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It was a rainy and rather unpleasant night. Even inside the patrol car, water was already seeping in. Inspector McQueen was sure there shouldn't be any leaks in the upper body, but the budget allocated to his division was far too low to allow for a new car model.
He should be grateful he didn't have to walk to the house of this famous lawyer. Owning one of the largest houses in the city, he lived far too isolated. According to the ley line map, the man had built on such a strong energy point that it was surprising the house was still standing without evoking anything strange or paranormal.
He stifled his dark thoughts when he saw Patrick Dooley outside the house, soaked to the bone. When he called out to him, he noticed Dooley was annoyed, and when he greeted him upon arrival, he ignored him to the point of drawing his gun and pointing it at him. He was clearly in a very bad mood, and apparently, he didn't care that they had been childhood friends; he wasn't going to try to be nice to Francis that night.
"Excuse me, Inspector, I'm very tense," Patrick said, crossing his arms, indicating how irritated he was. "This place gives me the creeps."
Patrick called him "Inspector" so impersonally that Francis concluded he was furious with him. But why would he be?
Something must have happened at the station that day, and he knew nothing about it, since Francis spent most of his time locked in his office. As the only one working in the Darkside Division, all the paperwork and handling of paranormal evidence were his responsibility, so his time was limited, and he couldn't interact much with the other officers, much less with his friend.
"What happened?" Francis was going to let Patrick rant until he calmed down. It was more important to solve the case and get back to his office to finish the backlog of paperwork than to try to figure out what was going on in his head. "Chief Scully sent me here, but she didn't explain what was happening."
Patrick looked conflicted. He didn't seem to want to talk to him, but the rain was soaking them, and there wasn't time for his tantrum. "A little girl disappeared yesterday, but there's no sign she left the house. It seems like one of those creepy things you usually deal with."
Maybe it was, or maybe they were just exaggerating. Even so, Chief Scully had a keen nose for the paranormal. Despite claiming not to believe in those phenomena or the usefulness of the Darkside Division, she always managed to pinpoint the cases that deserved Francis's attention.
Francis was interested in investigating whether Scully's family descended from a line of legendary oracles, but he considered it too intrusive to do so.
They entered without speaking. Patrick's anger was ridiculous; Francis was sure he'd done nothing more than fill out forms that day, and he didn't understand why he was so offended. His birthday was almost five months away, and he hadn't missed the monthly dinner at Patricia's, so there was no reason for his outburst.
But it didn't surprise him. His friend was a difficult person to deal with, sometimes getting angry for no apparent reason, due to his conspiratorial nature. Patrick himself had argued with many of his partners over jealousy or misunderstandings, so Francis was surprised their friendship had lasted until now.
Focusing on the case, he discovered that the girl's horrible father knew nothing about her disappearance, treated Francis like a bum (he was used to it by now, so he brushed it off), and handed him a pack of matches with the phone number for the nightclub "Busty Belle's Booty Boutique."
"Ah, Belle! What memories..." Patrick seemed to be in a better mood, remembering one of his hobbies, but realizing his slip, he crossed his arms again, withdrawing into himself and avoiding eye contact. "Who knows what that is? A bookstore?"
"..." Francis didn't care what his friend spent his money on (who was still offended by him for no reason). Honestly, women didn't interest him, so he didn't care that a place like this existed, but he couldn't remember ever telling Patrick that.
He figured he could reveal he was gay just to annoy him, but decided to let it go, because further enraging Patrick would only get them into trouble.
Searching the house and verifying the missing girl's father's alibi was occupying his mind, so he started by going upstairs to see what kind of residence he was dealing with. It was odd that Patrick was following him. Francis usually worked alone, and it was obvious the agent wanted nothing to do with him. He had to admit he was starting to get irritated, but he wasn't going to ask what was going on; he was sure he hadn't done anything wrong.
The clock he saw in the hallway lifted his spirits a little amidst all the animosity. He made a comment to himself, because he knew Patrick was too upset to respond, but to his surprise, Patrick asked him something.
"Is your grandfather a clock?" A strange question, but not condescending. Patrick looked genuinely surprised.
“No… He only has one like this one.” Francis remembered hiding inside the old clock when he was little, and his grandfather would find him immediately, telling him he’d left too much evidence behind and needed to learn to hide better. Surely, if he were here, he would have figured out where little Alice was just by seeing how the girl’s unpleasant father was dressed and identifying his brand of cigars.
“Too bad, I thought I’d finally found something interesting about ‘you,’” Patrick was unpleasant again, for no reason.
