"Marshall, can you do something for me?" Chase said the following day, hunched over his desk as he uttered the words.
"Depends what it is," came the Dalmatian's reply, sitting on Chase's bed with a can of iced tea. He had been invited into the kennel where they could study the collars in secret, especially after Rocky's now possible involvement. Chase didn't trust anyone else to handle the news quietly after such a discovery.
"Someone needs to talk with Rocky, he's a suspect now," the officer turned to face him. "And I'm the only dog in this entire patrol who he'll speak to."
"Oh really?" Marshall leaned on his paw with a smug expression. "Sounds like you just want time alone with him."
Chase waved off the verbal jab, but a hot feeling was already bubbling through his fur. "Hilarious. No, I'm serious. I'm the only one."
"So what am I doing exactly?"
With great precision, Chase had removed the tags from each collar, producing a small metal pile of dog identification. Swiping them into his paw, he brought it before Marshall and laid them out on the floor. "I need you to go to these addresses and learn everything you can about the missing dogs."
"All of them?" The firefighter looked down at the pile with a disdainful expression.
"Yes, all of them," Chase pointed. "And try to really connect who's collar belongs to whom. I know one of the victims was a retriever, and another was a…" he trailed off slightly. "And another was a… Yorkie I think? Ah hell, let me just print out all the crime scene reports Ryder made. Better than listing them all off the top of my head anyway."
Marshall got up with a stretch, "anything specific I should ask the owners about?"
"Enough to give you a clear picture of what victims they connect with, I'm looking for any possible correlation." Said Chase as he started walking to the door. "I'll meet you outside to give you the reports."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
It hadn't been entirely clear when the world started recovering its color in Rocky's eyes, but the difference was more than noticeable as he made his way around town. Every night he returned to his broken mirror, eager to see if the life had returned to himself as well, yet his reflection still remained in its desolate state. He knew he was missing something, he found the key to tolerating his reality again yet he himself still lacked the light to raise him up.
"Still nothing," Rocky muttered as he stared at himself in the mirror. His new blue collar was a noticeable contrast to his darkened grey fur.
The muzzle of a chocolate Labrador emerged on his shoulder. "Flawless observation." Zuma muttered, narrowing his eyes in confusion. "You keep talking to yourself so much, people will start thinking you're batshit insane."
"I think I'm already past that point."
"Maybe," Zuma said with a careless shrug. "And by the way, where do you keep disappearing to? You weren't here yesterday, or the day before that."
A chuckle almost escaped the mixed breed, although he had to conceal it to not arouse any suspicion. Fond memories of running with his brother shined brightly in his mind, the dark echoes of his past barely a whisper for the past few days. "I was walking in an alley," Rocky said, pulling a half-truth. "Trying to find the murderer so he could kill me."
"Truly?" Zuma was appalled. "You'd let yourself die just like that? Have you no self-worth?"
Rocky whipped his head around at the question, a growl emitting through his teeth. "Is that a question you really need to ask, Zuma? I thought you of all dogs would know the answer to that." A strange new feeling emerged within him, one he at first thought was just hostility, but it wasn't that at all.
It was confidence.
What would Dakota do in this situation, he told himself. Sharply turning on his paw, Rocky fully faced the Lab. "You spend weeks degrading me and using me like meat, remember? That the exact word you used."
Backing up in surprise, Zuma opened his mouth to spit a reply.
Rocky didn't give him the opportunity. "So after everything you have proved yourself to be," he said, still firm in his stance. "You have the gall to lecture me about self-worth? I used to think you were a brave coast guard who saved the vulnerable when they couldn't save themselves, and now here you are taking advantage of the vulnerable for your own disgusting desire."
"Excuse me?" Now it was Zuma who was flaring, baring his teeth and approaching Rocky. "You better control that tongue, or I'd be happy to control it myself." Backing the mix into the wall, he glared into him. "You and what support? You have no one, you never had anyone, and you're worth as much to us as the shit we leave in the grass every morning."
What an idiotic statement, Rocky had to restrain himself from laughing. "Then why do you care so much about what happens to me then?" He spoke with a challenging statement, his fear of the Lab beginning to fade. Defiance charging his action, he suddenly leaned forward to match Zuma's stature. With their noses now crushing against one another, the air of the kennel was filled with brimming aggression.
