Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Monica, let me in!”

No answer, but Dante could hear the girl slam a cupboard shut on the other side of the thin apartment door.

“Monica?”

Another cupboard fell victim.

“Come on, It’s raining outside!”

He was starting to sound pathetic, leaning on her door with all his worldly possessions in hand. His red leather jacket was strung over his shoulder, his combat boots not even on his feet, a duffel bag and his guitar case on his back.

With the cessation of the slamming cupboards he could hear muffled crying inside. His heart gave a pang. She’d been nice enough to let him stay with her and he’d genuinely enjoyed her company for the past few months. Until he’d been an idiot, said some stupid shit and ruined it. Classic, Dante, messing everything up again. Why are girls so complicated? With a sigh, he stuffed his arms into the armholes of his jacket and his feet into his boots, and made for the stairway out of the apartment building.

Sure enough, as he stood in the building’s doorway the wind chilled the tips of his fingers sticking out of his sleeves. Even more alarming, the rain was the kind you knew would soak you to your skin in minutes.

“Aw man, this is so bad for the leather,” he grumbled, and stepped out into the night.

An hour later found a soaked-to-the-bone teenage boy in a twenty-four-hour diner, dripping all over a red vinyl booth seat and staring morosely into the remains of a strawberry sundae.

“You gonna order something else, hun?” the waitress broke him out of his musings.

“No thanks,” he mumbled, eyes still on the table.

“You got anywhere to go?” her voice was softer this time, and he looked up to see her evaluating his soggy state. He supposed it being four in the morning made it a bit obvious he didn’t.

He cracked a grin at her, trying to project confidence.

“Just out for a late night snack.”

The waitress, dark hair in a low ponytail, bags under her blue eye-shadowed eyes, raised a thin brow. “Well, in the chance you ever need it - my brother has a building on Vine Street. They have a couple rooms and let kids stay for a while, pay what you can.”

“Some kinda’ charity thing?” he asked warily. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to take charity, but he also knew better than to trust a gift horse right off the bat.

The waitress shrugged, “The government isn’t doing anything to help, someone’s got to. It’s not permanent though, just until you can get back on your feet.”

He thought about it, and realised that since Monica had kicked him out and he had thirteen dollars left from his last job, he didn’t have a lot of options.

“Yeah okay, where’s this place?”

The waitress took a pen from behind her ear, a napkin from the table, and wrote down the address. “One of the brownstones, the one with the green door. My brother lives there too, he should be up in an hour to head to work so catch him before that. Tell him Denise sent you.”

Dante took the napkin, thanked her, and tried to tip her his last thirteen dollars. She refused to take it, shaking her head and smiling wryly.

“You need it more than I do.”

Almost an hour later, an exhausted Dante knocked on a green door set into an aging brownstone. His teeth chattered, from not having slept in far too long or from hypothermia, he didn’t know.

The door had no window, so when it suddenly opened and spilled warm light onto the step it took Dante by surprise. Even more surprising was the man behind the door, specifically his outfit. Tucked in white button up, shoulder harness with an M&P 9mm, and a shiny badge reflecting the overhead light on his belt. Dante felt the urge to swear, slam the door, and flee back into the rain.

“Can I help you?”

Too late, act natural. You’re just a kid looking for a place to sleep.

“Uhh yeah, Denise sent me?”

He forced a smile onto his face, but his teeth were still chattering and he was sure the cop could see right through his body to the two 1911s holstered to his back. The man had the same dark hair as his sister, and a similar weariness to his face visible in the dark circles under his eyes, but something about him didn’t inspire the same trustworthiness. Maybe it was the lack of blue eyeshadow. Or the fact that he was a pig.

“Come in,” the man opened the door, stepped aside and let Dante into the hallway while giving his overall appearance a frown. “How long do you need to stay?”

“Not long, I’m just a little broke at the moment. In between jobs, you know how it is,” he was babbling. Cops made him more nervous than a demon with its claws around his throat.

“How old are you?”

Hell, not the inquisition.

“Seventeen,” he replied honestly while following the older man into the house. It was a nice place. Warm wood paneling and assorted landscape paintings lined a hallway with several doors.

“Parents?”

“Dead.” He wasn’t actually sure about that, but they sure as hell weren’t around.

The man led him through one of the doors into a room that looked like it served a mixed purpose as a kitchen, living room, and office. Old appliances and an even older TV decorated the space alongside a desk and filing cabinet in the corner. Dante usually liked a retro aesthetic, but in this case the room looked borderline outdated.

“Emancipated?”

Dante flinched.

“Not exactly.”

He’d run away from the system years ago, and did not relish returning to a home. If this guy tried to send him back, he’d take his chances with an underpass.

This earned him a sigh and another query.

“Is anyone going to come looking for you?”

“Nope,” he popped the “P” and gave the guy his best ‘you can trust me’ smile.

“Alright, I’ve got to get to work so we’re going to do this quickly. Let me see your ID, and show me inside your bag.”

“Lost my ID awhile ago,” Dante replied, lying through his teeth, but unzipped his duffel bag and dumped the contents on the ground.

The cop raised his eyebrow. Glancing at the pile of clothes, upside down picture frame, and slightly damp comic books, he reached his foot out to stop the bottle of leather cleaner from rolling away.

“Name?”

“Dante Jones.”

Thinking quickly, he tacked on his mother's maiden name. It felt weird to use the names after so many years, but ‘Tony Redgrave’ could raise red flags if this cop talked to the right people. Or the wrong ones.

“Nice to meet you Dante, I’m Kerry Gray,” and the man cracked a tired smile that almost made Dante trust him, before reaching a hand out. It was even weirder hearing someone else use his name.

Dante shook Kerry’s hand and dared to ask, “so, you gotta room for me?”

“I do, we’ll discuss rent later. It’ll be whatever you can afford when you find work, and I expect you’ll be looking,” he gave Dante a stern look.

“No drugs, no booze, no guests, no smoking and no trouble - all right?

“I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Dante replied, unable to stop a tinge of sarcasm from coating his words.

“Are you a musician?” Kerry gave a glance at his beat up guitar case.

“Nah, it’s a family heirloom,” Dante answered glibly, then paused as he realised what he’d said.

The contents of his guitar case had been with him as long as he could remember. Granted, he couldn’t remember much of his childhood, but he definitely hadn’t remembered that before.

Handing him a key he grabbed from the desk drawer, Kerry led him on a quick tour - the door to Dante’s new room, shared washroom with the other tenants, and laundry room - before giving Dante a final stern warning – “No trouble”.

With his new landlord gone, Dante was left to settle in and check out his room. His first impression was that it was clean, if a little bare. It had a window that let in some early morning light, a dresser and small desk for his things, and a bed with folded bedding atop it.

Shame I won’t be able to stay long, this place is actually pretty nice.

As nice as it was, there was no way he was going to be able to follow the last rule. He was a magnet for trouble.

The sudden staccato of a knock pulled Dante instantly from his deep sleep. One hand reached for the cool form of his gun under his pillow before his brain kicked in and he remembered where he was. Groaning at being woken up, he dragged himself off the bed and to the door, yanking it open.

“What?” He said to the unwanted visitor.

“Sorry dude, did I wake you?”

Another teenage boy, maybe a few years younger than him, gave his shirtless and dishevelled state an apologetic look.

“It’s five o’clock. In the evening."

“So?” Dante squinted at the kid. He had shaggy brown hair, a face full of acne and freckles, and round silver glasses.

“Whatever, I said sorry. I’m Will,” he introduced himself.

An awkward pause lapsed as Dante’s sluggish brain decided which name to use.

“Dante. You live here?”

“Yeah, I've been here the longest, which is why I’m the welcoming committee. Anything you need to know, just ask.”

Dante gave it a thought before replying, “know where a guy could get a slice of pizza?”

Will grinned, “hell yeah, I can take you to Carlo’s.”

Dante returned the grin, “wicked, let me just throw on a shirt.”

Leaving the door open he grabbed a dry black T-shirt from his bag.

“Is that a ruby?” Will asked suddenly, pointing at Dante’s necklace as he pulled the shirt over his head.

“Nope, and it’s not worth shit so don’t even think about it,” Dante replied a little gruffly, grabbing his wallet and coat.

“It’s not me you gotta watch out for,” Will replied, “Kendra here has sticky fingers.”

Dante raised his eyebrow as he followed Will outside.

“Alright, we got Klepto Kendra. Who else lives here?”

Will laughed at that, “just us three right now, there’s another empty room upstairs. Oh, and Kerry of course.”

“What’s that guys’ deal?” Dante jumped on the chance to get some insight on his benefactor. “Cheap child labour? Am I gonna have to iron his ties, shine his shoes?”

“Nah,” Will snorted, “he’s actually a really nice guy.”

Dante gave the other kid a side eye as they headed west from the house.

“He’s a cop.” His tone conveyed his scepticism.

“He’s a hardass, don’t get me wrong. Him and his sister had a real bad childhood, like on the streets and stuff. So he knows what it's like. He bought this place, fixed it up himself, and for a while he was working with the foster centre downtown, but they closed and now he’s just got Kendra and me. And you now.”

Will glanced up at the street sign and led them down a cobbled side street.

“So he’s not getting paid to do this?” Dante asked.

“People can do things for reasons other than money, ya know,” Will huffed.

“Not in my experience. Everyone always wants either money or power.”

Dante caught the younger kid giving him a curious look.

“Which do you want?” Will asked after a pause.

Dante shot him a grin and pointed at the shopfront they’d stopped in front of.

