Wanted (In More Ways Than One)

Trap Door

“So, I did a bit of digging,” Ishani said as she plopped into the seat beside Michael, Ms. Hinderton’s case file clutched to her chest, “and I may have gone to the care home to ask what the co-workers had to say about Ms. Hinderton.”

Michael arched a brow as he looked up from the latest case file. “I don’t think we’re allowed to do that.”

Ishani waved a hand dismissively. “We’re allowed to investigate if we’re presented with new evidence and I’d say Romero’s comments were evidence enough that something isn’t right about that woman.”

Michael stared at Ishani but said nothing more, prompting her to continue.

“It turns out that Ms. Hinderton isn’t very well-liked amongst her colleagues or the visitors,” Ishani commented as she dropped the file on Michael’s desk and opened it up to reveal her sloppily-written notes from that morning. “However, it seems that the residents really like her, since they apparently keep leaving stuff to her in their wills.”

Michael frowned as he scanned through Ishani’s notes. “It’s not unusual for residents to develop a bond with the people who take care of them.”

Ishani held a finger up and pointed to a particular line in her notes. “Right. But the reason the visitors don’t like her is because one, she’s extremely rude, and two, she always manages to end up with the majority of their inheritance.”

“Perhaps the family members aren’t all that close and Ms. Hinderton is the only one who shows those older people any attention,” Michael suggested even though he wasn’t quite certain that he believed the argument.

Ishani pulled a face. “Come on, Michael. She’s a horrible woman. She’s obviously weaselling her way into the wills somehow. Or maybe she’s forging them!”

Michael eyed her in amusement. Ishani was efficient in her job but she did have quite the imagination. Then again, Romero had been insistent that there was something off about Ms. Hinderton...

“What’s that?” Ishani asked suddenly as she peered at the file beneath Michael’s hands. “A new case?”

“Yes,” sighed Michael as he flipped it open for her to see. “Clothing boutique in Kirkdale. The owner opened up shop this morning to find multiple items torn and ruined. The locks weren’t forced and no windows are broken.”

Ishani’s eyebrows pinched together. “Like the art gallery?”

Michael’s lips drew into a thin line as he nodded. They still hadn’t found the culprit of the art gallery case, but Michael had a sneaking suspicion that Romero – or whoever he was – was involved.

“Be funny if they were related,” Ishani grinned.

“Not really,” huffed Michael as he stood and gathered up the file. He made his way towards the station’s exit, not bothering to check if Ishani was following. They climbed into the car and set off for the boutique.

Once they arrived, they were greeted by a frazzled husband and wife duo.

“They’ve ruined almost everything,” fretted Mrs. Langford – a frumpy, middle-aged woman who looked as though she belonged in a bake sale rather than a boutique fashion shop. “Why would they do this to us?”

“They’re just jealous,” seethed Mr. Langford – a balding man with a rotund stomach, wearing clothes a size too small. “It’s a good thing we have insurance.”

As usual, Michael left Ishani to calm the pair as he ventured inside the shop. He had never been very good at the people side of things anyway and he much preferred the actual detective work. He inspected the ruined clothes carefully and came to the conclusion that a pair of scissors or a knife had not been utilised. The tears and frayed cottons appeared to have been hacked into, as though caused by a much blunter instrument – like a pen or a wire coat hanger or, or... 

...Or an animal.

Michael blinked and thought about his own claws – hidden for now, but able to be called upon when he needed them. The tears on the garments were too fine for dog claws or teeth, but perhaps a smaller animal; a cat maybe? Or a bird? 

He squinted at a line of plucked cottons on a rich navy evening gown. He pulled the dress off the rack to take a closer look for any hairs or feathers, when a neon green sticky note fluttered onto the ground, beneath the rack.

Michael bent down to read the note and his eyebrows raced upwards.

Do staffrooms usually have trap doors?

Beneath the question was a simple smiley face, except the mouth bore two fangs. 

Romero, thought Michael angrily as he glared at the cartoonish vampire doodle. At least he now knew who their criminal was. He was about to take the note as evidence when he reread the question again and tilted his head. Curiosity getting the better of him, he checked over his shoulder, watching as Ishani continued to question the stressed owners. Then, he crept towards the staffroom and slipped inside, glancing around the cramped, plainly-decorated room. There appeared to be nothing special about the tight space.

