The tree denies the fugitive its shade,
It sheds its scarlet leaves, and so rebuffs him.
- Henjo, Kokinshu 292, trans. Edward Seidensticker
-.-.-
Crack!
The clouds darkened as the afternoon drew close, like a spider among a fly caught in its vast web. The rain pattered against the Sea Patroller frequently, and the droplets showed no signs of stopping soon.
They were ominous sounds, the rain tapping against the metal exterior. For Zuma, that is. The Lab never exactly took to going outside when it wasn't sunny out. Not that he paid it much mind; he was the water pup, after all. Often, the rain would come to him by the end of a disturbing dream or a memory.
Ryder and the pups sat inside, Robodog at the controls. They were headed home, their trip being cut short by the storm.
Ryder sat with Robodog at the Sea Patroller's wheel. The eerie quiet reigned for a moment, broken occasionally by the chatter of the pups or the cracking thunder outside.
"I... I got a weird feeling," Zuma said, his eyes drifting to the windows. The rain flooded on and on, like an endless river.
"Like what?" Skye asked.
"Like... I dunno," Zuma huffed, looking towards the Cockapoo. "You ever get like that? Like, one second, everything's okay, and the next, well... you know?"
Skye nodded at the vague explanation. "I get what you mean. I think."
"I can't explain it," Zuma sighed, "I can't shake the feeling that... something's wrong."
"Of course something's wrong," Rocky scoffed, "they said on the news there was a 95% chance we'd have a fully sunny day. What's up with that?"
"They really gotta get their facts straight," Chase mumbled, cranking up the pup treat dispenser to fill a bowl. "Ryder could pull off a better meteorology job. And he actually studies meteorology!"
Rocky scoffed to himself. "Doncha ever sit there some days and miss when the world made sense?"
"Pups," came Ryder's call. He walked slowly into the room, his head hung and eyes somber.
"What's up?" Chase asked, glancing over.
The pups fell silent. They all knew this look. Good news never came from it. Ryder hardly ever gave this look; he was known for his ambitious smile, his go-get-em attitude.
"I just got a call from Mayor Goodway."
Chase's ears lowered. His paw hovered down beside his bowl of pup treats as he forgot them entirely. "Cap'n Turbot passed earlier today."
-.-.-
The pups were only somewhat accustomed to the concept of death. Many of them had lost friends or family before joining the Patrol. Even then, they'd all taken a pledge to their team at a young age:
In the light of day, in the dark of night,
These paws will do what's right.
My life I'll give, if it's all I've got,
But along the way, I'll never forget the effort I brought.
Be it blazing fires or stormy seas,
I'll give it my all, at Adventure Bay's pleas.
I'll protect my home and, welp,
If you're in trouble, just yelp for help!
To the pups, death seemed so far away. A journey to be dealt with at a later date. But here it was, death upon them. Not one of their own, claimed by a mission. But a friend and frequent caller; one who adored them dearly and never hesitated to come to them for help. But now?
He was gone. Left behind by a world that was happy to have him in it. When Ryder and the pups returned to the Lookout, silence became an irrelevant concept; tears fell freely, and the pups howled sadly at the loss of their friend.
Even Ryder seemed sad, which he hardly ever was. He locked himself in his room for hours before coming back out, his pups attacking him with hugs and cries of dismay. "C-can..." Zuma choked out, hiccups interrupting his question. "Can... w-we at least know..."
Ryder wiped his eyes with one hand, patting the Labrador on the head with his other. He had come to understand through the years what his pups said in their sorrow, and Zuma's question already became clear to him.
"I don't know. All Goodway said was that Turbot fell down the stairs of the lighthouse, and as of now, his body's being investigated."
"Is that why there were a ton of cars down there?" Skye asked, letting out a light whimper as she wiped her eyes.
"I think so," Ryder nodded. "But they weren't anyone I'd seen before."
Chase had already begun to settle, his eyes drying slowly as he draped his foreleg around one crying Marshall in comfort. "They had a weird logo on their cars," he said, recalling the ride home. "Like, orange and black, or... I dunno," the Shepherd heaved, the moment packed too tightly with emotion for him to recall anything else.
"Tell you what," Ryder said, hugging Rocky and Rubble close. He sniffed softly, his lacrimal glands allowing a tear or two to slip every so often. "I'll go and ask them in a while. Okay? It..."
The pups looked at their owner, all comforting one another and trying to recollect happy times they'd had with their frequent companion.
"I know it's fresh, guys. But it... it doesn't matter how he went, it... it's important that we remember him and be glad we got to be with him when he was still..."
Ryder got quiet suddenly. He was in mourning as well, but his helpful words didn't bring as much comfort as they intended. Rocky whined sadly, snuggling his head against his owner as he sat among his crew.
It was like that for a long while. The pups lay around their owner, nuzzling him for reassurance. One would still whimper every now and then, still struggling to wrap their head around what had transpired earlier that day.
"Ryder?" Zuma sniffed, his yellow eyes flashing towards his human. "I know we're too old and all, but... c-can you... you know... can you sing to us?"
