This chapter focuses on the Surface.

I'm really honest, it was rather hard to write and exhausting as well.

I hope it doesn't look incredibly sloppy *sweatdrops*

Someone's name gets cleared up, but the case isn't over...yet.

Let's get this started!


CHAPTER FIVE: THERE'S ONLY ONE TRUTH

[Wichita Police HQ, afternoon]

A dead end.

That's how most officers were looking at Sam's murder case, but the lieutenant didn't want to just drop the investigation. He was certain of the man's guilt, albeit he did struggle to find - anything - on days and nights have gone by, and that pile of evidence didn't grow any larger. It was frustrating, added with the fact that the young man was acknowledged by the other police departments as a reliable sleuth - and for him to end up in Richards' custody was a shocking news for those who knew the researcher.

The lieutenant sat at his mahogany desk, on which a lot of files were piling up at the edges - some of them had a date, some did not -, a white large cup and various scattered pens. Next to him was a large sofa, where he threw his trenchcoat and which acted as a bed for the nights he was sitting at the headquarters - and if he was being honest with himself, he needed sleep so badly. He must've drank like, four or five cups of coffee to keep himself awake as he studied the files on his desk, but his eyes were slowly closing at the amount of exhaustion on the lieutenant's face. He was pretty adamant that Roger was guilty, and nobody would deter him from proving that. He then stopped mid-reading, shaking a bit his head to knock off sleepiness, and drank some more coffee from the large white cup, which was, at a closer examination, a bit chipped. The dark liquid seemed to keep him up and about, but the excess of caffeine is visible only later. He then returned to his reading, eyebrows furrowed in focus, searching for discrepancies in the reports.

He did so for another half an hour, until the large, grey phone on the desk rang furiously.

RING! RING! RING!

'Okay, okay, what the hell is it this time? Some low-class murder? Some bitchy woman that complains about her cheating husband?' he thought in annoyance as he picked up the phone and answered with a tired, grave voice:

"Wichita PD, lt. Drew Richards on the phone. What is it?"

"Lieutenant," the female voice at the end said curtly, "I am Captain Sandra Torres, from Denver PD. I have called you about Roger Warforth."

'Maybe I'll finally have a lead...' Richards mused as he paused for a moment before answering Captain Torres.

"Lieutenant?" Captain Torres said, mild irritation in her voice.

"Right here. What is this about Roger Warforth?" he answered, picking up the hint of hostility.

"You are to release him this instant." the voice on the other end said, almost commanding.

'What the heck?! Is this woman out of her mind?!' Richards thought as his eyes were widened, eyebrows twitching, setting for an answer to give at this suggestion, until he decided for a clear, cut-through refusal of this.

"No." Richards said icily, as he smashed the phone's reciever back in the fork, ending the call.

The lieutenant was much more concerned with the child's fate he took under his care - until Roger's guilt was proven, anyway - and couldn't help thinking he wasn't exactly a replacement, or a father figure for the kid. He was usually gone for a lot of hours, and Richards didn't have a wife, but made sure that the kid could feed themselves and get to bed without any issues. Kid never said anything about the conditions, they were content with the fact that they had a roof over their head and enough food - but there was one thing Richards outright refused to Frisk.

["Don't ask me about Roger again. He's not your friend." Drew said, puffing from a cigar.

"But he-" Frisk tried to reason with the man before them, as much as they could.

"No. He killed the man you were with." Drew stated matter-of-factly.

"What?" the child tilted their head in confusion.

"Your friend Sam is dead, kid. He ain't coming back." the gruff lieutenant said as he shook his head.]

'That day, the kid just ...shut themselves in. Completely.' Richards thought as he searched through his pockets for a Kent cigar, only to realise he was out of smokes for now. "Shit." he uttered between his teeth as he picked up his brown, worn trenchcoat from the sofa and walked out the dark brown elm door that had a golden plate on the front, his name written clearly. Outside his office, policemen and women of all heights and races were either running back and forth with papers, answering calls of distress or even bringing out vicious criminals to put behind bars.

Speaking of criminals, his lips formed a small pout as his case was standing on thin air. What kind of a detective he claimed to be, if the evidence was contradicting some of the facts? 'Maybe I should've read more on Sherlock Holmes. That guy was one tough detective, he could figure out the case with just a few facts to rely on.' he mused as he walked past his colleagues and went towards the elevator. Watkins and Dmitri couldn't help notice that their chief was tired - maybe too tired - to work on the case right now, so they began to talk only when Richards was out of earshot.

"Sheesh, did you see his face? He looked like a zombie." Dmitri couldn't help deadpanning.

