Alpha Micah Black: Homecoming

Chapter4

February 24th, 10: 37 PM, Blackwater CEO’s penthouse suite floor…literally

The darkness invaded my thoughts, wrapping itself around…fuck, who am I kidding? The struggle of waking up from this pesky thing was harder than I expected. Faintly and sporadically, voices were heard calling my name.

“Sargeant!” a frail female voice warbled within my thoughts.

Darkness.

“Mike!” a gruff male voice quickly broke the dark silence and then faded out.

Darkness…again.

“Tyler!” the same gruff male voice hollered out.

Ugh…I hate that name. It’s my birth name. Tyler Micah Blackwater.

A jolt breaks the darkness.

Between my body getting shaken and my actual name spoken, my eyes slowly fluttered open. Instead of total darkness, blurry images stood over me. Small, soft hands were on my temples. Soothing healing pulses from the hands cleared away the last of the cobwebs.

“Uh…hi,” I sputtered out at the figures hovering around me.

“Welcome back,” the gruff male’s voice smart-mouthed. I recognized it coming from my arrogant CEO cousin. “Henry, go bring Detective Sergeant Black some water,” he commanded his omega.

“Right away, Alpha,” he replied, zooming off to fetch me some water.

Not sure if the water will help. But, hey! Who am I to turn away a free beverage?

“Yeah…thanks,” I groggily uttered, attempting to sit up.

Using a free hand to rub my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, I shook my head to clear out any leftover woozy. Henry made it back rather quickly with a crystal whiskey glass filled with water.

“What? The wet bar was closer,” Henry explained, handing me the fine “china”.

“Fine,” my cousin conceded with a huff, rolling his eyes.

Hanna covered her mouth, trying to hide a giggle. However, a twinkle in her eye gave her away. Dylan gave his reluctant mate a wink. Their story may not be the greatest love story ever written, but at least they are slowly finding some sort of common ground. So, it’s moving slower than a snail’s pace.

I tossed back the clear hydrating liquid and handed Henry back the glass. George decided to step from behind the lush greenery at that time.

“What happened? What did I miss?” George pressed for answers. His voice was laced with concern.

“I fell,” I replied. “Now, please help get me up,” I grumbled gruffly, obviously frustrated by my predicament.

George and Dylan took one of my arms and lifted me off the floor. I’m still a little woozy, but better.

“Oh…Mr. Blackwater, here are the forms to file your complaint,” George, ever the professional, replied, handing my cousin the forms.

“Thanks,” he said. “Henry put these on my desk, please,” he commanded his omega, handing him the forms. Turning to George and me, he continued, “I’ll get these filled out as soon as I can and turn them in at my next meeting with my parole officer.” Yep, he’s still stuck wearing the fancy piece of jewelry.

“That should work,” I mumbled.

Dylan then scooped Hanna off of the floor and held her tightly to his body. Hanna didn’t fight him but nestled in his arms. And that would be the mate bond at play.

Ah, the mate bond. That pesky, wonderful, little thing that joins each wolf with their soulmate, significant other, or spouse–whichever you decide–given to us by the Moon G-ddness. Some wolves hold the mate bond as sacred. While others…eh, not so much. Great damage can happen to one’s wolf when the bond gets severed–either through natural causes or the worst of the worst…rejection. But no worries about the Blackwater wolves. We were taught to honor and revere the mate bond. This explains why my head was f****d up. My first mate died a horrific death. The guilt still haunts me. But somehow, I was granted another mate. I still thank the Moon G-ddess every day for her…uh, um, I can’t seem to recall her name. It’ll come to me.

Anyway…back to the story.

“Sergeant…make sure you sneak in a hug from Tiff while you’re out,” Hanna highly recommended.

“Tiffeny?” I pondered. Something from deep within recognized the name, so I decided to go with it. “Sure…I’ll do that,” I lied. I don’t have time for that. We need to keep on with each lead and follow it through.

“Forensics and Doc Jacobson need us back at the station,” George stated, changing the subject.

“So, will you be able to help out the Wolfdale City PD again, Miss Grimm?” I quickly asked, before turning to leave.

