Tay

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You'd think someone who was obsessed with true crime so much he made a living out of it would sense when something was off, but Arthur didn’t. At least not tonight. Which was odd because he knew his job had earned him a lot of enemies. Of course, he should have been watching his back, but he was tired of always looking over his shoulder. He made an honest living –some would argue– doing his investigative work and tried not to step on too many toes, but it was a price he was always willing to pay to make his hobby a reality.

So, no, he didn’t notice the guy following him in the grocery store or when he dropped off mail at the post office, and he certainly didn’t notice him when picking up his nightly McDonald’s because he couldn’t cook for the life of him. But he should have, he really should have. He's too smart to be making these amateur mistakes. It was an ordinary night. Nothing felt off. But after unpacking his work bag and setting his computer down on the couch to finish his latest paper, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Almost like his body knew what was to come. 

“You have got to start eating throughout the day,” he whispered to himself,  thinking it was just his hunger taking over and not a premonition of something awful about to take place. He finished washing up and indulged in his meal as he sat on the couch to finish his paper. The cursor blinked numerous times as his greasy fingers hovered over the keys. He couldn't get himself to write as fluently as he's been known to. Something was off about him, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. Over the past few weeks, it's felt like he's had a dark cloud looming over his head, warning him of something awful, and he's done nothing but ignoring it.

Maybe he should call back home, he thought. It's been a while since he's talked to his mom, probably even longer since he's heard his siblings' voices. They're growing so fast now he hopes they don't sound too different since the last time they spoke. He hears a noise coming from the back porch as he's mid thought. He looks up fast from the blank page and over to the rear side of the home. It's dark, but the porch light is on, making it hard to see into the yard and beyond the trees that run deep into a neighboring trail. Arthur squints as his heart rate picks up. Setting aside the computer sat on his lap he quietly makes his way over to the backdoor. He pushes the door open to see Plato, his golden retriever, sitting high on alert, staring out into the woods.

“What's wrong, boy?” he says as he looks out in the direction the dog is staring at. “What do you see?” Plato whimpers and stomps his right paw closest to Arthur, brushing his leg softly. Arthur crouches down a bit as he goes to pet the top of the dog's head. “We're okay boy, nothing's there,” he says out loud, but he isn't sure if the reassurance is for Plato or himself.

He'd never really seen the dog be this alert and stoic before. Sure, he gets protective when out in public, as any good service dog should, but he's never been great at his job if he's honest. Even the slightest of looks or smells will push the dog's nose in the other direction. Arthur keeps him around for comfort mostly and, right now, his behavior is anything but reassuring or comforting.

Just as he's about to redirect the dog's attention, there's a loud banging coming from the front of the home. It startles the two and Arthur ushers both the dog and himself back into the house. He closes the door behind him just as the knocking stops. He waits a second with a tense breath and lets it out once it continues again.

“Who is it?” Arthur says behind the closed door. His hands are sweating and Plato seems to have forgotten his dramatics from mere seconds ago as he takes a seat at the end of the couch.

“It's the Washington police department, we just want to speak to you for a second.” Now, Arthur's no innocent man, but surely he's done nothing to warrant a visit from the police, right? At least he thinks not. I mean sure you could argue his work isn't ethical and a bit slimy, but he's all under the law, and he's made sure of it.

“Uh, do you have a warrant?” He says skeptically because he knows his rights.

“We just want to speak to you about some break-ins that have been happening across town,” an officer says from the other side.

“Oh…” Arthur says softly as he goes to unlock the door. Seeing a police officer at your door late at night is one thing, but seeing about 10 of them is even more intimidating. 

“Uh, is everything okay, officer?” he says as he backs up to let more of the door open. On opening the door, his whole body is in sight of the officers, and he'd be more embarrassed if he was in underwear on this rainy night, but he's in his chess PJs and, while it's a close second, it's what he chooses to wear and god-damn it, it's his home he can wear is nerdy pjs in piece no matter what his mom says about “future husbands”

“Everything is fine…” he waits for Arthur to give his name to address him properly.

“Arthur … Arthur Frederick,” he replies.

“Yes, Mr. Frederick, everything is fine. We got a call from your neighbor Mrs. Lenney…”

“Oh no, is she okay? Nothing happened to her, has it?” Arthur interrupts, starting to panic a bit. He saw her on his way in, and she looked fine, but you never know. Will would be so disappointed if he let anything happen to her. After her husband died a year ago, he made it a thing to watch over her when he could and always accepts when she invites him over for tea or dinner. Will wouldn't mention it, but losing his grandpa really messed him up and having the extra hands on deck when looking after his grandma really helps with his long hours at the station.

“No, no, she's fine, everything's fine,” he says in a bit of a huff. “She heard some noise coming from her back porch and wanted us to take a look. Since we've been having some break-ins the past couple of weeks, as you know,” he says, looking back at some of his officers. And he does know, probably just as much when it comes to crimes in this town as the police do, if not more. “We just wanted to make sure everyone in the area was okay,” Sheriff Bradley says, then sprouts a closed-mouth smile.