“Pizza!”

Through the glass stacks of pizza boxes were visible and a sign above the windows proclaimed it ‘Carlo’s Pizza’.

“So money, ‘cuz you need money for pizza.”

“Exactly,” replied Dante, pulling out his cash from his wallet to count his measly funds. Still only thirteen dollars, but enough for a couple slices and with some still leftover.

“But if you spend all your money on pizza, you won’t have any money. So money isn’t really your reason.”

“What are you, some kind of philosopher?” Dante looked at him incredulously.

Sitting down at a table outside with their slices acquired, Dante and Will’s back and forth devolved into an argument about the best flavour of pizza, the best comic book superhero, and whether ninjas or knights were deadlier as the autumn sun set over the city.

"We should head back, it's getting dark already," Will tugged the hood of his hoodie tighter around his face, as if to protect him from the chill.

“Lead the way,” said Dante, satisfied he’d had a warm meal and had a bed to look forward to. Regardless that he’d slept all day, he knew he would fall right back asleep once he laid down.

Will led them a different way back through the windy narrow streets. This clearly was an old part of town, the layout was nonsensical instead of a neat grid. Dante liked it though, it reminded him of another city he'd lived in long ago. One he couldn't remember the name of, or any details other than blurry snapshots of cobblestone streets and towering architecture.

“Are you from here?” Asked Will as they passed under a flickering street lamp.

“Nah, moved here in the spring,” Dante replied, trying to commit his surroundings to memory so he could find his way back to the pizza place in the future.

“From where? Are you going to school?”

“Here and there,” the older teenager answered vaguely, “and no, I graduated at fifteen. I’m a supergenius.”

Will’s eyes widened, “seriously?”

“No,” Dante cackled and earned a light shove from his companion.

“Ugh. You’re probably a dropout, aren’t you? I’m actually going to graduate, and go to college. I just started tenth grade this month.”

“Good luck with –” Dante cut off suddenly as he saw a misshapen shadow flit past a doorway.

He grabbed Will by the shoulder and pulled him into the middle of the street away from the dark alleyways.

“Hey – what?” Will mimicked Dante's glance and turned to look around them. “There’s no one here.”

The street lamp above them chose that moment to start flickering ominously.

“Our party guests must be shy,” Dante quipped.

“Is that a fucking gun!?” Will’s voice cracked with his shock.

Dante had pulled a black pistol from under his coat.

“Yeah, and unfortunately it’s all I got right now.”

Left Ivory under the pillow. Shit.

The sudden glint of a street light off a scythe ten feet away had him instinctively aiming and shooting two rounds into where he estimated a head would be. The resulting dark blood splatter proved his aim was true. Jackpot. Another two scythes sang as they cut through the air behind him. Dante grabbed a speechless Will and yanked him behind him with one arm while raising his pistol as a shield with the other to meet both scythes at once. Angling his gun a fraction to slide out of the hold, the demon hunter pulled back, dragging Will, and shot round after round into his two attackers.

This would be a hell of a lot faster with Ivory. Ebony’s not modified for rapid fire.

“I was almost starting to get bored in this town,” Dante taunted as two new lesser demons charged out of the shadows.

He hadn’t been ambushed, attacked, or assaulted by Hell’s denizens since he'd arrived.

“Dante!”

Will’s scream interrupted the timing of Dante’s dodge and he took a deep slice to his forearm from a demon’s pike. Cursing under his breath, Dante retaliated, shot the pike-wielding assailant to dust and spun around to target the apparent ringleader. The demons up to now had been well armed, but the awkward, gangly sort that still telegraphed their moves. This one was over seven feet tall with arms as long as its body tipped in huge razor sharp claws. It was a dark red blood-like color and made almost quicker than the eye could see jerking movements as it strolled up to them.

“Maybe this one will put up an actual fight,” Dante couldn’t resist adding as he swapped positions with Will to get in between him and the last demon.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Will shouted, the panic in his voice evident by its shrill quality.

“Probably a lot,” Dante quipped back before launching himself at the foe.

He was tired of having to keep a distance with only his long range gun, and itching for some close range action. One bladed arm came down to bisect him and he stepped just out of the way before catching the other coming for his neck. He held it there as he launched a roundhouse kick into the demon’s ghastly eyeless face. In the second he felt the pressure against Ebony fail he ducked under the arm and shot nine rounds into the side of the demon’s head. The demon’s body crumpled, then disintegrated into a pile of glowing red orbs.

“Are they all dead?” Asked the other teenage boy, cowering behind the street light.

“Yep! Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” quipped Dante, checking the damage to his jacket.

A clean slice from wrist to forearm straight through the red leather, bloody but undamaged skin underneath.

“Fuck, I liked this one,” he frowned.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dante took off walking, not looking to see if Will would follow. After a few breaths he heard Will’s footsteps as he ran up to join him and the two walked in silence the rest of the way to their house of orphans and misfits.

It was thoroughly dark by the time the two boys walked up the steps to the brownstone with the green door. Will had barely opened it when Kerry appeared in the hallway.

Dante stood behind Will, and had a moment of internal panic when he saw the older man. Grim faced, the cop stood with one hand on his hip and the other holding the barrel of a heavily modified silver 1911 with a wooden grip.

“Both of you inside, now.”

Kerry’s tone pissed Dante off. Figures of authority exerting said authority over him rubbed him the wrong way.

“Don’t you need a warrant to go searching through people’s shit?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Not when they’re a minor in possession of a handgun,” came the ice cold reply.

Kerry’s face was serious, making him look more like a cop than ever as he glared back at Dante.

“Two handguns,” Will added nervously.

Dante turned his glare to Will.

“Narc! Ebony saved your ass from getting sliced into itty bitty pieces.”

“You named your gun Ebony?” Will muttered judgingly.

“Quiet!” Interrupted Kerry.

“Dante, hand it over, then we’ll discuss what the hell happened to you two.”

“No way, how about you hand me my gun, and I’ll skedaddle out of your hair like I was never even here.”

“I don’t want to, but I will take you to the station if you don’t comply.”

Dante bit his lip but didn’t stop glaring at the man. He also didn’t leave, he wouldn’t without Ivory. His guns were two of his most precious possessions.

Kerry saw his deliberation, sighed while taking his hand off his hip, and offered, “come into the living room and put it on the table. I won’t take it from you yet, but I want an explanation.”

“Fine,” Dante acquiesced grudgingly.

Ebony clattered onto the low coffee table and Dante threw himself into a sofa chair, legs hanging over an arm. He was close enough to reach his gun in seconds if he had to, but he still felt uncomfortably bare without a single weapon on him.

Kerry sat down on a couch and eyed the second 1911, black with a similar wood grip as its sister. Will took a seat across from Dante in a plush chair and curled into it, arms hugging himself and his hood still up over his hair.

“Where were you?” Kerry started off by asking.

Will blurted out without stopping for breath, “we went for pizza at Carlo’s then left when we realized it was getting dark, then all of a sudden these freaky things came at us like something out of The Evil Dead. Then next thing I know Dante’s throwing cheesy one-liners at them and grabbing me and shooting the monsters!”

“Cheesy?!” Dante protested but was ignored.

“Were either of you hurt?” Kerry asked, what sounded like concern in his voice.

“No,” Will shook his head, “or maybe. Dante got hit, I think.”

Kerry switched his gaze to Dante, clearly noticing the large tear in his jacket.

Dante hid his bloody sleeve underneath his other arm, “as if those peons could hurt me,” he said disdainfully, looking away.

“Were they demons?”

Dante’s head whipped back to stare at the older man.

“You know about demons?” He asked, suspiciously.

“I was involved in a murder case years ago,” he began slowly, “nothing made sense. Locked doors. Satanic symbols on the floor. The body was ripped to shreds. We never found the perp, but a coworker and I kept looking into it even after the case was shelved. We learned from a local guy, who specializes in occult stuff, about demons. If I hadn’t seen that crime scene I wouldn’t have believed him.”

Kerry's gaze was pointed at the tan carpet, hands folded on his lap, as he finished the explanation.

“Yeah, they were demons. Yours truly is a magnet for them,” Dante sunk deeper into the sofa, “hence why I have the lovely ladies here. What’s the law say about having a gun to defend yourself from demon attacks?”

Nothing of course, the majority of the population lived in blissful ignorance of the horrors that slipped into their world from the demon realm.

Will piped up with the next question, “why do they like you so much?”

Dante shrugged, “no clue, maybe my winning personality? My casual good looks?”

He had some ideas actually, but he wasn’t about to share them with the class.

The room lapsed into silence. Kerry looked deep in thought, and Will still looked a little shell shocked.

Finally Kerry spoke, “will they find you here?”

Dante looked down at the cuff of his sleeve before answering honestly.

“Probably eventually. I don’t usually stay in one place too long.”

Kerry sighed, “I can’t in good conscience kick you out. Especially if you’re being honest about being hunted by demons.”

Dante's eyes widened and he looked at the man, “Seriously?”

“Just work on saving some money to get back on your feet, and don’t make me regret this. You seem like a decent kid, just mixed up in some bad shit.”

Was he a decent kid? He’d done some questionable things, some he’d had to, some he’d chosen to. He was definitely mixed up in shit though, the guy had no idea.

“I’ll ask around the precinct for work for you too.”

“I’ve got work,” Dante protested, then amended, “sometimes.”

“Is it legal?” Kerry asked, having stood up with his hands on his hips again.