There was a generic houseplant on a cheap coffee table at the far end of the room and an old, worn couch sat behind it. There was a mini fridge, a computer and desk, and a small bin lining the perimeters of the room and a simple clock hung on an otherwise bare wall. In the middle of the floor lay an off-white shaggy rug. There was nothing unusual about the room.

Michael stepped towards the centre of the room with a dismayed expression. The place wasn’t exactly inspiring and why Romero thought there was anything unusual about it-

The floor gave a hollow thud as Michael stepped onto the middle of the rug. He paused before tossing the rug to one side and staring at the small door on the floor. He pulled at the rope attached to the door and scowled when he found it locked, so he stood and was about to march outside when Mr. and Mrs. Langford threw open the staffroom door and gazed at him in alarm when they noticed the rug thrown to one side.

“What are you doing in here?” Mr. Langford asked sharply as Ishani peered over their shoulders and raised a curious eyebrow.

“Is there a key to this door?” Michael asked and Mr. Langford shook his head quickly.

“No. It’s been like that since we bought the place. That’s why we covered it over.”

Michael thought about Romero’s note and wondered if Mr. Langford was telling the truth.

“You’ve never even tried to open it?” Ishani asked as she shuffled over and gave an experimental tug on the rope handle. “Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be solving a crime?” Mr. Langford fired back curtly.

Michael narrowed his eyes, protective instincts flaring. He had very little tolerance for anyone attacking Ishani – verbally or otherwise. He had developed somewhat of a soft spot for the novice detective since she was the only one who ever seemed happy to partner with him. She was curious and eager to learn and deep down, Michael felt an odd need to shield her from the unpleasant side of the job, which included sarcastic civilians.

“I have reason to believe that you’re lying to us, Mr. Langford,” Michael said coldly, making Ishani glance at him in surprise. He wasn’t being entirely dishonest – in his pocket sat a sticky note with a vague comment from a criminal vampire about doors in staffrooms. Probably not the sort of evidence that would stand up in court though. 

Mr. Langford looked shocked before he scowled and jabbed a finger in Michael’s direction. “What kind of detective are you? You’re supposed to be working out who ruined my products, not investigating the floor of my back room!” Mrs. Langford nodded furiously beside him.

Michael crossed his arms. “I already know who broke into your shop,” he replied icily. “I have reason to believe that you’re hiding something in the basement and if you don’t open this door right now, I will charge you for refusal to comply.”

“You can’t do that!”

“I most certainly can, Mrs. Langford.”

There was a moment of pause where husband and wife shared a nervous look and then, to both detectives’ bewilderment, suddenly bolted from the room and raced towards the shop’s back exit. Michael launched after them, leaving Ishani to gape after them all.

Michael sprinted down the narrow alleyway behind the shop, eying the tall fences surrounding him. They looked like private gardens and they were far too tall for anyone to peer over, so Michael pushed himself inhumanly faster and felt a thread of satisfaction when he began to gain ground.

The Langfords weren’t the fittest of people, nor were they the fastest, and Michael caught up in less than five seconds when he allowed his supernatural strength to bleed into his strides. He took down Mrs. Langford first and watched as her husband slowed and stared at him in horror. He cuffed Mrs. Langford as she struggled beneath him and c****d an eyebrow at Mr. Langford, waiting patiently for him to trudge over. It seemed that he was at least faithful to his wife.

Faster than Michael could process, Mr. Langford snatched a broken plank of wood leaning against a fence and slammed it into the side of his head. He crumpled to the floor, head throbbing and he growled when Mr. Langford hauled his wife to her feet and dragged her down the alley. 

He stumbled to his feet and chased after them once more, itching to transform and barely restraining himself from doing so. He hadn’t evaded Hunters this long by morphing into a wolf in front of idiotic criminals every time they attacked him.

He picked up the pace and tackled Mr. Langford this time, placing a hand around his throat and squeezing lightly when the human tried to escape. A little distance away, Mrs. Langford wrestled with the cuffs tying her arms behind her back.

“Attacking an officer is grounds for arrest,” Michael growled quietly as Mr. Langford stilled beneath him, clearly wary of the fingers curled around his throat. It wasn’t the proper way of restraining someone, but Michael didn’t particularly care since his head was still aching.

