerous enough as it is." Ross is a threat, a magnanimous one if his record holds even the tiniest vestige of truth, but to know that a man with his skillset and strength has gone completely unstable is every indication that Judy, as tough and stoic as she might be, is very much in danger.
They have to find her today, otherwise it might be too late.
"There's something else," Sam adds, finally, pressing on with business.
"What is it?" Tali asks.
Sam pulls the sketchbook into view, the faded dark tan of its surface accompanied by scorch marks across one edge. "This belongs to Ross. It maps out a wide area with a river running through it, so it's likely the canal. The place seems huge according to all the measurements, and it's a disjointed fucking mess but I've got an idea where she might be held but I'll need to map it out for everyone. I'll send you all the details when we get this thing sorted out."
Nick pulls the phone's camera to him, staring hard into the device as he fixes Sam with a serious face. "Where is he keeping her?"
Sam obliges him, flipping through the pages until she finds the right sketch. She holds it into view, pointing at the details of a large open area with a narrow passage that connects to it. "It says that he used to have picnics with his wife here," she points to a line drawn onto the sketch that connects to a box of text below, "the date of their marriage is even etched into the floor."
Her hand then shifts to the narrow tunnel where she gestures to a circular side room with a storm drain. "And this is likely where Judy saw the trees and got herself a signal."
Nick squints at it before taking a screenshot to look over it later. "Thanks, Sam. When my informants tell me where the place is, be sure to send your guide to us."
"I'll work as fast as I can. Just don't do anything reckless, alright?"
The call ends and Nick meanders off with Tali's phone, leaning against a tree as he stares at the picture.
It's familiar to him somehow, the ghost of a memory giving color to the sketched stonework, its texture running through his padded fingers amidst the sound of an old song that echoes through its walls. Paris, he thinks, but doesn't quite remember what it means, or how it relates. But the sensation is almost vivid, almost surreal.
And something tells him that he's been there before, a memory locked away beneath a hundred more. A part of him thinks he's mixing a different memory with the present, but he'll know for sure once he's down there.
A commotion on the road distracts him from his thoughts, eying the few deputies parked about him. They've lined up the forest in different areas here in the north, prepared to go any which way into it when Nick's informant tells them where to go.
And one of them, an otter whom he recalls is Liz's boyfriend, is gasping and wheezing, falling to his knees as his friends attempt to calm him down. Nick makes to approach but Tali is already there, stopped by the capybara who tells her what's happened.
Tali gasps, a shock that ripples through her frame. She shakes her head, almost angry at whatever she's being told.
Nick slows his approach then, her meeting him halfway as he hands her back her phone. "Liz has been kidnapped," she tells him, an amalgam of emotions running through her harrowed features. "She and Reese were sleeping in their squad car and when he awoke, she was gone, with all her valuables left on the dashboard."
The mortified look on his face twists to mimic hers, running through the same dejected emotions. Because of course Carrion hasn't stopped. How could he have possibly forgotten? It was foolish to think that the town would stay still for even a day just because Judy has been kidnapped.
And so the shadow that stalks him still, the creeping boney hands of Carrion's curse, lingering across the air, feeds desolation and defeat to all that witnesses it. Because that monster is still at large, amongst them, preying on them.
And yet all Nick can do in the face of it… is turn away. Because the world can fall apart, loosen at its seams, and he would still choose to save her alone. And though the bitter idea that he would sacrifice this day, and perhaps Liz's life – who he has come to know as a friend – in the pursuit of saving Judy is a prospect he feels only the faintest hint of remorse.
It is something that will haunt him forever just as Smith's death has, but he will endure.
I'm so sorry…
"Officer Wilde," comes the scruffy voice of a leopard, emerging from the forest with a phone in hand. He is dressed in black, expensive, silken cloth unfit for forest trekking but done with anyway, a Luciano by all accounts. "I've just collected all the details for you. I'm sending you the directions."
Nick's phone rings as he checks it, speeding through the instructions quickly.
The leopard presses on his ear piece, speaking to his colleagues as Nick's eyes trace the text. "We're not getting any more mixed up in this than we already are," he says to them both, "but it would be best to be wary, they apparently heard screaming down there."
"What!?" came Nick and Tali's uniform cry, already burdened by everything else on top of this.
"It wasn't her that was screaming," he cautions, "it was Ross. He was punching the stones, it sounded like. Sounded meaty too, apparently. He may be bleeding from his fists."
More questions and Nick wastes no time trying to figure them out. Instead, he shakes his head and doesn't even spare them a glance before eying the warning post beside him then bolting off into the forest.
Tali makes to stop him but he's already gone, quickly out of sight in the tree line. Good god, he's fast.
The leopard is about to walk off but Tali grabs him by the shoulder. "You're not going anywhere."
He huffs. "I told you, we're not getting any more involved."
She gives him an incredulous look that suddenly makes him feel like a complete idiot. "Are you kidding me!? He just ran in there with the directions without sending them to the rest of us! So forward that message to me now!"
The leopard frantically copies the text with her number tacked onto it. Tali herself stares into the thicket and wonders where Nick is, shaking her head at the sight of his desperation. He's going in alone, because he's afraid of losing her by wasting time.
And in spite of everything that's already happening, she clutches her chest in abject fear, worrying that Nick's impatience might kill him.
She clenches her face, trying to bury her woes. "Fucking hurry up!"
Nick sprints into the forest alone, the last bleeding vestiges of misty orange light pouring off the sunset slowly disappearing under the shadow of twilight, turning the warm golden rays into cool ocean blues in the stagnant vibrancy of the autumn air, a contrast of colors further warped by the augury overhead crows.
He bolts through two trees marked with red paint, glancing down to parallel where they align like a triangle. He kicks off from there, plunging himself into the woods further and further till even the police sirens from behind become muffled before vanishing beneath the crows' cawing which grows fainter and then louder in uneven cadence.
His footfalls crunching over fields of fallen leaves are the only sounds for what feels like miles, and he is adrift in the darkness amongst it that seems to magnify the dead silence, almost ethereal as the light slowly fades into dark.
But not before he reaches his first checkpoint.
Head north of the warning post then through two marked trees, following their conjoined roots like an arrow. Head straight until you see a large splintered boulder of iron ore, find its fractured point that's peeled off its side then head in the direction it's pointing.
The mass of abandoned iron and the decayed remains of some crushed carriage that once dared to heft it is telling of the old, medieval city that once demanded such hefty ores, a piece of history long forgotten, so aged and in its silent residence in the forest that it has begun sprouting vines and hosting nests.
He circles the broken stone, until he finds the lopsided piece that sits like an arrowhead, pointing out into the distance.
He runs off from there, hoping to find the sound of the river soon as he watches the darkness engulf what light there is, night vision adjusting for as well as it can.
It's then that he realizes that he didn't relay the guide to the rest of the police. He pulls up his phone and prepares to forward it as he sprints through the dark, only to find that the signal is fluctuating and mostly failing.
He shakes his head, a frustration pouring out of the hard line of his lips in a curse.
Instead he trusts that they'd get a hand of that Luciano before he leaves. Surely at least Tali would have the sensibility to correct his mistake.
But if not, he's already too far off to go back now.
Of course he shouldn't have gone in alone but he can't wait for anyone else. Cause neither Carrion nor his curse will wait for him in this damned town. And even though it's a hard maybe with Ross that perhaps he'd be patient with Nick in so far as Judy is concerned, the idea that she doesn't even need to be alive for Nick to come to him only furthers his resolve to press on with abandon, taking no chances.
He is desperate, angry, and sullen; each fueling his every step through the shadowed grounds that coil into the woods like great gods looming over him, shrouding the canopy and him, making him feel more alone than he actually is, more than what he's felt.
And he fights it, that bitter twinge in the air that pollutes his mind, weakening him. His abject desperation is all he has at this moment, the last thing he clings ti in the hopes that it will be enough to numb the pain that he knows is coming. Because as he hears the whistling surge of the river up ahead, he already feels the ache in his legs, the shock of every harried step taking its toll on his legs.
When you finally find the river, head upstream and don't stop. When it looks like the water goes underground, keep going parallel to it till you see the river reconnect to the surface again.
Logan's Respite is the most recluse river in town – a stark contrast to its sister river, Logan's Passage – because as much as it is long, too much of it sinks beneath the surface, hiding much of its length in naturally occurring undergrounds tunnels. And there are tales about it, ones Nick would much rather not have occupying his right now, about suicides and whispering sirens in the underwater caverns, omens of death that only remind him of the dire situation he and Judy are in. And all these legends come from a place that most people thought didn't even exist! A culmination of bad signs all in one slither of water.
He stops to catch his breath, still ragged as it pumps unsteadily out of his heaving chest, sweat trickling off his brow. Only now does he discover how tired he is, having run nonstop up until this point. He can run pretty far but he's so out of it, running on fumes as he barely remembers what he ate for lunch, or if even ate at all.
But then he rights himself, a fist pounding against his chest as he growls and presses on.
He conserves his energy on the embankment, taking a moment to drink from the cold waters beneath him. It's refreshing, the cool drink wetting his dry mouth, an appreciative pop from his lips just after.
It's dark, more than anything else that is, but his night vision serves him well. And the clear, unperturbed lines of sight and a calm, even moment both serve as bane and boon. Because on one hand he can let himself rest, but on the other, his night vision is still limited in distance so he's afraid that he might miss the next part of the guide if he doesn't peer through the dark close enough.
Somewhere along the river's side is a dirt opening in the thicket, separate from the grass. Here you'll find a makeshift grave: a rifle embedded into the ground with a helmet on top of its stock. Find the rifle's wrapped scope and follow where that points.
Minutes of walking make him feel impatient, looking about too frantically to even remotely claim that he's in any control of his own agitated senses. His nerves are racked.
Nick's eyes turn skyward for long enough to take in the stars, breathing in the air as he prays his body still has strength enough to save her. His world feels so bleak without her, empty as the gaps between the stars, left with only this perilous crusade for her, endangering himself to Ross's madness – a man, he realizes, that has most certainly felt the same maddening isolation.