"Because," Zuma looked like he was about to spring. "Even trash can be treasure."
"Aww, you called me treasure." Came a mocking jab from his adversary.
"You know what I mean! You may as well just commit to it, you can't be a coward and throw it all away!"
"Is that so?" Rocky tilted his head, sass dripping from his tongue. "Then commit to it I shall." He suddenly grabbed Zuma's head and forced him into a kiss, the Labrador taken off guard at first but returned the gesture without much thought. There was no romance between the two of them, only empty, fruitless desire. Rocky was getting smarter, realizing quickly Zuma's weaknesses as their tongues clashed together.
"What's that?" The coast guard pulled away suddenly, spotting something.
"What's what?"
"That thing on your… is that a collar?" Zuma put a paw to his fling's neck, brushing aside the grey fur to reveal a blue collar. "Who gave you that?"
"Found it," came Rocky's lie. "Why do you care?"
Zuma was unsure, eyeing the accessory closer. "You sure this doesn't belong to someone?" Squinting his eyes, he turned the metal tag in his paw, reading the engraving. "This isn't Ryder's number… and your name isn't Anneto."
"Are you suggesting I stole this?"
"No, I'm saying some dog probably lost their collar, and instead of turning it in you're wearing it."
Waving his paw, Rocky deflected the statement quickly. "Maybe it's an old one and they threw it out, I found it in the trash after all, but what do you care?" He firmly gripped Zuma's head and jerked him back to eye level. "Look at me instead." The Lab was hesitant, but shrugged it off and pulled the mix closer.
Their session was quick, a fruitful romping devoid of any passion or love, and Rocky was noticeably more compliant this time. When it was over, Zuma stretched out on the bed and quickly fell asleep, exactly how Rocky knew he would.
"You know what amazes me?" The tattered dog spoke to no one, keeping his voice to a whisper. "It's astounds me how many times Dakota ends up being right." Smoothly, he wiggled out of Zuma's hold, standing up in the darkness of the kennel. "For all the downer horrors he used to torture me with," he crept up to his desk, where the disassembled radio still laid. "For all the ways he liked to scare me as a puppy," he gazed down at the broken device, a puzzle he knew he could fix but never could find the problem. "For all the traumatic things he used to tell me… he was right." Looking up at the mirror, he gazed into his own eyes, trying to find any sort of meaning. "I should've expected no less from my real family."
Pulling a drawer open, his gaze rested on a kitchen knife sitting at the bottom. He had stolen the tool long ago from the Lookout, keeping it hidden away while he decided what would become of it. For the longest time he figured he'd use it on himself, but a new harmless little idea had hit his mind. Picking up the blade's handle in his teeth, he quietly closed the drawer and began walking back over to the bed.
What would Dakota do? What would Dakota do if he spent months constantly being preyed upon by another perverted dog, used and taken advantage over, possibly hundreds of times? He'd fix the problem.
Rocky stood over the sleeping Zuma, the Labrador peacefully stirring in his obliviousness. He stared down at his abuser for what felt like an hour, before lowering his head down until the blade was perfectly aligned over Zuma's throat. "Are you… religious, Zuma?" He whispered through his teeth, watching the surfer's stomach raise and lower with each breath. "I really hope you are. I could send you right to our maker and no one would know."
But they would know. It rang in the back of Rocky's head like an alarm bell, fighting through the whispers in his ear to do the unthinkable deed. Everyone loved Zuma, they would notice him missing within a day. They would never understand, a thought that made him boil. No one would ever understand why Zuma would deserve to die. The mix was at a disadvantage in his act, he never stood a chance to get ahead. Sighing in defeat, he pulled the knife away, and let it drop to the floor. He couldn't do it. No matter how much he strained himself, his body refused to attack. With nowhere left to turn for the night, Rocky opened the door to his kennel and left, walking into the rainy night. No matter how much he hated the feeling of being wet, his own demons were far worse.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Zuma slept for a long time in Rocky's kennel, twisting and turning on the old cushion that acted as a bed. A paw suddenly jabbed into his side gently, making Zuma snort in his sleep, but he didn't wake up. A few seconds later, he was nudged again, and this time he briefly came to.
"Mmph," he mumbled in his drowsiness, "stop." He turned over on his side, stretching his legs a little.