It took Arthur a second too long to think about the noise he and Plato heard earlier. He was just about to tell them everything was okay, regardless of the strange behavior of his dog planting roots in his mind, when someone from behind the Sheriff spoke up. It's a rather posh accent, and it almost reminds him of home if he's honest. He really needs to call his mom this week to see how she's doing. Maybe even book a trip back home for the weekend to clear his mind of all this stress that's been going on at work.

“Maybe we could take a look inside and make sure everything's alright… for everyone's peace of mind?” The man speaking is taller than he expected, seeing as he didn't see him before he decided to speak up. His hair is styled perfectly in chestnut curls, but his blue eyes are framed by dark circles depicting the work day better than his hair. You'd never have thought he just got called in to check on an old woman's well-being by the looks of him. 

His dress pants are almost too perfectly ironed to be just thrown on, but Arthur can tell by the few wrinkles in his shirt that he's definitely been pulling at the sleeves, probably during a meeting earlier in the day. Nonetheless, he's gorgeous and Arthur would be lying to himself if he said that he wasn't the most beautiful man he's ever laid his eyes on.

There have been slim pickings when it comes to suitable men in this town. Minus it by all gay bachelors and then that by people who would be okay with him hunting down criminals and potentially not making it to the altar and that leaves all his choices exhausted at this point. He takes another second too long to respond before the officer offers his name, likely to try and build connection.

“I'm Detective Clarke… But you can call me George if you'd like. We just want to take a walk through to make sure you're safe for the night. Would that be possible?” He's not being difficult, he promises. He's just a bit stunned. From the loud bang, his dog acting weird, all the police, and now this beautiful man at his front steps looking straight out of one of his fantasy books, he's having a hard time processing everything.

“Yeah, sure go ahead,” Arthur says before he's thrown another questioning look by the sheriff. “It will just be a second,” Sheriff Bradley says as he and a few officers enter the front door as George enters last. It's a bit overwhelming as they all shuffle in. George points people in different directions in the house, and they all nod as he turns around to look back at Arthur. He sighs, he looks tired. Arthur can tell better now under his living room lights. It's still dim as he doesn't like the overhead lights on, but it's better than the broken porch light, and he can see the weight of this job on the detective's shoulders. He takes out a notepad from his back pocket and a pen from his front.

“Have you been experiencing anything odd around here recently?”

“Well, seeing as my job isn't the best at giving me normal mundane experiences, I'm going to have to ask you to be a bit more specific.” Arthur chuckles a bit, he can be funny and cute, right?

“I mean today. In your home. Heard any strange noises or maybe people lurking around the neighborhood?” he says after a small sigh. Right, so not the time for playful answers, Arthur thinks.

“Uh… no not really,” Arthur says, bringing his arms to wrap around himself a bit.

“Walk me through a typical day,” George shifts hips, making sure to keep his head low and eyes on his notepad in front of him, but Arthur can tell his attention is fully on him and his surroundings.

“ Well, I wake up, I check my phone and emails, I take a piss…” he chuckles, trying the water again, but George is stoic. “ … I shower, I come downstairs and make a tea that's less than up to par, then I let Plato out while I contemplate life and get dressed for work. I stop at a small café down the street because note earlier, I can't make a tea for the life of me, and then I make my way to work.” George writes everything down as Plato comes to stand next to him. He nudges Georges' pants as he plants his body right next to Arthur's legs.

“This the famous Plato?” George says as he points his pen in the dog's direction. There's a glimmer in his eye and a smile that threatened to be released from his lips. Arthur is dying to see it but he can risk coming off as annoying any more than he already has. He's used to annoying people with his job and his prying, but outside that he's actually really shy and to himself.

“Haha yeah, this is him. He's supposed to be a service dog, but he isn't great at his job, Arthur smiles down at Plato as he looks up. It's as if he's saying ‘I'm doing my best dad’. Arthur loves him either way.

“Sometimes he stays with my friend and I have to pick him up, but that's if I'm out of the office that day. Usually he'll come in with me and sit in his usual spot overlooking the place.”

“What's his name?” he says after he hums.

“Do you take Plato with you to work?” Arthur can tell he wants to ask why he had the dog in the first place but is holding himself back.

“Uh…yeah, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” the detective questions

“Who's?”

“Your friends?” George asks gruffly.

“Her name is Liv… Uh Olivia, I mean,” Arthur says. He doesn't look embarrassed about getting the gender wrong and simply moves on with more questioning.

“So what's the coffee shop's name?”

“Am I a suspect?” Arthur says. He's becoming a bit skeptical with all these questions. Aren't they here to protect him?

“No,” he says simply.

“Do I need a lawyer?” He's becoming increasingly annoyed at the short responses and long-running questions.

“I don't know, do you?” he asks, the side of his lip coming up. He's smirking, is he joking? He's joking, right?

“Are you joking?” Arthur asks.

