Hey everybody. I got some really distressing news that otherwise ruined a day I had been looking forward to for months. I tried writing to ease some of the stress, but I think it really showed in this chapter. This one is rather dark and depressing, but honestly, if I didn't write to get this crap off of my chest, I don't know what would have happened.
*KITT pulls up and opens door*
Me: *gets in, collapses onto steering column, sobs*
KITT: There there, let it all out... on my dashboard… Aaaaaand, you're asleep. Okay. KARR, can you help me with this?
KARR: That's all you, bro. *Speeds away*
KITT: -_-
Kitt and Michael were speechless. Horror reached deep in their throats and ripped out all sound. It poked their skin with millions of needles and raised the hair on their necks. It grabbed ahold of their guts and pulled them all the way down.
There was nothing to do; the rain washed clean all of the ratty streets, taking the hope of finding Kayleigh along with all the grit and detritus.
The puppy stood in front of the drain, coughing and spluttering as he tried to drink in the last saturated vapors. He barked, then whimpered, then howled. Passersby stared.
"Kitt, come here," Michael ordered. The cop was taken aback when the hound hesitated. He shot a glance across his muzzle, but remained seated on the curb.
The police officer darkened. The anger in his gut bubbled up to his lips. "KITT!" He bellowed. The puppy's ears flattened against his tiny head and he bunched up in alarm. "COME, NOW!" Tail between his fuzzy legs, the dog heeled next to his handler.
There were, of course, thousands of people meandering the streets, but Michael felt a burning need to address his dog. He pulled out his phone and pretended to be having a conversation, when in reality he was reprimanding the pooch. "Why didn't you come when I called you?" Knight loomed over the German Shepherd. "That's your job!" The sharp words were like wasps swarming around Kitt. He offered to response: just let the swarm overtake him. The skyscrapers: they were all leaning in towards him, threatening to collapse and bury him in the rubble. I dare you to, he thought. When he screwed his eyes shut, blue and gray streaked across his vision in an apathetic tango.
"Why can't you pick up her scent? Aren't you supposed to be some kind of super-dog?"
Kitt didn't give himself time to think of a logical response to the question. "It's just not possible, Michael! Following a scent trail is unavailing even in perfect conditions, but once the trail gets wet, everything is bogged down and washed away. Even with my enhanced senses, it is unreasonable to expect me to-"
"Unreasonable to what, expect you to do your job?!" Michael roared, drawing attention from citygoers even across all the lanes of traffic. The officer neglected to review his words before they barreled out of his mouth. "Tell me, if you can't do that, then what can you do?!"
Wrong choice. The dangerous glint in Kitt's eye he first saw when the dog ran the agility trial? It flashed again. The pup's eyes became a deep dark void, muzzle shortening into a snarl. Pearlescent canines emerged.
"This," Kitt barked. With that, he whipped around on his hind legs and, with all the speed Michael had seen that second day, streaked down the block, then the next one, until the rainy mist swallowed him whole.
"KITT!" Michael called out, voice quavering under the weight of the realization. "Come back," he called out again, but the mist swallowed that too. Kitt had run away… And it's my fault.
Michael dialed his phone with one hand and rubbed at the throbbing back of his skull with the other. Of course, Bonnie picked up, chipper as ever. "Hey, Officer Knight, how're things on your first mission? How's Kitt doing?"
He could only muster a whisper. "Kitt's gone."
For a few heavy seconds, Knight thought that his call had dropped as nothing but silence bounced between the cell towers. But Bonnie wouldn't let him get away that easily.
"What?" She was floored. Not just floored: sub-terranean.
"We got into a fight," Mike scrambled for words. "I said some things I shouldn't've said, he ran off-"
Bonnie was having none of this. "Come back to the station ASAP." The line clicked and died.
Michael returned to his car, shuffling in shame. Its narrow headlights seem to glare at him accusatorily, almost daring him to fess up. He could only shrug into the seat and slam the door. Rain pattered on the windshield. It looked suspiciously like tears.
He opted to take the long way to the station and turn the way he saw Kitt bolt off. There was no sign of the little Shepherd, however. His trail was just as dissolved as Kayleigh's. That didn't stop Michael from turning on his patrol lights, rolling down the window, leaning out at calling for the dog. He even added some "I'm sorry's" to sweeten the deal.
He arrived at the station alone. He didn't even make it into the building, for Bonnie and Lt. Miles were standing, arms crossed, in the parking lot in the drizzling rain. For them, this was all a cruel joke: something a disgruntled cop would do with his quite literal partner in crime to get back at administration after months behind a desk. They didn't truly believe in the situation until Michael slunk out of the car and slammed the door behind him, no paws.
Bonnie's arms dropped. "You lost him?" She roared. Michael flinched, while Devon remained as stoic as ever.
"He ran away, I-"
The vet's eyes flared just like her patient's. Within her petite body was housed the fury of a mother bear, staring at the man who she trusted, who lost her cub. Michael clenched his whole body in preparation for the blow.
