1
For the third time in his life, Bryce Fitzpatrick removed all of his worldly possessions from a small, sealed bag. He placed his battered wallet and outdated cell phone into his jacket pocket, and tied a cord adorned with a single, polished stone around his neck. He passed the empty bag back under the window to the receptionist, a giraffe. She was giving him a cross look.
"Is there anything else you need?" she asked. "Phone call?"
Bryce shook his head. "No. Thank you."
"Will we be seeing you again?" asked the giraffe.
"No," said Bryce.
"Right," said the giraffe, unconvinced. "I'll see you in the obits."
Bryce ignored her and left the lobby. A few minutes later he was standing on a dimly lit corner. A digital clock on a passing bus told him it was nine thirty p.m. Bryce stuffed his paws into his jacket pockets and started walking toward the bright, twinkling towers of Zootopia a mile or so away. When a soft breeze blew past, the wolf opened his mouth and relished the cool, crisp taste of the evening air. It was the first time he'd been outside, minus the clinic's small yard, in two, long months. The novelty of free air never lost its appeal.
Bryce flagged a passing cab several minutes later and was surprised when it slowed and pulled to the curb. He guessed it had to be another predator driving. Prey typically didn't stop to pick up mammals like him, especially at this time of night in this part of town. Sure enough, when he opened the door, the interior light revealed the worn and weathered features of an old coyote with baseball cap on his head and a burning cigarette in his paw.
"Where you headed?" asked the coyote.
"Apple Orchard Cemetary," Bryce replied.
"Right," said the coyote. "If I crack my window, you mind if I smoke?"
"Go ahead," said Bryce. The coyote opened his window and the cab turned onto the road. Bryce rested his head against the glass and watched the brightly lit spires of the city inch closer as the minutes passed. They eventually merged onto a large freeway and headed north.
The cemetery gate was closed when they arrived. The coyote killed the engine and gave his passenger a questioning look. "Well, what do you want to do boss?"
"I have the key to one of the side gates," Bryce lied. "I just need to pop in for a few minutes. Can you stick around?"
"I don't mind," said the coyote. He gestured to the meter on the dash. "As long as you don't mind paying the fare first."
Bryce handed the coyote a pawful of bills and stepped outside. The air was cooler and fresher here in the hills around the city, and he panted to appreciate it as he circumnavigated the cemetery wall until the cab was out of sight. He climbed over the wall and began taking large, awkward steps to avoid stepping on the graves.
It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. He knew exactly where he was going.
Bryce knelt in front of a small, granite plaque laid in the ground and gave it a weak smile. "Hey dad." He ran his paw over the cool stone and felt the inscriptions beneath his pads.
DANIEL FITZPATRICK
A LOVING HUSBAND, A CARING FATHER, A GENTLE SOUL
"I went back in since last time," said Bryce. "The fuzz picked me up on the street. I didn't hurt anyone, I'm not even sure how I got outside."
The sounds of the night filled the silence like a guilty conscience. The wolf wiped his eyes with the back of his paw.
"I'm sorry dad. I'm so, so sorry." He hung his head placed both paws on the plaque. "But I'm done, okay? I'm clean. It's over."
A single tear fell onto the plaque with a soft plop. Bryce brushed it away with his thumb, then sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I know you've heard me say that before. It wasn't true then, but it is now. It's over. I promise." Bryce stood and dusted his jeans. "Sorry, I've got a cab waiting. I love you dad." He lifted his head and gave a long, mournful howl.
Bryce broke that promise two months later.
2
The gates of Apple Orchard Cemetery opened several hours after Bryce Fitzpatrick left, and Ellie Langford was among the first mammals to walk through them. The lamb was wearing a new, freshly pressed suit and carried a bouquet of lilies in the crook of her arm. She walked with a purposeful stride, and it didn't take her long to find what she was looking for. She knew exactly where she was going.
Ellie placed the lilies at the base of a large headstone then stood and gave a perfunctory salute.
"Hi dad," she said. "I made detective yesterday.
Almost like an acknowledgment, the sun crested the hills and spilled its warm, orange light onto the stone.
JAMES LANGFORD
A WARRIOR OF JUSTICE IN LIFE, A WARDEN OF JUSTICE IN DEATH
"I don't have my badge yet," said Ellie. "I'm receiving it later this morning, so I really can't stay long. Chief Rubio is insisting on making a ceremony out of it. I wish he wouldn't. You didn't have a ceremony, did you?" Her question was met with birdsong from the cemetery's titular apple trees.
"He says it's because I'm the youngest mammal to pass the exam in twenty years. True or not, I don't want that kind of attention. You know me, I'd rather just do my job." She grinned at the headstone. "Especially now. They put me in narcotics."
A small breeze picked up, and Ellie resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself. "You know what that means, right? I'm one step closer to finding him. I'll have other duties of course, but as long as I'm in the unit..." Ellie trailed off. She put one hoof on her father's tombstone and bowed her head.
"You know," she said, "I don't really like this whole ceremony business, but I wish you could've been here to see it. I miss you dad. All the time." She checked her watch, then sighed. "I have to go."
The ewe took a measured step back and saluted again. "I'll get him dad. I promise."