# The End: Chapter 20: Murder, Myths, and Meilo.

Author: Mojotheomegawolf
Tags: Canine, Feral, No-Yiff, Wolf, Wolves, alpha and omega

#20 of The End

Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Murder, Myths, and Meilo.  
  
Kate's P.O.V.  
  
The journey home afforded me about an hour worth of silence in which to  
think and reflect upon my interview with Detective Gaites. Obviously,  
since they were the reason I even went to the North that day, my mind  
initially centered itself around the facts:  
  
Name: Elias  
  
Sex: Male  
  
Age: Two Years  
  
Class: Omega  
  
Occupation: Indentured Servant  
  
Disappeared: 3 March  
  
Recovered: 18 March  
  
Location: Western Territory, Sector 7, Prairie  
  
Status: Deceased  
  
Cause of Death: Unknown  
  
Other: Origin Unknown. Resident Alien- Northern Republic.  
  
But as my paws carried me farther from the North, my mind began to drift  
back to my husband, and in that moment, I understood. Humphrey always  
was much more perceptive than I, even though his quirks and various  
social shortcomings often prevented him from making those perceptions  
known, but I quickly learned that what he would not or could not tell me  
in words, he would often reveal through his actions. Even though I  
didn't realize it at first, Elias was no different. I had always found  
Humphrey's bizarre obsession with the previously unidentified wolf to be  
quite unsettling, but as I reflected upon the past several months, and  
upon his odd fascination with the body we'd recovered, I realized what I  
should have known all along.  
  

 In this moment, it occurred to me that I, much like those ignorant,  
backwards alphas up north, never actually saw Elias as a wolf. To me, he  
had always been just another body. I didn't care who he was, who he  
loved or who loved him. All I cared about was what happened to him, when  
and why. Up until that point, I had always thought that the Artist was  
the one who erased him from existence, but in that moment I realized  
that all they had done was kill him. Sure, they took his life, but by  
failing to see or care about the individual who once occupied that  
mangled corpse, I took his name, his memory, and everything else that  
made him him and tossed it aside as though he was no more valuable than  
the refuse that I bury near the back of my den.  
  
This moment, for me, was one of epiphany, and as the light of  
realization shined down upon me, something inside of me changed. Finally  
I saw him as he was, as my husband had always seen him, and it was then  
that I truly understood what his case should have meant to me. Elias was  
somebody's son, and, much like the lives that had once grown in me, his  
was taken before it ever really had a chance to begin, and that pissed  
me off.  
  

 Previously, I had poured so much effort into solving his case because I  
wanted the glory of unraveling what had become the greatest mystery of  
my generation, and because I wanted to prove my worth as an alpha to  
everyone who doubted me. But as I saw Elias through my husband's eyes, I  
felt a fire begin to burn inside of me. I had to find the Artist and  
bring them down- not for glory, or in order to prove myself, but in  
order to give Elias his name and his dignity back- to give back the  
names and dignity of every victim they'd claimed.  
  
Elias, Janice, and Candu: Three different wolves, three different lives,  
three different stories, all brought to the same, violent end by the  
same, vile paw. The light that their tragically short lives cast upon  
those who knew them had been shrouded by the veil of their fate. And by  
that merciless paw, and by that tragic fate, they would be bound until  
the light of justice set them free. I vowed on that day that come hell  
or high water I would be the one to cast off the shackles that the  
Artist had set upon them. I would not rest until I brought their reign  
of terror to an end.  
  

 More determined than ever before, my mind literally buzzed as I set foot  
upon friendly, familiar soil. I had a name. I had a timeline. I didn't  
have much more than that, unfortunately, but I knew that I could at  
least combine that information with what we had gathered in the past  
several months. Hopefully with all of this, I would be one step closer  
to bringing the Artist down. However, my priorities changed when I  
received some rather alarming news.  
  
Humphrey's P.O.V.  
  
I find that as time goes on, I remember less and less about what had  
happened to me on that day. Used to be, I could recall, in great detail,  
the who, the where, the when, and the what, but as time wore on, more  
and more of these memories slowly slipped away from me. Now, I vaguely  
recall waking up in my den and being told by the alpha assigned to keep  
me there that I had attacked my instructor. Aside from one harrowing  
truth that I discovered while I was under, the rest is lost in time's  
blur, and lives on only through the word of our local fabulist.  
  
Much to my chagrin, he took great interest in me once word of my  
A-School experience found his ears. I couldn't even begin to tell you  
why. Personally I thought it was all rather banal, and I have never  
spoken about it to anyone other than my mate. So the information he  
received was second, or even third hand, but, with all of this, several  
misinterpretations and endless creative liberties, he conjured together  
a far-fetched tale that enthralled the masses. In the beginning, there  
were some elements of truth to it, but Mojo never told any story the  
same way twice, so as the story continued to evolve, what were mere  
dreams became metaphors, and words that somehow pierced the veil into  
which I had fallen became loosely tied plot devices.  
  