Unfortunately, Dante’s brain took too long to decide how to answer the question. Kerry, seemingly coming to his own conclusions at the hesitance, sighed in frustration.

“I’ll find you something to do. Go to bed, both of you,” he ordered, leaving the room. A few seconds later a door could be heard closing from further in the house.

Will looked after his pseudo guardian, then looked to Dante.

“I haven’t seen him so wound up since Kendra joined us,” he confided.

Kendra gave Officer Stick-Up-His-Ass as much of a conniption as a seventeen year old with a penchant for demon slaying?

“I’ve got to meet this chick,” Dante grinned.

Chapter Text

A heavy glass hit the bar-top, filled with a bubbling liquid by the bartender. The sound brought the underage patron out of his internal musings.

“Thanks,” he offered the bearded man, grateful not only for the beer, but for the fact that this bartender never checked ID. Dante knew he didn’t look anywhere near twenty-one, unless you were only looking at the color of his hair.

The dive bar was small and quiet. Expected, since it was late on a Sunday. A few men sat around a large table near the entrance. A couple played darts in the corner.

The bar stool next to him was pulled out enough to allow an older man to sit. Dante turned to his newly arrived companion. Even sitting, he towered over Dante by a foot. He wore an oversized trench coat that must have been the largest size they made. The man had shoulders like a bull. He also had a bald head that reflected the greenish fluorescent overhead light, and a scarred face with a strong jaw. His dark eyes met Dante’s ice blue ones.

“Tony?” His voice was surprisingly soft.

“At your service,” Dante tipped an imaginary hat.

“Rafael.”

Dante accepted the firmest handshake he’d ever received, and flagged the bartender down for another beer. Once Rafael held his own drink, they got down to business.

“Enzo said you do protection,” Rafael began after a sip.

“I do a lot of things. Who’s needing a babysitter?” Dante replied.

“You don’t look like much, no offence. If it weren’t for Enzo’s recommendation…” The man trailed off with a look of scepticism.

“Hey pal, I don’t need to be the Hulk to be good at what I do,” Dante wrinkled his nose.

“He also mentioned you were an annoying brat.”

“Only on days that end in ‘Y’.”

That got a tiny smile out of his companion and melted the tension.

“Meet me across from the Twilight Cinema at twenty-two hundred hours on Wednesday. You’ll find out the details then,” Rafael’s voice, while still soft, held a note of command to it. He was clearly a man used to giving orders.

Dante frowned, “I haven’t even accepted yet.”

“Enzo said another thing - that you can’t afford to refuse a job.”

“Enzo’s a fucking crook,” Dante grumbled.

At Rafael’s stare, he rolled his eyes and added, “Yeah alright, but my rate for babysitting mystery persons is a grand a day.”

“Deal,” Rafael nodded, shook – or rather, crushed – Dante’s hand, placed his half finished beer on the counter and made his exit.

A meathead of few words, thought Dante as he knocked back his beer, grabbed the Hulk’s, and finished it too before deciding to chat the bartender’s ear off for the rest of the night.

There was a low fog hanging in the street as he left the bar and headed aimlessly East, towards the river. The humidity made the night seem colder, and he pulled his coat closed to ward off the chill. He’d called his old associate earlier looking for a job, hoping Enzo would know of something even this far away from his home base, and he’d been lucky. Enzo had given him a name – Rafael’s – and a meeting spot, and now Dante had a lead on some money. If he was honest with himself he hadn’t been all that proactive in looking for work since arriving in town. Especially after meeting Monica. But that had to change now, unless he wanted to end up sleeping under a bridge. Again.

Dante’s meandering pace came to a halt. His eyes flickered left, then right, and his hand went for the grip of his gun. Something was nagging at him. It wasn’t a sound, more like a feeling. Was something watching him? He waited, breaths even, until the feeling passed. No demons leapt out at him, not even a cat scurried across the street. Just as suddenly as the feeling arrived it had left. Dante frowned, looking around again but seeing not a soul on the street with him. It had to have been near midnight by now, so it wasn’t surprising. How many beers did I have? He wondered to himself, before continuing his walk back to his newfound shelter.

Three days later, Dante, having avoided all contact with anyone at his new temporary place of residence by only returning to sleep a handful of hours in the dead of night, stood exhausted next to an illuminated street lamp across the street from an old theatre. A purple neon sign affirmed that he was at the right place, the Twilight Cinema.

He’d foregone his red leather jacket today, the weather having decided to be unreasonably hot for September. He wore only an oversized black T-shirt with dark blue jeans that had seen better days, the hems starting to fray. Ebony and Ivory were holstered at the small of his back, but he’d left Rebellion at home. Protection gigs usually involved blending in. He hoped he’d made the right call.

Catching the sound of boots on pavement, Dante turned and lifted a hand in greeting to the approaching Rafael. The man was dressed in black cargo pants and a grey jean jacket over a white tank top. He’s gotta be sweatin’ in that. Or he needs the layers to conceal his pieces.

“I appreciate your punctuality,” greeted the older mercenary.

“Thanks man. I’m a professional after all,” Dante gave him a winning smile, “now what’re the deets?”

“Jack Fontana is dropping his daughter off for a movie in ten minutes. He’s then going to stir up trouble out of town, and he needs to make sure his kid is safe from backlash while he’s gone. Supposed to only take him a day or two.”

“Sounds like a mob guy. What’s he into; guns, drugs?” Dante asked.

Once again he regretted laying low since he got to town. He’d only taken a few easy jobs and now it was showing in his lack of knowledge of the local goings on.

“Big hotshot in this town, he’s got his fingers in a couple pies,” replied Rafael, matter-of-factly.

“Does the daughter know? How old is she?”

“Sixteen, not sure how much she knows. She’s used to getting saddled with tough guys. Although I’m not sure she’s ever had one look more like a classmate than a bodyguard.”

Rafael glanced down at him. That rankled. Dante was tall for his age, thank you very much.

“Kinda’ young for me. I like my dates experienced.”

“Right,” the corner of Rafael’s mouth lifted infinitesimally.

Was this guy giving attitude now? Dante crossed his arms.

“There she is,” Rafael nodded to the teenage girl getting out of black Mercedes with tinted windows.

Dante could see from across the street she had straight black hair with bangs, and wore a form fitting purple dress. It looked like something old ladies wore, Monica would have called it ‘vintage’, but strangely he felt it suited her.

“Alright, keep the girl out of trouble for a day or two, easy street. Who am I passing her off to?”

“Me. I’ll be with Fontana. He hired me to help him with the trouble out of town.”

“Dude, you got the fun shit and I get babysitting?” Dante complained.

Rafael raised an eyebrow, as if Dante had just proven something.

“Whatever, see ya’ in a bit. With my money!” Dante shouted as he left the mercenary to jog across the street. His ticket to temporary financial freedom was heading inside and he didn’t want to lose her right off the bat.

He caught up to her at the entrance to the theatre – a covered ramp with floor to ceiling glass windows that went up along the front of the building. Sliding around her he manoeuvred himself so he could get to the door first.

“After you,” he smiled at her, opening the door for her.

“Uh, thanks,” she replied, giving him a quick up and down.

He followed her up the ramp, noticing the Mercedes taking off from the corner of his eye.

“So what’re we seeing?” He asked from a step behind her.

“What?” She stopped and spun around.

“Not a chick flick I hope.”

“Ugh!” Her hands went to her hips and she frowned, “I knew it was too good to be true. You’re one of my dad’s people aren’t you?”

“Sorta’, he outsourced,” replied Dante.

“Aren’t you kind of young?”

“I look good for my age.”

She rolled her eyes.

Lots of drama in this one, he thought.

“How long do I have to put up with you?”

“Tomorrow or the next day, ‘till your dad gets back in town.”

“Fine, but pretend you’re like, a normal kid. I don’t want my new friends to think… whatever.” She trailed off then recovered with a flip of her hair over her shoulder.

“Sure. So what do I call you, bestie?” he grinned. Normal kid? He’d never been ‘normal’ a day in his life.

“Val, and we’re not besties.”

“Okay bestie, I’m Dante,” he’d started to use his real name more often, and it was starting to feel natural again.

“Like ‘All hope abandon, ye who enter here’ Dante?” she cocked her head.

“Yep, I’ve heard that one before. You read, or something?”

“My family’s Italian,” she rolled her eyes at him again.

“Of course they are.” He bypassed her to head into the theatre proper, “your friends here yet?”

Val followed him and scanned the crowd of waiting moviegoers.

“There they are,” she said and slipped into the crowd. Dante squeezed his way between couples, families, and groups of teenagers after her. His skin prickled. He wasn’t the biggest fan of crowds.

“Valentina!” a teenage girl with a blonde bob spotted them and shouted, waving her arm.

Val’s friends turned out to be Lana and Jeremy. Dante mentally renamed them as ‘bubbly blonde’ and ‘shy guy’, respectively. They were apparently in the same class as Val, but didn’t seem to know each other too well judging by the slight awkwardness in their interactions.

“This is Dante,” she introduced him, “he’s uh, a friend from my old school.”

Bubbly Blonde piped up with a “Hi Dante!” and Shy Guy a quiet, “Nice to meet you.”

Dante grinned at them, “Hey, so what’re we seeing? Val wouldn’t tell me.”

Bubble Blonde immediately answered, “the latest Witching Hour! It was supposedly almost rated R so it might actually be scary! And it’s got – “

“Tony?” A female voice cut in.

Recognizing it, Dante whipped around to see a curvy, slightly older girl in fishnets and a mini skirt.