He didn't even bother to take anyone else with him, but everyone else would be too cautious, too slow. And right now, so is he.
He is about to sprint off as he groans, but then he realizes that he's been walking for a good few minutes and he's already in the clearing. And only a few scant feet from him is the soldier's grave in question.
The grave is arranged carefully, fitted to last in its spot. The M1 Garand is buried deep and surrounded by stones, sturdy in its position, unmoving after years of being here. The metallic identification tags wrap around the stock tightly, intertwined with the bindings of the helmet and the loose cloth wrappings on the scope. The helmet itself is tied to the weapon, marked with an engraved eagle with a painted black shield behind it, the Screaming Eagles from the war, a sign that it might have been from Henry Avery's company from the war, a brother-in-arms taken too soon.
He briefly wonders if he'll meet the same fate, dying in battle against a formidable foe, but Nick hopes he never has to fight Ross.
A sudden caw from a crow startles him then, reaching instinctively for the weapon on his hip. But then he realizes that he doesn't even have it, having abandoned in his car. But he feels it still pressing against his hip, a safe zone that calls out to him, asking him to do what he thought he would never be able to do, to kill someone. So he suppresses that demon raging inside of him, the errant allure that seemed to emanate from the phantom weapon, telling him to harm Ross, to be mad enough to want to end him.
"You're not taking your firearm?" he remembers Tali asking.
Nick can't let himself give in to it and risk Judy in the process. The weapon won't win, he tells himself. He doesn't need it. There doesn't need to be any more bloodshed.
"Maybe we can reason with him," he answered her then, not really believing himself, but daring to hope.
Just a few feet in the direction of the scope is a mound in the dirt. Its old stonework is not visible until you veer off the left side to see the iron door that acts as its entrance. Inside you'll find the canal you were looking for. Best of luck to you, Officer Wilde.
His steps are careful then, looking back to the rifle just to be sure he's oriented right, and then it isn't long till he sees the clear mound in the dirt. And, sure enough, he finds the rusted iron door at the end of some descending steps.
This is it.
His breath is hitched as the groaning underbelly of the canal whistles through the crack in the door, swaying in the wind easily despite its weight. Approaching it, he finds that the door moves rather smoothly, noting the oiled hinges. Perhaps it's a last courtesy of the Luciano's… or an invitation from Ross.
Before he enters, he spots a colorful yet amateur painting of a turtle on the left hand side of the door. It's familiar somehow, a memory that's more recognizable to him if he squints at it to blur the image.
Have I been here before?
He walks in to find the steady darkness, equally familiar in its state. Instinctively, he feels for the wall on his left, running them along until he finds a set of light switches. All of them are fake though, all but one (partially that is).
Pull the cover off that one, the real light switch is a button.
He pulls off the loose plastic cap off the middle switch, pressing a button beneath it. It's then that the canal lights up as the sound of some sputtering generator comes to life. Christmas lights dot the ceiling, trailing towards the left.
He remembers the lights too, when they were more blinding, when they hurt his eyes. He remembers the pain, recalls it almost vividly, more than anything else, and from that he can deduce. I was drunk when I was first here.
And then it comes together in his mind, faint images cobbled together in a puzzle piece that will forever remain incomplete, but enough of it is there, enough to get the gist of the picture.
He came here, once upon a time, with his now late friend Smith who wanted to show him something down in this canal. He remembers taking a different route through the forest, something about a dirt road and some cans. But all he really knows for sure at this moment is that Smith was only sober enough to drive them here while Nick was piss drunk. That is, until they finally made it to—
There's a shack here somewhere!
He doesn't quite know the way but he follows the lights that string through a single, faintly familiar path in the tunnel's maze-like halls.
Fleeting memories of a damp pant leg, winding halls with an entire poem painted onto it, a plywood bridge over a river, dropping a bottle of scotch somewhere in the water, and a song all come to mind. He doesn't yet know what order they come in, but he finds out on the way.
The plywood bridge is old but sturdy, nailed together to ensure longevity. The poem on the wall is sadly ruined until he realizes that it's a miracle that any of it survived at all, the chalk writing having mostly been purged by water, faint signs of the words still remaining higher up where the water couldn't touch it.
He comes upon a familiar platform stained by unnamable liquids, and it doesn't take his skills as a detective to figure out that they all bleed off the wooden wall to his side. It's in there.
He pushes into it but it's stuck somehow. "You'll need ta' shoulder check it, John," he hears Smith say, his voice seeming to emanate from that room. He also remembers that it took both of them to ram into it the first time he was here, but perhaps he's strong enough.
His shoulder slams into it with too much force, dropping him to the ground. When he looks up, he sees a glimpse of the old him carved into a tiny, hideaway shack. In the tiny hovel is a coffee table with a mocha fedora he used to wear, a desk with maps strewn about it with a pale blue thermos with the name John etched into it, a cooler where he had stashed some expensive wine once, and a lovingly polished brass record player.
And around the center are two reclining chairs, one a deep faded blue splotch with whatever stains Smith might have spilt in his days here, while the other is a deep crimson only faded slightly along the backrest and seat, plus it's wrapped in vacuum-sealed plastic. A fond yet bitter memory fills the seats, one meshed with slurs and a sheer lack of coordination.
"I love this chair, Smith. Best chair in the damn country," Nick announced, twirling his scotch at his wrist.
Smith laughed at him, falling back into his own seat, mirth bubbling from his slurred lips. "Tell you what, John, you tell me yer real name and it's yers."
He blinked at him, a moment of shock so genuine that he feels himself sober right at the thought. "You can't be serious."
He doesn't remember what happened after that, but Smith hadn't known his real name till he confessed so it's likely that he never told him back then. But the chair itself is wrapped, vacuum sealed, and by the looks of the vacuum itself still next to it, it was wrapped recently. Nick wonders if Smith had decided to give it to him as per the agreement since he knew his real name already.
He'll avenge Smith, that's for damn sure.
He turns to leave, promising to come back later, but then he spots a vinyl resting against the foot of the record player. Under Paris Skies, it reads, and the song comes back to him. The smooth cello and violin feeding out of a solemn piano. And then the halls are suddenly filled with it and its wind instruments, its percussions and strings.
I tell ya', John, one day I'll go see that city. I'll smell its air and kiss its women. I'll fall in love with that city, and I'll take this song with me.
The tunnels branch in myriad directions from his position, a maze that he realizes that he could have been able to navigate if he had waited for Sam to send him her analysis, but he was impatient, still is impatient, and would sooner perchance his own luck.
But he didn't need it.
As if on instinct, he first takes a left, the blurred outline of Smith somewhere at the end of that way.
C'mon, I've somethin' ah' wanted ta' show ya.
His footfalls mimic the path he went through all those years ago, through over cracked cobblestone and familiar landmarks like a dagger in the wall and a discarded stool. And all the while, the song still ringing in his head like a distant melody, the symphony of an old friend pouring out of his spirit that lingers still.
It's always Smith at every corner, beckoning him further and further into the tunnels. But a sense of urgency still grips his sullen heart, reminding him that Judy is still in danger, and he's out here chasing ghosts. But he thinks that's where the memory leads, to a space he recognized from the sketchbook, the place Sam thinks Judy is being held in.
He prays that she's right.
Down one long path stretching into the darkness, he sees Smith standing out there, almost a speck from this distance. So he breaks into a sprint, dashing over the cobblestone that stretches into the darkness, his night vision faltering in the ever quickening, all-encompassing black.
Then Nick slips on a puddle, falling onto his arm. He winces at the pain rocketing through his joint, gritting his teeth as he bears with it. He doesn't know where he is anymore or if he's facing the right way. He pulls out his phone for light but it won't turn on. Damn, I think I smashed it.
But somehow, even in the dark, he can still see Smith. He reaches out to him, only to find his hand grasping on a small docking pole.
It can get mighty dark in here, so be sure to feel for the wall with yer right, but it ain't the most reliable thing on the planet since the wall's curved and clingin' to it will make ya slip, so keep your left hand out so you can find them wooden poles. When you touch one, be sure to give yourself an arm's length distance between yerself and it so you can stay in-center.
He makes his way slowly, his right foot being constantly caught on the slope of the wall, nearly slipping a few times again, but the poles keep him oriented, and soon he reaches the end of the path, chest tapping onto a railing. He grasps for it, and finds his night vision coming back to him, some light bleeding from an iron door on his right.
He feels over the rough iron chain that lines the iron bridge towards the door, light brimming off its fringed cracks. He eyes the ominous luminescence, and feels something creeping into him.
Fear. It is tangible and surreal, coursing through every fiber of his being as the world cascades heavy clarity, beating against his frame like raindrops against the heaving lungs in his back, resonating with his heart in his chest, reminding him of the man beyond the door, and just how terrifying that man might be, possessed by Carrion's curse, all-consumed
There is light pouring out of the foot of the door, and there glistening in that faint glow is a ringed iron key. He takes it, and wonders if the door is locked. And he finds that it is.
It's an invitation, a trap perhaps, but Ross is most certainly behind it.
But Nick cannot wait. And so, with a fearful gulp, he unlocks the door with a loud click.
The old metal screeches as he enters the darkened path, lit by a storm drain on the side, a candle on the floor, and the light pouring out of the room up ahead. His eyes fix onward, into the portal-like light that smells faintly of burning autumn and river water. It is ominous, grave and almost imposing, the entrance to a madman's lair.
He breaches the dark, taking cautious steps as the thrum in his chest beats faster and faster, harder and stronger still, firmly gripping his core, demanding that he be afraid. But on top of that there is a sense of fury tensing against his clenched knuckles, wanting very much to force her out of this hell and away from him, but his resolve dies when he emerges from the mouth of the tunnel, staring hard at the sight before him.
Ross is there, a soul distinctly absent from his eyes, staring at him with the ghost of a laugh lingering at his fanged lips. And in his hand is a bound Judy, her neck wrapped around his fingers as he dangles her over a monoblock chair, the tips of her toes standing atop it. There is a terrible strength lingering in his taut fingers, one that ensures Nick that if Ross were to kick away the chair his hand will act as a noose.
