Chapter Two: In Pursuit of Reconciliation
In his spot behind the dispatcher's desk, the little dragon sulked. He was plenty old enough to help his Dragonlords and the Chronicler was teaching him new things every week. Or at least he had been until his Dragonlords had gotten angry about something and kicked him out. Spyro didn't understand – his invisibility would let him help; if no one could see him, then he didn't have to worry about breaking that stupid Statute of Secrecy!
Hadn't he saved their lives already? Why should he have to stay behind just because it was 'too dangerous'? He was a dragon, he laughed in the face of danger! Stupid hot calls. Stupid Statute of Secrecy. He wasn't meant to lie around all day or only run around in the training buildings – that was baby stuff. Why couldn't he go on hot calls? Saving lives, keeping the peace, stopping the bad guys – that was the stuff of legends! How was he supposed to be a legendary dragon if he couldn't do anything?
Spyro sighed, wings slumping down as he watched Winnie work. He wanted an adventure, not more boring naps and watching his Dragonlords go off without him. That was why he'd begged the Chronicler to teach him how to be invisible – so he could help. But instead all he'd gotten was a stern lecture and more rules about how he had to behave and where he could go. He was sick of being left behind.
Music pulsed in the dance club, deep heavy beats that could rattle a person's chest even when the club was full to the brim with people and all the chatter that went with it. In the vacant room, it was almost too loud, but the man operating the club's soundboard paid no attention as he focused on the audio board as well as the new graphics he was still polishing. The massive screen responded as he adjusted the board and reached out to tap at the laptop in the center; the huge speakers on either side of him rapped out a new beat and his fingers danced right along with the sharp, staccato music.
From behind him, he heard a set of familiar footsteps and the dark-haired man smiled to himself even as his boss's voice rang out. "Yo, Tobias! The new graphics look good."
Turning, the young man with ruffled brown hair, light brown eyes, and a layer of scruff on his chin and neck grinned at David. His boss had been a good sport about all the chaos of the past year, fully supporting his employee as Tobias sought to help his girlfriend and her mother. "Just finished programming."
"Sweet. How's May? Big night." For all that he owned the dance club, David was only a few years older than Tobias himself, but the black man possessed a determination to succeed that Tobias often sought to emulate. Clad in his typical morning outfit of jeans, sneakers, and a dark blue shirt under his prized black leather jacket, David fit right into the club's neighborhood, but worked hard to keep the club itself a cut above its competitors in the city.
Rock-solid confidence rang in Tobias's voice. "She's gonna be awesome."
A playful grin danced around David's mouth as he backed away and pointed at his employee. "Won't be long till she's playing here."
Tobias's own grin widened and he spread his hands. "You know it."
He heard David laugh as he turned back to the board, working through another possible enhancement in his head as he focused on the soundboard and his laptop. Behind him, he heard David ask, "Help you?" but didn't turn. It happened occasionally; sometimes customers didn't seem to realize their gigs were more at night than during the day.
Wrapped up in his work and his new idea, Tobias wasn't aware of a problem until he heard a sharp, "Hey!" He turned, freezing when he saw who was standing behind him. "We need to talk," the older man growled.
Glancing around for an escape, Tobias demanded, "What are you doing here?"
"I need some information."
Nuh-uh, no way. Tobias's chin rose, defiance stiffening his spine. "I'm not gonna talk to you."
Blue eyes narrowed, no give whatsoever in them, and the man in front of him pulled out a gun. Pushing him backwards and aiming the weapon at his face, James Mitchell hissed, "Yes, you are gonna talk to me."
Staring at the muzzle only inches from his face and the grim expression behind it, Tobias realized two things. His girlfriend's father was looking for her again – and this time, he was completely unhinged.
Bored. Dull, bored, boring bored… Spyro huffed, watching from his hidden corner as Winnie flew into action, hands dancing over her keyboard. Another hot call, one he wasn't welcome on, just because it wasn't in the magical world. It was so stupid; he was a dragon, he didn't need protecting, not like his Dragonlords' teenage hatchlings. And he'd practiced with his new ability, honed it to a fine edge until he could hold his invisibility for hours on end, so it wasn't like he was a risk to the all-important Statute of Secrecy. That was a dumb wizard law, anyway, why should it apply to him?