“Monica.”

He recovered his surprise and gave her a genuine smile. He couldn’t help himself, with her dark hair done up in loose curls, brown eyes lined with makeup, she looked stunning. She always does though, even first thing in the morning with her hair a mess.

Monica looked around at his companions, then lowered her voice a bit to speak to him, “Hey, I’m really sorry about the other day. Can we talk?”

Dante didn’t hesitate, “Val, I’ll catch up with you guys in the movie, alright?”

Val raised an eyebrow but replied with an easy, “Sure.”

He’d have to make sure she didn’t try and give him the slip later.

“Let’s go outside,” Dante placed his hand on Monica’s lower back as they navigated their way through the crowd to a side door.

Once outside, Dante breathed a quiet sigh of relief. With the movies starting so soon they were the only ones in the alley. He then remembered he was about to have a serious conversation. His relief at being out of the crowd switched to extreme unease.

“How have you been?” Monica started, “you’ve… found a place to stay, right?”

Dante leaned against the brick wall, “yeah, I’m good. I’m uh, I’m sorry. About what I said. I shouldn’t have, I thought I was being funny but I wasn’t.”

He cringed. Not his best apology, but to his credit he had limited experience.

“You were a dick,” she narrowed her eyes at him, but then continued, “But I shouldn’t have kicked you out in the rain knowing you had no place to go.”

“Nah I get it. I was getting in the way of your work anyways.”

She shook her head, “It’s fine. You could come back if you wanted.”

He thought about it. He missed her, he missed having someone around. He didn’t do well on his own, despite being alone more often than not. But she was lying when she said it was fine, his being there was an inconvenience.

“Thanks, really, but I got lucky and found somewhere to crash for a while. And I got a job that’ll pay really well too, on it right now actually.”

“The rich kids?”

“I mean if they’re ‘kids’ what am I? What are you? You’re only two years older.”

She always acted so mature, Dante thought she forgot how old she actually was.

She rolled her eyes, not deigning to respond to his rhetorical question.

“Are you kidnapping one of them?” She asked him with a serious look in her black-lined eyes.

“Hell no! I’m not that desperate.”

He was actually kinda hurt she’d suggest that. Despite that he’d kidnapped people before, which she didn’t know. Never kids though.

“Bodyguard for the one girl. Her Pop’s got a lot of enemies apparently.”

She looked relieved at his answer.

“I should get back to it,” he said, pushing off from the wall.

“‘Kay, be careful. Stop by when you’re done. You can treat me to dinner with your paycheck,” she smirked at him, but he’d heard her voice waver.

She must have thought I’d be mad at her. I was, but it’s not worth holding a grudge…

“I do owe you, hope you’re in the mood for pizza,” he threw behind him before slipping back into the theatre. He didn’t have to turn around to know what kind of face she was making. They’d had pizza together so often she’d started to resent the cheesy, heaven-sent pies.

Maybe I’ll surprise her and take her out for steak, he mused. Just gotta keep this girl safe and sound for another forty-eight hours. How hard could that be?

Chapter Text

The movie was actually good. Dante loved scary movies, and while Witching Hour 4 wasn’t the scariest, it had some good special effects. He enjoyed acting his age sometimes, hanging out with other kids and doing normal kid things. He’d missed out on a lot of that, been forced to grow up too fast. Demons finding you every couple of months and forcing you to foil increasingly savage assassination attempts wasn’t conducive to a regular childhood.

“Good night guys!” Bubbly blonde said, as she and her shy friend waved them goodbye outside the theatre, “it was nice meeting you Dante!”

He gave them a nonchalant two finger salute and a smirk. Fun was over, he had a job to do.

“So, where to next?” He asked his charge.

“Home, I have school tomorrow,” she yawned.

“Aw, a goody-two-shoes.”

“Shut up.”

He followed a step behind her as she began walking. He noticed she was heading out of the downtown, likely into the nicer residential neighbourhood he’d crossed through once. He’d been immediately turned off by how quiet it was, and how little he could see of the massive houses behind their tall manicured hedges.

“Doesn’t your dad have a driver or something,” he commented after a while. The mafia guys in movies never had to walk very far.

“He does. I have to walk. Builds character, he says.”

Dante was getting a pretty good picture of the kind of person her dad was. He was also aware of how opportune a target she was right now. Walking on a quiet street, way past midnight, with only another teenager for company. He kept his face forward and his shoulders loose but his eyes and ears were alert.

After walking in silence for some time, Dante hyper aware of their surroundings and Val seemingly unbothered, she spoke up, “why did that girl call you Tony?”

He took a second to think of a response.

“Pet name?”

“Mhmm. You know she’s a prostitute right?”

“I think she prefers ‘escort’, and how do you know that?” Dante looked at Val in surprise.

“She went to my old school, lots of rumours even before she graduated. But then I saw her with one of my dad’s friends at a dinner once. His much older friend.”

She didn’t seem to be judging Monica, her tone was even.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Dante smiled wryly.

“Nah. Neither of us are the relationship type.”

Val nodded as if that made sense to her.

“Here we are, casa dolce casa,” she started up a wide paved driveway.

Dante only raised an eyebrow at the sight of the house at the end of it. Mansion would be more apt. All lit up with exterior lights, as if to showcase the expense, the house was three stories tall with pale yellow brick and dramatic white columns.

“Classy,” he commented.

A middle aged man in black slacks and white dress shirt met them at the door. They're butler rich, thought Dante. Not often he saw how the other half lived.

“It’s very late, Valentina,” the man chided her with a strong accent, then turned to Dante, “I was told you would be accompanying her. I have prepared a guest room.”

Dante’s life just kept looking up. He considered how he’d started the week homeless and halfway to hypothermia, and was now being led to a mafia family’s guest bedroom that looked like something out of a waiting room magazine. Not to mention the thick paycheck on the horizon, for a job that was shaping up to be a walk in the park.

His last thought before he dozed off that night in his plush guest bed was blissfully pleasant – of all the strawberry sundaes and pizza he would enjoy when he was done this job.

Dante’s first thought upon waking up was decidedly unpleasant. Can’t things just can’t go smoothly, for once in my life? It was still pitch black outside, it felt like he’d slept less than an hour, and he’d been awoken by the sound of smashing glass somewhere in the house. Of course not. I’m fucking cursed. Without wasting time turning on a light he grabbed his guns from under his pillow and ran out of the room.

Valentina’s room was just down the hallway to the right, and he was pretty sure that was the source of the noise that woke him. Kicking in her door, he entered the room with both guns raised. Sure enough, one of her windows was broken, letting the cold night air in and blowing the curtains everywhere. Dante clocked three things in the next three seconds. One, the figure in black tactical gear standing in front of the broken window. Two, the Glock held in both its hands pointed at the terrified girl in the bed. Three, the Glock now pointed at him. Shit. He dropped to the floor just as the shot went off. No suppressor, cocky. Before his brain even registered that he’d avoided getting stuffed with lead, he returned fire with two shots from Ivory – one to the left knee and one to the collarbone. Both hit true despite the low light and lack of time to think too hard about his aim. The thud as the guy hit the floor – and Dante could tell now it was a male by the scream of pain – broke Valentina out of her shock.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Just me actually,” Dante answered reflexively.

“Dante!” She scrambled out of bed and turned on the lamp. The soft glow illuminated the figure bleeding out on the floor. Everything from the shabby tactical outfit to the scruffy unshaven face screamed ‘mercenary’ to Dante. He’d worked with, and against, plenty.

“Is he alive?” Valentina’s voice cracked as she clutched her robe.

“For now.”

He could hear footsteps rushing towards them in the hallway. The butler and another man barged in. The butler immediately ran to check on Valentina, while the other man – whom Dante noticed had the same hair and skin tone as Valentina – went to check on the would-be assassin.

“If you guys’ got it from here, I’ll have a look around for any other uninvited guests,” Dante said to the newly arrived men. He then walked over to the broken window and dropped down from the second story into the backyard without waiting for a response.

The grass muffled the sound of his landing, and reminded him unpleasantly that he was barefoot and in only his boxers. He contemplated for a second going back for his jeans, but decided to commit to his search. At least I won't get mistaken for another assassin.

There were lights in the back of the house similar to the front, illuminating the back yard enough for him to tell quickly that there was no one else there. Was he working solo?

Dante made his way around the East side to the front of the house, sticking to the shadows as much as possible.

Said house was enormous. It took him nearly ten minutes to get around to the front walkway, checking in bushes and behind foliage the whole way. He was just about to start circling around the West side when he heard the piercing sound of sirens.

“Guess a neighbour heard the shots,” he muttered.

Just as the first black and white Crown Victoria careened into view, he took off running. His job description did not include becoming known to the fuzz. Since the front door was closest he took that avenue, slamming it behind him and running up the stairs to Val’s room.

Bursting into the room, he announced, “the response time here is incredible,” followed by, “you wouldn’t happen to have a secret room, would you?”

The man who wasn’t the very obvious butler swore under his breath before taking control of the situation, “Fabrizio hide the merc, I’ll deal with the police.”

Fabrizio’s hiding spot turned out to be a three-foot square space hidden behind a panel in Valentina’s walk-in closet. Instead of being filled to the brim with cash, drugs, or guns like he expected from watching countless mafia movies, it was filled with stuffed animals. A particularly large red dog was tickling his elbow. A benefit to this hiding spot however, was that he could hear the police as they came in and assessed the scene.