 I don't know. At this point, it's just funny to me. I've accepted that  
my story had become his, and honestly I'm okay with that. Those are days  
I'd rather not remember anyway. So if him taking my story means I can  
immerse myself in a world of fantasy when I reflect upon what was in  
reality a terrifying near-death experience, then by all means: he can  
have it.  
  
Kate's P.O.V.  
  
When I arrived back at my den that afternoon, I was surprised to find my  
dad waiting for me outside. My dad always had a stoic, mysterious aura  
about him, and to this day I still find it impossible to read him. His  
eyes were always inquisitive, and they made it quite clear that he was  
always thinking, always analyzing, but they would never let onto where  
his thoughts took him or what emotions they stirred within.  
  
It was these eyes that caught my gaze as I approached, and he, adrift in  
the depths of his mind, seemed completely unaware of my presence.  
  
"Dad?" I called, confused.  
  
My voice seemed to shake him from his thoughts and he turned to me.  
  
"Kate," he said, pointedly, as he turned to me, "I've been looking for  
you all day. Where have you been?"  
  

 "Chasing down another dead end," I lied as I walked past him, "would you  
like to come in?"  
  
"Actually, Kate, I need you to come with me," he replied, "there's been  
an incident at Pointe West."  
  
My stomach sank and I quickly turned to face him.  
  
"What do you mean an incident?" I pressed, nervously, "is Humphrey okay?"  
  
"Actually, Humphrey was the incident," he explained, "it's still unclear  
what exactly happened, but the report I received states that he attacked  
his instructor."  
  
As these words filled my ears,my mind was flooded with confusion.  
  
"Wait, what?" I asked him, befuddled, "what do you mean he attacked his  
instructor?"  
  
"I mean he attacked his instructor," my dad stated, plainly.  
  
"Is anyone hurt?" I pressed.  
  
"Thankfully no," he replied, "but just so you are aware, Humphrey has  
been detained, and he may have to stand before a judge."  
  
"Gods..." I said, breathlessly, as I collapsed to my haunches as shock  
and confusion overtook my motor functions, "I mean, like... do you have  
any idea what happened?"  
  
"I've told you all I know," he stated, plainly, "I received this news  
earlier this morning, so I'm sure we'll know more when we get there, but  
for now we gotta go."  
  

 "Yeah," I replied, distantly as I collected myself and prepared to  
depart with him, "alright."  
  
With this, we began to make our way down the ramp.  
  
"By the way," he began as we reached the base of the incline, "when you  
and I are done at Pointe West, I need you to report to my den."  
  
"Okay?" I began, confused, "why?"  
  
"To receive a formal reprimand and NJP," he replied, plainly.  
  
"What?" I asked him, "why?"  
  
"Kate, you're my daughter and I love you," he began as he seated himself  
upon his haunches, "but dereliction of duty is a very serious offense."  
  
"But, I was doing my job," I argued, "I-"  
  
"Kate, you failed to report to your post," he interrupted.  
  
"Because I was working the Charlie case," I explained.  
  
"Kate, by failing to report to your assigned duty station, you broke the  
law," he replied, plainly, "the reason why doesn't matter."  
  
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, he spoke.  
  
"My paws are tied, Kate," he stated, "Be an adult. Take the punishment."  
  
I opened my mouth to argue further, but closed it and lowered my eyes.  
  

 "Yes, Alpha," I conceded.  
  
He rose to his paws.  
  
"Alright," he said as he began to walk once more, "let's go sort your  
husband out."  
  
I nodded and followed. Initially, as we walked, I felt bitterness toward  
my father, but ultimately I had to admit that he was right. My  
intentions didn't matter. I was not above the law, and if I acted like I  
was, what kind of leader would I be? I stewed over this for a while, but  
then every space in my head that had previously been occupied by my  
impending punishment, or by Elias and my drive to apprehend the Artist  
was conquered by thoughts of my husband. What happened? Who did he  
attack? And most importantly: Why? I'd known Humphrey for my entire  
life, and I never once saw him deliberately attempt to harm someone-  
even when that someone deserved it. Hell, back when we'd had that first  
fight, he was angrier than I had ever seen him, and even then he never  
threw anything, broke anything, or placed his paws on me. He didn't have  
a violent bone in his body. So what in the world could have possibly set  
him off like that?  
  

 "You'd know if you weren't so damned scared to let yourself feel  
something," my mind chimed in.  
  
Right on time, my mind came out of nowhere and sucker punched me in the  
gut like it likes to do whenever I am in moments of great emotional  
distress. Ordinarily, I would fight tooth and nail to banish that  
negative inner narrative, but on that day, I couldn't even argue,  
because she, like my father, was right. News about what had happened  
reached my dad hours ago, and if I was at my post where I was meant to  
be, I would have already been by my husband's side to defend him, but I  
was nowhere to be found.  
  
