NOTE: Between the upload of chapter 18 and this current chapter, I've made some minor changes/retcons, so if anything reads differently, that's why.


"Tears of Isis is the newest drug to hit Acme City's streets," Barry Budgie booms out the headline from the car radio. "Those who have taken this strange black substance are calling it 'the twenty-first century cure', describing its unnatural healing qualities. But is it the miracle elixir of legends, or is there something insidious hidden beneath its inky exterior? Local mortician Herman Blakesley has this to say…"

Through light static, Herman's pre-recorded voice plays. "In my many years of funeral work, I've dealt with my fair share of addicts and sellers alike, so I am all too aware of the dangers of substance abuse. Many dealers would claim this or that about their wares: that it would provide comfort, ecstasy, a cure to all your problems. This is a pattern that dates back many centuries, with quack doctors prescribing so-called 'panaceas' to their clients, and I believe this to be no exception. However, if there is a kernel of truth in these bold statements, it could lead to the greatest discovery in medical history."

"Intriguing words, Mr. Blakesley," Barry comments. "He is currently cooperating with the ACPD to investigate the potential overlap between the Repo Man murders and the sudden appearance of the new street drug. ACME Corp CEO Bugs Bunny has also expressed interest in the case…"

The news continues to drone on in the background as Sylvester drives through the chaotic streets. Stopping before a traffic light flashing red, his thoughts start to wander.

It seems like just yesterday when the Repo Man murders flared up, yet here he is, going out to buy groceries the day before Thanksgiving. Try as he might to distract himself from the grim reality of the situation, it lingers in the back of his mind regardless. He lost the two alley cats he hired to investigate the Underground, and there's no signs of it stopping.

Next Top Cat, my ass. I can't lead like TC can. I'm not smart or charismatic, and my fellow alley cats are dropping like flies cus of me.

Not all hope is lost, however. Sylvester still has Wolf & Coyote. They're not cats, sure, but they have the skills, intellect, and strength to handle the worst cases. Plus, thanks to them, he and Furrball are able to gain a lead in their investigation, even surpassing the police in finding the threads connecting everything. The deputy's involvement is something he feels mixed about, but if it can get the job done quicker, it's something he can put up with.

Protecting Junior is my job. I'll leave the rest to them.


Sylvester parks his car in front of Acme Superstore and steps out. The supermarket is located in the northwest region of Acme City, resting squarely on the line between the urban and the suburban. As such, it's often quite busy, even with a second store in the North Quarter. Since the murder of Sophia Silk, however, the crowd is notably reduced, with canine cops surveilling every corner.

Inside, he strolls down the aisles, pushing the cart and filling it with the needed foodstuffs for tomorrow's feast. "Lessee, turkey, potatoes, green beans, cranberries…" He checks his shopping list. "Just need a pumpkin pie from the bakery and–"

The clash of metal carts collide, halting his progress. Flustered, he looks up from his list. Staring back at him is a pair of bubblegum pink eyes. Sylvester blinks. The eyes belong to a striped skunk who, feminine features aside, looks strikingly like Pepé. Surely it's just a coincidence… right? "Sorry, miss," he stammers. "I should've watched where I was going."

The skunk smiles. "C'est bon. I wasn't paying much attention myself."

The gentle lilt of her French accent catches Sylv off-guard. This definitely is not a coincidence! "Say, I don't think I've seen you around these parts. Are you new?"

"Oui. I moved here from Québec with my nephew. We're still settling down, so I haven't been able to explore the city much." She adds with a giggle, "This city is so grande, I'm worried that I might lose my way."

"I get what you mean. My skunk pal used to get lost all the time 'til I started helping him out. Thank goodness for GPS, am I right?"

"I've considered the same, but I could never afford a phone. Instead, I would try to keep track of whatever landmarks I come across, and I rarely stray far from home unless I need to. Oh, I haven't introduced myself, have I? My name is Anne. Comment t'appelles-tu?"

"Je m'appelle Sylvester," he answers with a less-than-graceful attempt at her native tongue.

"I'm surprised you know French."