The voices of two male cops, interspersed with Valentina’s and Valentina’s male look-a-like drifted through the walls. He was by no means an expert on police procedure, but as he listened to them he was sure some significant money had exchanged hands, as not once did the police ask about the gun that was used to shoot the wounded assassin. He was also expecting to be stuck standing in this hidey-hole between the big red dog and the pink llama for hours while they did forensics, but far too quickly they were gone. Someone’s got the police on payroll. He heard the body being removed on a stretcher, the one cop giving a polite farewell, and three sounds of footsteps leaving.

Dante figured it was too much to hope he’d be able to sneak in a nap anytime soon, and he was right. After the police left he’d stuck to Valentina like glue in case of a second attempt on her life. That had involved, unfortunately, acquiescing to her request that he put on clothes and watching her as she watched Scooby-Doo re-runs the rest of the night. She’d been too wired to sleep, only passing out from sheer exhaustion the next morning. Dante had kept the cartoon channel on, fighting exhaustion himself.

At some point Valentina woke up and dragged Dante down to an intimidatingly bright kitchen. He didn't know what rich mafia people ate, he’d assumed lobster or caviar, maybe served by the butler under a metal dome. So he was surprised when she grabbed a pitcher of milk and a box of colourful, sugary cereal. She poured two bowls, grabbed two spoons, and passed his to him.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Isn't that my line?” He asked, scooping a spoonful of cereal into his mouth gratefully.

“Not for the cereal. For saving my life.”

“Oh,” he said, and looked at her.

She looked rough. Her hair was tangled where it wasn't stuck to her forehead, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

“It's my job, don't worry about it.”

He almost asked her if this happened often, but thought better of it.

“Still. Thanks,” she smiled as she looked back at him, “do you like racing games?”

He perked up, he loved racing games. When he was younger he would go to the arcade and play all his coins away.

“Hell yeah. You have a Playstation?”

Val led him back upstairs, to the room she called a theatre room. Dante had never heard anything like it, who had a whole room just to watch TV? He watched her open the cabinet underneath the TV and whistled at the contents. She did indeed have a Playstation, and a stack of games a foot tall.

“Wicked,” he said in awe.

He spent the rest of the day as Player Two, soundly losing at every game they played. She was a graceful winner, reminding him that she played a lot. He didn't mind, in fact he felt a little giddy that he was essentially getting paid to play video games. All he'd had to do was shoot a guy.

A knock at the theatre room door around midnight revealed itself to be Rafael relieving him of his babysitting duty. An older, stocky man with dark hair and sweater vest had entered next, and given Dante a firm handshake and a curt ‘thank you’. Despite being nothing like he’d expected, it was clearly Fontana by how he went to check on his daughter, smoothing her hair back and envelopping her in a hug. She clung to her father, and started to cry. Rafael ushered Dante out into the hallway.

“As agreed,” the large man handed Dante a thick envelope.

Disregarding convention, Dante ripped it open and did a quick count of the bills.

“This is more than agreed,” his exhaustion must have been showing itself. Why else would he point out that he’d been overpaid?

“The client was impressed with your work,” Rafael smiled.

A smile made him look a lot less threatening, Dante noted.

“Pass on to the client that I’m impressed by his generosity,” Dante said, “and that he can call me to babysit anytime.”

He gave a farewell salute to the older mercenary and walked the entire way home in a daze of exhaustion and satisfaction. It was good to make money again, and he'd had a good time with Val. Other than the rude awakening via assassin. When was the last time he slept eight hours straight? Dante vowed to sleep for as long as possible that night, and to shoot anyone who tried to interrupt those plans.

Chapter Text

Savouring a sip of his coffee – black, and from the office machine – Kerry leaned back in his desk chair. He was at the office early today, before anyone else, hoping to get a head start on the pile of forms sitting in front of him. He’d rather be at home keeping an eye on the kids. He still wasn’t sure about the newest addition to his strange household. The teenager was involved in criminal activity, he was sure, but to what level? He saw the similarities between Dante and Kendra, and hoped that like her, Dante would veer to the straight and narrow. Kids like that just needed a little support.

“You’re here early.”

Kerry hadn’t noticed the other cop entering the precinct, but gave him a tired smile and replied, “finishing up some paperwork. I heard Garden Terrace had a call for reports of gunshots, were you on scene for that one?”

The younger cop, Dustin, shook his head, “no, but I got the story from Jenny. It was at Fontana’s.”

The infamous mobster’s name sparked interest, causing Kerry to dig for more, “please tell me we’ve finally got something on him.”

Dustin took a seat at the empty desk adjacent to his and locked his hands over his belly.

“Doesn’t sound like it, he wasn’t even at home. Jenny said that it was a hired gun. Came in looking to kill the daughter, but got capped by the brother.”

Thoroughly invested in the tale, Kerry leaned in.

“Is she okay? She’s just a kid, close to Will’s age.”

“Yeah, not a scratch on her. Probably used to this stuff too, I wouldn’t be surprised. Fontana’s made a lot of enemies ‘round here.”

Kerry nodded in agreement.

“Are they bringing the brother in?”

Dustin gave him a look and a sigh, and said, “of course not, because Jenny was with Barrett.”

Kerry understood the look now. It was the same one they gave each other whenever Kennedy showed up to work drunk, or Yarenko ‘lost’ narcotics destined for evidence. The look was passed around often when Deputy Chief Barrett Green was in the precinct.

Dustin continued, “I can’t wait for the bastard to retire, and we can finally start cleaning up this city.”

Kerry agreed, they’d had variants of this conversation plenty of times.

“He’s not the only one that needs to go,” he said quietly.

Nodding, Dustin added, “anyway, Jenny thinks that Fontana’s got a new guy workin’ for him.”

“New to the city? We got enough shady characters to keep our eyes on as is.”

“I know, Jenny only got a quick look at him, but she’s got a theory,” Dustin paused here, savouring the delivery of his daily gossip, “she thinks he shot the assassin. Fontana’s boy didn’t have a gun on him when they were questioning him, and all she caught of the mystery lackey was that he was a young, fair-haired fellow, he had a gun in his hand, and get this, he was in nothing but his underpants.”

Kerry’s eyebrows raised, “Didn’t they question him?”

Dusting shook his head.

“He disappeared into the house, and Barrett wouldn’t give ‘em time to do a full search.”

“Of course,” Kerry scoffed.

The sound of the door to the office precinct opening put an end to their conversation. It wouldn’t do to be overheard by any coworkers that would go blathering to the deputy chief. Dustin waved him goodbye, and Kerry went back to his paperwork. Instead of reading the papers, he was deep in thought about the possible connotations of what he’d heard from Dustin. An assassin coming for a teenage girl – even the daughter of a mob boss – wasn’t just your average Tuesday in this town. And a new hired gun didn’t bode well either. Not a very professional one, if he was running around naked. Kerry hoped there wasn’t some new turf war or rivalry going on between factions. Too often civilians got caught in the crossfire, and he’d become a cop to keep his town safe. To keep regular people like his sister from getting caught in a shoot-out on her way home from work.

At some point in the day Kerry’s stomach started protesting loudly, and he decided to call it and take a lunch break. He usually avoided the lunch room, in case a coworker he didn’t like tried to make small talk with him for the entirety of his break, but eating in his car or at his desk didn’t hold any appeal either that day. Grumpily he took a seat in the corner with his packed lunch. He had just started to space out and give his brain the much needed downtime while munching on his bland sandwich, when the chair across from him was pulled out and filled by a short blonde woman in uniform.

“Kerry, did you hear from Dustin yet?”

Kerry sighed, regretting not eating in his car.

“Leanne. Yes, if you mean the Fontana stuff, he told me this morning.”

The female police officer had the same seniority as him, but he had trouble getting along with her knowing that anything he told her immediately got told to every other cop in the precinct by end of day. She was good for gossip, like Dustin, but unlike Dustin, he couldn’t trust her not to get him in trouble with said gossip. He wasn’t entirely sure where her allegiances lied, but he suspected she was close with the Deputy Chief. They attended the same church, and had several friends in common.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” she remarked, then added, “how about the latest on the dagger case?”

Kerry hadn’t heard anything new from that case in days. A burgeoning serial murderer – three victims confirmed so far, and zero suspects – wherein the only evidence connecting the victims was the murder weapon. At each crime scene they’d found an ornate dagger. They had three of them now, all seemingly identical. The strangeness of the case dug up uncomfortable memories for Kerry.

“Another victim?” he asked, concerned.

Leanne shook her head, “No, thank heavens. I heard, however, that we sent photos of the daggers to a specialist and they dated them to the 17th century. ‘Likely Italian’, is what they said.”

“That’s got to narrow the suspect profile,” Kerry mused, “not just anyone would have access to artefacts like that.”

“Exactly what I said. Still no link between the victims. What could a fifty year security guard have in common with a college student and a nurse?”

“Other than they all had reason to be out late at night?” Kerry asked, then extrapolated, “the security guard was on shift, if I recall, and the nurse had just finished her shift. The college student was on a jog. All between 2 am and 4 am.”

Leanne nodded emphatically. “Yes, other than that not a single mutual acquaintance, workplace, school alumni, or favourite coffee shop.”

“It’s tragic, two of the victims are so young.” Kerry sighed and rubbed his chin. “I’m glad I’m not on the case, if I’m honest.”

Leanne eyed him sharply. “Now don’t go saying that.”

“Why not?”

Leaning in, she confided, “I’ve heard Harold is taking leave.”

“Leave?” Kerry parroted.