"Guess that's what three days and nights almost unslept can do to you. But if he goes like that..." Watkins said as she shook her head.

"He's thinking that guy down there did it, with no doubt about that." Dmitri said, as he resumed looking at a few files.

"But Warforth admitted that he walked in on the crime scene. And this fella-" the female officer said as she took out the portrait of the man Roger described.

"-is still a big unknown to either of us." Dmitri deadpanned. "If only there was a similar case to this one, things would be easier for both lt. Richards and Warforth down there."

As the two officers were chit-chatting about Roger's state, the latter was sharing a cell with a hulk-like convict, known for his substance abuse and murder. Roger was good at reading people since he was an amateur sleuth, but his current abilities weren't enough. He sighed at the thought of spending here God-knows-how long time until he's put up for trial and then moved to an interstate prison - certainly one with maximum security - but something made him sadder than going not guilty to the prison.

It was Frisk.

He knew that the young child was under lt. Richards' care, and while the latter promised he wouldn't send Frisk to some orphanage - he knew that one way or the other, that was bound to happen - but he didn't want to walk out of the child's life without even having the opportunity to say goodbye to them. Roger was about to get to sleep, when the afro-american guard that was on duty called his name.

"Warforth. Move, you're going for interrogation." the man said as he opened the cell door and cuffed Roger's hands.

The small corridor had one dim lightbulb that shone above the steel door that separated the cells from the rest of the precinct, and the guard pushed Roger ahead, seeing the latter wasn't eager to move. "Move, man!" the guard shouted as he directed the convict with care towards the interrogation room. The cuffs' chain was making a jangling noise that irked Roger to no end, but he knew that this was the deal with cuffing someone - and anyway, the sound stopped as the guard placed a firm hand on his right shoulder, a thing he was grateful for. "Wait," the guard ordered as he knocked the door three times and officer Dmitri was waiting on the other side.

"Put the prisoner on that chair." the Russian officer said as he sat down across the table, while the guard seated Roger on the leftmost chair. "You can go."

"Right, sir." the guard said as he closed the interrogation room's door, a steel-like door like the others.

Dmitri looked at the prisoner before him - Roger lost a few kilograms, looked like didn't sleep really well lately, and his convict uniform was torn a bit on one side - and shook his head at the horrible state the man was. He decided to play the good cop, hoping he would obtain a new piece of information - something, anything that would solve this case.

"Hey, Roger. How're you holding up?" the officer said as he placed his hands on the table and tilted his head.

"Want to know the truth? You'll say it was a lie, anyway." Roger said bitterly, as he placed his cuffed hands on the table. "No matter how many times you interrogate me, you're just going to say I'm lying. That the facts say I was the killer, while I know the evidence isn't enough. You still care to deal with someone that knows their way around detective work?"

"Look. I don't think it's easy. But there is really no evidence to link the man you described to the crime scene. For all we know, you might come up with the story just to-" Dmitri began to say, but was silenced by the loud, metallic bang on the table Roger made with the cuffs.

"How many times do you want me to repeat myself?" Roger bellowed in an angry tone. "I didn't see any distinctive mark on the guy-", but Roger stopped mid-sentence, as he remembered a detail he seemed to have overlooked until now.

[He remembered seeing a distinctive dog-tag coming from under the man's T-shirt. It had a curious symbol, one of a flaming sword.]

"He had a dog-tag, with a flaming sword on it." the young man said as he sat down in anger.

"No way. This- you don't have one, no?" Dmitri asked as he looked at Roger, who shook his head in strong disapproval. "Wow. Lt. Richards mentioned these guys before, when we were talking down in the car...Looks like you're going to be free, after all!"

"Tch." Roger huffed as a small smile plastered on his face.

"Call for Lt. Richards. We just got a new clue on the Warforth case." Dmitri said to one of the officers that passed by as he opened the door.

"There was a similar case just four weeks ago. But it was pretty clean and simple - a woman killed her husband, and at first, nobody thought she could be the culprit - until there goes this call that said [We found a vital clue to this case - a dog-tag with a flaming sword.] and then bam, we just arrested her and she got up in jail a week ago.

"Looks like somebody's organizing a criminal gang, to me." Roger said as he waited patiently for Richards' arrival.

The lieutenant seemed to have lost all of his composure as he heard about the clue - he was downright certain Warforth was guilty - and he was pissed when he walked in the interrogation room and shot a deathly stare towards Roger, which the latter didn't notice. Richards folded his arms as his deathly stare was still there, and began speaking to the young cuffed man before him in a gruff, borderline-aggresive tone:

"You could've said that before, you-" Richards huffed. "Were you keeping that a secret, like some sort of old detective?"

