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Pitch Black is the second arc of The Underground series

Chapter 15 of 22

A Full Circle

"Plasowisk Preston, Jenny Ursprung, Ian Miles," as a hyena dressed in a black suit and tie read off the list of names he flopped each folder containing their information down on a fancy wooden coffee table with a flop, "all dead. Even one of SRS's mercenaries wound up dead in an alley."

A middle-aged otter in a red smoking jacket sighed, and readjusting his glasses as he looked at each of the files laying on the table. It was a cold night in Arcadia as the wind blew outside, sounding like the cry of a lonely child. The otter shook his head as he walked around his study, which reeked of wealth.

"Bad things happen to bad people. What do you want me to tell you?"

"Dr. Openshaw," the hyena reasoned, "I've just listed off a group of people you've had numerous contacts within the last year. Two of which you worked with, and one who handled your personal finances recently. You're not the least bit concerned?"

"Agent Pressman, I'm not sure what you want me to tell you." The otter, Openshaw, replied. "Yes, Ian and Jenny were colleagues of mine years ago. We have since went our separate ways. I went back to private research, StormRaven hired Jenny, and Ian just dropped off the map. I haven't seen him in forever."

"Doctor," Agent Pressman recomposed himself, sounding sincere, "we're missing something. There's a piece to this puzzle that we at the Bureau are missing, and I think you know what it is."

Openshaw sighed turning away, and grabbed his glass of brandy from the table and sat down on the couch. "I'm sorry but I don't know anything." He replied. "I feel terrible about Jenny and Ian, I really do. But if you look at what they've been doing, it's only reasonable they've made enemies."

"And were taken out in less than a week of each other?" Pressman retorted, pacing the floor. "What was so special about..." Pressman glanced down at some papers he held in his paws, "this place, Waverly Hill?"

"Nothing." Openshaw replied, almost as soon as the word ‘hill' left Pressman's lips. "It's an old decaying asylum that hasn't been used in years."

"Nothing, huh?" Pressman scowled. "Doesn't seem like nothing. Especially when Ursprung and Miles were also partial owners. Now they're dead, along with the man who moved the funds around." Pressman's eyes narrowed. "Doesn't that seem a little... coincidental to you?"

At this Openshaw stood up, paws went to his hips. "Agent Pressman," Openshaw replied harshly, "if you are suggesting that I had anything to do with any of their deaths, I not only find that accusation ridiculous, but insulting to say the least!" Openshaw sidestepped the coffee table and stood next to Pressman in front of the fireplace. "Let me be clear on one thing; I had nothing to do with what happened to any of them! I agreed to answer your questions out of courtesy to the departed, but I won't stand here and have accusations being tossed at me by some young hot-shot who thinks he's tough shit because he's got the title ‘Agent' preceding his name!" The Doctor brought his glass up to his lips, polishing off the last of what was in his glass. "If you'd like to try and indict me of anything else, let me know now so I can contact my lawyer!"

Agent Pressman took a step back, looking over at the other two agents in the room. "Now Doctor, no one is accusing you of anything. But look at it from our perspective, that plot of land is what you all have in common."

The otter said nothing to this, but simply walked over to his bottle of open brandy, and poured himself another glass.

"God... it's hard to enjoy this anymore..."

"Sorry?" Agent Pressman asked, not understanding what Openshaw muttered.

"I said, I don't know why they were killed. I sold my share of Waverly nearly a year ago, as did Jenny and Ian. Why would I have any reason to go after them?"

"Doctor," Pressman said calmly walking up beside him, "if there's something you know, we can protect you. We may understand more than you realize..."

Openshaw remained quiet. The otter's eyes seemed to stare right through the wall of his lavish study as he stood silently holding his drink. The only light came from the fireplace draping the room in perpetually shifting shadows. The Doctor turned the glass in his hand pensively as he considered Pressman's words.

Then Openshaw turned and faced the agent and shrugged. "I'm sorry Agent Pressman, but I've told you everything I know."

Pressman's head dropped slightly looking a little disheartened and nodded solemnly. "Well," he replied slowly reaching into his jacket pocket, "if you think of anything else that you can tell us, I'd appreciate a call." He passed a business card containing his information to Openshaw, who accepted.

"I trust you know the way out?" Openshaw asked.

"Of course." Agent Pressman replied. "Thank you for your time." The hyena said out of habit, and nodded to the other agents who followed him out of the study.

Openshaw stood in place for a moment, simply thinking. He stood next to the mantel on his fireplace for several minutes. Looking out the window he watched as the black sedan the agents arrived to his estate in disappeared down his driveway and out the front gate. The middle-aged otter sighed and adjusted his glasses once more.

Slowly walking over to his comfortable study chair in front of the fire, next to the couch, Openshaw sat down once again. Feeling a chill, he drew his smoking jacket in around him for comfort. Still staring at the slow burning fire, the otter spoke.

"You can come out now. There's no one here anymore."

From the darkest shadows of the room, Alias stepped into the light of the dying fire. He had been watching Openshaw the whole time; eavesdropping on his conversation with the mysterious agents. It came to Alias as a shock that Openshaw had called him out, and did nothing to preserve his life. It was like he expected Alias to be here.

It didn't matter anymore. Reaching behind his back, Alias's paw met the metallic handle of a .45 suppressed pistol.

It was time to end this.