"Good to see you, John," Ross says, an enduring sense of sanity still locked into his otherwise menacing tone. "Glad you've finally managed to join us."
Nick approaches cautiously, a roaring unease filling every step, growing more and more as he eyes the man before him, madness so surreal that it would be remiss of him not to see it in the slight twitch in Ross's eyes.
In the very least he finds some comfort in knowing Judy is alive and, as far as he can tell, is relatively unharmed. "You know," Nick says easily, burying his terror beneath his wit, "I would have come to the party sooner if I had an invitation." Nick smiles, but it's clearly weak, but Judy finds comfort in it, even if it is an alarmingly fake display of self-assurance, there is confidence still that she can draw strength from.
And, much to Nick's surprise, Ross seems to buy it, never spotting his every vivid hint of faltering before him.
"I believed that the… mess I made was invitation enough." Ross looks away, a hysterical grin lining his bared fangs before he returns to Nick. "Besides, had I stayed much longer or, even tried to take you, you would have woken up and… well, I'm sure I would have killed you right there and then." Nick swallows at that, trying to keep his cool.
"Murder isn't justice, is it, John? Though rightly deserved, there would have still been doubt about you, some might have even considered you innocent. And we couldn't have that now, could we? Because in the very least, they deserve to know who you are with certainty. So they know where to pour all that… hate." He clenches his free hand in a fist, his composure lost between the throes of vengeful, abject passion.
Judy herself is fearful of it, feeling every erstwhile tension in Ross against his fingers. She almost loses balance as his body tensed at that moment, and now she is fearful of his unspoken threat.
"So you know how this works, John." His eyes turn dangerous once more, body shifting as his entire frame appears monstrous, gigantic before them both. All that strength ready to crush him, and her if he doesn't cooperate.
But Nick raises his hands defensively, daring to chance at his sensibilities still, hoping that there's still enough of his old self in there to call back. He knows everyone at the station would have wanted him back, so maybe he could save him too. "Look, Ross, listen to yourself. You know you sound crazy, you know you sound hysterical, but more than that, you are very much aware about what you've seen, about what's real and what isn't." Ross blinks at him then, tension in his body leaving him for a moment. "All of this is madness, but you can stop it. You can get help. Those people at the station are still willing to take you back, in no matter how many pieces you are. You know them, and you know you. And this isn't you."
Ross pauses. He's right of course. He's very much aware of the madness sinking into his ever fractured psyche. A quivering hand rises to cup his head, if only to ascertain some semblance of sensation along his numb, sweating digits. He is on the verge of his madness, the furthest down into this crazed venture that he's ever been in, cause he can almost taste the justification for it, the capture of Nick Wilde, the Carrion Killer and yet…
"It's not too late, Ross."
He doesn't know if Nick said it or if it's a memory thrust into the foreground, but it infuriates him, because it reminds him of the abandon he has wrought of himself, knowing full well that it is, in fact, much too late now.
"No!" he growls, hand almost tightening around Judy's neck, but squeezing tight enough to make her yelp. "No games, John!" He pulls out a combat knife, the serrated edge gleaming in the pale light of the electric lantern hanging from the ceiling. His index finger then pushes Judy's head up, her throat exposed to the knife that now gently presses to it. "Confess, John, or else your bed bunny chokes on her own blood!"
Panic jolts through Nick's entire system, sputtering words one after the other in an effort to placate Ross. "Okay! I admit it! I'm Carrion! I dumped the bodies in the swamp to feed the gators! I've been operating on the murders every night! I heard about the original Carrion and wanted to perfect his craft! It was me all along!" Nick finds his breath when Ross's grip loosens at the sudden realization that Nick has admitted to being a serial killer, a baleful justification for his mad crusade. "Take me in or whatever just… don't hurt her."
But Ross doesn't let go of her, and his claws begin to peek out of his fingers as he laughs. Nick's fear is locked away then, a sustained fury taking its place as he struggles to come up with something fast. Nick needs to grab his attention again, and does the first thing that comes to mind. He seeks to antagonize him, pull him out of his stupor long enough to focus on him and only him but the plan to do so, he feels, is so incredibly flawed, even as he speaks it. "I'm also the one that killed your wife!"
But then Ross's expression drops, and so does Judy who tucks and rolls as she falls out of his grip.
"Prison's too good for you," Ross mutters before barreling towards him!
Knife in hand, Ross swipes at Nick who backsteps away. Ross underhands the knife then, making a second swipe that Nick narrowly dodges.
Nick then lunges into his guard, shoulder checking Ross's chest, making the puma reel, but Ross is resilient and barely moves whilst Nick feels pain surge through his entire arm, his fatigue taking its toll on his body.
Judy takes this opportunity as an opening as she bolts towards Ross and leaps onto his shoulders, slinging her wrists over his head and at his neck. She tugs her bindings against Ross's adam's apple and his free hand quickly grasps onto the thick rope in an effort to retake air, but she responds by tugging back harder, pressing her heels into his back as she attempts to choke him into submission.
Ross's armed hand rises to stab at Judy but Nick quickly takes his arm and twists it, wrestling the knife out of his grasp. But Nick's grip is smothered in sweat, relying mostly on the constriction flexing in his forearms, but he finds relief in Ross's suddenly opened palm, dropping the knife.
Ross can feel the lack of oxygen dimming his senses, trapped in the grasp despite his strength, but he does not surrender to them. His hand releases the rope, giving Judy more access to his throat but the same hand curls upward to grab her by the ears.
With a single, easy tug, he pulls her off of him and slams her body against Nick's, sending them rolling along the floor.
Lying on his back, Nick finds a dazed Judy with her back on his chest. He knows Ross is coming in for a follow up so he attempts to twist his body to roll over but he never gets the chance.
Ross is upon them in the next instant, his knife plunging down towards them, but Judy raises her thick bindings to block it. To her horror, the knife pierces it, but it is thankfully locked within the rope.
Ross pushes the blade downward, the tip closing in on Judy's neck, forcing her to raise her wrists with all her strength just to keep the rope between them. But fear still runs through her body as it threatens to sap all her energy away in this desperate counter, adrenaline coursing through her veins.
Nick doesn't stall as his senses alight, taking the blade firmly in his grasp, cupping the dull end to avoid the serrated edge. He knows they can't match his strength, so he goes for the next best thing. With a roll of his shoulders, he twists the blade aside and plunges it into the stone beside his head, turning both Nick and Judy to their sides with it.
Sporting more energy at the moment than her partner, Judy proceeds to kick Ross's side. The first strike furthers his imbalance, the second one winds him, and the third – with Nick lifting her rear so she can use both feet – knocks him back and off of them both and onto his back.
With the blade having cut through the bindings, Judy twists the stuck knife against the rope until her wrists are finally free.
Nick wastes no more time as he hurriedly scoops up Judy and bolts for the door. In the tunnel he settles her down as he lets her sprint at his side, both of them plunging into the darkness as they make their way towards the candle in the distance that sits beside the adjacent iron door.
Freedom feels just within their grasp giving them some hope, even as Ross roars at them from behind. But they don't expect the ferocity in his sprint, hearing him run on all fours, every footfall rippling loudly through the dark tunnel making him sound larger than he actually is.
But to their surprise, he doesn't charge into them.
Ross runs along the curved wall passed them, until he is almost diagonal, and they can feel his speed, mettle in his limbs so fervent and vivid that it tells them that running away from him would likely be impossible in their current state.
Then Ross angles towards the large iron door, and Nick feels himself panic even more, summoning all his wit to perhaps stop him. But the idea never comes, and Judy, having tried the same, mimics Nick's sense of defeat as Ross propels himself off the wall and kicks the large iron door shut with his powerful legs.
Landing on his feet, Ross growls at them with murder cut through his furious, menacing gaze as the man disappears beneath the animalistic desire for heated, fervent retribution, the wraith taking full hold of him under the influence of his all-consuming madness.
Sam arrives at the foot of the forest just minutes before Nick sprinted into it, pulling out of her Pursuer before dashing to Tali and the Luciano leopard. She'd gotten a mysterious message earlier to come here as quick as she can.
Come to the forest. It's urgent. They need you.
They being the keyword. "Just who is this?"
Regardless, when she arrives, she doesn't expect any of what she sees.
There is a panic amidst all present as people hurriedly scramble together, waiting for the rest of the guide other than her own to be passed around, and she can see it in their anxious faces that something has gone wrong, and she doesn't like any of that.
"The fuck's going on?" Sam asks sternly, approaching Tali and the Luciano. She pivots her head, keen eyes peering through the crowd. "And where the fuck is Wilde?"
"He sprinted off into the forest," Tali tells her, still staring at her phone as she gathers the names to forward the message to. "He took the first guide with him minutes ago but at the speed he's going at, he's likely already halfway there."
Sam groans, exasperation fuming off of her twitching whiskers. "Please tell me he went with somebody!"
Tali takes a moment to give her a sorry expression, and Sam can all but let her frustration be known. But more than that, Sam feels herself worry despite herself. Nick's going to die out there if he's facing against Ross, Judy too if she interferes, and for as long as she is capable of doing so, she most certainly will. Being clever will only take them so far, so Sam needs to get there to make sure they make it out alive.
"Where's the guide?" she asks.
"Here," the Luciano Leopard offers, his phone lighting up her face. She reads quickly, remembering every detail as closely as she can.
She then orients herself to the post before she, without warning, sprints into the forest.
They call out to her as she disappears into the thicket, but she ignores them all.
Evening shrouds the forest by the time she reaches the discarded iron boulder, and quickly she finds the splintered stone, dashing in its pointed direction.
She can hear the rush of water up ahead, giving her sign to slow down as she approaches. She takes a moment to look over Logan's Respite, the fabled river she sought out for all those years ago.
She pulls out her flashlight, not even bothering with her night vision anymore.
There is some shame lingering beneath her still, the idea that she'd been tasked to watch over them and now her neglect has ushered this.