“For his,” Leanne lowered her voice, “mental health.”

Kerry stared at her in horror. Harold was nearing retirement, and had never gone on a mental health leave in his entire career. He barely even took vacations. He exuded the ‘work until I’m dead’ mentality like many of his generation, and had once called a therapist a ‘hack’ during an interrogation.

“From the case?” he asked Leanne.

She made a shrugging gesture, crossed her arms, and leaned back in her plastic chair. “All I know is that if he’s off it, the Chief is going to come to us next. And I’ve got too much on my plate as is.”

Kerry sighed, and hoped Leanne’s gossip was more rumour than fact. His half eaten sandwich had lost its appeal at the thought of getting assigned to a serial killer case. Let alone one where the murder weapons looked like they belonged in a museum. He hoped they found the killer soon, but he hoped for his own sanity they did it without him.

Later that evening found Kerry trudging up the street to his home. He’d gone to work this morning in the dark, and he was coming home in the dark. He missed the late sunsets of summer. Fall always brought on his more dour moods, and winter was worse.

Glancing up at the windows as he approached, hoping to check who was home via which windows were lit up, he stopped as he noticed a figure standing at the bottom of the steps, out of the reach of the entry light.

“Can I help you?” he spoke to the figure’s back.

It was a young girl that spun around, eyes wide. I startled her, he thought, chagrined.

“Mr. Gray?” the girl asked, crossing her arms. She had a pack on her back and a tote on her shoulder. Her clothes, a skirt and a blouse, looked a little rumpled.

“That’s me.”

“A lady at the diner said you had a place I could stay.”

Two kids in less than a week? His sister was on a roll.

“Come in, Will should have supper ready,” he ushered her up the stairs and inside, “I’ll give you the ground rules, and you can decide if you want to stay.”

He made sure to stress that she had the option. She followed him in and he internally frowned at her lack of fear at entering a stranger’s house. Part of being a cop was being hyper aware of the worst of humanity, and he’d made sure to teach the kids – especially Kendra, about stranger danger.

In the kitchen Will was leaning against the counter with his headphones in, bobbing to a beat Kerry couldn’t hear. The soup pot on the stove released a delicious aroma as it simmered.

“Smells like chicken and dumplings,” Kerry commented to the girl following him.

Upon seeing them, Will took his headphones off and stared at the newcomer.

Kerry introduced him, “this is Will,” and gestured to the yet unnamed girl, “and this is…”

“Mary,” the girl crossed her arms again. Kerry would never understand why kids these days spurned handshakes.

“Hi,” Will offered shyly.

Kerry took over in the kitchen and sent the kids to the table. He could hear them chatting through the doorway, and smiled at what he heard. Will was at the age where he was awkward around girls, and Mary sounded like she was at that age where she was permanently annoyed by everyone and everything.

Bringing the finished soup to the table, he asked Will, “how many bowls? Are Dante and Kendra home?”

Shrugging, Will replied, “haven’t seen either in days.”

Kerry frowned as he went back for three bowls. He left the kids on a pretty long leash as he was busy with work, and he really wasn’t their parent, but he worried. As they dug into their soup, he made a mental note to call Kendra’s school to make sure she was showing up. He realised he had no way to check up on Dante. He’d check his room to see if his stuff was still there later.

“Thank you for the food,” Mary broke the silence, “it’s really good.”

Kerry believed her seeing as she’d demolished her bowl quicker than him or Will. He smiled, “we try and take turns cooking around here, but usually Will ends up doing it, like tonight.”

“I don’t mind, I actually like cooking,” Will said between mouthfuls.

“Where are your parents, if you don’t mind me asking, Mary?” Kerry asked neutrally.

The girl stared at her empty bowl instead of meeting his eyes as she answered, “they were fighting again, so I left.”

“How long have you been gone?”

“A couple days. I usually stay with my friend, but she moved away.”

“Well you can spend the night, but I have to call your parents and let them know you’re here,” he hated when kids like Mary showed up. Too often the parents didn’t care at all, and the kids knew it. Mary gave him the number reluctantly, but didn’t look surprised when he put the phone back on the receiver after the 12th ring.

“Dad’s probably too busy with his books to pick up,” she grumbled.

“And your mother?”

Mary shrugged.

Kerry sighed, “I’ll try again in the morning.”

The sound of the front door opening drew their attention. Kerry stepped into the hallway and crossed his arms in preparation. Whichever teen it was, they deserved a stern word about disappearing without a word and missing their chores.

The teen in question, black shirt rumpled, and bags under his eyes, looked like a deer in headlights upon spotting him.

“Yo’, Officer,” Dante waved a sloppy salute at him, “what did I do this time?”

“Where have you been?” he demanded, “Will hasn’t seen you in days.”

“Around,” the teen replied glibly, “who’s the new girl?”

Kerry glanced behind him at Mary peeking around the doorway, and sighed.

“Mary, this is Dante. Dante, this is Mary. She won’t be staying long,” he made a point to look at Mary while he said it.

“I give it a week before my parents even notice I’m gone,” she said, putting a hand on her hip.

“A runaway, hey?” Dante looked her up and down, cocked his hip and smirked, “Mommy and Daddy fighting?”

Kerry sighed at the taunting tone in the teenager’s voice. “Dante, go eat some soup and do your chores.”

Why were kids always so antagonistic? Surprisingly, Dante left without any more of a fight, leaving Mary to glare after him. Kerry noticed she had the most interesting eyes – heterochromatic red and blue.

“Let’s show you to your room, then,” he told her, “and ignore him. He’s got a lot of attitude.”

Attitude and probably his own ‘mommy’ issues, Kerry thought, remembering the photo he'd found with the kid's stuff. A woman with long blonde hair and a hint of Dante's features.

Chapter Text

Was there anything more satisfying than a stack of cold, hard cash? Feeling the edges of the paper as you ran your thumb across the bills? Seeing the printed hundreds as you riffle them? Dante didn’t think so. With the stack in his hands he could eat pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner for months. He could get his coat repaired. Or get a new one, maybe a knee length one this time. He could pay the deposit, first, and last month’s rent on an apartment. The Fontana job had paid well, and was a promising avenue for future work. Taking a couple out of the stack, he hid the rest in his bag and left his room. Wonder if the new girl is up yet, he wondered. She was interesting, a lot more interesting than Will. He thought Kendra might be interesting, but they hadn't crossed paths yet.

Mary was awake, and snooping through the cupboards in the kitchen when he entered.

“Looking for the booze stash?” asked Dante, leaning against the fridge.

“I doubt Mr. Gray has any, considering we’re all underage,” she replied, in a tone that clearly conveyed she thought he was an idiot.

Dante didn’t let that bother him. “I dunno, he’s got a stressful job. I bet he likes to unwind with a glass of Jack.”

Mary seemed to consider that, humouring him. “You could be right, but he wouldn’t keep it out here.” She closed the cabinet she’d been rifling through and added, irate, “what’s a girl gotta do to find some coffee around here?”

Dante blinked. That was an opening if he’d ever heard one. “There’s a coffee shop a few blocks from here. My treat?”

Mary crossed her arms. She liked to do that, he noticed. She also gave him a once over, starting from his scuffed combat boots, to his blue jeans, studded belt, white T and favourite red leather jacket, which he’d run a thread through the tear earlier that morning. It was a hack job, but it gave it a sort of punk look.

“Alright.”

A grin crept onto Dante's face. He felt elated, and a bit surprised she'd agreed. Time to get to know the mysterious runaway with the pretty eyes.

The coffee shop was quiet, most adults at work doing whatever it was they did in their little cubicles. Dante and Mary sat by the window. He’d ordered a hot chocolate, cursing the tiny shop’s menu for their lack of sundaes, and Mary a black coffee.

“Don’t drink coffee?” asked Mary.

“Nah, I’m fueled by sugar.” He admired her small smile, then asked her a question in turn, “how long are you going to stay here?”

She looked out the window, smile fading. “Can’t stay that long, my mom will get worried eventually.”

“Why’d you leave?” Was that rude to ask?

When he received a glare he guessed it probably was, but she answered anyway, “my dad’s a fucking psycho. He’s… obsessive, and downright abusive, and my mom is too scared to do anything about it.”

“Ah, geez… I’d leave too. Want me to kill him?”

Mary answered incredulously, “are you serious?”

“Sort of?” He rubbed his chin. “I’ve never done a hit before, but I’ve done a lot of fucked up shit for money.”

“You’re not kidding,” her eyes were still wide and she was giving him a weird look.

Whoops, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

She put her head in her hands, sighed, and said, “no, it’s no one else’s business. I’ll figure something out.”

“Okay. I don’t come cheap anyway,” he tried to lift the mood.

“I’m sure,” her reply was drenched in sarcasm.

They spent some time finishing their drinks, talking about light topics. Dante learned Mary wanted to go to college, wanted to be rich, and wanted to learn to ride a motorcycle. He told her he hated school, but that being rich would be pretty great. He also wanted to ride a motorcycle, and they talked about what kind of bike they would get one day. They talked about bands and action movies, and the topic shifted to guns. Dante couldn’t help but brag about Ebony and Ivory, and promised to show her later. Mary mentioned she’d borrowed her father’s Ruger P90 and tried to shoot cans in the forest on the edge of her town, but that it was a horrible gun for small hands.

Dante found himself genuinely enjoying getting to know her. She had a sort of spiky exterior, but when she warmed up to you her sass and sarcasm lost their edge. When he caught the time on the shop’s kitschy wall clock he was reluctant to say goodbye, but he had an appointment to keep.

