* * * * *

Do not mistake isolation for independence. Independence is knowing when to ask for aid, while isolation means you have none to ask.

* * * * *

* Sarah -

Observing the boy who'd plagued her thoughts these past few weeks, Sarah took stock of his health and wellbeing. He didn’t seem the grubby street urchin she’d expect of the homeless. His personal hygiene was far to high for that. His face was clean shaven, his hair - though thick and unruly - was glossy, and he seemed supremely at-ease despite his predicament. Discounting the scuffs on his jacket, the dust on his battered jeans, and what ‘might’ have been blood on his fingers, he looked completely fine. Although she could tell he was exhausted, and her instincts were screaming at her to get digging, her instincts told her to be cautious. A fine line needed to be walked. But what was he doing ‘here.’

“What are you doing here, really?” Sarah felt obliged to ask.

“Sightseeing, what else?” He teased.

“Are you going to answer any of my questions?” She frowned.

“Depends. You going to ask any questions you truthfully want an answer to?” He countered.

Damn him. “Fine. Are you in any sort of danger?”

“Nothing you can help me with,” He sighed.

She took her eyes from the road to examine that statement. She’d always been good at reading people, that’s what brought her into her current taskforce, and law enforcement in general. She wanted to mock him, to remind him who he was dealing with… Yet the tired acceptance she read from him stilled her tongue. What he said was stupid, so why wasn’t he lying?

“I’m a Federal officer,” She baited. “You can trust me.”

Ian’s bark of laughter was unexpected. “Detective, don’t insult my intelligence by lying to me, and I’ll try to do the same.”

“I’m no-” She tried to defend.

“If you were a Fed then you would already know what’s going on.” Ian sliced through her deception. “The fact that you don’t means this goes above your pay grade.” He met her eyes, holding them until she was forced back to the road. The echo of those same words made her skin crawl. “I know you’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart, but thanks for your concern nevertheless. I’ll handle it.”

“If I’m not with the FBI, who do you think I’m with?” Sarah challenged.

“Not sure,” Ian admitted. “Local PD?”

“Then don’t presume to know what I can and can’t do,” She laid down the law.

“Fair enough,” He acknowledged while closing his eyes.

That effectively ended that line of inquiry.

It was an oxymoron to find him just as obstinate as she remembered. ‘Not like it was that long ago.’ She brooded. On one hand, it was a relief to find him. She hadn't known if he was still alive, or what had happened to him. The destruction of his house, the alert for his arrest slamming on, then being whipped off, her desk. ‘And then the confiscated reports…’

On the other hand, it was incredibly vexing to know he was involved in something she was so clearly not. She desperately wanted to get around the curtain she’d been kept behind. The things she'd seen and heard that night had changed her path in life. And now, barely a month into her new taskforce - one her Chief had specifically asked her to join - here was the boy that’d started it all.

Grumbling in annoyance, ‘Three people, a task force did not make.’

Her Chief assured her that he'd just started recruiting, but she could tell they'd be stretched tight for a while, not to mention suffering an extreme lack of funding and resources. He'd essentially put them in the basement of the precinct, a basement that was packed with boxes of suspicious reports. Most of which were copies of documents the FBI had come in and ordered burned. Not shredded, but actually, physically incinerated. She'd spent all of last night skimming through them. The more she read, the more uneasy she felt, convinced that there were some seriously strange things going on.

They arrived at the precinct where Ian made a show of noticing she had her own parking space. Walking through the station lobby, she got nods of greeting. He didn't see any signs of the usual ‘hazing’ he would’ ve expected shown towards a newbie.

He whistled in appreciation. "This is definitely a step up from your last post," He remarked, looking around at the busy office setting.

Sarah grunted. One elevator ride down to her 'office.' "Still think it's glamorous?" She asked, shifting a stack of boxes resting on a cart out of the way.

Ian had a coughing fit as a plume of dust was kicked up . "Ah, I see. They stuck you in a completely separate unit. I’d wondered about that…" Taking a seat across from her, while she took the one behind her desk, he commented, "It didn't look like the others were giving you a hard time. I had this image of the regular members of the force discriminating against the weirdos that try to put a face on what lurks in the dark."

She laughed sardonically. "Oh, they probably would if they actually knew what my work involved. As it is, there are lots of instances of undercover duties that no one knows anything about. I think most of them think I'm acting as a liaison for another department related to drugs or immigration."

Ian nodded, relaxing in the chair. He was still coming off the emotional rollercoaster the day had been. He knew Ember would make sure the wounded got taken care of. Plus, she had the car keys, so she wasn't stranded. "So..” He drew the word out, squinting under the harsh fluorescence. “What exactly ‘is’ your job?" Lifting one of the folders spread out atop her desk at random, beginning to page through it.