She shakes her head. No, she's being too hard on herself. It wasn't like she was gonna sleep on their sofa. This would have happened regardless. Still, she can't shake the feeling that this is somehow her fault, however unfair that might be. But perhaps it is something else she feels.
She reaches the river then, the ever elusive Logan's Respite. It had all the tropes of a serial killer's hiding spot. It's secluded and shrouded in secrecy, with a river that runs beneath the surface and maybe even ends on the coast several miles east. It's a place where you could dump a body and never see it again.
She peeks over at the water, driven by some abject paranoia as she pulls her flashlight out to see into it. She half expects a corpse to come downstream, and she fears that looking away will make her miss it. A moment of terrifying silence passes against the flowing waters, eyes fixed to it with an intensity that only anticipates the worst.
Then something comes into view.
Sam nearly yelps when she sees the tomato can float about. She shakes her head. This is stupid.
She runs down along the dampened shore grass, flashlight blaring through the darkness as she struggles to find the grave up ahead.
The world around her is nearly pitch black at this point, twilight having long since passed. Were it not for her night vision or even her flashlight, she'd be entirely unable to see. How any animal without these could creep through here would be anyone's guess, and Carrion doesn't operate with any impairment unless it benefits him. If Carrion used this place, maybe he has night vision too?
She shakes her head. She's here to get Nick backup not work on the case! It's not her priority right now.
Suddenly she finds the grave, the rifle pointing into the dirt. There is a sense of relief then. She's so much closer now and she can finally—
Rustle.
She twists her head to the side, spotting someone in the high school's crow mascot costume standing at the other side of the river. His head tilts at her, as if to ask her why she's here.
"Hey!" she shouts, "what the fuck are you doing here kid? It's dangerous!"
The crow doesn't answer. Instead it seems to lower its head and she can see the hand leave the sleeve from within the costume.
Then she gets a text.
Suspicion, and some lingering anxiety comes with her hand reaching into her pocket. Quickly she finds her phone, and the message she reads comes from an unknown number.
Samsara Stripes, is it? Or would you rather Samsara Bengall?
Her eyes widen. She almost makes to reply to the message until she realizes that the crow across from her sent it. "How the fuck do you know my name!?"
Another message. Wrong question.
She knows who it is. The height alongside the mockery plastered on its persona. The crow is acting in some twisted sense of irony wearing that damned suit too. And she curses him beneath her breath, but it's hidden beneath her panic.
Because in his presence, she is very much afraid. The unnamable beast given life, staring at her straight in the eyes. And she is doubtless that he can see the fear in her them, masked beneath her bravado.
And this fear tells her the right question to ask. "…why are you doing this?"
Curiosity.
"For what?"
A moment that seems entirely too long passes between them. She holds her breath for the response. She nearly jumps when she gets it a minute later.
I am, without a doubt, the one you've been looking for, the same demon that has haunted you after all these years, closer to you than I ever have before. But beneath us is the canal you ran out here to find, and the people you were tasked to protect are in grave danger.
So it raises the question, Officer Bengall, where do you go from here?
The answer is simple, really, and her feet almost immediately take her away from here and out towards the canal's entrance, but there is some hesitance in her still, one masked with fearful ambivalence.
Sam then realizes that Carrion sent her the message to come here urgently. He's the reason she's already here, knowing full well that she'd go off on her own after Nick.
And then her phone rings again.
You know, I've recently found that indecision creates its own answer, because that which we first flock to is what is most true of us. It is instinctual and thus: to defy it, is to defy ourselves.
You will always act as Samsara Bengall, and I will always act as Carrion. And in that way, we are all so quite predictable, aren't we?
By the time she's done reading, he's already walked away. Though still in view, Sam finds comfort in his leaving, enough to find feeling in her legs again. And soon she bolts off, forcing her head away so she doesn't see him vanish into the dark.
She reaches the stairwell down into the canal's entrance, the old iron door already wide open for her. Light emanates from inside, and she cautiously makes her way down, a quickness to her step that stands between idle panic and an unshakable alertness.
And then she gets one final message.
Attached is a photo of Ross over Nick and Judy, his knife attempting to plunge into them but the blade itself is caught between Judy's bindings. It's a diagonal shot that looks like it came from a window near the ceiling or something.
Hurry.
"Fuck!"
Sam quickly finds a stream of Christmas lights that she momentarily follows as it aligns with the path she remembers through this malignant maze. But much too quickly does it deviate from her own guide. She trusts her own instincts more than a mysterious guide, so she removes herself from the light trail then bolts off.
Her flashlight chases away the shadows, and she also pulls out her pistol, anticipating Ross. It isn't long until she finds the iron chain fence that leads towards the iron door.
Weapon at the ready, she slowly pushes open the door, but the old metal screeches, announcing her to the room behind it. "Aw, fuck it!" She hears Nick and Judy yelp as one of them is thrown at the other before she forces her way in, dashing into the lit room up ahead, the lantern on the ceiling swaying ominously over them.
They're alive at least, a string of hope that makes her rush in.
Before she exits the tunnel's mouth, she sees Nick and Judy against a pillar. Nick cracks an eye open as he winces in pain and spots her. "Sam! Look out!"
She doesn't have time to react when Ross comes out of the corner to give her a good straight punch to her cheek.
His right hand then coils into her arm as she reels, grabbing at her wrist to disarm her. But she orients herself quickly enough, growling as she intentionally drops her pistol to the floor.
With his back to her, she kicks the dropped weapon away then uses the length of her elbow to slam into Ross's spine, making him stumble forward.
Nick then tackles him into the wall with a suppressed grunt.
Judy follows up by leaping off Nick's angled back to then drop kick Ross's face into the wall.
Dazed from the blow, Ross nearly slumps to the floor.
Sam grabs his wrist to try and twist it to his back but he reacts quickly and uses her firm grip to his advantage. Ross jumps back, tugging Sam in after him but as she stumbles forward, he plants another punch on into her, sending her back.
Ross tries to kick at Nick but he catches his foot in his hands.
Judy runs along the wall to leap towards Ross once more but this time he blocks the kick.
Judy lands on the floor only to find Ross raising his other leg quickly to kick Nick in the face. Ross falls to his back but Nick is knocked down.
She runs up to Ross to fend him off, but he notices her too quickly and swipes his claws at her. She dodges the first swipe, then the second, but before he can swing a third, Sam tackles Ross into the ground.
"Stay down you crazy fuck!" she shouts as she tries to knock him out with a few punches but he blocks most of them.
Nick jumps into action, grabbing Ross's left arm and twisting it again, straightening it. He calls out to Judy and she immediately runs in, and drops onto Ross's elbow, breaking his arm.
His scream cuts into the large room, echoing off the walls as his vivid pain becomes apparent.
They aren't trying to kill him, just subdue him, but that scream, bellowed loud and filled with pain, ripples through Nick and Judy, the harsh reality of what they're doing to the man crashing into them like a freight train. And in that moment of fearful hesitation, Ross, with all the remaining strength in his body, refutes defeat.
His right fist slams into Sam's chin, a second blow striking her bosom. Then he pushes himself up to head-butt her.
Nick tries to grab him but Ross lands a swift fist into his forehead.
Judy tries to jump onto his face but he catches her mid-air then slams her into the wall.
Regaining her composure Sam finds herself careening to the floor when Ross pushes her off of him, and she can feel pain along her spine. Damn it, she inwardly groans.
Ross wastes no time going for Nick, but he runs off towards a pillar. With only one arm operational, Ross can't sprint on all fours, and so Nick can attempt to outpace him, but he's resilient, fighting through a black eye and spitting blood out of his mouth.
Nick circles the pillar as Ross gives chase.
He finds the monoblock chair from earlier and takes it.
When Ross rounds the pillar, the chair is flung towards him, but he bats it away.
He doesn't see Nick slide between his legs to stand behind him. He then runs up his arched back to slam a fist into his skull.
Nick ignores the pain lancing through his arm and proceeds to mount Ross's hand. With a quick handstand, he gets a firm grip of his temples before pivoting down to knee Ross in the eye.
Nick releases him as he lands, watching Ross reel.
Ross cups his injured eye. He's stronger and faster, but they're clever and using their numbers. But he's tougher than them, can take all this pain, and right now Nick is alone, without the advantage of numbers.
Because Ross revels in his own major advantage, sending a vicious grin against his fanged teeth
Sam's footfalls announces her as she runs on all fours towards Ross.
He waits for her to near, only sparing a quick glance at the defensive Nick who prepares for Ross's next move.
Then Sam pounces, only to miss Ross entirely as he jumps over her and towards Nick.
Nick tries to block but Ross backhands him with his terrifying strength, throwing him into the air and slamming him into a wall.
Before Nick can drop to the floor, Ross grabs his throat as he presses him against the stonework. Nick claws feebly at the puma's hand in an attempt to save himself, but even with the scraping cuts along the surface of his digits, Ross doesn't let up.
Nick stares hard into the eyes of the possessed man, burning hatred, sadistic and livid against his bloodied teeth. And then his eyes shift to the downed Judy slumped against the wall. And all he can think about is whether or not she'll survive this ordeal if he dies right here, right now.
And so Nick accepts death, consciousness fading.
Then he gasps as he finds air.
Sam has slammed into Ross in a successful tackle but she finds it isn't any easier with Ross despite having one operational arm.
He struggles and tries to bite at her, snarling like a wild animal as he tries to break from her grasp, one hand against his able arm and the other trying cut off enough air to incapacitate him. But then Ross's broken arm slams into her temple, sending her to his side.
He mounts her then, his hand pressed strong against her throat, trying to choke her to death. She tries to retaliate, to remove his arm or to strike him, but there's an errant resolve in Ross's eyes, one that ignores every blow, takes every hit, and revels in pain knowing that he can return it with the intent to kill.
Nick, barely conscious and far too weak to run, tries to stumble to her aid, but they're too far away and he only has so much strength in him left. He tries to call out to Ross to get his attention but the man is clearly caught in his struggle with Sam, hearing nothing else.
Nick trips on a loose, elevated stone brick, slamming his already weakened frame against the damp stonework. Groaning and on the floor, Nick finds something glint in his vision… Ross's combat knife.