“…” Francis was tempted to defend himself. He opened his mouth and closed it, shaking his head slightly and turning his back on Dooley. He wasn’t going to argue, but the impersonal way he was being treated was bothering him. Patrick’s passive-aggressiveness was making him want to tell Patricia on him. She would give him a piece of her mind for being so unpleasant for no apparent reason, especially during the disappearance of a seven-year-old girl.
Would his grandfather realize that Patrick was bothering him just by looking at him? Possibly. And it was probably some nonsense, like him thinking Francis was a Selenite or that he'd been replaced by a cyborg. In high school, he didn't speak to him for a month, thinking he was part of the Freemasons, just for memorizing the physics teacher's exam answer patterns and sharing that information with him.
Finally, Francis found a phone to call Busty Belle's Booty Boutique, and the young woman who answered made it very clear that she knew not only Patrick but him as well. He felt a little uncomfortable realizing that his friend was talking about him with a prostitute, and at that moment, he didn't think they were talking about anything good.
"You could come by one of these days; we can make you a special offer since you're Dooley's friend," Belle offered flirtatiously, assuming his tastes based on a couple of conversations with Patrick.
"You're very kind, Belle, but I don't think I'm your type of client," the detective smiled slightly as he saw Patrick's eyes widen in shock.
"Oh, excuse me, Inspector, for assuming… Would you like me to recommend a bar to hang out?"
"…" Francis was in his late thirties and hadn't met anyone with whom he could have a serious relationship that suited his preferences. But with his job, he doubted he could maintain a healthy and happy relationship. "I'm on a case now; maybe I'll ask for your help another day."
“Then, I wish you success with your case, Detective. Say hi to Dooley for me.” Francis hung up, feeling a little relieved. Belle might not be able to satisfy him sexually, but she was very good at comforting a man. Beside him, Patrick was embarrassed, for some reason he didn't understand.
“Why can't you be Belle's client?” Patrick went from being irritated or annoyed to being completely furious. “Of course, Detective McQueen is far too proper for that sort of thing! Do you think you're better than me for not paying for sex?!”
This was so stupid. Patrick was more conspiratorial than ever that day, but Francis was already fed up with his tantrum, so he decided to confront him and put him in his place.
“I'm not going to answer your stupid questions until you tell me why you're upset, Patrick.” Francis knew it was against protocol to discuss personal matters during a case, but this was ridiculous. Patrick was supposed to be his best friend, but he was being insufferable at that moment, and if he wanted to stop talking to him, he expected him to start right then and there.
"I'm not upset!" Patrick suddenly burst out, trying to intimidate him with his height, but seeing that Francis didn't react to his snub and simply crossed his arms waiting for his explanation, he deflated and finally decided to speak. "I... I was transferred to the Darkside Division."
Oh. That's why he'd been following him around everywhere, despite being so upset.
"I had no idea. Well, we'll be working together from now on..." The inspector realized that his friend didn't want to work with him, and he was annoyed at having to. "But I see you don't want to. Why don't you ask to be transferred somewhere else?"
Francis was truly hurt by this, but he tried to hide his emotions as best he could. So many years of friendship, and it seemed that, overnight, Patrick had decided to throw it all away. How was he going to explain this to Patricia?
"D-didn't you know?" Patrick seemed to have realized something, but he didn't want to apologize, so he insisted stubbornly, "I was told you asked for a transfer."
"Patrick, you're afraid of your own shadow and you hate everything paranormal. I would never expose you to the work I do." Francis was more confused than angry. The Darkside Division didn't have enough budget for more agents, and if they did, he would ask for someone with a greater affinity for the occult and magic than Patrick. "Besides, I'm your friend, and I would never hurt you. Well, I considered myself your friend."
Francis turned to look at the rest of the rooms; he needed to get some distance from Patrick. He had no idea Dooley hated him so much, but perhaps he'd grown tired of his oddness, his emotional detachment, or his fascination with the occult. Maybe he hadn't noticed this because they didn't interact as much as they had when they were younger.
The inspector reached a small closet and felt very uneasy when he noticed Patrick had slipped in through the door, right behind him.
"So, you had nothing to do with my transfer?" Dooley stated fearfully.
"Are we still talking? I thought we weren't friends anymore, it was pretty clear back there." Francis had no idea how to handle these kinds of situations, but avoiding Patrick's eyes was helping him manage his emotions. His hands tingled for a moment, and he spotted a box full of odds and ends. The only thing that caught his eye was a black light bulb.
His kleptomania kicked in at that moment, so it was possible he was dealing with a paranormal case. It was the only special skill he had for this kind of thing; sometimes it was useful, other times it just got him into more trouble.