They split up outside the cafe with a promise to hang out again the next day, and Dante walked with a smile on his face all the way to an apartment near downtown. It was Monica’s, the brick apartment exterior a reminder of a night not too long ago when he’d been unceremoniously kicked out into the cold, wet night. He hit the buzzer unsure if she was even home, but hoping he’d timed it right. She’d asked him to stop by at the theatre, but hadn’t given him a time. He knew she kept similar hours to him, and usually wasn’t awake until the sun was high in the sky, and that she left for the bar in the early evening.

“Hello?” Monica’s voice came through garbled by the ancient intercom system.

“Hey babes, it’s Tony. Let me up?” He tried to keep the hesitation from his voice, and reminded himself that she’d forgiven him at the theatre the other day. She wasn’t mad at him anymore. Probably. Hopefully.

BZZZT.

The front door unlocked, and he figured that was answer enough.

Monica’s apartment was on the fourth floor, and the elevator was so old it had a roughly ten percent chance of stranding you in between floors, so he took the stairs. She was waiting for him in her doorway, looking like she was midway in her ‘getting ready to go out’ process. Makeup done, hair half straightened, and wearing her green satin robe.

“Hey,” she smiled at him, “you know I have an elevator, right?”

“I like the exercise,” he slipped past her with a grin. And the first time that stupid thing trapped me was also the LAST time I willingly used it. He was pretty sure he had claustrophobia, or something. He’d nearly torn the door open before the building maintenance had freed him.

“Want a drink?” Monica asked, heading to the kitchen.

Dante replied in the affirmative, stepping over what looked like the entire contents of her makeup collection spread onto the floor, to flop onto the couch.

“Where are you headed later?” He yelled to be heard through the living room and kitchen wall.

“Orange!” She yelled back, then left the kitchen with a beer in each hand. “I’m meeting Jenny and Prisha. You could join us?”

Dante accepted his beer with gusto, and took a sip while considering. Orange was a smaller club in the neighbourhood, a bit seedy, but cheap. They played more top-twenty than he liked, but there was also usually a table free since it was surrounded by more popular places. And most importantly, the bouncers forgot how to read if you slipped them a twenty.

“Why not,” he shrugged. “I’ve got nothing else to do, and I just got paid.”

Monica smiled at him and resumed straightening her hair.

“Maybe Prisha will actually let you go home with her this time,” she teased.

Dante cringed, remembering his failed drunken advances on the older girl.

“I think I’m good.”

“Oh?” Monica swapped the straightener for hairspray. “Did you meet someone?”

He had just meant to spare himself further embarrassment with Prisha, but at her question he immediately thought of crossed arms, a sardonic smirk, and two mis-matching eyes. He locked eyes with Monica and she must have seen something on his face because she put down the hairspray and leaned into his space.

“Oh my god,” she sounded way too enthusiastic, “did you!?”

“Pipe down, she’s just a girl at the home I’m staying at,” he rubbed his nose.

“Is she actually your age?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He said with fake offence.

Monica rolled her eyes at him.

“You wouldn’t get shot down so often if you stopped hitting on women ten years older than you,” she offered. “So what’s the girl like?”

Dante scoffed, “I like mature women, what can I say?” he paused, then continued, “Mary’s a year younger than me, but she’s been through some shit.”

“Well we know a bit about that,” Monica leaned back into the couch from where she sat on the floor, and added, “Mary’s a cute name.”

“She hates it,” he laughed. She’d admitted to him at the coffee shop that she thought it was the most basic, boring name ever.

“You should invite her out sometime, I wanna meet her.”

“Absolutely not,” he shot her down, “for one, you’re a terrible influence and not everyone enjoys underage drinking as much as me, and two, she’s probably not going to be in town for long.”

“How come?”

“I guess she ran away from home, doesn’t live here. She’ll have to go back before her parents start kicking up a fuss and get the police involved.”

Monica made a sad cooing noise. “Aww, that sucks.”

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes at her.

It did suck, though, knowing that he would continue getting to know her only to have her leave. But he wasn't the type to think that far ahead. If he was enjoying something in the moment, that was enough for him.

Monica returned to her previous spot on the floor in front of the mirror to finish her hair, and they kept talking while she got ready and Dante finished his beer. They didn’t bring up the fight, and he was glad for it. They had the kind of easy camaraderie that was rare, he realised. He’d known her for only a few months, but he was closer to her than people he’d known for years. Granted those were mainly people at Bobby’s, and not the sort you wanted to be close to. The nearest he could compare it to, was Nell. The old lady had given him his precious pistols, and opened her home to him for a while just like Monica. He’d have to stop being a charity case one day. Maybe soon with the job prospects he was getting in this town.

“Does this top look okay?” Monica twirled into the room in a short black top. She’d finished her hair and makeup and was playing a game she loved to play with him.

“Smokin’” he grinned at her.

“With this skirt?” She posed with a hand on her hip.

“Suitably stylish,” he pretended to be seriously considering the question. She knew he would just say everything she wore looked great, but it was a little routine they’d done often regardless.

“Red or purple purse?” She held up the two options for judgement.

Dante didn’t even pause. “Red, obviously.”

“You’re too predictable. You should try and branch out a little.”

“I know what I like,” he shrugged.

They ordered dinner, and Dante treated her like he’d promised. They ate the Chinese takeout sprawled on the floor in front of the TV. He did branch out sometimes. He liked chow mein fine, but it wasn’t pizza.

When the sun was out for the count, the food long gone, and Dante’s brain cells depleted from one too many episodes of a brain rottingly dull reality TV show, they left for the club.

It was busy downtown. The mild fall weather allowed for walking without need for a heavy coat or umbrella, and people seemed eager to be out enjoying it before the rainy and snowy months came. Lineups were starting to form outside venues, and the muffled music of each overlapping to form a noisy hum. Their chosen location for tonight, at least to start, was a garishly orange painted two story building on the grimier end of downtown. The bouncer recognized Monica, and Dante as well – his white hair was too distinctive – but accepted the bill slipped into his hand and waved them through the doors without trouble.

Inside, they found Monica’s friends and proceeded to let loose. Beers turned to shots, and the music got progressively louder and faster as the night went on. Dante found himself tapping his foot to a catchy electronic beat while sitting in a booth flirting with his newly met companion.

“Can I get you another drink?” he asked the green-eyed brunette. They were huddled close together to be heard over the music.

“Rum and coke,” she smiled at him, and ran her fingers delicately over his hand.

“Be right back,” he smirked, and headed to the bar.

“Dante!” Waylaid by hearing his name, he looked around and spotted Monica waving chaotically from a corner near the exit.

“Woah there,” he slipped through the throng of people and caught her hand holding a full glass before it could upend over an unsuspecting dancer, “let’s not waste perfectly good booze.” Monica’s only response was to giggle and Dante eyed her with extra scrutiny. “You need to step outside for a bit?”

His friend seemed to consider his question, and her eyebrows pinched together when she finally responded, “yeah, actually, that's a good idea.”

“You shouldn’t have tried to match me shot for shot,” he chuckled.

“It’s not my fault you,” she poked him in the chest and wobbled a little, “drink tequila like its water.”

“It’s a talent,” he smirked. “I promised a pretty lady a drink though, so I’ll meet you in the alley in a sec’.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, I’m fiiine,” she shook her head.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, only led her to the back door before heading back to the bar. He was sure she would be fine, she was no stranger to heavy drinking, but he’d check on her anyway.

“Sorry for the wait.” He slid back into the booth with the brunette. Ashley, he remembered her name.

Ashley accepted the rum and coke with a smile.

“No worries, thanks for the drink.”

“Hey so,” he began, “I’m sorry to bounce like this, but I’ve got a friend here who had a few too many that I need to take care of.”

Did she look disappointed? He’d definitely have to nag Monica later for being too liberal with the tequila.

“Oh, sure. It was nice meeting you, Dante.”

“You too, maybe I’ll see you around.”

She smiled again, and brought her drink to her lips. Her very plump lips. Monica owed him so hard for this.

Threading through the crowd, Dante made his way to the back exit of the club. Monica was nowhere in sight so he figured she’d gone outside. He pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool air.

There were a few people milling about in the alley smoking or chatting, but none with a black top and red purse, so he wandered up the alley.

“Monica?” He called out. He heard no answer as he turned the corner onto another narrow alley. This one was void of clubgoers, and much quieter.

Dante pushed his hair out of his eyes, then froze as he heard a gasping sound. Like someone fighting for breath. He spun around and rushed to the source of the noise.

Propped up next to a stack of pallets, half hidden in the gloom, was Monica clutching a hand to her blood covered chest. Her breathing was stuttered and choking.

“Monica!” He dropped next to her and tried to contain his panic. Gingerly lifting her hand he quickly replaced it with his own as he saw the deep puncture wound steadily losing blood.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he tried to put pressure on the wound, but his brain was running a thousand miles a minute. Had she been stabbed in the heart? Or did they miss it? She was too cold. Was she going into shock? He needed to call an ambulance. Then Monica went quiet and limp, her head lolling forward and her gasping breaths silenced.

Everything that happened after he realised his friend was dying, was a blur to Dante. He’d run to a payphone, he remembered. There were paramedics, and then cops. And then he was in a metal chair in a hospital waiting room, eyes burning, hands covered in Monica’s blood. A man in a police uniform stood over him, telling him what he already knew.

“I’m sorry son, but she didn’t make it.”