Glancing over, Spyro gazed up at Sparx; the dragonfly bobbed up and down in the air, outwardly noncommittal, but Spyro could sense his companion's disapproval. The faint sense of chiding that always accompanied Sparx's magic whenever he felt Spyro was being particularly foolish and rebellious. Well, bully for him; he was just a magical construct anyway…he didn't have to sit here being bored all day!
A familiar pulse of magic brushed against his hide and Spyro turned towards it, perking up. Sir Mordred, just arriving for a Team Four shift and – even better – he wasn't quite at the door yet. Focusing, Spyro concentrated, just like the Chronicler had taught him, and felt his power shroud him. He looked up, but Winnie was focused on the call and wasn't paying any attention to him.
He was done being left behind! Time for action!
Moving as carefully and silently as possible, Spyro edged out from behind the dispatcher desk and adjusted his magic to muffle the sound of his talons against the tile. Trotting towards the door, he waited for Sir Mordred to push it open and enter before scooting past the knight-constable and racing outside.
Putting his head down, Spyro charged for the road, focusing on his links to his Dragonlords. Once he caught up, they'd see. They'd see he was plenty old enough to help – he just had to find them.
"Spyro, watch out!"
Yipping, Spyro reversed course in the nick of time, panting in fear as a big rolling thing shot past. In pure dismay, he stared at the road. It was between him and his Dragonlords, but how was he supposed to cross it?
Team One's trucks thundered down the road, all of them in a row with lights flashing and sirens wailing. They hadn't even been on patrol ten minutes before the call came in, allowing the team to close ranks as they raced towards their latest incident. In the front truck's passenger seat, Lieutenant Parker adjusted his comm, still getting used to the newest equipment from the goblins and making a mental note to talk to whoever had designed the comm's behind-the-ear loop. Even as he thought it, he felt a subtle burn in his eyes and the loop's plastic shifted, ever so slightly, to a more comfortable shape. Unnerving, but he had no time to give it any more attention.
"Winnie, go for the 911." He waited for the click, then asked, "David? David, this is Lieutenant Greg Parker. I'm with the Strategic Response Unit. Can you identify the gunman?"
In the background, he heard shouting, but even his sensitive hearing couldn't make out more than garbled noise. "No idea," the caller said.
There was a sound from the caller, as if he was standing up, and gryphon instincts honed in on a distant conversation. "Leave her alone," one man demanded.
"Shut up!"
"He came in, went straight for my friend," the caller informed Parker, oblivious to Greg's tiny wince as the lieutenant hastily dialed back his hearing.
"Does he know him?"
"I don't know," the caller panted. "He's shouting at him-"
Even with his hearing down, Greg distinctly heard someone shout, "Tell me where she is!"
"You gotta get here." Oh, yes, they did; it sounded like things were already escalating, never a good thing with a gun involved. Then Parker heard the sound of fist against flesh as well as the squeak of shoe against tile much closer to the phone. "Oh, my gawd."
"What's going on?" He had to ask, but he knew it was useless. From the sounds he could hear, the phone was down, nowhere near their caller's ear as the man did the worst possible thing he could – interfere. Grim, the lieutenant focused, summoning up his abilities to catch every nuance of what was occurring on the other end.
"I don't wanna hurt you!" one man shouted. "Tell me where she is!" His training said to try and engage the caller again; his instincts told him the effort was pointless with the phone out of position. Rather than waste breath, Parker kept listening, gathering as much intel as he could about the players. "Tell me now!" the same man roared, tunneling in on whatever goal he had.