"Why exactly did he run away? What did you do to him?!" Michael shot a glance at his lieutenant, but he offered no sympathy: just a blank stare and a shake of the head.
"We lost the scent trail, I got mad at him even though that wasn't his fault, we were both frustrated, and I snapped at him, he just took off running!" Michael's words came out as fast as his heart was beating, and about as fast as his partner had run away.
"Did you see which way he went?" Devon finally interjected.
Knight shook his head. "No, he took off too fast. I tried driving the direction he ran off, but nothing…"
Devon was wringing his hands. He took out a handkerchief to dab at the beads of sweat along the border of his receding hairline.
"We have to get him back," Michael broke out with resolve. He had gone through all the stages of grief: now he was ready for action, to right his wrongs. "Kitt is out there all alone and sad, and it's my fault. I have to get him back."
Bonnie sighed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "That's all fine and dandy, Michael, but how do you propose to do that?"
Suddenly, a strange pinging, chiming sound sliced rhythmically through the air. The cop reached into his pocket to check his phone; in doing so, however, he saw that the gadget on his wrist was flashing red bars.
"The ComLink!" Bonnie cheered. She rushed to his side to examine her device. When she was the red LED pulsating on the screen, she whooped with delight. "Kitt has activated his homing beacon!"
"So we can find him?" Devon gasped. Bonnie nodded with her typical vivacity.
Michael didn't see the nod, however. He was already, and quite literally, jumping into his squad car and tearing out the parking lot, leaving nothing but two thick tire tracks.
He didn't make it far: Bonnie called.
"Michael," she began when he answered. "Do you know how to use the ComLink to find Kitt?"
"Nope," he replied. "I figured you could teach me over the phone. We have zero time to spare right now.
She just rolled with it. "Well, Kitt's homing signal constantly sends you his GPS coordinates. You can plug those into your squad car's built-in GPS and you'll be led right to him."
"Got it," Michael said shortly and hung up without another word from Bonnie. His dog was out there, alone, and needing him. Consumed with determination, Michael flipped a switch on his dash and the roof of his car lit up with red and blue flashes. From under the hood, the screeching siren erupted and turned heads as he literally sped down the streets. Luckily, neighboring cars pulled over and gave him right of way.
The coordinates on his car's GPS revealed nothing; Michael couldn't tell where Kitt was in the sense of city blocks. Right now, he was just a number. The way his car was directing him, though, suggested that he was on the outskirts of the city, the more suburban region. And his position was steady: unmoving. The back of Michael's brain feared the worst, but he didn't let the words form.
The ComLink was still pinging, so Kitt hadn't turned off his homing signal yet. And going from the GPS, the pup was only 3 miles away. He's gotta be somewhere in this townhome complex, the cop reasoned.
Each tenth of a mile that ticked away on the GPS drove a stake to the driver's heart. He was now 1.5 miles away from his dog, the dog that he had metaphorically kicked right in the chest, when he was already down and out for the count. Now he had to own up, apologize, and hope his partner would forgive him.
That is, if he could find him.
The streets wound frustratingly around in a seeming enigma. Each turn led the cop away from the hound, but the following one brought him right back.
At .7 miles, he reached a cul-de-sac. The turnaround preceded a large, open grassy area. The straw-like glass glittered from the beads of rain dripping down them.
Kitt was in there somehow. It's the only way. There was no other option. I gotta get out of the car and walk around, hope I find him.
The arid brush tickled at his ankles as the sound of insects permeated his skull, almost drowning out the rhythm of his pounding heart. This repetitive expanse went on for miles: at least it looked like it did. Soft gusts of wind created undulating waves across the roughage.
Michael, unlike his missing partner, was no tracker. From what he could tell at least, there were no clues to Kitt's location: no flattened grass, broken branches, giant flashing neon signs. Nothing he saw could lead him to the K9.
But there was something he heard.
Over the hum of the insects, the rustle of the brush, the ping of the ComLink, he heard the faint sobbing of a child. Not full crying; no, this was the kind of sniffly, hiccup-y whimpering of someone who had lost something. Someone that was lost.
Obviously, the sound was quiet. Michael had to strain to pick up the direction from which it was coming. Kitt wouldn't have any problem doing this, he thought bitterly. Eventually, he determined the source was coming from the left. Great trees reached up to graze the grey sky, unfortunately blocking the cop's view. Regardless, his mounting sense of urgency turned the ground to lava and forced him to run full-speed through the cache. He left his thoughts behind. Braches whipped at his face. Some even drew warm, viscous blood. Michael paid no attention. With each step, the sobbing became louder, the ComLink beeped faster.
Suddenly, the trees parted into a clearing. The brush was parted too, by someone who had run into it before Michael. But that person had stopped, fallen to her knees.
Kneeling in the clearing, sobbing softly, was Kayleigh.
Cradled in her arms was Kitt.