Judgement call time. How much did she reveal? Protocol said she dissuade any interest, remain aloof if at all possible. But, he was opening up and talking again. After the long silence in her car, could she afford to be snide? "To look at issues that seem too outrageous for the regular detectives to take seriously.” She recited casually. “To observe and make sense of a given situation before reporting back to my superior, so we're not caught with our pants down."

Ian nodded. "Or those issues that the Inquisition covers up, leaving you guys in the dark…" He added with an amused lilt.

She nodded in agreement. "There is that," She admitted. Inquisition was a new term. Whatever it was, she needed more of the picture. “These are all the files I’ve been saddled with.”

“Seems like a lot for one person,” Ian muttered, turning a page.

Sarah shrugged, jacket crinkling noisily. “A lot needs explaining away before they can be safely archived.”

Ian paused, chin tilting. “Safely?”

“Before the ones upstairs can see behind the curtain.”

“Ah. Makes sense.”

He returned to the dossier, so Sarah took her chance. So far, everything remained vague, a figure seen through rolling fog. There was a shape there, and she knew at the end of the day it would be a person, but who that person was, if they were male or female, remained hidden. It was now or never.

"The Inquisition. That's the nickname for the FBI among those who know what's up, right?"

It was his turn to shrug. "Almost," He corrected. "The FBI are just cops like those upstairs." He grinned. "The Inquisition is you with more manpower, better resources, and the ear of those politicians in the highest offices."

Her eyes widened at the picture he'd painted. She was beginning to understand her boss's worries about them being outmatched, and why he only wanted them to observe instead of act. She sighed. Someone with a sense of humour had, once upon a time, installed a window frame overtop a poster of a tropical beach. She gazed into that sunny horizon. Finally, she said, "There's something wrong with this city."

Ian burst out laughing. She glared at him. He only roared harder, clutching his sides. She tried to maintain her frown, but broke down when he snorted. "No shit!" He managed to gasp, swiping his forearm across his eyes. "I know the feeling…” A wistful indulgence dampening his humour. “It's as if everyone that's part of this world knows what's going on, and no one bothered to tell the rest of us."

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

She nodded her head ardently, glad to have found someone that understood. Hands pushing on her knees, Sarah made her way, weaving between the clutter, to the coffee machine.

He followed her and noticed the two vacant desks. "How did you guys get roped into this gig?"

In drab aplomb Sarah described her interview process, the Chief's need to get eyes on what was happening in the city, and finally illuminated her acceptance into the task force. “Whatever it was that went down in your hometown,” She said in a mild manner. “It got me thinking that there was more to the story. When I read up on some of the other events the department you blew up were involved with…” She left the rest unsaid. The young man searched her with aged eyes. It struck her that those eyes shone with something that both excited, and worried her. ‘What must you have seen?’

His eventual reply, “I’m glad to see you didn’t go digging.”

“How do you know I didn’t go digging?”

“You wouldn’t be walking around if you had.” He stated.

Once again her intuition told her this was only a partial truth; that this was ‘a’ truth, but not the true answer to her question. It was then she realised she’d done all the talking. Considering he was here to answer ‘her’ questions… 'Oh yeah,' She berated herself. 'That's one hell of a Detective you're turning out to be.'

Ian nodded away at what she’d told him, impressed at her boss's initiative. "Seems like he's at least making an effort to follow the rules."

"Rules? What rules?" She asked, putting her jacket on the back of her seat.

Ian cocked his head back in thought. Sarah waited, sipping from her styrofoam cup. Ian regarded her, then seemed to drift away in his own mind, eyes glazing. She kept her vigil, the vision of professionalism and determination radiating.

Ian disregarded some interior argument with a grimace. Then he looked down into the report he was holding. “I’ve not got much of a conscience,” He started. “But if you continue wandering around in the dark, you’re gonna get yourself killed. What I say, stays between us, and who I say you can tell. I’m not about getting people killed. Agree, or I’m out the door.”

“People?” Sarah wasn’t sure how to react. She could scent the knowledge coming off of him. Yet her pride demanded she assert herself. She was no green recruit, easily spooked! ‘Then why is my gut telling me to run for the hills?’ Isn’t this what she wanted? Their first real chance to know what was really out there. And for it to come from him, of all people.

Time was slipping. Her cup spun back and forth between her palms. “Alright, but the rest of this taskforce hears whatever you tell me.”

Terms agreed, and with no reason to hold back, Ian explained, "Apparently, you can only be told about this stuff once you've experienced a supernatural event. It makes sense that you don't have a big force down here. Your chief can't just pick any cop, they need to have already seen something strange, survived it, and then have the will to learn more. All the while knowing they're putting their lives on the line in the face of something they know nothing about."

Sarah nodded slowly at hearing his divulgence, then her eyebrows quirked as a thought came to her. "And you know all this because…?" She asked cautiously.