He scratches the back of his head, grinning bashfully. "Pepé—my skunk friend—taught me a few phrases. Still can't get the accent right, though."

Her eyes grow wide like saucers. "Another skunk who speaks French? My, this must be what they call 'sérendipité'! You must introduce me to him!"

"Well, I'm holding a Thanksgiving party at my place tomorrow, if you're not busy. I can introduce you to him, and your nephew can hang out with my son and his friends. Consider it a 'welcome to the neighborhood' celebration."

She claps her hands in joy. "Parfaite! We'll see you tomorrow."


The cat-shaped wall clock strikes six on the dusk of Thanksgiving. Sylvester, with Junior's and Furrball's assistance, is nearly done with preparing the food and hanging the decorations. The dining table is set up buffet-style, a smorgasbord of meats, vegetables, and sweets surrounding a cornucopia of seasonal fruits. As soon as the last autumn leaf garland is hung, the doorbell rings. "I'll get it!"

First to arrive–much to his relief–is Pepé, accompanied by Ralph and Wile. They trade greetings and gather in the living room. Wile, who never experienced the holiday, bluntly asserts that he's here for the food. Ralph mentions his initial plans to celebrate with Sam and his family, only to change his mind at the last second. Pepé chats happily with the cats, though Sylvester cannot help but sense something off with his demeanor.

Miss Prissy and Egghead are the next to enter, with the hen bringing along a surprise guest: a large rooster with brown feathers on his head and white on the rest of him. The rooster introduces himself as Foghorn Leghorn, adding, "Me an' the missus started going out recently," much to the small chick's contempt. Sylv recognizes Leghorn as the security guard from the night of the heist months ago, but says nothing about it.

Following after is Poppy Pig and her parents, Porky and Petunia. Hair length aside, it's obvious she takes after her mother, both in appearance and vocal mannerisms. Amid his stuttering, Porky mentions he cannot stay for long due to his police duties but wishes everyone a happy Thanksgiving. Petunia wishes him a safe farewell and promises to return home with leftovers.

Last to arrive is the beautiful striped doe, Anne, with her gold-eyed nephew in tow. "Bonsoir, Sylvester," she greets him. "I hope we're not late."

"No, not at all. Come on in." He steps aside for the skunks.

"Thank you for inviting us. Charles is a very shy boy, so when I heard he's friends with your son, it puts my heart at ease." Her gaze turns elsewhere, spotting the male skunk who, upon noticing her, turns away in panic.

Before Sylvester can react, she slinks past the tuxedo cat towards him. "Hello, Monsieur. Sylvester told me you're a friend of his, and my nephew's told me about your tutoring. Are you le Professeur Pepé?"

Reluctant, Pepé replies, "Oui, c'est moi. I take it you're Auntie Anne?"

"Oui. Dr. Anne Toilette. Tell me, what is it you teach, Professeur?"

"Science and math, usually. I happen to have experience with chemistry and medicine."

"Ooh, a doctor!"

"Not a licensed doctor. I'm self-taught for the most part. Certainly you can do much more than I can."

"Oh, no, I'm just a surgeon. Anesthesia is as close to real chemistry as I get." A knowing glint in her eyes, she adds, "It's nice to finally meet you, 'Docteur'."

The words coming from the doe's mouth are innocent, but they have a chilling effect when she speaks. Anne's voice rings familiar in his ears—this is her voice. The voice which cheerfully congratulated the birth of his newborn son while callously dismissing the violent loss of his wife at her hands. His instincts are screaming at him to flee, but his body fails to cooperate. He cannot run–not when there are people watching. "Enchanté, Madame," he says, putting on a crooked smile.

Ralph, sensing the awkwardness in the conversation, steps in. "Don't mind him, miss," he reassures her. "He's bashful around pretty ladies. Name's Ralph, by the way."

As Ralph continues chattering, Wile, leaning against the wall towards the back, eyes the female skunk suspiciously. Taking Pepé's personal baggage into consideration, he starts connecting the dots in his head.

"I let my newborn son fall into the hands of a psychopath."

