Episode 9-3: It's a Dog Thing

Maple Street: Herbert Dorsett's Residence

Troy's P.O.V.

It's apparent that when I got here Clyde and the car would be miles away, but I decide to stick around to catch a clue if any are still around at least. The front door is slightly open and the lock has been expertly breached. I don't remember Clyde ever carrying a lock picking kit, that's my job.

I slip into the house, inspecting the neighboring residents to make sure nobody is watching. The first hallway has a small pile of yellow dust on the floor; something suspicious, but I need to investigate further first. I step over the weird pile and carefully walk deeper into the dark corridors. I instinctively draw my gun and hug the walls while listening closely to the silence. No noise besides my own breathing.

I find myself in Herbert's unchanged den, but with the exception of the fireplace being put out. The table that held his cup of tea is still there, but the cup is replaced with an opened envelope instead. I holster my pistol as I pick it up and examine it all over. It has its obvious writing for proper delivery drop-off, but it isn't printed, suggesting that it must've been personal.

I pull out the paper from within and unfold it with the tips of my fingers. Some specks of that weird dust fall on the table from the paper, but that's all that there is; no writing at all, just dust. I put the paper aside and take out my pocket flashlight to shine it on the substance, and as I do it sparkles and reacts to the blue lighting.

"Hmm...yellow dust reacting to blue light? I think I've run into this stuff before. I should call the tech lab later and check the archives." Yes, I talk to myself when Clyde's not here, it's boring otherwise.

This is definitely a clue, but not one that'll let me cut off Clyde's path and intercept him. How could he leave with Fake Troy anyway? Didn't he look at my bed and notice that I was still asleep? Did he not realize that there were two of me? Maybe Fake Troy's presence blurs me out or something.

I take a quick picture of the substance on the table using the digital decoder and shove it back in my pocket for later. The decoder will scan the picture and pull up a list of elements found within the photograph automatically, but it'll take some time. I continue to case the house for the next twenty minutes or so, but find nothing of interest.

I find Herbert's bedroom, complete with a full-size mattress sporting the silky smooth red sheets of foreign materials that make it feel like you're sleeping on a cloud. I sit on the foot of it and take the decoder back out, still processing. I'm going to need to burn some time.

The decoder has internet access as well, even when there is no router for service. It's connected to the car's built-in hotspot, letting me connect from an incredible distance. I click on the web address panel and start typing in my favorite gaming website, but something in the history section caught my eye. Something called, "Fort Totten State Historic Site," was recently searched. I click on the link and read the article that it brought up. This place is here in town. It's a safe bet that Clyde's planning on going there soon. I should get a headstart while I've got this lucky break!

*** *** ***

Fort Totten State Historic Site: After Visiting Hours

Clyde's P.O.V.

Mission Summary...

After burning time by taking part in a never-ending game of I-Spy, we've surpassed the visiting hours of Fort Totten and arrived just in time for the last car to leave its perimeter. We have marked the entry points for this area and have planned out our routes to effectively case the entire fortress.

"I really hope your hunch is right," I say. "Spending too much time on this case is causing the body count to rise."

"Relax, it's not like we could've done any better at picking a place. We'll just have to hope and pray."

Troy opens his door and climbs out of the car, I follow his lead and take the front entry point while he positions himself on the south side of the main building. I turn the knob, and to my surprise, it isn't locked. I slip inside quietly, shutting the door behind me.

The inside is dark, but still bright enough to not require the night vision goggles. The interior is practically barren, aside from a counter or two pushed up against the walls. A growling sound emitted from my stomach, signaling me that I should've had a proper intake of nourishment before this. I disregard this irrelevant information promptly.

A smell becomes apparent while traveling deeper into the building. It's metallic but unfamiliar. My slow pace brought me closer to a turn, but I stop when I hear footsteps on the other side. Training has told me to prepare my firearm against unknown invaders, I do this promptly.

Troy rounds the corner and brings his hands up in a defensive manner. "Just me, pup."

The gun goes down. "Stop calling me pup."

He snickers under his breath, but soon regains his composure. Troy takes point and leads us through the dark corridors that dawn numerous paintings and pictures all themed around war and U.S. troops; that is about the only furniture this placed seems to own. Suddenly, Troy stops in the middle of the hallway so he could stare at a picture. It's a group of soldiers that appear to be standing at their posts, all of which are stationed here in Fort Totten.

"Hey," I whisper, "what's the holdup?"

"Shush, just watch," he says while placing his index finger against my lips. It tastes of peppermint for some reason, and I shoo away his hand from me. I dislike his behavior sometimes. His hand presses against the picture, nothing happens. He moves it below the picture, gently gliding his fingertips across the wooden surface. He pulls his hand away quickly. "Ow! Damn splinter!" The damaged finger goes straight into his mouth as he tries to suck away the pain.

"What was the point in that!?"

He stares at me with soft eyes. "Don't yell at me, I'm only trying to help!"

"How is staring at a picture suppose to help us!?"

He throws his nose up in the air with a huff; I've learned that is his sassy way of saying "I'm done talking!" He goes back to the wall and pulls out his pocket flashlight. Turning it on, he shines the beam of light across the picture making the light reflect off its glass covering. Then he shines it below the picture, leaning his face in close to absorb all the details that are there to take in.

"Alright, Mr. Grumpy Pants," he says, "what do you call this?"

I step in closer to see what he had found. It was a slightly indented crease in the wall, the crease that appears when a door is installed into an existing surface. I press my hand against the crease, feeling the surface move and contort according to my pressure. I push harder, finally unveiling a small secret door that leads to a small room. I step in gun first as Troy follows closely. The room houses a workbench with a chair sitting in front of it, a shelf that holds multiple jars of different chemicals and substances, and a single manila folder placed carefully on the table. An overhead lamp illuminates the area in dim lighting. Yet another win in Troy's circuit.