“I'm just messing with you, yeah,” he says as the rest of the police come down and out of the rooms they were checking.

“All clear,” the sheriff says, nodding at the rest of the officers to follow him out of the home.

“Good,” George says as he closes his notepad. “If you need anything, you know the number.” All the cops clear out, and he's just about to walk George out as well, till he hears a whimper beside him. He looks down and sees Plato is pawing at his leg, on high alert again.

“Does he always do that?” George asks in a skeptical voice, looking in the direction that the dog is. It's straight out into the backyard where Plato was transfixed on earlier.

“Well… Not usually, no,” Arthur says, nibbling on the corner of his bottom lip.

“When did he start?” he says, turning his body to face Arthur.

“Uh…” he hesitates. He doesn't want to make a big deal out of nothing, but two times in a night is a bit strange. George turns to walk towards the back door, and after a huff, Plato follows straight after him like someone is finally listening to him.

“It was nothing,” Arthur follows after them out the backdoor. “I just heard a little noise earlier after letting Plato out. Everything is fine, he's just being dramatic." Arthur looks down at Plato as the dog visibly looks hurt. “Sorry bud,” he whispers down to his fluffy pal. Plato takes it for now, but he knows hell will be granting him more snacks after the detective leaves.

“A guard dog on alert isn't anything mate,” the detective says, shining his flashlight right, left, then directly into the woods opposite of the home.

“Sometimes Plato misreads a situation” and he's not wrong. Both him and Plato know that, but he tries his best and that's all Arthur could ask for. George takes a step into the yard, inching closer to the widespread foliage. “Don't be so hard on him, and even so...” He's about to elaborate when he hears a noise coming from the shed to the left. He turns his attention and flashlight onto the chipped wood and slated doors. It startles both Arthur and Plato, making the dog retrieve into the house. Arthur is about to step onto the grass when the detective turns his head and gives him a grave expression, planting him firmly in place.

“Don't move,” he says, taking out his gun from his side holster and pointing both it and the flashlight in the direction of the shed. “Be careful,” Arthur says, then quickly covers his mouth. The stare George gives him makes him feel less than incompetent. George opens the left door, slowly pointing his weapon into the confined space. He goes to open the right door when he sees movement in the left corner.

“Police! Come out with your hands up,” George announces calmly but sternly. Arthur wonders how many times he's had to say that. He looks young, maybe in his late 20’s, so how much action could he possibly have under his belt? “I said, hands up!” the detective's loud voice brings him out of thought and back to the situation at hand. Just as he's about to step onto the grass again, he hears the faintest of sounds coming from below the cabinets he has lined up in the shed. “Wait!” he says, stepping behind the detective. “Listen.” He leans an ear closer, smiling softly.

“Are you insane? Get back onto the porch!” The detectives' face shows nothing but rage, beauty and rage, but rage nonetheless. He looks as if Arthur just offended his whole bloodline. But Arthur knows that sound, grew up with it even. “Shh. Just listen,” he steps closer and bends down into a crouch. “I…” Georges was interrupted by a small meow coming from his feet. He looks down to see a small scruffy white cat. The thing looks like it's been through hell and back and has a few scratches on its head from what's probably it trying to defend itself in the woods.

“See nothing scary, just a little baby kitten," Arthur picks it up as it screeches but calms a second later in his arms. George huffs as he clips his gun back into his holster and shuts the flashlight off.

“I have half the mind to arrest you right now,” he says, turning his back to look into the forest, then back at the pair in front of him.

“For what!?” Arthur says a bit taken back, but chuckles when he sees the detective's eyes on the ball of fur in his arms.

“Obstruction of justice,” he says robustly as they make their way onto the porch.

“Oh please, like this baby could hurt anyone,” Arthur says as he locks up the back door and leads the detective back into the living room. “Couldn't hurt a fly look,” he holds the kitten up to Georges' face. He backs up, lowering Arthur's hands.

“I'm serious, these break-ins are no joke. Last week we had a homicide close by and the woman was found dismembered in the lake.” Arthur is shot back to reality.

“No, I know… thank you for coming and checking the neighborhood.”

“Do you have any cameras around here?” George shuffles by the door. That was the most Arthur had seen him hesitate all night.

“Uhh… no, no cameras around. I don't spend much time at home, so I never see a need for it if I'm honest.”

“Maybe look into it?” George says, looking around his living room. He opens the front door and, just as fast, his face is back to neutral and his stance is strong again. “Also, here's my number, call if you need it. Okay?” Arthur hesitates a second before taking the paper. He nods shakily, and he responds, “Yeah, yeah, sure thanks.” George turns with a tight-lipped look, but before he can, Arthur stops him again.

“Hey, thank you again. I really do appreciate it… All 3 of us do,” Arthur says with a shy smile as he holds the kitten up and closer to his chest. George looks in the direction of Plato just as he's readjusting his head and ploppling it back down onto his hands. George again gives a tight-lipped smile and turns to leave in the direction of his undisclosed vehicle.