Though the nature of the psychopath's identity wasn't made clear at the time, Pepé's current reaction to Anne is evidence that he recognizes her to some degree. Combined with how the recent string of murders happened around the same time that Anne and Charles arrived in Acme City, and the theory in his mind crystalizes. Could they be feasting with the Repo Man themself?

"Say, haven't I seen you somewhere before, son?"

Wile's ear twitches as he side-eyes the stranger standing next to him. Leghorn, the guard who spotted their car the night Ralph and Pepé raided ACME Corp. Did he see him in the car with Sylv? "Probably."

"Ah, right, you got involved in that Tweety Show business, didn'tcha? That's quite the stunt you and your buddy pulled. Cracked a whole case wide open!"

"We didn't 'crack' any cases. We were just doing our job and things happened to work out."

"Son, you're too modest! Thanks to you, I got to see my nephew again."

"Your nephew?"

"He went missing a few months ago when he was invited to that show. The police were able to bring him home safely after the incident, but me and his ma were running around like decapitated chickens the whole time."

"Speaking of chickens, how did you and Miss Prissy meet?"

"I'm a regular at the Coop, so we bump into each other a lot. Plus, me and Eggbert were close pals when he was alive. Great guy, if a bit of an oddball."

Wile raises a brow. He recalls his meeting with Egghead in A.L.M.O.S.T, about how his father would visit the alchemy exhibit often. "Was he into weird stuff or something?"

"Heck yeah he was! He'd go on and on about astrology, alchemy, 'as above, so below'… all sorts of freaky hullabaloo. But there was one thing he said that stuck with me. Before joining ACME, he'd read articles about their latest innovations, especially in medicine. Dunno why he was so invested in that stuff, but who am I to judge? One night, he said, word for word, 'ACME is going to change the world.' According to him, they were on the verge of making a… What did he call it? Oh, yeah, 'panacea'! It's like a cure-all elixir, or so he puts it."

Tears of Isis. The supposed contraband Don Henery was importing from Egypt with ACME's approval. If Ralph's word holds true, part of ACME's Illudium supply is extracted from this drug–a drug which can be circulated indefinitely to the company's benefit. More gruesomely, if Tears are made from the blood of immortal Sapients, then whose blood is being sold on the streets of Acme City?

"I dunno what his job was exactly, but he was always at the docks watching the boats going in and out. That's where we first met. He'd also talk about his kid and wife, wishing he could spend more time with them."

Wile glances at the other end of the room, where Egghead is hanging out with Junior, Charles, and Poppy. He slips one hand into his jeans pocket, where he can feel the chains of Mr. Roost's pocket watch. He tried to return it to Mr. Blakesley, but the funeral home was closed and guarded by police officers. It's a bit difficult to return dubiously acquired graveyard property when a Doberman cop is staring down at him.

"I worry about that boy Egghead. Since his old man died, he's been sneaking off to Lord-knows-where, and he'd keep his mouth shut whenever I try talking to him. The kid's hiding something, and I don't like it."

Wile looks at the children again, paying extra attention to the bespectacled chick. Egghead is a smart kid for sure, but cleverness does not make one immune to the emotional turmoils and impulses that stem from grief. If he is hiding something, there has to be a reason behind it. If that secret involves his father, it could put him in a dangerous predicament. "Give him time, he'll turn around eventually," he reassures the rooster. He straightens up, ready to walk away from the conversation. "You and Miss Prissy enjoy your night."


The festivities continue well into the night, with feasting, games, and cheers galore. But the night cannot last forever, and by ten o' clock, the activities simmer down as guests say their farewells. First to leave are the Pigs, who–as promised–pack a small bundle of food on the way out. Next is Foghorn, whose night shift is a short time away, and Miss Prissy, whose son is awake past his bedtime. Shortly afterwards, Anne and Charles depart, with a promise of future playdates to appease the young buck. By eleven, the remaining guests–minus Pepé, who offers to stay for the night–are out the door, driving towards North Quarter in their old convertible.

"So lemme get this straight," says Ralph, sitting behind the wheel. "You think Anne's the one responsible for the Repo Man murders?"