"How did you-"

"I just got this certain chill up my spine, you know. Really, it was all luck," he says. I don't believe luck had much to do with it, but I'll take what I can get.

I holster my gun and flip through the files inside the folder. There's a recipe on how to properly make the parasitic dust, a map of Devils Lake, and a hit list with the first half of names crossed out (presumably the deceased ones). Everything in this room is physical evidence to put someone away, but without the proper person to tie this to, it's useless to us.

"You go ahead and log all this in," Troy orders, "I'm gonna go explore some more."

I hear the creak of the secret door opening and closing, and Troy was gone. I begin photographing the documents and the jars of chemicals, carefully picking the right angle and level of lighting to achieve the clearest picture. I just about finish up when the creaking of the door disturbs me once more.

"You forget your make-up?" I joke, turning away from the bench. A skinny, freckled-faced, blonde-haired man stands there with his mouth hanging open. My eyes narrow down on his features as my memory flashes back to another person who has the same, stupid face. That damn mailman!

I feel the skin on my mouth pull apart as my teeth bared; my growl becoming louder and more uncontrollable. The camera I carry falls to the ground as I release my grip, my hands tightening into fists. The mailman spins around quickly and dives through the door. His sudden movement causes me to instinctively react and chase him. I hurl my body against the wood, bursting it down and breaking it into wood chips. I look both ways down the corridor and see him slipping around the corner. I give chase as I've never chased before, screaming at him.

"Hey! The more I chase, the more it'll hurt!"

I catch up with him slightly, enough to actually see him turn around and pull out a small pistol. He shoots at me, and I feel the bullet pierce my arm. I don't know why, and I do not care how, but the pain doesn't phase me and only drives me to hasten my pace, fully barking at him now.

"I hate dogs!" he whimpers, dropping his gun and running away again.

*** *** ***

Fort Totten State Historic Site

Troy's P.O.V.

It takes much longer to get here, but I do make it eventually. The decoder had finally processed the dust while on the way over here, telling me that we've actually seen this parasitic powder in the past. I see the company car parked on the outskirts of this place, letting me know that I'm not too late to catch Clyde. Looking at all the buildings that inhabited the area, I groan at the thought of having to check each one.

Suddenly, the doors of the main building bursts open with a scrawny-looking man running through them at lightning speed! A second later, I could see what was chasing him that could've put that kind of fear on his face. It's Clyde! An excessively bleeding, angry, loud-mouthing Clyde sprinting at him with sincere ferocity in his eyes! I draw my gun and join the chase, not sure whether to help catch the guy or to stop Clyde from tearing him apart.

Clyde's bigger physique allows him to close the gap between the two as he tackles the guy to the ground. The man flips over on his back trying to push Clyde off, but the poor soul was just too weak to lift something that big.

Clyde raises his fist. "This is for all the dogs who knew better!"

WHAM!

It only takes one punch from Clyde to knock him unconscious. I finally reach them just in time to hold back Clyde's bloody arm before he can get another shot in. He looks up at me, fire in his eyes and vicious teeth snarling at me.

"Easy there, big guy! It's just me," I softly say, letting go of his arm.

His eyes lose their light as he settles down, still kneeling over the kid's unresponsive body. "Troy," he says while huffing and puffing, "it's the mailman. I told you so. Mailmen are no good! They sometimes shoot rubber bands at dogs when the people aren't looking!"

I nod. A mailman that makes drugs to cause other people to go postal. That would've been funny if it didn't cause such a high body count.

Clyde ties up the mailman and leaves him in the secret room he found in the main building. Luckily, the camera he dropped wasn't broken, letting us recover all the photographed evidence. Although, we probably wouldn't need it once the cops picked up on our anonymous call and found this guy bundled up with all his bread crumbs lying all over the place. Unfortunately, with him being knocked out, we didn't discover the motive behind all this. Oh well, that's for the police to find out, not us. With the case coming to a beautifully wrapped ending, it is finally time to call Barry for pickup, and a medic for Clyde's arm.

*** *** ***

Barry's Private Jet: Course for Connecticut

I yawn and stretch in my chair as I finish up the paperwork. I need to conceal my report from Clyde's, with the difference being that he is actually on the mission while mine is on his performance with Fake Troy. Adams wants to know how this apparition helped during the case. Clyde had his arm patched up with the med-kit on the jet. He lost a lot of blood, but he somehow still had a normal blood level. It was almost as if he just magically regenerated all of it.

"You know," Clyde says from his seat, "you were really good out there on the field for this one. All your hunches were right on the needle, how did you do that?"

I bite my lower lip in an attempt to hide my liar's face. "Oh you know, just lucky I guess."

"That's not an acceptable answer, there was more than luck involved. Seriously, man, you got magic vision or something?"

I'm not the one with magic vision, I think to myself. "Totally, you're partnered up with a wizard!"

He rolls his eyes and goes back to his report. I sit quietly, wondering just how far Adams is willing to keep this from Clyde. Even without the third-party knowledge, he's always been a smart guy. He'll eventually figure out that he's got some mental condition. He'll find out that Adams kept it a secret from him. He'll find out that I kept it a secret too! Who knows how he'll take it, and I can't stand it when he's mad at me. Sorry Carlotta, but I can't keep this up. I don't want to keep it up.

"Clyde..." I say, a massive lump in my throat.

He looks at me. "Yes?"