"I didn't remember that until now. And what about our deal, where's Frisk?" Roger shot his head up, his brows furrowed in concern.

"I should arrest you on the charge of tampering with the crime scene. And of withhelding crucial information - more precisely, obstruction of an investigation." the well-built lieutenant said as his eyes were pinned on Roger. "But since I can't take care of the kid - and the moment I told them you killed Sam -"

"YOU DID WHAT?!" Roger's eyes were ablaze with fury. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU GOT IN THEIR HEAD NOW?! DO YOU EVEN REALISE THE-" Roger's rant was cut off by a violent blow to his head, the man falling on the cold floor.

The two policemen were looking at one another, until Richards asked Dmitri to make all the forms to release Roger, and then take Frisk. He also asked the officer to find the two someplace nice to stay for the night. Dmitri nodded with no hesitation, and then took the fainted Roger away from the interrogation room. After Dmitri left, the lieutenant rubbed his forehead in vexation, trying to understand what did he do, for Roger to get so furious at him. He was just telling the truth, for what was worth - the kid had to know - but discarded the thought when he walked inside his office and plopped on the large sofa, not bothering to do anything else. It was as if he said an absolute no to working, at least for today, and all the sleepless nights were finally catching up on him - he drifted off to sleep.

[Somewhere in Wichita...]

An usual police car was patrolling on the streets of Wichita, with a fainted man and a small child in the back. Frisk was not pleased to hear that they had to leave, but complied nonetheless as they carried a small blue rucksack in which they had the Stick, a few bags of chips, some orange juice - and the moment they saw Roger, there were some mixed feelings about the young, fainted man in the backseat of the police car. Nevertheless, they took a seat in the front, putting the seatbelt and impressing Dmitri, who was father for two children. He had never seen such a smart child, but he could notice the bitter expression on Frisk's face - it looked almost like he didn't want to see Roger at all.

"Wow, nice, kid!" the Russian officer said as he sat behind the wheel and started the car.

"Thank you." Frisk politely replied, returning a fake smile towards the officer.

"So, aren't you happy that Roger is free?" the man said, trying to make some conversation.

"Mr...D-Drew told me s-something about Roger. He s-said that Roger i-isn't my friend." the small child said with a hint of sorrow in their voice.

"Why wouldn't he be your friend, huh? He seemed pretty concerned about you." Dmitri retorted, looking at the sad child that supported their head with one hand.

"Mr. Drew said that he was a bad man. And that Roger killed Sam..." Frisk's eyes filled with tears as they relinquished the very words lt. Richards told them.

"It's not true, Frisk. If you would've seen just how mad Roger got, when he heard this thing..."

In the backseat, Roger was slowly awakening from his unconsciousness, his head hurting like he was kicked by a mule and grunted in some pain. He could discern faint light that went back and forth, and two sillhouettes that looked like...chairs? He wasn't really sure, and lifted a hand to his head with difficulty - only to feel something gooey sticking to his fingers - and blinked a few times to make sure he really was what he thought he saw.

Blood.

Multiple hazy thoughts were running through his head, like where he got wounded, who did this to him and where was he, until he heard a familiar voice calling out to him, while still driving.

"Hey, Roger, good to know you're awake. We'll be taking you to the hospital, to check on that nasty wound." the slender officer said, as a small chuckle escaped him.

"We?" Roger asked groggily, still trying to process where was he.

"Yup, your little friend is here too. But I expected him to be a little more lively to hear you're free."

"Frisk..." Roger called out, with an exhausted voice. "are you okay?"

"Come on, answer him, Frisk." Dmitri gently noogied the small child. "That's a nice name, by the way."

"Yes, I am okay." Frisk answered to Roger, tears still in their eyes.

"Lt. Richards was so insensitive to tell you that." Roger said, as he tried to get up from the couch, yet found himself plopped back in.

"We're getting closer to Rawlings Hospital. Just hang on you two!" Dmitri said as he sped up, turning on the sirens to make way ahead.

[Rawlings Hospital, Wichita]

The hospital was a modest one in outward appearance, the building looking like it had seen better days, but the inside was fully operational to the modern standards, as doctors were running back and forth, answering calls of distress. People often said that the Rawlings' building was one for which time stopped, yet not completely, and the joke was passed down in the community for many days now. Dmitri asked where the emergency room was, while Roger was still hurting from the blow and Frisk took, with a lot of shyness, the young man's hand. Roger mustered the energy to form an honest smile on his face, happy that Frisk was giving him a second chance - he wasn't really a father figure, but he tried his best - and gently returned the child's grasp.