He knows that if Ross finds it, Sam dies, but if he doesn't do something, she'll die anyway. Maybe they all will.
So he takes it and tosses it their way, before passing out.
Sam hears the clang of the knife and reaches for it in her periphery.
She takes it by the blade, then into the grip.
But in her blurry vision, covered in Ross's sweat dripping down at her, Sam can barely see.
She needs to survive. She can't let Ross win, she can't let him hurt Nick or Judy. So she takes the knife firm in her hand pouring all her energy into a decisive strike, aiming for his cheek to tear it open…
…only to find that she has instead plunged it into his temple.
Ross drops to her side with the force of her blow, his body going limp in an instant.
Her breath is bated when she finds him lying there, the fury possessing him no longer in his stagnant irises. As a corpse he appears more normal than he's ever been, and she pains for the innocent and pained man beneath this demon possessed.
She falls on her back as she hears footsteps echo from the tunnel behind them, likely the rest of the rescue team coming in much too late at this point. They really were too slow, huh? And before she shuts her eyes to rest, she sees a figure on the other end of the river, standing by a distant pillar.
It tilts its head at her, its blank, plastic crow eyes delighting in her sacrifice, for choosing them over him, prepared to haunt her for another day.
Bronc Town's mortuary is a dark and gloomy place despite its decorative and ornate front. Its architecture molded to seem illustrious and welcoming for all clients, intended to make them feel like their dead is being sent off with some sense of the royal treatment, a worthy homage to the life lived and now lost.
But in the dark, the bold colors turn to black, and the curtains shroud any light inside. And then it just looks like a giant coffin.
Creed stands before it with a weight in his heart, harrowed by the events that have passed.
Ross is dead now, his successor, lost to the madness that has consumed this town. He fears that more will follow, that perhaps Tali will lose all her strength and lose her mind, or if Calvary might go insane knowing that Sam was so close to catching Carrion but abandoned that opportunity to stop Ross. Or neither of these things occur and something else equally crazy occurs in its stead.
All he knows is that this will only get worse if Carrion isn't stopped.
And then his heart aches when he remembers Liz, the quiet little protégé, scared and alone in what is likely her last moments… if they haven't already passed.
Nick and Judy meet him there at the sidewalk before the mortuary, side by side, hand in hand. Judy's wearing the shall she got from Sam again and Nick is looking much better with his black dress shirt that covers any bruising that may have remained on his arms.
"Sheriff Creed?" Nick calls.
He turns to the two of them. Despite their melee, they've come out of it without any permanent damage. Judy's injury against the back of her head are invisible whilst Nick's bruise against his forehead is only barely visible now, likely thanks to Judy's makeup.
"You two seem better," he comments, his snow white fur glowing in the even light.
"Mostly winded. It's been a long day," Judy sighs, trying not to show how much she wants to wince. "I'm mostly just surprised I haven't suffered any memory loss with all this head trauma."
"Personally, I'm aching in way too may places," Nick remarks, shrugging, "but it's only uncomfortable, not disabling."
"Good. Do take care of yourselves then," he cautions. "I'll admit, I've grown rather fond of you two. You remind me of a different pair I used to work very closely with and… well, I'd rather you two stay alive for this ordeal. Can't have you putting yourselves in any more danger."
Not that they're ever not in danger, they don't say.
"Creed?" Judy asks. "Why did you call us out here?"
He doesn't regard them as he stares hard at the double doors of the morgue. He shakes his head, trying to force away the grave, burdensome thoughts plaguing him.
When the first kidnappings began all those years ago, Ross had asked to be cremated if he ever died, a promise Creed wants to keep while he himself is still kicking. But he had asked others to come and… well, he can't say he's surprised that no one is willing to join him.
But Nick and Judy aren't here for that.
"I don't blame anyone for not coming but…" he pauses, turning to face them for only a moment. "I assure you, Ross was a good man warped by dire circumstances."
Judy looks at Nick awkwardly. "Creed, we're not really—"
"I know you don't, but this isn't about that," he says quickly, his soft features now somber and grave. "Before this… fiasco, on the day Monty disappeared, Ross called me while I was still in Cordrose, a day before his wife was taken." He revels in the memory still, perhaps the last glimpse of sanity he felt off the man before Creed returned to town, finding him broken. "He posited a theory for me. I didn't think much of it at the time but… perhaps, if there's any truth to it, it might serve us well."
Nick and Judy aren't quite sure what to think of Ross's theories, knowing what he'd done. But they try to keep their minds open. After all, he was sane when he told Creed, right?
"No one in Bronc Town who has been here long enough can come to hate it. At least, not the ones who are old enough to have dug in their feet, having built a life here. Calvary Pride may have been a violent drunk, but he was a broken man who pulled himself out of the dark to save the place that raised him. Alexander Wolfgang looked at this place as a respite from his criminal life, a haven far enough away from Zootopia to forget his sins. And Kurt Bellows was born and raised here, and when his family was taken from him, he severed every criminal tie he had and surrendered every facet of his life to perchance grant them justice."
He looks at them, eyes softening against the pale moonlight. "And these were the three worst people here, and they loved this place, this town, and… perhaps, its people."
He looks at his hands, and sees the claws that once killed men. One of them dull so he could never use them for that again. "We've looked at Carrion as this… demon, something mischievous and vile. But there's no one in town like that, not really. At least not anyone old enough to be Carrion."
"So in that moment, Ross believed that Carrion loved this town like the rest of us. But he's been corrupted by something, a tragedy he suggested, one that has sullied a good soul."
Creed doesn't look at them as he starts walking back towards the morgue, shoulders slumped as the weight in his heart slows him down. "Take that however you must, but I do hope it helps."
They stare at Creed as he walks back into the mortuary, the double doors opening where he finds Tali and Javan, much to his surprise.
He smiles at them as they walk in.
And as the doors shut, Nick and Judy are left in the growing silence.
"He makes a good point," Judy says suddenly. "Liz and Reese believed that Carrion is someone people generally trust, someone who's old enough to love the town and, in turn, be loved by it. But if he was corrupted by something…"
"There are a lot of tragedies in this town but… it's broken everyone." Nick says, cradling his hand that cups his mouth contemplatively.
Calvary and An may have put up strong fronts but once Kayla died, they lost it. Tali was shaken by the loss of her friend, and it almost pushed her off the edge when Ross had died. Marshal Hector bore the death of his uncle and mother in his sleeve, enduring it so he could be strong enough to protect his father. And then comes the veritable plethora of others who have lost someone, some of them they haven't even met yet.
"There has to be someone in this town who's lost someone and has managed a strong front," he says.
"But who could that be?"
Nick's eyes turn skyward at the twinkling stars, flashing like stagnant fireflies burning in the ebony canvas above. Names and faces flash before him, each with a steady pain to them that has broken them inside somehow, and each one of them has attempted strength despite loss… many of them failing. And then the stars are blanketed in a pillar of smoke billowing off the mortuary's chimney, signifying the cremation of the corpse.
And then Nick's eyes widen, a sensation of horror and clarity sinking into his skin, pulsing into his veins as every cell in his brain alights, collecting the pieces of the puzzle and – with a moment of still breath – finds that the pieces all just fall into place. "The smoke…" he whispers, almost gasping.
Judy turns to him before tracing his sights into the ominous plume polluting the sky. And quickly she finds the same answer, coiling beneath her against the cold air, freezing her at the core. Time stops as the gears in her head spin faster and faster than they ever have before, as the picture becomes clear, almost burning tears in her eyes.
The familiarity with the town, enough to know its people and to earn its trust.
A degree of talent with a firearm to shoot a goat's arm with precision.
Experience with boating, perhaps to cross dangerous river rapids.
Strength to match any mammal even twice its size.
An intellect to bring it all together.
And a way to dispose of the bodies without a trace.
"Judy…" Nick gasps as he takes her hand, mouth agape at the smoke filling the night sky. In his eyes, the stars disappear, and the world turns pitch black, as the all-consuming revelation of Carrion's identity finally finds a name. And he is in disbelief, heart stopping, voice trapped in his lungs, suffocating under the idea.
Judy squeezes his hand as she fights the same sensations, inhaling a breath she summons strength from, but her hands start to sweat, and her body trembles with a broken racket that ripples through her still frame.
And in the next moment they are gone, driving out into town to face a demon.
But uncertainty coils into their veins, sheer disbelief already pulsing adrenaline through their systems as the idea that they might have found Carrion is all but disheartening, and all too frightening. Of course this is why it was always hard for anyone to pick out the right person, here in a town so kind, amongst welcome people, camaraderie in every corner, how could anyone here call each other a monster?
It's easier to blame the worst of the lot or an outsider. But of course it's someone they thought they could trust. Of course it's someone they're afraid of hurting. Of course it's someone they want to be wrong about.
But it's that same doubt he's kept himself hidden beneath after all these years. And so they must steel themselves and not let bias dictate them. Because if they're going to catch Carrion, they cannot be blinded by who he is or what he has done for them.
There is doubt still, beset with all the disbelief that clouds their sensibilities, lingering like the crows that stalk the town. But like the suddenly absent crows in this quiet little neighborhood, the doubt slowly fades away as they enter the property, gone with nary a stray feather. Because they discover that all it takes to find clarity against any of their reservations is to look at one name, one house, one life, then all the pieces fall into place.
The glistening cobblestone against the dew kissed grass at their feet is a semblance of a suburban life, as good a disguise as any, but is it really a disguise? Is it really, truly a mask he's wearing or does he simply live two lives independent of each other?
If Carrion loves the town, then why does he attack it?
Why here and not somewhere else? Because it's easier to hide in plain sight with a familiar face rather than a stranger's.
Why locals and not outsiders? Because it's easier to read people and garner their trust if you've known them for a while.
…But why kill at all?
Perhaps there is no reason. Maybe it's just in the killing, the mere act of taking a life is enough to satiate him but…
The Natural Order of Things…
There is reason, purpose. Carrion kills for a derelict philosophy, one that drove Alexander Wolfgang mad, and he didn't even have to touch him to do it.