"How was I supposed to know you had nothing to do with it? You're the only one there. Maybe you were lonely, and that's why you wanted to ruin my life..." Patrick continued to dig the grave of their relationship, fraying the detective's nerves.
"Submit a letter requesting reassignment. I have no problem signing it." Francis was too annoyed to continue dealing with Patrick, but he insisted on following him.
"I didn't know that was possible... Is it too late to apologize?" It seemed he was about to receive an apology from the proud Patrick. Francis didn't know what to do with it, but he decided to let it go.
“You don’t have to apologize, you’re just another colleague, Officer Dooley.” It was best for them to be in different divisions, because he couldn’t bear to work with someone who wanted to stab him in the back over a misunderstanding. “I’ll write a resignation letter in your name. If you want, I can ask you to be transferred to traffic tickets or misdemeanors.”
“T-thanks, I guess…” Patrick trailed off as he entered little Alice’s room. There, he found only a blonde woman dressed in red, slumped on her daughter’s bed, sobbing hysterically, seemingly finding no solace.
Francis realized the girl’s mother was devastated, abandoned by her husband, weeping over her little girl’s disappearance. His personal problems immediately took a back seat; he checked his pockets and pulled out a clean handkerchief. His grandmother always taught him to have one; you never know when a lady might need it.
“Ma’am, I have a few questions for you…” Francis didn’t get very far talking to Alice’s mother, but before leaving the room, a UV marker ended up in his pocket.
“Are you going to tell Patricia I was rude to you? She’ll hit me hard for messing things up.” Patrick seemed to want to speak to him even though they were done with that matter, and Francis didn’t understand why. It was very clear to him that he didn’t want to work with him and didn’t want anything to do with him.
“Your sister is my friend, it has nothing to do with our professional relationship, Officer Dooley.” Inspector McQueen’s mechanical voice replied, the mask he wore at the station to endure McKing and Scully slipped over his face, and he continued on. He hadn’t expected to have to wear it with Patrick, but he’d left him no choice.
“Francis, I’m not liking this ‘professional relationship’ thing.”
Ah, now he was Francis. Patrick looked uncomfortable, but Inspector McQueen didn’t care.
“Well, you seemed quite comfortable calling me Inspector McQueen a few minutes ago.” Francis was very confused. Hadn’t Patrick ended their friendship? Seeing that he remained silent, he continued investigating. There was a little girl to find.
The nanny was extremely suspicious and painfully guilty of the girl’s disappearance, so Francis faced the usual problem in these kinds of cases: gathering enough evidence to bring the culprit to justice. Sometimes it was impossible to imprison the criminals he dealt with for what they had actually done, since magic and forbidden rituals weren’t covered by the law. So he had to rack his brains to find a victim, a motive, and a weapon that would be plausible in court, and often one of those three was missing.
In this case, only the victim was missing, little Alice, and he hoped she was safe wherever she was. He had deduced the motive after his conversation with the nanny, and apparently, the weapon used in this crime was an old page with strange symbols from a very specific book...
"Can we forget what happened?" Patrick wasn't as focused on the case as he was; he could tell he regretted his bad attitude, though he didn't seem inclined to apologize. "You can't throw away our years of friendship over a small misunderstanding."
"..." Francis said nothing about it, remembering that just a few minutes ago, Patrick hadn't hesitated to tell him he wanted nothing more to do with him. Besides, he didn't have time for more drama; he needed to find the little girl before it was too late.
Finally, he went into the attic. It was quite dark, but he could barely see a lamp with a completely burned-out bulb. He changed the bulb and placed it back in its original position, careful not to leave any fingerprints or other evidence. Ultraviolet light revealed a macabre drawing on the wall in invisible ink, resembling a door surrounded by symbols, which appeared incomplete.
"This drawing is too macabre for my taste," Dooley commented. Francis had almost forgotten Patrick was there, used to working alone, and after the snub he'd given him, he hadn't expected him to follow him to talk.
Ignoring him and searching the area for more clues, he noticed a can of thinner and took it to put in his magical storage pockets. A spell too simple to perform, as long as the clothes used were very old.
"I'm going to complete the portal and check if the girl is on the other side. Stay here and keep watch." Francis thought nothing bad would happen to Patrick as long as he didn't get involved. He hadn't seen that the nanny had followed them there and hadn't expected her to be foolish enough to attack an armed officer...
How wrong he'd been.
(…)
The blow the nanny had given him might have caused a concussion, but Patrick felt he deserved it. When he woke up and remembered most of what had happened, he noticed that Francis looked genuinely concerned for him as he tried to help him up from the floor.
If Patrick hadn't felt ashamed enough of how he'd acted up until then, now he felt much worse.