A second voice hit the air. "Wake up."
"Rocky I'm…" Zuma had to yawn for a second. "I'm not in the mood, just… move my leg and you can play with it."
"I'm sorry what?" The voice snapped.
The harshness of the voice finally woke the Lab, making him groan in agitation. He was so drowsy in his own sleep, he hadn't yet realized it wasn't Rocky who spoke. Mumbling some profanities, Zuma turned over to face the speaker. "Look, Rocky if you want-"
He stopped cold, his eyes widening in surprise. His body jumped to action, leaping onto all fours as he was completely blindsided. "Ahh! You're- uh" he stuttered, then quickly put on a nervous smile. "Chase! You're uh… why are you in Rocky's kennel?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing." The police dog narrowed his eyes, looming over the Labrador. "What are you doing in here?"
"Uh, stealing?" Zuma was visibly anxious, tapping his paws on the ground as his tail fled underneath him. German shepherds were terrifying when they were angry.
"Stealing what?" Chase took a step closer, keeping his hardened stare on the other dog. "And what was that about… moving your leg and playing with it?"
"That was… uh-" The Lab stuttered, darting his gaze around like he was hunting for an escape route. "Nothing, I was just… having a very personal dream, you know?" He chuckled nervously, "you know, one of those dreams?"
Having no mood for games, Chase bared his teeth and barked as loud as he could. "Get out!"
The bark sent Zuma into action like a shot of gasoline. "Okay, okay, jeez!" He darted past Chase and quickly fled outside into the rain, disappearing into the night.
"Asshole…" the shepherd sighed, letting himself relax. Inconsiderate jerks, the lot of them, and his patience for their antics was wearing thin. Now all he had to do was find Rocky and deliver his extensive list of questions. He had been hoping to find him in his kennel, but aside from the nasty surprise of a Lab where he didn't belong, his beloved mix was nowhere to be seen. With nowhere left to turn, he brought a paw to his dog tag and called his friend. "Marshall, any luck?"
It was a few seconds before the Dalmatian's voice came through. "Not really. People aren't happy that I'm showing up in the dead of night. Can't we do this tomorrow?"
"Not a chance," Chase looked around the kennel idly. "The killer could strike at any moment, is there anything you can tell me?"
"Well, there is one thing." Marshall said, "I haven't hit all the addresses yet, but a good majority of these were indeed household pets. You were right."
A grim satisfaction briefly flickered through Chase as he stood in the dark. How he loved being right, even if the circumstances were less than friendly.
"But it goes further," his partner continued. "As of right now, the current victims that I've connected… they were really high class."
"High class?" Chase echoed, "what do you mean?"
"I mean, their owners are filthy rich, Chase. Every house I've driven up to has either been a mansion or a really, really nice house."
A new discovery, Chase's eyes widened at the reveal. "Interesting, he's targeting pets who belong to the wealthy?"
"Easy, I haven't been to all the houses, you can't just write that off already." Marshall said quickly, exasperated. "But… well, yeah. It kinda looks that way."
"So not only is he taking out pets of rich owners," the shepherd started piecing his thoughts together. "But he's making them look like strays. There might be more to this than we thought. Now I really need to find Rocky."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"You know, I always hated how much you were right." Rocky said, his chin resting on a piece of broken concrete. He had trekked a long way, seeking once again to escape the shadow of the Lookout. He did, after all, have a second home in the city with a certain family member.
"I uh… had my moments," Dakota laughed, picking meat off a bone.
"Oh yeah, and you were especially smug about it. That always drove me crazy." Rocky retorted, as he slumped over on the jagged surface. The alleyway wasn't generous in what it offered them, but slowly Rocky was learning how to make it feel like home. "Just a few months, Dakota. That was all it took for them to turn their backs on me." It seemed like he was brimming on hostility, but his voice still remained dull and listless. "Strays around the city start committing crimes, making the news for atrocities and other terrible things." He grimaced, remember the hundreds of news articles about the sudden increase in homeless animals. "And suddenly, now everyone starts looking at me like I'm fucking insane. And to be fair, I technically wasn't going mad at the time, I was perfectly fine!"
"So…" Dakota dared himself to ask. "How did it happen then?"