"It's a possibility," Wile answers. "But we don't have anything to go by other than speculation."

"Well, the killer's left a helluva mess behind, so we'll know soon enough. The cops have plenty to go off of, especially with the Tears of Isis stuff going around."

"The police are too slow. We need to act fast."

The car stops at the red light. "Wiles, I know what you're thinking, but we have other jobs to do. Sam can handle this one."

"It's always Sam with you," he grumbles under his breath.

Ralph sighs in frustration. "Wiles, please, don't pull this jealous boyfriend crap on me now."

"I'm not jealous!"

"Oh yeah? Then what are you? Riddle me that!"

"I'm…" Wile trails off, his mind going blank. What is this feeling? Whether with Sam or Wyatt, there's a burning sensation lurking underneath. A boiling mix of anger, sadness, and loneliness. A feeling of someone else having that which he never had. Is this what "jealous" means? "Sometimes I wish you can trust me a bit more. I mean, look at you. You have friends and family and people like you a lot. But you're all that I really have."

Taking in the coyote's words, Ralph's expression turns somber. "Is that what you really think of me? I mean, I'm charmed that you think so highly of me, but I'm not nearly as popular as you think I am."

The light turns green, and the car continues moving with the conversation. "Back home, Sam was the only friend I had. I was small and weak compared to the other wolves, and Pa couldn't accept that I liked men. My sister, Rudy, still loved me at least, and Father Springer's been like a father to me. When I moved to the city, I left behind what little I had, thinking I could start over.

"But things weren't so easy. I got addicted to drugs, fell into hard times, even lived out of my car for a while. Life wasn't going the way that I wanted, and the way I was going, I likely wouldn't have had one for long. Sam was the one guy who kept me from completely losing it. Once I got my shit together, things started getting better, if still a bit shaky." The corners of his muzzle curl up into a warm smile. "Then I met you, and the rest is history.

"And hey, you've been doing pretty well these past few months. You have a handsome boyfriend, lots of pals, and a bright future ahead of you. Not bad for a feral pup plucked straight out of nowhere, wouldn't you say?"

Wile sits silently, stunned by this revelation. In all his self-centered simmering, he lost sight of what's right in front of him. Hearing a second perspective has shone a light on the burden which hung over him for God-knows-how-long. To think he would forget about the friends he made since coming here, to take for granted the opportunities he has been given. What a fool he is for being so blind. He smiles back. "Yeah, I guess I have it good."

"If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't have dragged you out of the rain to begin with. I trust Sam with lots of things, but that doesn't make you any less valuable." Ralph pulls into the apartments' parking lot and stops the car. "Better rest up for tomorrow. We're going skunk hunting."


AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello again! I don't think it's been that long, but it certainly feels like it. Boy, June has been an eventful month, to say the least. Between house renovations, COVID, doctor appointments, and adjusting to a new bedroom, it's been a bit chaotic. Even now, I feel like I'm still in recovery.

This chapter wasn't the easiest to write (but when has a chapter been easy?). The opening "news report" dialogue was a constant through all versions of the draft, but it kept alternating between TV and radio broadcast, and the setting kept changing, too. I've also come to terms with the fact that anytime I write a Foghorn Leghorn character in the story, the scene becomes 1000 times harder to work on. Probably because I'm not very familiar with the FL cartoons, but I always felt like I couldn't do the titular rooster justice, so any attempted scene with him in it ends up being cut. The supporting cast I have a bit more flexibility with, but fitting them in the plot gets difficult at times, so I've had to cut some scenes involving them. Really, Barnyard Dawg (named "George" in this story) is the only one I feel like I can work with, and I contribute that to him being a dog more than anything.

The chapter title was also a struggle. I wanted to go off of something that matched whatever the "theme" was, but what suited one scene didn't quite neatly fit another. After a lot of fumbling about, I came up with the current title based on what I felt matched the final scene, since it's arguably the most impactful part... maybe.

My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton, so thinking and processing words and stuff is kind of difficult at the moment, so I'll end this author's note here. I'll see you around, folks!