“We’re going to go back to the shop and you’re going to show me what’s in that basement,” Michael continued before yanking Mr. Langford to his feet and marching him back down the alley.

Michael herded both Langfords into the staff room once more, only to freeze when he noticed that Ishani had somehow managed to open the trap door herself. She smiled up at him sheepishly and produced a paperclip from inside her uniform.

“I... ah... I know a few tricks.”

Michael blinked and Ishani stood, making her way onto the ladder that led into the basement. She paused and glanced up to Michael. “Are you all right holding them whilst I...?” She trailed off as she gestured downwards and Michael tightened his grip on Mr. Langford and nodded, mildly in awe of the younger detective.

Ishani grinned and disappeared down the dark hole. Silence fell over the room as Mr. Langford ceased struggling and Mrs. Langford swallowed nervously as she closed her eyes. Minutes ticked by before Ishani finally resurfaced, looking slightly ill as her haunted gaze met Michael’s. She licked her lips, voice quiet and hesitant.

“There’s half a dozen kids down there. Can’t be older than ten. Michael, they’re... they’re sewing and cutting and there are dirty blankets and cushions all along the far side of the room...” Ishani’s eyes were wide as she gazed up at Michael in horror. “The place stinks of sweat and faeces and urine, and the kids are all so pale and there’s this bucket in the far corner and-” She cut herself off as she shook her head in disgust. “Michael, they’re running a sweatshop. There’s a sweatshop full of kids beneath this floor.”

Michael’s eyes blew wide and he snarled at Mr. Langford before he could restrain himself. The other man jerked in surprise and seemed genuinely afraid as Michael fought to regain control of his emotions. He despised child abuse and it was one of the few things that could make his wolf instincts to attack surface. 

“We pay them,” Mrs. Langford argued and she had the audacity to sound indignant. “They’re our children. We’re fostering them.”

“That’s worse!” Ishani spat disgustedly, a certain fierceness in her eyes. “You’re exploiting them for labour! You’re exploiting the care system!”

Mrs. Langford wriggled against her handcuffs with a thick scowl. “But we pay them.”

“You’re both under arrest for child abuse,” Michael growled lowly, patience worn thin. “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

Ishani immediately stormed towards Mrs. Langford and tossed her own set of cuffs towards Michael. He restrained Mr. Langford as the other man swore and struggled against him, and both detectives shoved the husband-and-wife duo out of the shop and into the car. Ishani called the station to discuss the children beneath the boutique and Michael fingered the note in his pocket, ignoring his throbbing headache.

If it hadn’t been for Romero, who knows how long those children would have been living in those conditions?

“They want one of us to stay with the kids,” Ishani called, startling Michael out of his thoughts. He held a thumb up and shuffled back into the shop as Ishani climbed into the car, phone still attached to her ear.

Michael made his way towards the staff room and glanced into the basement. A boy, no older than eight, with dirty black hair and grime smeared over his left cheek, blinked up at him from the bottom of the ladder. Michael blinked back before giving a tiny wave. The boy raced away.

Michael tilted his head and crawled down the ladder. Once he reached the bottom, he turned and was greeted by six young children and their wary gazes.

Ishani had been right about the smell. The basement reeked of urine and sweat and faecal material and Michael eyed the bucket in the corner of the room with a disgusted expression. The entire room was drab and tired and, in some parts, there were patches of damp slowly expanding over the cracked paint. The floor was laden with dust and crumbs and hair, and it was obvious that the children hadn’t left the room in quite some time. Michael peered over at the various blankets and cushions lining one wall and wondered when they had last been washed.

Suddenly, the little eight-year-old from earlier gave a warning growl, and Michael startled at the inhuman sound.

“Oi, you’re not human,” the boy stated as he subtly positioned himself in front of the other five children. There were three girls and two boys; some older and some younger than the child addressing Michael, but none of them looked a day over ten despite their differing heights. The two older children – a boy and a girl – shuffled closer to the growling child, frowning at Michael as they lifted their chins defiantly.

Michael scented the air and his eyebrows rose with surprise.

“You’re not taking ‘em,” continued the boy, fists clenched. “They’re under my protection. An’ I don’t care what you do to me, either.”

The girl placed a hand on his shoulder, looking worried, but the older boy scowled at Michael.

“We won’t let you hurt him. Don’t care what you are.”