The why is the essence of this, it's what's caused this madness, the core of Carrion's curse. But even as they place a name to the demon in town, they realize that they still do not yet have any idea what Carrion believes in.
And they wonder if they even want to know. But time is of the essence here, cause Liz might still be alive. And if they're right about this one, then they could save her. But they can't divert resources, can't call on anyone who's already looking for her to back them up because they'll only waste time if they're wrong.
"Are you ready?" he asks her at the front porch, indecision as clear on him as it is on her.
"I don't think I was ever ready."
Nick admits that he isn't sure he ever was either. He'd come here thinking he'd find some malicious, generic villain with his own underground lair, but instead he finds himself standing at the front porch of a cozy suburban home that belongs to one of his newly acquired friends. Nick feels embittered by the idea, soured by what he can only describe as a sense of betrayal.
Judy knocks on the door, and almost immediately do they hear the loud clang of a metal oven lid slam shut before they hear him scrambling towards the door.
The door flies open and they are greeted by the gentle smile of Marcus Hector. "Nick? Judy? What're ya' doin' out here so late? You two should be restin'!"
"I-I'm sorry," Judy stammers, "have we caught you at a bad time?"
Marcus pauses, considering something for a moment before shaking his head. "No, no, not with you two. Please, do come in."
He ushers them inside and into his living room. "Do forgive me for the delay. I was bakin', you see, and I need to make sure the dough's settlin' alright. Would you two like anythin' while you're here, though?"
"No need, Marcus," Nick says, a little nervous himself as he gives Marcus a quick smile that he misses entirely as he walks out of the room.
They plop onto the sofa and cannot help but feel so incredibly guilty right now. He's being so polite and they are about to accuse him of mass murder! They don't know how they could possibly live with themselves if they end up being wrong, but it's better than being right and never trying.
It is with a firm resolve that they mentally prepare themselves for him.
Nick's hand steadies by the pistol on his side. He feels only a twinge of fear in him now, but that's only because a large part of him feels like it doesn't need to feel alert or in danger in Marcus's home. He'd found respite here after all when Judy was kidnapped and he can all but feel thankful that she's here with him now in the very same place.
Judy herself is more than a little uncomfortable. The shawl she's wearing ensures that her rifle remains hidden, but the prospect of needing to conceal a weapon in the presence of Marcus Hector of all people just feels… wrong. Made all the worse when Marcus walks back in with a pie in hand, placing it on the coffee table between them before sitting across them on his single-seat sofa. "Hope ya'll like apple cause… well I've been cookin' them all night and I swear I've run out of ingredients to bake anythin' else."
They thank him for it and dig in, but only after one bite does Nick feel his insides curl, needing to cut to the chase. "You know, Marcus, you've been relatively calm throughout this ordeal." He's the only one that hasn't gone insane, or perhaps hasn't even tasted that madness. Even Marshal had his little episode during the party last night. Marcus… he's been much the same the entire time, calm and collected even in moments most dire.
Strong taut fingers drop the fork he's been holding in his hand. "Well I suppose I have kept up a rather stoic front now, have I?"
There is a tension in the air then, clear in his steady posture. He isn't relaxed anymore.
"You have," Judy remarks. "I'm sure it's been quite the asset for your son."
"Oh, no," he laughs, his plump stomach rolling as he laughs. "That boy can take care of himself."
"Then do you do it for the people in this town?" Nick asks, catching Marcus's easy going attitude as it remains oblivious to the way they're speaking, making him suspicious.
"Folk 'ere are hardy, as you've come to see. They'll endure, they always have. I just do what I can to make the good times better. It comes with my business tagline: Savory, delight you let last. Because you let a good thing stay with ya', it doesn't last unless you let it." There is something hidden behind Marcus's choice of words, Judy can feel it, but she can't quite see it. She notes how he doesn't directly answer their question.
"Did your wife come up with that?" Judy asks, her features softening just the tiniest bit.
"Might have been her last words," he smiles at them, nothing but fondness in his eyes. "I have no pains for what I've lost, if that's what you're askin'."
The town is heavy with loss, but even old Lutessa Avery holds pains at the memory of her late husband, wishing he was with her. Everyone else has gone completely nuts for their losses, even Marshal Hector seems on edge, if his display from last night's party is anything to go by.
"Look, Marcus," Judy says slowly, "we all know this isn't a social call."
Marcus looks a little distressed, but he's more confused looking than anything else. "Then what is goin' on?"
Nick nearly hisses. Surely Marcus isn't this dense. It has to be an act, trying to feign innocence like this. You're selling a character, I can see that, I've done that, fumbled like that on my first few tries. It isn't the real you, and you've slipped before you've even begun. But unlike Nick who can get away with quick wit if his false identity doesn't work out, what Marcus is facing is cops out for an arrest.
"We've done a lot of research," Judy says, "and here's what we know for sure: Carrion is a marksman, is experienced with boating during harsh river rapids, he's an expert pianist, and is around five or six feet." The technical skill necessary for hacking is something they haven't been able to pin on him but that's hardly a concern when they can prove that later.
Marcus leans back, no longer speaking, eyes shifting between them as he seems to mull over something in his head. His eye is skeptical, but it's a front, buying himself time, but they keep going.
"We know you're experienced with a firearm," Nick starts, leaning forward in his seat. "There is no denying that you at least know how to use them, being the head of the Hunting Club, after all."
Barnaby and Clementine had also discovered just yesterday that Carrion didn't cut off Sigurd's arm. It wasn't discovered as easily before because they entrusted an amateur to it at first. The blood on the blade was splattered on by a paint gun, a masterful shot from what is a difficult distance. So if they manage to find a hint of bronze somewhere in the house, they could check it for blood.
"We saw your boat engine in the garage when we first came here," Judy continues, cupping her hands together, pulling up her strongest face. "So we at least know you're experienced in boating. At least more than your son."
"You already match the height," Nick tells him, gauging his reaction which, he discovers, is genuinely surprised at, "but more than that, your wife was a pianist who, as we understand, taught here in her own home. A talent she might have passed on, or at least shared, with you. But I don't see a piano for her to teach with. For a man who finds no bitter remembrance with his dead wife, it is quite strange that you'd remove it altogether."
Marcus remains silent still but there is a darkness in his eyes, but it isn't anger. Ambivalence, maybe, but more than that it's… almost stoic, a resolve in preparation to actualize.
"And then there's the more circumstantial evidence." Judy fixes him with a steely gaze of her own, but she knows all their evidence is circumstantial. They can't place him anywhere, but it's getting to him. They'll gun for a confession, get him to admit to it.
But there's something they can't quite shake. He should be smarter than this, know the law and how forensics work. He should have said something by now about it, could dispel their entire theory but… it's like he wants it.
"Your delivery truck has enough room to fit any person of any size," Nick says, "but we know you don't take them to the swamp to feed them to the gators. Not only would it not be clean, it'd also be incredibly suspicious that a bakery would deliver anything out there. Especially to Spruce Wamancht." Who, Nick realizes, is likely still missing. He's dead too now, isn't he?
"So we know you take them here," Judy says, the horror in her eyes, embittering her tongue, as she almost looks livid. "Now we don't know how hot that brick oven of yours can be. But we do know that smokestacks are only necessary if you're using something for the heat, beneath the cooking or in a fire place, but never for the actual baked goods."
"You cremate them," Nick tells him, "turn them to dust cause no one's ever gonna suspect a pile of ash is a person. You don't even leave any bones behind. And with that, the body vanishes."
Marcus's eyes widen just a bit, squinting at them as if he's in disbelief.
"You didn't even torture them, did you?" Judy continues. "Knocked them out every time because you didn't want to leave any signs of a struggle or leave any blood. Despite what happened to Mr. Kidd, you likely found that taking your victims that way was messy, imperfect, and far too cruel. You even panicked when you realized what you'd done. Even shot up the house just to leave yourself with a sense of security. Then you never did it like that again."
Nick shakes his head, matching the intensity in Marcus as he too leans in, his eyes searching for something in Nick. "It wasn't even the kill you wanted. We very much doubt you let them suffer, or even let them wake up before you killed them. It was all about inciting fear, creating a legend for yourself to revel in. Torture would be unnecessary. In the very least it would waste time."
Marcus leans back, cupping his mouth as something ebbs out of it. There is pain in his eyes for only a moment before it vanishes, the once pleasant veneer slipping off of him like a mask. Then his eyes alight, amusement most malign as he laughs, one that bubbles off his throat instead of his gut, no warm joy emanating off it, beset only by hysterics as he slaps his leg in his mirth, a vicious grin baring his teeth.
"I guess I was right all along," he says with a hint of laughter still in it, smiling all the way. "When ya'll walked into town, I knew it was only a matter of time before ya'll would catch me."
Their eyes widen at that. It's the confession they've been looking for and they can scarcely believe it's true. That man, Marcus Hector, is the name of the demon in town, the elusive Carrion Killer given flesh.
But they don't move to arrest him.
Marcus seems to grow in size, his imposing stature once kind and welcoming now twisting into something grim and malign as even the apparent strength in his arms – somehow more visible now than they were before – makes him look larger, more threatening.
And his laugh, it echoes still, filling the silence with his aura, his madness, locked away, released into the room like a miasma, stealing the oxygen out of the air as they find their hearts racing to fill their lungs.
"Y'know, most folk think Carrion is some unnamable monster, an entity they can pour their rage into but my son isn't so blind. He knows that Carrion is a person, a familiar face, and when the town finds out who I am, they'll go mad cause of it." He pauses as he laughs, the once brimming smile that brought comfort is now horrid and twisted as he tilts his head at them. "You know what they'll do. They'll tear me apart for what I did. And I'll laugh as they do it, spit back the blood that pools in my mouth. Cause I'm not afraid o' dyin'. They are, though. They're afraid of me, of death. A familiar face they'll tear apart. And when I'm in hell, this town's innocence will go with me. Hands stained with blood for all." He leans in, his almost demonic presence permeating off his wide, mad eyes. "This town loses whether I live or die."