“Uh…yeah, we’ve discussed this already, Sergeant,” she reminded me, giving me a weird look.

“Right, we did. My apologies.”

February 24th, 11: 57 PM, The Underworld of Wolfdale City Police Station…

With it being late at night, George and I entered the lowest level–the basement–through the back entrance. LED lights turned on with the help of the motion sensors brightened our path to the labs.

“Where to first?” I posed the question to George.

“Doc Jacobson’s office,” he replied, still giving me the same weird look Miss Grimm gave me.

“What?” I mouthed.

“Nothing…forget it,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

Within minutes, we stepped into the morgue. Dr. Noah Davidson was working on the victim. Scalpels and other surgical-type instruments were in use. I still don’t envy his job. Does it pay more…probably? Do I care…not in the slightest. I am a bachelor after all. Right?

“He’s in his office waiting for you,” Noah blurted out, holding a scalpel in one hand.

“Thanks,” George and I muttered in unison.

Doctor Gilbert Jacobson’s office, usually well-kept, was in a chaotic state. Medical books, files, and various types of paperwork were littered over his small office. The countertop and floor were covered with shattered pieces of glass beakers and test tubes. Captain Carlton Winston held a frantic Doc Jacobson back, while Chief Fenton Edwards was guarding our furry suspect.

“Keep that thing away from me,” Doc yelled, holding a medical book in his hand. It looked like he was getting ready to throw it at our suspect.

“Thing?” I couldn’t help but question Doc’s remarks.

“Okay, Gilbert. That’s enough,” Chief Fenton Edwards barked out.

“But—” he said, plopping the book on the countertop “---what exactly am I to do with…”

“Help us figure out who he is or was,” Captain Winston chimed in.

Our furry suspect, still wearing the painter’s coveralls, hung his head. I don’t envy the situation he has found himself in. But figuring out how he got there, well…

Loud banging noises from across the hall inside our forensics lab carried over into the silent morgue. They were followed by Demon and Ceber-nerd.

“What brings you two over here?” Chief Edwards questioned the forensic minions.

“Cerber-nerd, I mean Raymond and I came up with a solution on where to hold the POI,” Demon clumsily explained. The Chief, captain, and doc shook their heads in disapproval. George did his best to refrain from laughing while elbowing my side. I’m a bad influence on the minions. Oops.

“So, what’s your solution?” I chimed in. My arms folded across my chest, waiting for their reply.

“We have an unused evidence locker not in current use,” Cerber-nerd stated with confidence. “With his permission, we could also try to obtain samples for scientific purposes…and maybe help him remember who he is and what happened to him?”

“I’ll permit it,” Chief Edwards stated, half-grumbling. He hung his head, rubbed his stubble, and then let out a long sigh. “Just don’t let my niece, Hanna, know what’s going on with him. Do I make myself clear?”

George and I instinctively and nervously moved from one foot to another.

“Uh…um,” George struggled to get his words out while scratching his head.

“We just came from visiting Miss Grimm. She’s agreed to help us out again,” I stated nonchalantly.

“Miss Grimm, Sergeant? Hanna uses her mother’s maiden name, Lowell. Just like your mate Tiffeny, my daughter,” Chief Edwards gave me a sharp rebuke, having one eyebrow raised.

Mate? What mate? And there’s that name again… Tiffeny.

Fifteen minutes later, February 25th…

George and I meandered up to our small hovel assigned to the homicide division. Exhaustion quickly sitting in, we padded our way to our desks. My head is pounding with a headache, but it’s too late to order any takeout. Maybe I have one of those chewy protein bars Sissy’s Uncle Mac makes. He’s still not my favorite guy, but he makes decent snack food.

Silently, a subtle icy breeze moves behind me, sending shivers up and down my spine. Plop. A photo falls from the theory board to the ground. George, being George, got up, picked the photo off the ground, and placed it back onto the board. We spent the rest of the night, save for a couple of hours for a brief nap, going over everything about this case.

This case is more puzzling than the last one. I’m waiting for what Roger, our resident pain in the ass, comes up with. I wonder where the bastard went off to now. His ass is getting chewed out for not being here helping with the case.