You remember how I mentioned increasingly reckless behavior? Well, my  
journey north is a shining testament to exactly that. Not only did I not  
report to my post that day, I went up to a very socially and politically  
unstable territory, half-cocked with no support and not a soul back home  
who could account for my whereabouts- all in order to chase down some  
wild hunch, no less. And when their lead detective would not cooperate  
with me, I threatened him with castration.  
  

 I could try to justify it all I wanted. I could say that I was just a  
product of my upbringing. I was trained to never feel, but at the end of  
the day, I knew that was bullshit. In spite of the lessons taught to me  
by my mother and father, I'd seen them grieve and process traumas in the  
past. This was done out of the public eye, of course, but regardless,  
they were capable of feeling, capable of managing their traumas in a  
healthy fashion. I, however, could not, and I had to accept that  
everything happened the way that it did on that day because something  
inside of me was broken.  
  
I was stirred from my mind when my eyes fell upon a small group of  
alphas a short distance ahead. There were a few faces I vaguely  
recognized, mixed in with a couple that I knew very well, but above all,  
there was a face I had hoped to never see again.  
  
In the center of the group, stood an alpha by the name of Meilo, and  
cards on the table: I hated his guts. Honestly, I still do. When it came  
to molding pups into soldiers, Meilo was the best there ever was, but as  
a leader, he was worthless. In truth, he was the worst commander I've  
ever seen. He was petty, egocentric, and stubborn. He made it quite  
clear that, to him, we were just bodies filling slots in the Western war  
machine. We would have resiliency briefings where he would act like he  
cared about us.  
  

 "You are more important than the mission," he would say, but we all knew  
it was bullshit.  
  
In spite of the beautiful words he spoke about mental health and morale,  
none of that meant ANYTHING to him, and he proved that when Flint's dad  
got sick.  
  
His mother was murdered by fur trappers when he was very young and he  
had no siblings, so he didn't really have anyone else. When his father  
fell ill in week three, a noticeable change overtook him. He became  
distracted... sloppy, restless. Where once he excelled, he fell behind.  
Where once he stood proud and tall, there stood a stooped, exhausted  
shell, and his performance as an alpha went from top of the class to  
washout almost overnight. Of course this was all to be expected. His  
father wasn't doing well when he took ill, and he started to decline  
fast. By the middle of week four, it was clear that his father wasn't  
going to make it, so we all expected for him to be temporarily released  
in order to go home and say his goodbyes. Sure, he would be washed back  
and wouldn't graduate with us, but at least he would get to see his  
father before he passed.  
  

 Meilo, however, didn't care. In his mind, Flint was weak. Pain and loss  
were part of being an alpha, and we could not allow either of those  
things to distract us or shake our resolve. So, Flint was forced to  
remain in A-School while, back home, his father slowly withered away.  
I'll never forget the last conversation we had. He seemed so...  
devastated, and yet, oddly at peace. I thought he had somehow managed to  
find a silver lining in all of it. His father had been suffering for a  
long time, so at least in death, he had finally been delivered from his  
pain. Little did I know that the peace he'd found was in his own fate,  
and that later that night, he would throw himself from the bluff.  
  
If I'd known, I would have never left his side that night. His death  
still eats me up, and I knew, as did the rest of the students, that it  
was all Meilo's fault. How it was that he was allowed to remain in  
command after Flint's suicide was beyond me, but his continued command  
just further drove home the point that in the face of it all, we didn't  
matter. We really were just bodies and numbers. I had promised myself  
that when I assumed command of the pack, that would be the first thing I  
would change, but in the midst of my hectic life, I had completely  
forgotten about it. Seeing Meilo that day brought it all back and it  
ignited a fire in my belly.  
  

 My father was well aware that I blamed Meilo for my friend's death, so  
when his eyes fell upon the infamous base Commandant, he immediately  
addressed me.  
  
"Don't do anything stupid," he warned in a hushed tone.  
  
"Dad, I'm fine," I insisted, though inside my stomach boiled with rage.  
  
"Kate, you're shaking," my father observed, "I know you hate Commander  
Meilo, but blowing your top won't help your husband, so get a hold of  
yourself and keep quiet, okay? I'll do the talking."  
  
"All I need to know is where they're keeping him," I replied through a  
suppressed growl, "soon as I know that, I'm out of here."  
  
My father simply nodded.  
  
"Okay," he relented.   
  
"But, fair warning: You might wanna stay where you can grab me," I  
whispered sinisterly, "because if he so much as mentions Flint, I'm  
gonna rip out his throat."  
  
It was clear that my father wished to respond, but, as I planned, we  
arrived before the group of alphas before he could.  
  
"Alpha Winston," Meilo greeted, "good afternoon."

Source: https://sofurry.com/s/rn9pvl5m
Part of the series The End
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