Then the room is filled with the scent of the oven, its heat taken with its baked goods which are likely burnt at this point. "Ya' smell that? That allurin' sensation in the cracklin' o' fire."
"Liz!" Judy shouts but Marcus raises his hand to stop her.
"She ain't in there. In fact, you two got that part wrong." He laughs again, a weaker one where he shakes his head. "I guess I was expectin' too much when I thought ya'll would catch onto every little detail but I suppose that only happens on TV. But yes, I did, in fact, burn some of 'em, but only the parts that were infected." The way he's so casual about it sends chills down their spine, the man seems at ease with himself, as if he's taken off a mask, ripped off skin that is too tight, much too uncomfortable to really fit him. As if this is the man Marcus Hector truly is.
And then Judy catches onto something. "Infected?"
Nick feels like the answer is so obvious but he can't bring himself to figure it out for some reason, a part of him rejecting all logic just to never know, but he needs to know. "Then what did you do with the bodies, Marcus?"
Then Marcus laughs louder and fuller than he ever has before, his lungs pouring out of his wide lips. His belly rolls with his laughter, bobbing with his massive frame so hard that his fists clench as his arms rest hard onto his legs, the muscles beneath his fat tensing as he does so.
And then he stills himself, a grin ebbing off his cheek. There is a threatening silence to him, a calm that is menacing, terrifying, burning with the tempo of their hearts ill prepared for what he tells them.
"Ya' know that old sayin' that a pig'll eat anythin'?"
Then it all comes together.
The bodies vanished because there was nothing left of them, and that idea alone is menacing enough but the idea that he ate them, that he, Carrion has actually been eating people. It calls to mind the victims, the people he had taken, turned to feed, mulched, grilled, or perhaps he ate them raw. Did he even have the courtesy to kill them first?
He is unafraid as well, confident in his ability to take down even the largest of targets, truer to the myths that gave him his name in this town, more a monster than a man.
They fear for their safety then, barely a few feet from the devil given form, grinning at them from across the room, standing as he knows they are powerless in his presence, reveling in the sheer terror in their eyes.
Nick and Judy stand, pulling out their weapons at him.
"Stop right there!" Judy shouts with all the confidence she can muster, but her arms are trembling and so are Nick's, eyes so wide in horror that Marcus can practically taste their fear.
He laughs again, that manic grin somehow plastered to his face now. "Ya'll don't scare me," he says slowly, punctuating his tone with his mania. "Neither o' ya have the gumption to pull those triggers."
Judy knows she can't, it isn't in her to fire and they certainly can't intimidate a man who doesn't fear death, much less them. But they need to stop him, cuff him somehow, but any plan she tries to form dies in her bated breath, panic and adrenaline boiling white hot, consuming her.
She looks to her partner in search for an answer, but she is horrified at what she finds.
Nick is a wreck, trembling far more than she is, because unlike her, he feels himself boil with some errant rage, but it isn't at Marcus. He is at war with himself, asking if this is the moment he does the one thing he thought he could never do. If he could really kill a man, pull the trigger and rob the life from those eyes.
But those eyes are menacing, challenging, demanding that he makes a choice. To choose just what kind of man he is. To pull the trigger, or die a coward.
"Nick?"
He turns to her for a moment, shifting between her and Marcus, hands sweating as he feels himself tug ever closer down that trigger. He can feel his breath rippling through his frame, in and out with every heartbeat that fills his ears with that steady thrum of noise.
The world is quiet then. Just him, the gun, and Marcus, daring him to take that plunge.
"Nick!"
He snaps out of it, the world finally coming back into place, but in that moment of clarity, the coffee table is flung into them, making them drop their weapons as they fall back into the couch.
Marcus presses a foot onto the table over them then proceeds to rip out one of its legs.
Judy, with her much smaller frame, slips from underneath the table. Breath still hitched, she unsteadily finds her balance before she jumps towards Marcus to kick him, but the pig sees her coming then punches her square in the chest mid-air with a backhand.
She lands in a skid across the floor. That was his off-hand… and it hit like a truck. The pain she feels ripples out of her chest, pulsating as she swears she's already got another bruise in there.
Nick, who is struggling with the table, blocks Marcus's swing of the table's leg, but the pain lancing through his arms make him wince. The blow is powerful, and he's certain his arms won't survive another one.
Marcus then swings the bat once more towards the side of Nick's head. And he feebly tries to block it, his body trapped underneath the table trying to twist so his arms can absorb the impact, but it fails. The wooden leg slams through his arms, barely losing momentum as it collides with his head, dazing him.
Judy runs over to try and save him but Marcus notices her in an instant.
He steps down then shifts the weapon into his left hand. He swings at Judy, to which she only narrowly dodges, but she quickly learns that he'd been expecting that as his hoof pushes him forward, propelling himself towards her mid-dodge with speeds she thinks almost impossible for a man of his size.
Nick, finding purchase beneath the table, decides to throw it back at Marcus. The large man absorbs the impact as he only stammers.
Nick scrambles back to grab the vase off the side table before tossing it at Marcus. It shatters against his face, but the large man only winces.
His foot rises to step onto the table laying on its side. Then, with a frightening grin, proceeds to split the table in two in a single stomp.
Nick then grabs the side table itself then tosses it at Marcus, but the pig only drops his weapon as weaves forward, ducking beneath the table before rising again to grab Nick's neck.
He chokes him as he lifts him into the air. Then he slams him into the floor.
Judy's world is nothing but pain now. In comparison to her fight with Ross, Marcus is far worse. He can read her actions and hit harder, and he can take any amount of punishment they can dish out on him. They can't beat him. Not like this, not with what they have.
She wishes she can find a solution but doesn't have time to think of one when she sees Nick being pressed against the floor under Marcus's sheer mass, the girth of his arms trapping his throat.
Judy scrambles towards them and picks up Marcus's discarded weapon.
She doesn't dare to approach as she, instead, tosses the wooden leg at Marcus's back.
The blow barely hurts but it catches his attention. He then lets go of Nick's neck before socking him square in the temple.
Nick feigns being knocked out as his body goes limp, Marcus's weight leaving him as he gets off.
Judy runs off to escape but she quickly finds her rifle against the wall. She picks it up and turns to face Marcus but he's already upon her, grabbing the weapon by the nozzle then ripping it from her grasp, his other hand following to grab her neck in one swift motion.
He then presses her to the floor, his lower body basically crushing her legs as she screams in pain.
"I wonder what raw bunny tastes like," Marcus laughs as fear ebbs into her dilated pupils. She panics as she struggles, Marcus grasping at her neck.
Nick forces himself up, ignoring the pain all across his body, a hand cupping his bleeding head. Eyes looking over the sofa, he sees Judy across the room with Marcus on top of her.
He almost makes to run but he finds his discarded pistol on the floor. He takes it quickly then aims at them, but the trigger is still hard to pull, his body refusing to give in to the weapon, his hands still shaking on top of his still blurred vision.
Judy fights off Marcus but to no avail, her vision fading as he chokes her to death. But she manages to pull up her aching legs from beneath him to then kick him in the stomach, but his fats absorb the blow, but it's enough to make him reel for a moment. This gives her an instance of breath that is stifled in a gasp when a shot rings through the air, piercing Marcus across the back.
Nick then tackles the man off of her mounting the dazed, bleeding pig beneath him.
Nick, in this moment, knows only fury, rattling his body as he clenches his teeth, a vivid passion to end the serial killer for daring to threaten Judy's life. Nick saw the terror in Judy's eyes when he mounted her, and now all he can think to do is to make him feel that fear.
He shoves the pistol into Marcus's mouth, finger twitching on the trigger, threatening to blow his brains out.
The pig looks up at him suddenly terrified. Perhaps he truly does fear death, or maybe something else, but all Nick cares about is that he feels it, the weapon against his tongue, pressing into the center of his skull.
But Judy crawls to him, a hand tugging at his pant leg. Nick turns to her and sees the fear in her, shading her lavender irises in a dark grey. And it isn't for Marcus, because she's afraid of him, afraid that he'll do something he'll regret.
And so it is with all of Nick's strength that he calms his quaking heart that threatens to burst out of his chest, pouring out his anger in a harried scream as he pulls out the weapon then slams it square into Marcus's forehead with enough strength to knock him out.
Nick collapses onto the adjacent wall, resting every inch of his aching frame as his heart slowly settles in the silence of the room, tossing his weapon aside.
Judy crawls towards him, her aching legs apparent, then he pulls her in, resting her against his chest, cradling her in his arms where he knows she's safe.
Then the silence is pierced by the sound of oncoming sirens blasting through the air, the red and blue lights pouring through the windows like a lighthouse through the fog, the end of a journey long awaited, solace in her warmth and her in his.
Terence walks out of his station wagon and watches the bakery blur behind the twisting red and blue lights of the sirens disrupting his vision and muting the air beneath it. His steps are slow, deliberately so, with no intention of getting in there fast, as he's not even sure he wants to be here. But the mystery is over, the case solved, for what he can gather, but to think it would end like this.
Savory is a haven for the people in this town, a family friendly place where you're greeted by friendly faces and made to feel at home with its resident bakers who listen to you, laugh with you, pain with you, struggle with you. They break bread and love you like one of their own, cause they know everyone needs a place to call home.
Once it had been a great place of inimitable solace… but it is now a haunting place where the young Marshal Hector must live alone, name perhaps sullied by what is likely locked inside.
He pushes passed the door just as deputies rush in, their rancor filling the spaces where once there was immutable silence, and even then the air still seems stagnant, ebbing off bile and deceit in every corner as the hideaway for a monster beneath this tranquil, decorative home.
Terence is shocked when he sees Marcus Hector on the floor, unconscious.
And for an instance there is pity still, yet it is all but dispelled when he sees Nick and Judy leaning against the wall together, beaten and aching, and on the phone with someone, a call that quickly ends. Immediately he is on their side, kneeling next to them as he inspects their bruises.
"You two alright?" he asks, unable to hide his apprehension.
"Fine and dandy, Terence," Nick remarks, laughing with his breath hitched, chest heaving beneath Judy's head.