Chapter Text

Kerry looked through the one-way mirror at the white-haired teenager with dread. He sat in a folding chair, staring at his hands on the table. Not moving, not saying a word. It was the stillest he’d ever seen the kid. The harsh overhead light accentuated the dark circles under his eyes.

He kept watching as his coworker entered the interrogation room and sat across from Dante. The kid barely seemed to realise he wasn’t alone anymore. Kerry had seen plenty of reactions to trauma, but kids were always the worst.

Kerry pressed a button on the panel in front of him, and sound filtered in from the room.

“ – ask you some questions. I know it’s been a long night, but it’s better to get your testimony while everything is fresh.”

Dante looked around the room once, then at the detective, nodding.

“Right, yeah. Sure.”

The detective fiddled with the tape recorder.

“Can I get your name for the record?”

A pause. Then, “Dante Jones.”

“Alright Dante, and how did you know the victim, Monica Maier?”

“We… were friends. Since I came to town. She let me stay with her when I didn’t have anywhere else.”

“And when was that?” The detective kept an easygoing tone to his questioning.

“Seven months?” Dante ran his hand through his hair, giving the room another look. Kerry noticed him pause on the one-way mirror.

“Where are you from originally?”

“Red Grave.”

“Do your parents still live there?”

Dante tapped his finger on the table, and replied irritably, “how is this relevant to Monica?”

“Just answer the question, please.”

“My parents are dead.”

Kerry knew that wasn’t a surprise to the detective. He’d filled him in on what he knew of the teenager’s situation already.

“I see. You know I have to ask this; who is your legal guardian at the moment, and do they know you’re here?”

“No clue. I ran away a long time ago.”

The kid must have known who had custody of him, whether it was a foster parent or the state, but was refusing to answer, and by the detective’s sigh, he knew it too.

“Okay. I’m going to ask you some questions about your day, try and remember as many details as you can,” the detective was going to be checking for consistency in the kid’s answers. “What did you have for breakfast?”

Dante seemed a little taken aback by the trivial question, but answered, “hot chocolate.”

“And where was that, at Monica’s?”

“No, I haven’t been staying there for a week or so. It was at a coffee shop in Inglewood.”

“Where are you staying?” The detective asked.

Dante narrowed his eyes, “I’m pretty sure you already know the answer to that. He works with you, doesn’t he?”

“I have to ask, whether I already know or not. Please, answer the question.”

“Whatever. With old Mr. Grey and his charity cases.”

Kerry frowned. He wasn’t old. He was thirty-two.

“Okay. And who did you have breakfast with? Mr. Grey?”

“No, another girl from the house. Mary.”

Kerry’s eyebrows lifted. Seems like the two were getting along after all. He wouldn’t have expected it from the meeting he’d witnessed.

“When did you meet up with Monica?”

“Right after I left Mary.”

“What time was that?”

Dante frowned. “Three, maybe?”

“That’s a long breakfast.”

“We were talking for a while…”

“Alright. Walk me through your day after you met up with Monica, then. Don’t leave anything out, even if it seems inconsequential.”

The kid obeyed, saying they’d hung around her apartment before heading to a club.

“We’ve established that you’re a minor, correct?” the detective interrupted.

“What’s more important, that I was drinking or that a girl got fucking murdered?” Dante’s patience looked to be running out. Kerry couldn’t entirely blame him. It was so late it was early, the kid hadn’t slept, and he’d watched his friend die in his arms just hours ago.

The detective ploughed right through the teenager’s outburst as if it hadn’t happened, “do you have any idea who killed her? Who else was there at the club?

“Only people I knew there were her friends,” Dante shook his head, “maybe some psycho client of hers, I don’t know.”

“Client?”

Dante tapped his finger again, but stayed silent. Kerry was noticing a trend. Whenever he didn’t want to answer, or wasn’t sure how to answer, Dante would fidget with his hands.

“Withholding information could keep us from finding the culprit,” the detective pushed gently.

“She did escort work.”

“I see. Did she have a boyfriend?”

Dante shook his head again. “No. They were never cool with her job.”

“Were you romantically involved with her?”

Dante frowned. “The hell does that mean?”

“Did you have sexual – “

“No!” Dante snapped, tapping his finger on the table again.

“I apologise, like I said, I have to ask,” the detective continued, “do you know who any of her clients are?”

“No.”

“She never talked about any of them to you?”

“Just complained when they were creepy. Never told me any names, though.”

“Who did she work for, someone that might have those names?”

Kerry agreed entirely with the direction his coworker was taking. It was likely that the suspect was a jilted client, if it was premeditated. He never suspected Dante, as little as he knew the teenager, it was obvious how upset he was over the night’s events. On top of the fact that there’d been no murder weapon on him, and he’d been the one to call nine-one-one.

“This greasy guy at Micello’s, I don’t know his name. Only met him once.”

Kerry wrote down the name, their most promising lead so far. The door opening behind him made him turn around.

“Hey Kerry, update from forensics,” a haggard looking officer hovered in the doorway.

“Thanks Mike, I can pass it on to Jim after he’s done.”

Mike rubbed his nose. “I don’t know, he might wanna hear it now. Could save him a couple hours interrogating the kid.”

Intrigued, Kerry went to the door to the interrogation room, knocked twice and twice again in a signal to the detective inside to come out. They watched Jim excuse himself from the white-haired teenager inside, and join them on the other side of the mirror, shutting the door behind him.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Hey Jim, I was telling Kerry here, forensics isn’t done yet but they sent me to show you this,” Mike said, then pulled a black and white photo from a folder.

Jim grabbed the photo for a better look, bringing it closer to Kerry in the process. Kerry swore. The photo showed an ornate dagger photographed against cement, a dark liquid coating the length of the blade and most of the hilt.

“Goddamnit, it’s another one,” Jim swore, “I doubt it'll have prints on it either.”

“She doesn’t match any of the other victims’ profiles,” Kerry added, frowning.

“None of them match,” Jim complained, “And I doubt we’ll find something with her to tie them all together. She had no family. The person closest to her is sitting in that room, and clearly holds a strong contempt for the law.”

Kerry agreed with Jim’s account of the teenager. Jim didn’t even know about the guns he’d caught the kid with, but it was obvious Dante didn’t trust or like the police from that interrogation. He likely was only cooperating because he wanted to know what happened to Monica just as much as Kerry and his team.

“Show him the picture,” suggested Mike.

Kerry shook his head, “he’s been through a lot already –”

“No, Kerry. It's a good idea,” Jim interrupted, “he might know something.”

Kerry sighed, but stood next to Mike in front of the one-way mirror as Jim returned to his interrogation, photo in hand. Jim had seniority, in the precinct and on the case. He was amenable to suggestions, but also stubborn in his old age.

“Do you recognize this?” Jim held the photo of the murder weapon up for Dante.

Nose scrunched up, Dante replied, “no. Why? Is that what she was stabbed with?”

“It was found in an alley near the scene,” Jim divulged, but Dante’s face revealed nothing.

It was too much to hope, Kerry mulled. They had another victim and not a single new lead. If this kept up the news headlines were going to start questioning why the police weren’t doing their jobs. The city wasn’t used to killings like this. Gang activity and drug related disputes were one thing, but when nurses and college students became victims…

The door to the interrogation room opening broke him out of his musing. Jim gestured back inside.

“You can take him home now.”

Dante was quiet on the drive back. He looked exhausted, and had only offered a sullen greeting when Kerry had collected him. Despite his profession, Kerry didn’t think he was very good at consoling the grieving. So he didn’t try. He let the early morning radio station fill the silence, until Dante finally spoke.

“You guys are gonna find her killer, right?”

Kerry kept his eyes on the road while he answered, “we’ll do our best.”

“You’ve got no clue who did it,” Dante surmised.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll be one hundred percent honest with you, if you do the same with me. Anything you kept from my coworker back there, I’d like to know. If you noticed anyone new around Monica, anyone following you last night, anyone at the bar acting strange. The smallest thing could help us.”

The kid in the passenger seat didn’t answer at first. Kerry hoped his gamble paid off. He wasn’t supposed to share anything about the case, but he had a feeling Dante had been keeping information from Jim. The tells, if nothing else. The kid would make a terrible poker player.

“A couple days ago,” Dante began, “I was walking back to the house late at night and I swore I was being followed. I’ve got good instincts for that kind of stuff. But I couldn’t see anyone, and if it was a demon… well they usually just come at me with claws and teeth, I don’t know why it’d be playing hide and seek.”

Kerry couldn’t imagine the life Dante had led if he was that blasé about creatures from hell.

“Was Monica with you?” He asked.

“No, that’s why I didn’t mention it. Didn’t think it was anything related to her. Probably isn’t, but well you asked, so now tell me what’s up.”

Kerry sighed, a bit disappointed. It was possible Dante had been the intended target, and had been followed by the murderer, but there wasn’t anything concrete, only a ‘feeling’ he’d been followed.

“I can’t tell you everything, but I think you deserve to know that we found evidence linking Monica’s death to three other recent murders,” Kerry chose his words carefully. “This is very likely a serial killer. I expect the papers will catch on soon.” A glance to his right showed him Dante, eyes wide, staring out the window.

“But why her?” He asked, voice catching.

Hands clenched on the steering wheel, Kerry answered, “I don’t know… and I’m sorry you have to go through this. I swear I’ll find them, so no one else gets hurt.”

He’d dreaded being assigned to the case, but now he couldn’t imagine sitting back and watching someone else handle it.