An Wolf on London’s Streets?

Howbeit the strangest thing was that the dog seemed to be hiding from someone. Probably from the people inside, because when the curtain was touched letting sparks of light from inside out, the wolf-dog pulled away into a murky corner so he couldn’t be seen. After a few moments, he returned to the same place where he was a few moments ago.

An event, somehow interesting for Gangsley, in which if he let himself trapped, he’d surely go insane. Fortunately, everything ended when the three officers got close to the animal less than twenty steps, and he, feeling spotted, briefly looked at the officers and went away as if his reaction were normal.

Impossible to be a wolf, because there can’t be wolves there, not even on the outskirts of London. And in no case so gentle. But ... if I were to think better ... his behaviour was unusual, even for a dog, Officer Taylor kept getting lost in his thoughts anxiously.

Nonetheless, he calmed down and interrupted his overwhelming thoughts when the two flashes in the beast’s eyes went out completely. And with those flashes, every evil thought in his mind faded away too.

He couldn’t feel nervous anymore. He didn’t even hear Jones who was frightened.

“Wolf ...” Jones said.

“Wolf my ass. Do you think a wolf is so sweet?”

“Yes, if he were under a spell ...”

“You speak rubbish about enchanted and cursed stuff. There’s no such thing. He was a dog, so get your mind right because you're not a kid anymore. You’re a real man!”

But Officer Jones couldn't calm down.

“Nowadays, when people disappear without a trace, when they’re found after months, dead, without wounds or bleeding, even something commonplace like ‘dog’ which doesn’t behave normally, sitting in a cloudburst like this has to terrify us. You are the only blind, Gangsley...”

"Quit fooling around," snapped Officer Taylor.

At any rate, if Gangsley Taylor saw the creature that just left, without skin and flesh he once had, on muzzle, ribs and back legs, he’d surely agree with Jones. Anyone would agree with him ...

“This cold freezes our mind and eyes. We’d better get inside,” officer Taylor suggested, given that in the obscurity over England, he couldn't see what kind of creature was around them a short time before.

“Two features of forensics guys,” the third officer remarked with pain in his voice ... Smith Smithson.

“I hope we haven’t got here too late. I know we came quickly ... as quickly as we could. I hope who once loved each other didn't get to hate each other. I know booze takes over minds, but ...” Jones mumbled almost for himself.

Still and all, Officer Gangsley's face seemed to respond to the other two. It looked like displaying the entire sad event that occurred that horrid, depressing night. A night that opened the door to misunderstandings and covert events, a night when innocent people left this world.

The three officers entered the small door creaking from the joints as if it broke into pieces at any touch, and entered one of the most arranged houses in that neighbourhood of London. The house at number 3.

---

Inside a small apartment there were several forensic officers equipped with all sorts of tools and gadgets needed for their job, gathering evidence of a homicide case.

Two guys, who looked like senior officers in rank, showing off, noted what the other officers found. And up to that point ... it seemed they didn’t note anything except the number of people killed and that a four-year-old child was found in one of the closets in another room at the crime scene.

“I noted the names of the two. Eliot Edwards and his wife ...”

The second officer, who was believed to be just as important as the first, took a short break.

“And ... Rigantona Edwards. What kind of name is that?” he asked the other.

Whatever, the other officer didn't answer, maybe he didn't know what the other said, or because Gangsley Taylor and the other two appeared in that awkward little flat, still cosy and agreeably set up. Or rather it was cosy, because there was not much left of it.

“Hi, Taylor. It seems two people died, husband and wife. The Edwards. I remember you didn’t believe such things, but look. There’s no blood. Despite that, as you can see, the walls and the furniture are destroyed as if someone threw bombs everywhere.”

He showed Gangsley the damage to the flat, as if the latter couldn’t see that visible affliction.

“Of course, the couple was transported for checking. Curious that, although there was a big explosion here, they had no injuries. But…”

“They were ... sent to the other world”, the other hanger-on mimed the hint of the Edwards’ death.

“I also saw a wolf following you…”, Jones intervened.

“Yes ... much strange stuff. And the weather is as it is. I don't know what kind of ...”, that officer tried to continue chatting, but he stopped.

He said in firm and cold voice, turning to the guy who entered the flat.

“Excuse me, sir ... you can't go in. It's the scene of a homi…”

A harsh voice interrupted the officer.

“I gave him permission.”

A secretive gentleman entered, dressed elegantly, with long hair, slightly greyish and wavy, put in a ponytail visible under his hat. Probably the gentleman wasn’t that young any more, but his appearance and body posture revealed a strong, ageless man. When he entered, he had a small tattoo on his cheek, representing a dragon, but it disappeared.

He had a short staff in his hand, with a sculpture at the top, representing the torso of a creepy creature with huge fangs, a kind of werewolf or vampire.

The gentleman who spoke was behind him. A plump little man. Yet, the others looked up to him standing in line like a row of poplar trees on the side of a road, therefore his importance was inversely proportional to his stature.

“Good morning, Commander”, all the officers greeted.

The police commander was a high respect-breeding guy among the officers. Maybe because of his position or the frowning manner he looked at people under the huge glasses covering his eyebrows and almost his forehead. Maybe it was the tone of his voice. He definitely dominated them, in a game of cat and mouse.

The commander only looked for a moment with the same grim, fierce gaze at one of the police officers, a young man who just graduated the school that trained these criminal officers, for the simple reason that he just stood there, listening to their talk. When he caught the commander's sharp gaze, the young officer turned around startling, and accidentally hit a nightstand, off which several things fell, including a picture.

“You’ve got no business?!” the Commander took that little scared ‘mouse’ to task.”

When asked, the “little mouse” began to tremble with fear. On the spot, he went next to a colleague to ask for help, though he didn’t know what he wanted.

The commander watched the policeman only for a moment. Though, the young officer didn’t have the courage to turn his head again for several minutes. He constantly felt that sour glance thrown at him. He rushed to do something, too, anything.

The commander turned to the two “important” police officers and said in the same authoritative voice:

“He is Mr. Vlad Dragoesti. An important person ... very good friend of the British Empire. Give him any information he wants!”

He approached one of the officers and whispered:

“He has a paper signed by the prime minister ... With order to have any question answered.”

The commander spied several minutes, one at a time, on the officers investigating the crime scene. Pleased that everyone got involved in their work, he gave talk to that elegant guy, Mr. Dragoesti.

“Mr. Vlad, I turn you over to my officers Will Blanc and Kevin Wheatstone. They’ll answer any questions you have. I'm sorry, but I have to leave. I have a serious problem just a few blocks away. You got the idea...”

Surely anyone wondered what could be more important than two people’s death, but perhaps the Commander’s walkout wasn’t a loss at all; on the contrary, it was to hasten the completion of proofs and evidence collection.

The Commander left. After that the police officers breathed a sigh of relief. Even the guy scolded by the Commander cracked a smile. Everything went better now, because the short and dumpy Commander, their stress, left them alone.

“Mr. Vlad ... the paramount question is how the two people died ... the Edwards? They were young; they didn't seem to be suffering. There’s no trace of blood, no weapon, no wound to the two. I'm curious if the doctors who do the autopsy find out the cause of the death”, Blanc started to talk.

“You won’t find out anything, sceptics... magic unbelivers,” Mr. Vlad whispered in such low voice, that none could hear his words.