In the meantime, Dmitri's radio rolled out a call he didn't expect to hear, "All available units, we have a two-four-zero. I repeat, we have a 2-4-0 down Roddendery Street.", but Dmitri hated to go without having any instructions. "Dispatch, instructions?" he asked while looking at the two newly-acquired friends he was looking after.

"Proceed with caution. Unit 15-6 has reported six gunmen." the male dispatcher said, at the other end.

'Shit.' was all Dmitri could think, as nobody came yet to look after Roger. He exhaled, while some mild annoyance was written on his tired face, and answered the call: "Dispatch, Unit 22-4 takes in. ETA 10 minutes."

"Any doctor in here? I have a wounded man that needs attention!" he yelled at the two nurses that were tinkering with some papers, at the reception desk.

"On it, we're sorry, officer. We have a lot to-" one of the nurses said as she rose her head from the papers.

"I get it, just, look after this guy. Kid's with him, so don't dare separate them." the slender Russian officer said as he ran for the car and sped away to reach his colleagues caught in an assault down Roddendery Street.

The nurse who answered Dmitri was a kind, blonde-haired woman that gave Frisk a small lollipop and asked them to come in the E.R, which was down a large corridor with lots of both wooden and metallic doors. Roger was having a hard time in steeling himself, while Frisk was happily licking the apple-flavoured lollipop and trying to keep up with the two adults in front of him. It was surely confusing and a bit noisy for the small child, but the room they were about to go in was worse than that - as they were about to find out - because they noticed the two adults stopping, and the blonde-haired woman opening the door of the E.R.

The emergency room itself wasn't a really large room - but it was large enough to cover for twelve patients at a time - Frisk wasn't really looking around, as their eyes were focused on the young man that was their protector. The other nurse, a dark-haired woman, called in for a Doctor Williams in the ER, an announcement that was heard even in this room. Roger was feeling nauseous, but tried not to show this, as he wanted to set an example for Frisk on how to be brave when things are bad. As they were waiting for Doctor Williams, the nurse took a look on Roger's wound. It was somewhat nasty, and required a few stitches, nothing more - but the fact that it caused Roger a state of nausea was concerning.

Through the door entered a man in his twenties, red hair, red beard and a pale face, exhausted by tonight's guard. He looked at Frisk, and gently ruffled the child's hair, while looking at the wounded man that laid in the furthermost bed of the E.R, the latter noticing the rest of the room was filled with mostly sick patients, and not trauma victims - Roger exhaled in relief that Frisk wouldn't be subjected to the horrors of a full-of-blood ER where people got cut and all that stuff. Doctor Williams agreed to the previous observations of the blonde nurse, and asked her to start the procedure.

"Sir, I need you to stay still. You'll require some stitches." the young doctor said.

"Frisk...d-don't look, okay, buddy?" Roger said as he looked at the shocked child before him.

"I-I won't. Can-can I hold your hand, R-Roger?" they timidly asked as their small fingers grasped at the larger left hand of the wounded man.

"Sure, buddy. I'm happy to have a friend like you here-" Roger was cut off mid-speech by the insertion of a needle in the injured skin, making him hiss in pain.

Frisk didn't look, as they promised, but the grunts and hisses of pain from Roger were enough for the child to know it was a bad time for his friend. After the careful stitching, a bandage was placed to make sure the stitches would stay, allowing the wound to heal well. Roger held Frisk's hand a bit tighter, and tried to flash a smile at him, despite his wounds. Roger was allowed to leave only after the next day.


I'm happy to have a friend like you...
You went all the way to do this for me.


Roger was allowed to stay until after the next day, so he would recover from his nauseous state - he and Frisk were sharing a modest ward, with one large bed and a nightstand - and while the first slept quite peacefully during the night, Frisk was having a very, very curious dream that shifted into a nightmare - it felt very real.

[?]

They were in a large, white room, with shiny obsidian tiles on the ground and a desk cramped with a lot of papers, as well as a large TV that showed his face on the screen. They weren't sure where they were - the scene felt oddly distant, yet oddly familiar to them. They didn't know why it was so dark in here - only for light to be called out by a female voice.

"T-there you are, F-Frisk! I thought you wouldn't be here on time." they heard the voice talking to them, while their back was turned. "Uh, F-Frisk, h-hello?" the voice got closer and they felt a claw getting ahold of their left shoulder. They turned to see a yellow reptile dressed in a white lab coat and with shiny white glasses. She felt vaguely familiar to them...where did they meet her?

Then they saw someone else coming through the door at the end of the room - a white, fluffy goat that was dressed in a green and cream sweater, with brown pants that they immediately hugged, but with no certain understanding why they did that.