Turning over on his side a little, Rocky's face twisted in a wince. "They started doing to me whatever they could get away with. They threw me in water, locked me outside in the rain, and never let me eat with anyone else." His claws began to flex as his fur stood on end. "You try spending two straight days locked in a flooded Duffel bag, barely able to breathe with the single slit of air they gave you. So yeah, maybe that was when my mind started fucking up. And Zuma-" He snapped his mouth shut in an instant.
Dakota could sense something was up. "You okay, little guy?"
"Never am."
"Well I know that," the larger dog stood up, walking over to his younger sibling. "But you seem gloomier than usual." He leaned down, meeting Rocky's eyes with his own. "Whatever's bugging you, I can probably fix it."
"I'm not sure that you can," the small dog said, shrugging the words off.
"Try me."
Thinking for a moment, Rocky debated whether he finally should tell someone about what had been occurring in his kennel. Usually his inner demons would tell him to hush up, but they were being noticeably quiet in the presence of Dakota.
"Rocks," the large mixed breed settled down, lying on his stomach. "What's going on?"
With a sigh, Rocky stirred uncomfortably, knowing there was no turning back if he did spill the truth. He had always been afraid in the presence of other, knowing exactly how they would react. But Dakota wasn't like anyone else, he knew his brother in and out, and if anyone could be confided in, it was him. It wasn't like he had ever been wrong before.
"So… one of the patrol members," Rocky tapped his paw on the ground, averting eye contact. "Has been… doing things to me." He quickly expected a harsh rebuttal, but to his amazement, Dakota was silent. The lack of a response was unnerving, to the extent Rocky had to physically look at his brother in worry.
His older sibling carried an emotionless expression, keeping his gaze steady. "What kind of things?" He said, simply crossing his paws. Already uncomfortable, Rocky was unsure if he should even continue. Sweat beaded under his paws as he averted eye contact, feeling trapped in the conversation.
"Hey now," Dakota said, his voice turned to calm ice. "Talk to me Rocks, what's he doing to you?"
The sincerity didn't help to ease the puppy's anxiety, and a bubbling ache began to hit his stomach. "I just… I didn't think anyone would care." He nervously pawed at the ground, watching a beetle pass by. "The Paw Patrol has always hated me, so I-"
"I am not the Paw Patrol." Dakota said simply.
He had a point. Rocky stopped to consider his options in the conversation, although he could feel himself about to break. A long silence held in the air, even as Dakota made no sudden moves his little brother couldn't help but feel cornered. "I guess I…" Rocky trailed off for a moment. "Never thought Zuma could be capable of… doing all that." Drawn into his own gloom, he found himself talking without thinking. "At first I thought it was my fault, I probably still do." The puppy shrugged. "Month after month of him taking advantage of me, eventually I just stopped trying to fight it. I thought that was what I was meant to do, accepting it and all."
"Wait," Dakota stopped, narrowing his eyes. "Are you saying he's been-"
"Yep." Rocky said absently. "Like I said, months. I don't… I don't really know how I feel." Memories flashed in his head, countless adventures alongside the Labrador. Rescuing baby animals, saving the people of Adventure Bay more times they could count. Each loving embrace from his family only brightened his spirits until they could burn through darkness itself, a moment of peace he'd never want to leave. Until over time the light began to dim, hopeful arms outstretching for love, only to be abandoned in the cold.
"I don't think I-" The mix stared off into the distance. "I don't think I feel anything anymore. Just to have people I loved so…" his voice choked, a tear running down his face. "I loved so much, to leave me behind like that." He bared his teeth in a snarl, anger encompassing him. "I just- I just want to-" he scratched at the ground, creating streaks in the pavement. "I just want them all to burn!"
As Rocky fought against his own crying, Dakota had been listening quietly with a face of stone. His eyes would flicker around for brief moments, but otherwise the large stray had been still as a statue. Looming over his little brother, his lip slightly curled up for a millisecond, so brief no one would be able to catch it. His eyes burned in a stern cold, as he watched Rocky slowly look toward him, waiting for a reply.
"This… Zuma," Dakota pushed himself up. "That's his name?"
"... yeah."
"Where is he?" The large dog sharply turned, starting to leave the alley.
Taken by surprise, Rocky wiped his eyes and jumped up to follow him. "What? What do you mean?"
"I said where is he." Dakota claws tapped against the pavement, his body sharply on the move. "Take me to him."