“Sorry,” Ian shook his head, “But if you don’t already have something to go on then I’m not filling in the blanks.”

“I could arrest you for corruption of justice.”

“And what am I corrupting?” Ian tilted his chair back, fingers lacing behidn his head.

Sarah remained silent. her glare was answer enough.

"You've read my file already,” He pointed out. “Whatever's in there gives you a fairly good idea. I'm not exactly an expert on all this either."

"But you are involved?" The ponytailed blonde stated.

In way of a reply, Ian eyed a few of the folders from one of the other over-cluttered desks, Willing them across the room to his hand, then handed them over to her. When she finally looked beyond the new folder in her trembling fingertips, Ian was back to reading the file he'd picked up.

Long slow minutes passed as she tried to explain away what her brain told her wasn’t possible. Something fundamental was telling her that she had ‘not’ just seen what she’d just seen. Things were starting ot fall into place, but the devil with a silvered tongue was whispering away her confidence, and drying out her mouth.

‘Well,’ She thought, ‘Now you do.’ Another thought bitch slapped her, eyes widening, "That's why…" She murmured.

“Why what?” Ian studied her.

She struggled to meet those smouldering green eyes, "I kind of got your friend involved in this." She admitted. "Rachel, she…, helped me keep my head after that night. I was going crazy, trying to figure out what happened, and, she was the one person I could talk to.” Sarah’s mind cast itself back to those days of insecurity and indecision. The way her future, her life plan, snapped and she was left on the precipice of joining an institution she no longer believed in. “She told me I needed a change of scenery, and gave me the idea of being a Detective."

Something in his eyes made her uneasy. Their intensity, their scrutiny, like he was seeing into her in a way that was invasive and creepy. It didn’t help that his eyes were hypnotically beautiful. She’d heard the term ‘smouldering intensity’ before. She doubted she’d ever be able to use that descriptor again on anyone else but him.

'Damnit,' She chided herself. 'I'm supposed to be the one putting him in the hot seat!' She took a deep breath and continued, "Well, just look at this office. There has got to be tens of thousands of unfiled documents lying around. We also need someone to take calls, we normally turn our phones off whenever we're scouting. I asked the chief why we couldn't get a secretary to organize this stuff. He said they wouldn't have clearance to know what's in the files. That they would have to be ‘in the know’" Said with added air-quotes.

Ian had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as she went on. He knew his friend and knew her drive to learn was outmatched only by her stubbornness. Hell, she’d even admitted the ‘not knowing’ would drive her crazy the last night he’d seen her - the night all this had started. Strange how he considered it back then. It also slightly worried him that in the time that’d elapsed he hadn’t once thought of his only childhood friend.

"Rachel had been telling me that she wanted to find work or an internship someplace for the summer.” Sarah kept the momentum. “So, I pulled some strings to get her a job here.”

“She’s what?” Ian rose from his slouch.

She watched him carefully, studying his reaction for any potential leverage. His groan and flumping back into his seat may as well have been a solar flare. “What’s the matter? She was all for it when the Chief talked with her.”

“Oh I bet,” He chuckled without mirth. “When she takes an interest in something she's like a force of nature. You wouldn't have been able to stop her." He sighed before looking up. "Tell me she's at least getting paid for this?"

Sarah nodded. "She starts next week, actually. I believe she's still looking for an apartment. So am I, as a matter of fact. The temporary housing the department put me up in is kicking me out next week after I get my first paycheck. We were discussing splitting the rent for one. It would have to be somewhere over in the university district since she won't be living on campus."

Detective work, interrogation, reverse psychology - she didn’t care about the semantics of it all. Plying her target with information to see where he stood in the grand scheme of things was what she was aiming for. His trick had thrown her for a loop, but she was here to do a job and damnit, a job she would do!

Ian meanwhile was barely paying attention. His friend had gotten herself involved despite his best intentions. Not only that, she’d paired up with another ‘equally-as-determined’ crusader, and he doubted he could convince her to bail - not with a job anchoring her down. He knew she was playing him, trying to get him to open up and divulge sensitive information. She was better than Rose and Eve, he’d give her that, but the end result was the same. He knew what to expect, regardless of the form it took. Still...

Taking her pen and pad he scribbled down the information of his apartment complex before handing it back to her. "I believe they still have a couple of openings." He grinned. "They're also putting in a pool to appeal to a younger crowd so that's a plus."

‘Uuh….’ She thought. “Uh?” She asked. That… What? Sarah was extremely confused. In the span of their encounter he’d gone from evasive highjinx to handing her - literally ‘handing her’ - his whereabouts and how to get in contact with him.

“Typically people say thank you, but you do you,” Ian grinned.