Ryder heaved a gentle sigh. He hasn't sung to his pups in three years, not since Rubble's night terrors had ceased. The other pups did not object, although Chase tossed the Labrador a confused expression.
A few titles swam through the boy's mind before he nodded, thinking of the proper lyrics. "All right. Here we go." He stretched his hands out, holding his pups closer. They all came nearer, laying about his waist and legs in a cordial fashion.
Slowly, his voice came. Soft and solemn at first, but more boldly and steady as the song went on.
"Alone at the edge of the universe humming a tune
For merely dreaming we were snow
A siren sounds like a goddess who
Promises endless apologies of paradise
And only she can make it right
So things are different tonight
We'll do it together in flight
It's now and never
A reverie endeavor
Awaits somnambulant directives
To take the helm
Believe me, darling
The stars were made for falling
Like melting obelisks
As tall as another realm
Un ensemble d'enfants
Le galaxie s'étend
Jardin de l'imagination
Comber la lacune
Voler face á la lune
Vois comme nous évoluons
It feels like flying
But maybe we're dying
A cosmic confluence of
Pyramids hologrammed
She knows you heard her
Staging music murder
In line before the show began
To be where I am
Children born of one emotion
Our devotion's deepest ocean
No division reasoned we'll be free
To know
We are beyond a bow
And lo, the hues arrange to show
It's perfectly clear
You look quite divine tonight
Here among these vibrant lights
Pure delight surrounds us as we sail
Signed, yours truly, the whale
Joy mirage's kingdom come
No one left at stake
Now that existence is on the wake
Let's see what we can make
The part is wholly ending
A line in any final song
So long, so far
We will be atoning
At last eternal through the past
Above a blinding star
Bye, hi
Sigh, Hawaii
We never meant to part
Sublime, thy art
One light
Higher than the sun
Invisible to some
Until it's time. "
Ryder had successfully made it through the song, certain he'd gotten the lyrics well enough and had pronounced the French to his best ability. At last, the pups lay asleep around him. The boy sighed one last time, succumbing to the sleepy feeling that began to encompass him. Slowly, he lay down, tears and sorrows temporarily forgotten.
-.-.-
"All right, Binita, what have we got?" asked the forensic pathologist, pulling his gloves on as he made his way downstairs. Bill Travors was his name, and his assistant was already getting ready to prep the body for an autopsy.
Bill was a short man for his age, balding and given to occasional fits of depression.
"Horatio Turbot. Tall guy. Early 40s, sea captain and marine biologist," the Nepalese woman read off the file. "Apparently, the Mayor went down to ask him something and found him lying in the lighthouse down by the bay."
"Where the watermelons grow," Travors ang tauntingly,"back to my home, or my mother-"
"Sir, would you please stop singing that stupid song every time I say that? It's a small town, give it a rest."
Bill rolled his eyes. "Time of death?"
"Sometime around seven to nine this morning."
"Cause?"
"Inconclusive. The hole in this guy, it's... nothing I've seen before."
"Step aside, lemme take a look."
Binita stepped back, allowing Travors a closer look. Immediately his eyes went wide with shock.
Turbot's chest had indeed a hole in it; large but no bigger than the size of a baseball. No longer did he bleed, but the flesh and muscles were visible in a sickening way. That wasn't the worst part of the injury, though.
A light green hue was visible around the edges of the large wound, and little blue veins seemed to bulge briefly from the green. A wet slosh was heard as they lowered back into the darkening infection.
"What... the hell? Binita, what the hell is this?"
"I don't know, sir. I'm not experienced enough to know-"
"Experienced? I've been in this business twelve years and I don't even know what this is!" Panic took hold of Travors. "I gotta call somebody. Maybe my buddy in Cambridge can tell us-"
"I'm afraid not," came a bold but warm voice from the stairs. A man entered the room, wearing a typical black office suit. He was an unusually tall individual, his hair white, and his beard trimmed closely.
"Who the fuck are you?" Travors asked, his voiced laced with aggression.
"Sorry about the sudden entrance. I'm Director Lee, head of the Strange-Time Protection Services. We're going to need that body."
"Who's we?"
More men in suits came down the stairs, putting on gloves and face masks. They surprised the pathologist and his assistant, perhaps not in the best way.
"Wha...? Why? This is our job, get the hell outta here!"
"Mr. Travors, I'm afraid we're under orders from the powers that be, if you get me. Your Mayor agreed to our warrant."
"Fuck me," Travors groaned, stepping aside. He could make no further arguments. "Well, can't we at least know what this is about?"
The men all surrounded Turbot's gurney, transferring him into a body bag. Director Lee looked back at Bill, a calm but authoritative look in his eyes. "We're sorry for the unorthodox approach here, but it's very important this body is removed immediately. Let's just say that there's an... important inspection we can make to it. We'll return him later for the embalming process." And with that, the men left, carrying the body bag up the stairs and out of the morgue. Travors just stared off in confusion. Binita didn't say a word, as she knew better than to interfere.
"Important inspection?" Travors asked his assistant. "You don't think...?"
"It must've had something to do with that... that..." Binita nearly threw up thinking about it.