Then he heard the sound of one body impacting with another, grunts reaching the phone as the two men struggled. He had no connection with either man, nor was he psychic, but if he had to guess, their caller had jumped their subject from behind and was trying to either wrestle him to the ground or ride him like a bull. Greg closed his eyes, doing his best to visual the struggle as the grunts and sounds of impact echoed through the 911 call. The music in the background wasn't helping, though it made for dramatic effect as the beats accented each blow and grunt from the combatants. Then one man let out a yell and Parker heard the other man hit the ground moments later. Their caller, judging by how close the impact sounded. A gunshot echoed through the line, reflex tightening Greg's shoulders even though the fight was kilometers away. He heard their caller moving though, finally making a smart choice as he fled the gunman; a second shot rang out.
Grim hazel opened and focused on his Sergeant. "Eddie." Focusing back on his comm, the lieutenant heard heavy breathing right near the phone. "David. David."
"I'm here," the man panted.
"Don't engage him, please," Greg instructed. "I just need you to tell me what he's doing."
Fear rang in the man's voice. "He's taking him outside. He's getting away."
"All right, we're almost there. You hang tight." Even as he finished his sentence, another boom echoed through the line.
"I heard another shot."
Yeah, me too, kid. "David, stay inside," Parker ordered. He did not want another attempt to attack the subject – that would just end in fatalities, assuming they didn't already have one.
"Sam, take the entrance on Richardson," Ed rapped out.
"Copy that."
Despite the lieutenant's order, he could hear their caller moving again. He could understand the impulse, but with three rounds fired, their subject was far too volatile. Before Greg could speak, the caller announced, "He's getting away. I think he's got Tobias in the car."
"What kind of car is it?" If their subject was in a car, he wasn't likely to fire any more shots at their caller. He hoped.
"Uh, gray sedan. I can't make out the plate. Ends in a 1. Sixty-one."
"Sam, you get that?" Ed inquired.
Over the comm, Sam's voice turned fierce. "Affirmative. We got him."
"Only one person in the car," Lou reported. Through the comm, Greg heard tires squeal as Sam turned his truck around to pursue their subject. Then Lou's voice rang out again, an echo to it that only occurred when they used the truck's built-in loudspeaker. "This is the Strategic Response Unit! This is the police! Pull over immediately! I repeat, pull your vehicle over!"
Go get 'im, team.
Several nights of practicing paid off as the young dragon's invisibility spell permitted him to trot right next to the roadway without any fear of being spotted. Hidden by his magic, Spyro's snout twisted into a frown. He knew exactly where his Dragonlords were, but how was he supposed to get to them? Without the protection of his Dragonlords' big rolling trucks, he had no protection from the other big rolling things and his wings were still too small for him to fly across the road.
After his first near miss, Spyro had made two more attempts to cross the road, each time fleeing from the big rolling things after only a few steps. Sparx hovered above his shoulder, buzzing worriedly and turning back in the direction of the barn, but Spyro refused to simply give up. Instead, he resigned himself to trotting next to the road until he could figure out how humans accomplished such a dangerous feat. Ahead of him, another problem loomed; two roads crossed each other, leaving him stranded on the corner closest to the barn. With a sigh, the dragon put his head down and kept moving; he wasn't going back now. By the time he reached the intersection, the baby dragon had hit on a plan. He would just have to risk it and trust in his magic to protect him from all the big rolling things humans drove around.
Then Spyro saw the big rolling things come to a halt and seized his chance. Lowering his head, he charged across the road, panting as he reached the other side. Glancing back over his wing, he saw two big hanging things in the middle of the roads. Even as he watched, a green arrow winked out, replaced by a yellow arrow above it; after an instant, the second arrow disappeared as the light above it turned a solid green color. Fascinated, he watched until the green light winked out and the dark circle above it lit yellow. The yellow glow lasted a second or two, then disappeared as a third light illuminated with red.
As if on cue, the big rolling things stopped on one side and started moving through the road he'd just crossed. So that was how the humans knew when to go and when to stay put! Turning away from the roads, Spyro put his head down and started running; he'd wasted enough time – now that he knew the secret, he had to reach his Dragonlords and help them!