Sarah glared, then scanned the address again. Most apartments in a university district booked out a year in advance. She knew she shouldn’t accept this from a… Was he a suspect? He hadn’t done anything wrong, that didn’t mean he wasn’t involved in something. And she knew he was involved - she’d bet her miniscule life savings on it.

In the interim Ian finished reading the report in his hand, then tossed it onto the desk. "Werewolf," He announced with a yawn.

Sarah, halfway to sipping her forgotten bitter sludge, almost choked. “Excuse me?!” She squawked hoarsely after the scalding liquid trickled its way down her throat. His dumbstruck expression of ‘what-do-you-mean what-do-I-mean’ screamed a louder wake-up call than coffee ever could.

As it was, Ian’s attention switched between her and the manilla folder. “Werewolf?” He asked softly.

“You mean they’re real?!” Sarah spluttered. “How… Where… Do they-?”

“Hold on,” Ian cut her off with a raised hand. “You’re telling me your Chief’s been sending you out to gather information… And you don’t even know Werewolves exist?” Her wide eyed, slack jawed stare would be hard to forget. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” He flopped back into his hair, palms pressed to his eyes. “It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

Sarah wasn’t sure if he’d meant for her to hear that last part.

Stiffly she looked from the report he'd been skimming to his bewilderment. She leaned back and had a surreal moment as her world expanded, a slew of possibilities and creatures stepping from myth into reality. Over and over while reading the reports, she'd understood something abnormal was going on, but she'd never actually put a name to it. She had even been sceptical about her boss’s brief introduction to the city's ruling class. "How can you tell?" Sorta tumbled out.

If it weren’t so depressing how woefully unprepared she was, Ian might have laughed. "The coroner couldn't figure out how a rabid dog, or wolf, managed to bite the top of his shoulder, when the blood-spatter and footprints, before he was dragged, indicated he was standing." He explained, a sardonic smile blazing. "Werewolves are about nine feet tall when they shift."

She just stared at him, open mouthed. Shaking herself and scrambling to open another report, she thrust the folder at him. "What caused this one?" He looked unsure. “Please?”

He glanced at the puncture wounds in the photo. "Don't suppose you believe in Vampires?" He asked - weak grin trying to dull the blow.

‘I knew it!’ Warred with, ‘Them too?!’ she wondered if she was going crazy. Sarah picked up another folder. "And this?" She asked excitedly.

Reading the report, he realized it described a number of bodies found along the riverbank near Delridge. He tilted his head and looked up at her, eyes softening. "Me." He told her quietly.

For Sarah, the moment was the glee of understanding a riddle a tormenter was holding over her, clashing with the horror of knowing there was no going back to the ignorance she’d held mere seconds before… Then the door opened and a balding, heavyset man entered the office, and froze when he saw Ian.

"Fuck," He muttered disbelievingly. He turned to Sarah and yelled, voice bordering on hysteria, "You did 'not' just bring the FBI’s number one most wanted fugitive into my precinct!"

"H-hey, Chief," Said Sarah apprehensively. "Nice to see you too."

"Don't 'hey' me!" The man exclaimed furiously. He lit a cigarette, then waved it in his hand. "I told you; watch, gather information, don't get involved." The man pointed a pudgy finger in Ian's vicinity. "He attacked their goddamn branch headquarters! And you brought him here?! Are you trying to start a war?!"

Ian frowned. "I resent that," He argued. "I 'escaped' from their branch headquarters. Any damage caused to the building or Agents therein was strictly their fault."

Sarah gulped. ‘Escaped… the FBI… Damages…’

"Besides," He continued, polishing his nails on his coat, "They removed me from the unofficial wanted list afterwards." Clicking open a saved tab on his phone, "See?"

The cigarette tumbled to the floor. "You've gotta be shittin' me…" He started pacing and ranting about all the injustices that were occurring in his fine city.

Sarah, picking up another folder, poked Ian in the ribs. "What about this one?" She whispered.

That sort of settled things into a pattern. Sarah would select an apparently random folder, ask Ian for his input, and blink as a new player was added to her chess board. When the Chief finally cooled down enough to realise Sarah had divided the files atop her desk into three piles - separated into known, unknown, and, more information required - the man, pink in the face, pulled up a chair.

Sarah knew she was barely keeping her head above the water, and by the Chief’s reaction, he knew it too. What she hadn’t appreciated was just how dark those waters were going to be. Ian had been right, her lack of knowledge was going to get her killed. The Chief’s tactic, of not making waves while they searched in the deep, might have worked. Only, as Ian put it, the darkness itself was out to get them.

“There’s always room for those who fall through the cracks,” Ian’s morbid philosophy expounded. “But once you’re in, don’t expect to get out again without a fight.”

By the time it got dark, they had only gotten through a fraction of the material they possessed, and Sarah had to admit, he was right.