“I’m a detective,” Michael said carefully, holding his palms up. “I’m here to help.”

The eight-year-old shook his head angrily. “No. You’re a wolf. I can smell it from here. Well, I won’t let you eat my friends. They’re my pack and it’s my job to protect them.”

Michael slowly lowered his hands. “I’m not here to eat anybody.” He eyed the other children, surprised that they didn’t seem concerned by the knowledge that there were actually two werewolves in the room. “I heard that Mr. and Mrs. Langford weren’t being very nice to you. Is that true?”

The werewolf pup narrowed his eyes, still distrusting. “You get used to it. What about it?”

Michael shrugged. “I just wanted to see if you’re all okay? And I wanted to see if you’d like to get out of this horrible basement?”

The youngest children perked up, eyes brightening as the pup assessed Michael cautiously. Michael thrust his hands into his pockets. “You don’t have to, of course.”

The other children glanced to the pup, waiting for his response, and he pulled a face. “What’s your name?”

“Michael. Yours?”

“Ben. Are you with that nice lady who came down here a few minutes ago? The one that smelled like fig an’ orange?”

Michael quirked an eyebrow. Ishani used fig and orange-scented body wash and he had always enjoyed that sweet smell. Ishani seemed to use it more once she found out.

“Yes. Ishani is my partner. She’s a detective, like me.”

Ben seemed to mull his words over for a moment before he nodded, satisfied. “Is she your mate, then?”

Michael shook his head. “No. We just work together.”

“Do you want her to be your mate?”

“...No. Is that important?”

Ben contemplated that question before shrugging and glancing at the human children. “He seems all right. I don’t think he’s gonna eat anybody.”

Michael’s brows drew together as the children began to relax. “You’re all aware of Ben being... different, then?”

The older boy by Ben’s side scrunched his face. “He’s not different. He’s just a werewolf. That’s a stupid question.”

Michael concealed his shock rather well as Ben grinned at the older boy. “Right,” Michael coughed, pulling himself together again. “Let’s get you all out of here.”

“Where are you taking us?” asked the older girl sharply. “Because we can’t go back to the Home. What if they adopt us separately? Ben says that you can’t split a werewolf pack up, because it would be like chopping off your own arm.”

Michael furrowed his brows as Ben’s eyes widened and he shuffled backwards, deeper amidst his human pack. Michael knew first-hand what it was like to lose a pack and the pain burned more intensely and far longer than he could have ever imagined. To this day, his heart still ached – a physical ache that he woke up to every morning and went to bed with every evening. It was as though a piece of him had been ripped out all those years ago and he often looked around his empty house, a sigh on his lips as the ache swept into his bones and made his body stiffen with cold and longing. He felt so alone these days.

He would not put Ben through that pain.

“I’ll explain to them that you can’t be separated,” Michael promised softly. “I’ll tell them that you have to stay together due to psychological effects of the trauma you shared.”

Ben scrunched his nose up, clearly not understanding most of what Michael had said, but the girl nodded slowly as her hand reached for the pup’s.

“Promise?” she asked quietly.

Placing a hand over his heart, Michael nodded. “Let’s get you out of here.”

The children shuffled towards the ladders and he watched them climb up one by one before taking one last disgusted glance around the room. The place smelled as bad as it looked.

He was just about to mount the first rung when he noticed a tiny cotton ball attached to the far corner of the ceiling, and he wrinkled his nose. What kind of monsters left children to sleep with fungi? Who knew what sort of spores that white fluff ball was infecting the room with?

Michael shook his head, privately grateful that Romero had broken into the shop. Those children could have been trapped here for years if it hadn’t been for the wayward vampire.

The fungus wriggled and seemed to uncurl. Michael watched, frozen in surprise as two black eyes appeared, followed by a little yellow snout. Two overly-large yellow ears pricked up and the creature gave the impression that it was grinning at Michael.

Michael blinked. 

Romero?

The tiny bat spread its wings and chirped playfully as it swooped low, skimming Michael’s head before shooting out of the basement. There was a gasp from the children and a happy squeak from the bat as it soared out of the shop to parts unknown.

Michael stared up through the opening above him and allowed a small smile to slowly tug at his lips. He quickly wiped the expression though before crawling up the ladder.

Romero may have saved the children, but he was still a wanted criminal and Michael would put him behind bars.