While Sam and Lou pursued their subject, the rest of Team One descended on the dance studio, calling in uniforms to help block off the scene and start cataloging what had occurred. Team leader Kevin 'Wordy' Wordsworth strode inside the club, automatically adjusting his stride to keep pace with his shorter colleague, though Spike didn't seem to notice as he focused on his phone. Keen gray swept the interior out of habit and a tiny smile tugged at his jaw at the sight of Sarge standing next to Ed with Jules on his opposite side. 'Bout time they finally started getting back to normal; now they just had to get Sarge past his 'I'm not a member of Team One any more' hang up and all would be well in their world once more.
Wordy caught a glimpse of crimson in Sarge's eyes right before the older man lowered his head, writing in his binder; next to him, Jules looked pleased about something. Curiosity tapped the 'team sense' and his teammate cast him a wry grin. 'I suggested Sarge use his magic to help with his handwriting.'
Cool. 'It's working?'
'Like a charm,' Jules agreed. 'Have to see if it makes a difference in the long run, though. He can't do this forever.'
True, but as a short-term solution, Wordy could get onboard with the idea. Beside him, Spike announced, "We got an image from CCTV. It's gone to your phones."
"No sign of Tobias," Wordy tacked on, getting down to business as he and the bomb tech joined their teammates and their 911 caller.
"If Tobias took a blow to the head, he could have passed out in the car," Ed pointed out.
"There were three shots, right?" Sarge asked their caller, though they'd all heard the shots over the comm. In the wake of every member of Team One acquiring Animagus forms, they all had enhanced hearing and couldn't get by with just earplugs on the range anymore. Thankfully, Ed had found a gun shop selling high-end noise-cancelling earmuffs which worked wonders to protect their sensitive ears. Sarge still had the best hearing out of all of them, but Wordy suspected part of that was all the practice he'd gotten since the Netherworld.
"Yeah," David confirmed.
On task as always, Ed said, "So one when you landed, and the second hit here." One finger pointed to the heavy, colorful table their caller had used for cover.
"And then one outside," David filled in.
Spike frowned. "I'll call in Forensics, see if they can account for the third."
"We didn't see any impact or ricochet marks," Wordy remarked, concern flashing.
"You think he's been shot?" David asked in alarm.
Light footsteps brought Wordy's head around a hair before any of his teammates. A young woman was walking into the dance club, her stride brisk and something in her eyes that had the stallion inside him sitting up and taking note. The brunet was still getting used to the instincts and the hardest part was the daily task of overriding the stallion's tendency to submit to authority. Not a fun thing when the stallion defined 'authority' far more by body language and tone than rank or experience – and this girl, whoever she was, practically radiated a sense of command. As if she'd been born to it.
"What's going on?" the woman asked, not an ounce of give in her tone. Her dark brown, almost black hair hung past her shoulders with natural wave that framed her petite, yet slightly pudgy features. Slim brows rode above gray eyes a few shades darker than Wordy's own and her pink lipstick adorned a generous mouth below a strong snub nose.
"Excuse me, who are you?" Sarge's voice held an edge of sharp challenge and Wordy straightened at it, his inner stallion slipping back to familiar territory and under familiar authority. Though Sarge's hazel never even flicked in his direction, Wordy knew his boss had picked up on his struggle and counter-acted it with nothing more than his tone.
"May Dalton," the young woman replied, half turning to gesture at the door. "The cop outside told me to come in and talk to you."
"His girlfriend," David informed them, filling in the blanks.
"Where's Tobias?" May asked, expectant.
Sarge and Jules traded glances, then Jules moved forward, staying practical. "Listen, May, your boyfriend was taken by somebody."
"What?"
As Spike eased closer from behind the young woman, Jules explained, "Somebody came in here, took him outside. He was armed."
Their Sergeant joined Jules, meeting her eyes as he gestured to a nearby stool. "Okay, May, sit down here, please."
She backed away, defiance flashing and that in-born authority rising. "No, I don't need to sit down. I need to know what's going on."
Ed didn't even flinch, his inner hawk far too wild and free to ever submit to any authority he didn't want to; Wordy envied that part of his best friend's Animagus form. "We're trying to figure that out, all right?" Flicking a look sideways, the Sergeant added, "Spike."