His friend was there, looking after him, as always. And he'd been awful, just because he thought Francis had made a unilateral decision without consulting him. Sometimes he wondered how he'd put up with him all these years, with how impulsive and paranoid he was.
Maybe he deserved a really hard punch, even though Francis could never do something like that to him, no matter how annoyed he was with him. This blow to his head seemed like just what he needed to learn his lesson, given the circumstances.
“I’m sorry.” Patrick’s pride was bruised, and it made sense to admit he was wrong, even though his paranoid side refused to budge. Francis was so surprised by his apology that he hesitated to respond immediately.
“You look a little pale, Patrick. Does it hurt a lot?” At least he called him by his first name again. He hadn’t realized how much it bothered him that Francis kept his distance and was so formal with him.
“It’s fine that it hurts, I deserve it,” Patrick grumbled under his breath, but Francis corrected him immediately.
“No one deserves to be hit on the head for being upset.”
“I deserve it,” Patrick said, furious with himself. He’d been so easily manipulated and deceived that he felt even more foolish than usual. “It’s my fault we’re not friends anymore.”
“We argued, Patrick, and friends argue all the time, don’t worry,” Francis sighed as he led him through the lawyer’s house, back to the police van. He saw little Alice in her mother’s arms, safe and sound. At least his friend had found the child, just as expected. What had happened to the nanny? “Besides, I should apologize too. I didn’t bother to ask why you were so upset; I just got angry and ignored you.”
Patrick couldn’t remember the last time Francis had actually gotten angry with him. It was rare for that to happen, since, of the two, McQueen was always too detached and pragmatic to get upset. Perhaps he’d touched a nerve back then, and if he knew exactly what it was, he would avoid doing it again at all costs.
“I should never have listened to McKing. I should have asked you as soon as I had the chance, and I didn’t…” Patrick bit his tongue. He’d long wished the rivalry between Francis and McKing would end; it was ridiculous. However, it was hard to deny that the mayor’s husband wasn’t making things easy for his friend.
“What exactly did McKing tell you?” He could hear Francis’s teeth grinding from where he stood. He’d definitely shown more emotion that day than he had in the entire school. Patrick should congratulate him for being in touch with his emotions, only he wished they were less confrontational.
“I already told you, you requested my transfer to the Darkside Division because you were lonely.” Patrick refused to repeat the homophobic slur that had come out of McKing’s fascist mouth. His hair might have been fabulous, but when he opened his mouth, all that charm went down the drain.
“…” Francis sighed resignedly, but in the end, he smiled at him with a certain calmness. “As soon as we have the chance, we'll submit that transfer letter. You'll be better off outside the Darkside Division, my friend.”
“And you'll still be there alone?” Patrick didn't like the idea of leaving Francis to deal with this kind of thing completely alone. The nanny could have killed the detective and left the girl in that strange dimension if he hadn't been there.
“They'll surely assign me a partner… Eventually?” Francis's words didn't sound like a statement. Patrick assumed it wasn't going to happen, but his friend downplayed it. “For now, let's go to the hospital to have the bump on your head checked out. Let's hope it's not serious.”
Patrick didn't protest anymore and accompanied Francis to the police van. He ended up collapsing in the passenger seat, watching everything spin before his eyes due to the dizziness. He felt truly awful about the situation. His stomach clenched with anxiety, and guilt was eating him alive. How could he leave his friend alone after everything that had happened?
"I'm staying at the Darkside Division," Patrick declared, trying to focus his vision, praying he wouldn't see double.
"What?" Francis looked surprised. This was the second time he'd done something that shocked him. If McQueen were as much of a conspiracy theorist as Patrick, he'd surely claim he'd been replaced by a camouflaged Selenite invader.
"I'm staying. I can't leave you alone dealing with all the weird stuff in Twin Lakes. What if a sexy nanny tries to knock you unconscious on your next case?"
"That's what happened to you," Francis replied with a strained smile. Patrick couldn't help but smile, because he knew his friend had understood him despite everything.
"My point is valid," he said.
"…" Francis didn't seem entirely convinced, though he wasn't about to reject him, much less say no. "We'll talk after the doctor examines you, and I'll ask for a day off."
"Yay! I don't have to work tomorrow! I'm spared the paperwork!" Patrick grinned enthusiastically, while Francis shook his head from side to side with feigned exasperation. He could see he was holding back laughter, until a snort finally betrayed him.
"I'm happy for you," the detective added, chuckling. He looked a little more relieved, and his dark eyes shone with genuine emotion. Patrick felt his cheeks flush at seeing him like that and looked away, muttering to himself:
Good for you, Francis.
(...)
THE END?