They felt reality shifting around them as they felt pulled out by invisible hands, and threads that threatened to engulf them in silence.

[Unknown Ward, Rawlings Hospital]

Frisk awoke from the nightmare with wide eyes, gaping for air and coughing a bit to recover themselves, while sweat was bedding on their forehead - and the turmoil awoke Roger as well, who immediately hugged the small child as he saw the panicked expression on their face.

"Had a nightmare, huh?" Roger groggily asked as he held Frisk in his arms.

"Y-Yes..." the small child said as they kept on the hug.

"Don't worry, I know how these can be, eheh" Roger said sheepishly. "Want me to let the lantern on? That usually chases the nightmares away for me."

"S-Sure." Frisk nodded strongly as they saw Roger putting the small lantern on the nightstand and turning it on.

The sight of that light filled Frisk with a bit of hope as they tugged on the white blanket and tried to get back to sleep, as Roger did - the latter was still under the influence of some morphine that Doctor Williams gave him for the pain in his skull. It didn't take too long for the child to fall back asleep, while Roger looked with bleary eyes as Frisk was now alright. Their adventure has been a rollercoaster, but it helped them grow a stronger bond than before - he exhaled softly as the night went away with no more nightmares.

[The next day...]

Doctor Williams went at the ward, looking for a moment at the two sleeping humans and noticed the child was smiling softly, but he had to wake the two up, despite the rather serene moment in the room. Light was slowly creeping through the windows, and touched the metallic bedframes, basking them into a pure golden colour, and outside, nature was starting to move from the stillness of the night.

"Rise and shine, Mr. Warforth." the doctor said as he checked Roger's eyes.

"Oh, I'm discharged today, sir?" Roger could utter. "I have something very-very important to do." the researcher said as he remembered his task at hand.

"Try to avoid hurting yourself if possible. If you can't avoid that though, be sure to not overstress yourself and stay careful when you'll have to walk. You'll have the sensation things will be fuzzy for some while."

"Things are a little fuzzy anyway- but thanks for the warning," Roger nodded as he gently awoke Frisk. "Hey, little one. Wake up, it's time to go."

Frisk left out a big yawn and rubbed their eyes, trying to adjust to daylight and then noticed the doctor from earlier. They were still a bit shy around most people, but nevertheless greeted them with a big smile.

"Kid's surely something," Doctor Williams laughed. "Well, I wish you good luck with what you do. By the way - officer Dmitri told me that there's a car outside, waiting for you two. It's all yours, because they noticed you don't have any means of transport."

"Wait, I-" Roger wanted to say that he had a Caddilac, but the kind doctor silenced him.

"Your Caddilac was apparently stolen. That's why they have given you the car outside."

"Great." Roger huffed.

Roger slowly walked, alongside Frisk, to the exit of Rawlings Hospital. It wasn't really easy for the young researcher to keep everything in check, but in that Caddilac laid his rations for a month - they would be sorely missed. He inhaled the chilly air that awoke his senses, dulled away by the still lingering morphine in his blood, while Frisk stood a lot closer, feeling the need for warmth. They headed towards a police officer that was guarding a black Ford Mustang, and the moment said officer saw the two coming his way, he greeted them with a military salute, and handed Roger the keys.

"Inside are rations we were more than happy to share with you. We will let you know how the case goes."

"Thanks a lot," Roger said towards the officer who went away in a military-like march. "Okay, Frisk, let's see if we can eat something first." he added as he opened the trunk, revealing lots of bags of bread, vegetables, some meat and various cans of soup in there, as well as a lot of water for the road.

They nibbled on some sandwiches made out of bread, vegetables and ham from the trunk, and Frisk felt much better with their tummy fed, because they shot Roger a beaming smile. Roger smiled back, while he closed the trunk and asked Frisk to stay in the back, seatbelt fastened and he got behind the wheel of the Mustang. 'Let's see what this baby can do!' Roger thought excitedly as he turned the key and listened for the purring engine coming to life.

"Yeah! That's how epicness sounds, in my books!" the young man yelled with joy. "Sorry, Frisk. I'm usually very excited when something like this happens," he said with a sheepish smile, while Frisk smiled back in excitement too.

"Next stop...Ebotton, Kansas!"

"Where are we going?" Frisk asked, not quite sure he heard Roger well.

"...Into the unknown, my friend." the man said.


Me: Oh, will you look at that reference.

Shamir: Huh?

Me: Nothing, it's something for the readers to figure out. Also, someone will be pleased to see a small link with one of their previous stories!

Shamir: When am I going to fight, Shock?

Me: Things are starting to get ugly, Shamir, you'll have plenty of time to fight. I'll see you...in the next chapter.