Holding out his phone, Spike questioned, "Do you know this man?"
Gazing at her, Wordy saw the instant her in-born authority faltered, falling away into fear. "Oh, gawd," she whispered.
"May, do you know this man?" Ed pressed.
She swallowed hard. "That's my father."
Ed reared back an instant, then turned his head, Sergeant and Lieutenant trading an unspoken understanding in that moment. Wordy lifted his chin, meeting his best friends' gazes as well. They didn't have the details yet, but they were almost certainly dealing with domestic violence of some sort – and given the kidnapping, it wasn't likely to end well.
Sam Braddock let his focus narrow to the car in front of them, chest expanding as the wolf inside of him caught the scent of prey. Beside him, Lou announced, "Still in pursuit. This guy's not slowing down."
The gray sedan turned the corner and Sam's breath picked up, ferocity rising to the surface as wolf instincts guided the sharp curve from a vehicle too large for a hairpin turn like that. The tires skidded, but Sam never faltered. The truck could handle it and the prey was not getting away.
Grabbing the microphone for the truck's loudspeaker, Lou ordered, "Pull over! I repeat, pull your vehicle over!"
Closing in on the sedan, Sam caught a flash of movement and jerked his head up a hair. The trunk lid. It had just bounced open and closed, but not quite all the way. "You see that? Let's see if we can force him off Gerrard."
Lou nodded agreement. "Get up close."
As Braddock revved the engine and the truck responded, he requested, "Winnie, set up a roadblock on Jarvis." While his inner wolf would've loved to catch the prey himself, the critical thing was to stop the subject and free the hostage.
In front of them, the trunk lid continued to bounce up and down as though the man inside was trying to get it to stay up. Alarm pulsed through the 'team sense', right as Lou pointed and yelled, "Sam!" The trunk lid rose all the way, revealing a young man in a white shirt, gray jacket and dark jeans. Frantic, he looked around and Sam read the movements just as well as Lou. Even as Lou shouted, "Pull back! Pull back!" Braddock was already slamming on the brakes, praying the truck would stop in time.
Beneath them, the truck's tires wailed, skidding as they sought to halt their forward momentum. The officers were jerked forward, seat belts locking, but it was far worse for their hostage as he hit the pavement and rolled, only inches from their front bumper as lingering acceleration from the sedan pulled him along its route. It bought them critical distance; the truck squealed to a stop right before they could run him over.
As Sam panted behind the wheel, wide-eyed, Lou snapped, "Winnie, we need EMS. Right now." It took a few seconds for both men to move, but as they slid out of the truck to check on their victim, the tan-skinned constable was still on top of the situation. "Winnie, give us an APB. Gerrard heading east from Ontario. Where's EMS?"
Sam dismissed the conversation as he crouched by their victim. "Tobias, keep still; we're gonna take care of you."
The dark-haired brunet didn't listen. "You gotta tell May," he gasped out, trying to sit up.
"Easy, easy, easy," Sam chided, pushing the young man back down. They didn't need him aggravating any injuries he'd gotten with his desperate stunt.
"He's gonna find her, okay?" Tobias half-sobbed. "He's gonna find both of them."
Instinct prickled, his cop side overriding the wolf's disappointment that the prey had escaped. "What do you mean? Both of who?"
Desperation and self-disgust rang. "Said he wanted to know where May was, but I wouldn't tell him. Then he said he'd ask her Mom, so I told him."
Sam leaned in. "Told him what, Tobias?"
"Royal York Hotel, where she works," Tobias explained. "He's going there now. He's got a gun."
Lifting his head, Sam traded a grim look with his teammate. If he was reading the call right, they were on a collision course with a domestic violence hot call – and all of them knew how such calls usually ended.
Author note: Whew! I think (hope, pray) the interview went well. But, I am content that the Lord supported me through those nerve-wracking minutes and that I did the best I knew how.
Thank you everyone for your best wishes and your prayers.
And regardless of whether I get this new job or not - God is in control and to Him be the glory!