"Terence," Judy says, as she crawls up Nick's shoulders to raise her neck. Terence only then realizes that her legs have gone limp. Perhaps they are in incredible pain if they aren't completely broken. "Check the basement," she says desperately, coughing painfully, "for Liz."
Without hesitation, Terence turns around and runs out of the living room. He briefly sees the bakery through the doorway on his left and smells the hardy scent of burnt pies. Savory might not survive this ordeal, the bakery will likely go out of business.
He enters the next room where he finds a staircase that leads up to the bedrooms. He considers going up there for evidence but he shakes his head.
"Hey!" Terence turns to the sound of his partner, Suther Reese. The armadillo scrambles to his side, a determined look to him. "Don't go in alone," he warns.
Terence nods to his old friend and pats him in the back.
Over to the side of the staircase is the door to the basement, and they are surprised to find that it is not locked. "Kind of counter intuitive, don't you think?" Terence remarks.
"Locked doors are mysterious. They raise questions. So it might be better not to when you got the town's trust. It's ballsy but…"
"Not unlike the MO," Terence agrees.
The flight of stairs below them plunges into darkness so Terence feels for a light switch, and when he finds it, he discovers that the basement is incredibly well lit.
It's also unlike anything he expected.
The floor and walls are tiled, the space clean, pristine even, polished to the point of a pale glow against the light. The edges of the room are also lined with drains that box up the area. Then there's the grill propped against the wall and, just above it and up against the wall, is a set of exhaust fans that funnel into a vent. Terence traces the vent and sees it bend into the wall, just below the basement ceiling.
"That's in the direction of the brick oven…"
"Kaenid, over here!" Reese calls for him as he pushes into some plastic blinds into what looks like another room.
They enter to find a similarly tiled room with the same kind of drains beneath. But unlike the other room, the center of this is covered in more plastic blinds that stand still in the stagnant air.
Peering into it they find some metallic tables with wheels on them, one of them with a tiny brown mound on top of it. Reese quickly realizes what it is and rushes over to it.
They find Liz strapped to a table with a medical respirator over her mouth and an anesthetic tank. Various respirator sizes are hung on the tank itself, one large enough even for an elephant, and quite a few of them in the smallest sizes. Enough for a gerbil family.
Reese quickly jumps onto a metallic chair beside her and undoes her straps. Terence does the same on the other side, ripping them out with his claws. Respirator removed, Reese picks her up. "I gotta get her out of here."
Terence nods as the armadillo runs off. But Terence doesn't leave, thinking there's more.
His eyes squint against the plastic blinds and finds something glinting passed it.
His hands breach the blinds as he pulls them apart, and he finds some metal hanging off the walls but he doesn't quite know what it is in the dark. But then his night vision kicks and he sees it.
Bone saws and cleavers, various woodcutter saws and similarly long blades, all polished and gleaming, menacing and horrid things that bring horrifying images to Terence's mind. And there, precariously perched along a thin table, is a hunk of bronze with an edged side, carved to act as a blade.
Terence has been having doubts about what happened here, but this all but confirms it. And it horrifies him.
A more stoic man would have bagged the bronze chunk, but instead he stumbles back, hand clutching his mouth as he holds in a disgusted hurl. Then his back slams into the table behind him, its wheels whirring against the floor. He turns around when he hears some metal clang suddenly, and finds that the table has latches on all sides.
Because of course a table for one little otter isn't big enough for an elephant too. So the tables are meant to be attached to fit all animal sizes when necessary.
And then he vomits into the drain at the thought, bile hanging off his lip as he stares into the filth below, imagining all the displaced gore that goes in there.
Then he runs out of the room, up the stairs and out the front door in a mad dash.
He collapses onto the grass outside whilst Tali jogs towards him. "Terence? What's wrong?"
"I-" he holds back another hurl, shaking his head from of the images.
Then the front door opens, and his eyes turn baleful at the pig walking out.
Marcus is ushered out of his own home as curious townsfolk watch him from behind police lines. There are whispers here, poisoning the air with fear and hatred, shaded with anguish and doubt.
The two deputies at Marcus's side feel anger rippling through them as well as they watch the old pig they had come to trust turn into a demon in their minds, weakened and dazed, cuffed and vulnerable. But they forget how dangerous he is.
Then Calvary Pride storms through the crowd, the once stoic man now blinded by a sense of retribution. "Marcus, you bastard! I'll kill you!"
No one stops the lion from charging passed the line and towards Marcus who is quickly tossed in his direction by the deputies.
They want to see him suffer, but Marcus is no less dangerous now than he has ever been.
There is a collective gasp from the crowd when Marcus ducks under Calvary's fist then lurches his head into his stomach. Then Marcus lifts him over his body and over his shoulder with his head alone, Calvary falling onto the pavement in a dull thud.
"You're weak, Pride. Weak! That's why she's dead! Because ya' couldn't protect her," Marcus hisses at the downed man.
The two deputies try to apprehend him but Marcus shoulder checks one, making him wince before falling on his rear, then shoulder tackles the other to skid along the floor.
The crowd is then afraid, their baleful whispers going still for a moment.
The other deputies and even Officer Lupin who came ahead of the rest of the ZPD are all hesitant to apprehend him.
But then Denzel Creed emerges from the crowd, grabbing the cuffs behind Marcus to tug him back.
Marcus looks over his shoulder to see the old polar bear, the only man strong enough to match him. Marcus doesn't fight him, knowing that it would only be bloody and pointless.
So Creed takes him into his station wagon, seating him in the back.
In that instance, Marshal Hector jogs towards the crowd, seeing his father locked in that car. He asks what's going on and the people around him give him only solemn looks as he tears up at the sight. It's then that Marshal looks at his father with a terror in his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.
Creed then drives off, far away from them as his son falls to his knees, watching the car vanish into a corner.
"So it was you?" Creed asks, looking at Marcus in the rearview mirror.
"'Fraid so, old friend."
"But why?" Creed finds no anger left in him, still unsure about how to process all of this. He can't find any reasons, because this is out of left field that he's pretty sure he's still in shock.
"It's the natural order o' things, Creed."
Creed stops the car on an empty street, frustration coiling through his system as he looks back at him. "What does that even mean?"
Marcus shakes his head, the thought of crackling fire and an old memory lingering fresh in his mind. "It's best that you don't know."
Creed gives it a minute before driving off again, heading towards the station.
"Take him to the ZPD,"Nick and Judy had told him over the phone on his way here. "Only worse things will come of this town having him in their custody."
"It's the only way he doesn't win."
Creed understands of course, and he too does not feel that all-consuming fury for Marcus. Despite it all, he was still a genuine friend, and to toss him to the people in Bronc Town will only fan the flames. The ZPD will give the dead their justice without having to resort to devolving this town into a populace of sadistic killers out for revenge.
"Do me a favor and don't tell my son what I did," Marcus says, looking at the window as the town he loves whisks by, soon to vanish from him entirely.
"I'm sure he already knows, Marcus."
"No, he doesn't, and neither do you." Creed stares at Marcus off the mirror, confused. "Soon you'll find out what I did, and how I took care o' the bodies. And then you'll know what I mean…"
"My son is never to know. It'll do more harm than good, I assure you."
Creed silently obliges him, fearful of what he'll soon discover. But he blocks it out, focusing on the road.
But some semblance of relief comes to him as he watches the neon lights of the town, iridescent and burning in the pale moonlight, he wonders if it's finally over. If Carrion's curse might finally be lifted.
Morning comes like the end of a nightmare as Nick and Judy drive out on that long stretch of road, watching the forest that hugs the town turn into the lush valleys of the countryside that span miles and miles across.
Judy is in the passenger seat, unable to drive with her barely functional legs, hiding in her shawl as she rolls the semi-precious stones of her new bracelet that are strung together and modeled like planets. It is a gift from Liz Waterdale, a match pair to Nick's. Luckily, the little otter is unharmed and does not even remember the ordeal.
Best to leave it at that.
They barely stuck around town though, having left when they bid their goodbyes. Case finally closed, they welcomed all their friends to visit Zootopia. But they didn't tell them that they'd never come back to Bronc Town, not after all this.
But they did stay long enough to give Calvary the letter Kayla left for him at the hotel room.
Whatever words were on there had quelled the fire in his heart, his hatred drowned in his tears at the memory of the little otter girl.
When Nick and Judy pass Old Henry, that solemn old tank, the wind whips through the grass about it, as if saluting them.
Nick, with the aches in his body ignored by the desperate need to get the hell out of town, rolls his shoulders as he looks out at the countryside.
It's beautiful, all of it, the lush valleys, daffodils dancing in the wind, the morning sun carving shapes against the passing clouds overhead. It's all so tranquil, so serene, but it's poisoned, a sight corrupted by a killer's curse that lingers still, his icy finger lurching out to touch them, telling them that they'd never forget this place or what it's done to them.
Judy sighs as she finds some baleful comfort in the rifle pressing against her back, and Nick finds some errant sense of security with the pistol holstered at his hip. Both reminders that they are leaving this town scarred, the graver facets of their profession coming to light.
And the world seems darker then, even as the town turns into a speck. Because this case is burned into their skulls, branded by a demon who, in his own way, has won, immortalized in their memories as his manic eyes threaten to reappear in their nightmares.
But then Nick stops the car, on a mountain that overlooks Zootopia, and he crawls over to her. She lets him into her shawl as she holds him close, her tears against his chest as Nick shuts his eyes, trying to lock away the torment that, perhaps, will never leave them.
~o~~~o~
It felt unnatural in a way, unfinished even. And of course we were right but we didn't want to believe it. And after what we'd been through, who could blame us for wanting to leave it at that? But… of course it wasn't over. We were fools to think that it was all over in one night… to think that we were finally safe.
-Judy Hopps
Before anyone jumps to any conclusions, no this is not done yet XD We still actually have two more chapters to go but even THEN it won't be over. Cause we still have the trivia then the epilogue just after that! XD We're almost done folks. Hold on to your hats! We'll see ya'll next month. :)
