Prey learn to recognize sounds of hunters as infants. Small sounds, indistinguishable from the cacophony of creaks and cracks, highlight and amplify under stress. Alister felt the fear of the hunted. The chill rising up his spine, his breath turning shallow and ragged, his hind legs, poised and stretched, ready to run.

Outside, small branches and leaves crackled and snapped. The distant whirr of a wheel grew closer and closer. No motors rumbled, and the sound was faint. Alister knew it to be a bicycle, but in that moment, he perceived the thunderous roar of a tank approaching. His mind snapped back, as realization dawned on him.

He couldn’t run away.

Only two exits existed - the door or the window. Neither were subtle. Alister’s head spun and spun with his body. His eyes darted from object to object, seeking only three things; distractions, weapons, and exits.

Alister’s hand snapped towards the shovel. It leaned lazily against the shelf. Dried dirt pried off the metal edges from recent use. He clutched it tightly and seeked for other advantages. He needed every edge to survive this situation. Should he fight? Go for the first strike? Run out? Throw a rock? Throw the-

He shook his head. “I need to hide.” He realized. Alister wasn’t a murderer.

His gaze fell on the couch. Nowhere else could he hide. He jumped towards the sofa, and quickly pushed it aside. The floorboard clunked underneath his feet. Alister jammed his fingers into the slit, biting his lip as a soft pain struck his hand. He yanked the floorboard open. Now, all he had to do-

The door swung wide open.

Alister froze completely. His sweaty hands clutched the shovel tightly.

A man stood under the doorframe.

The man’s disheveled hair looked as if he’d just gotten out of bed. Tired, droopy eyes stared with a brilliant, clear brown. A brown leather jacket hung loosely from his shoulder. The zipper hadn’t been closed completely. Cotton shoelaces danced freely, dangling from a pair of hiking boots.

His expression told Alister everything; including what emotion he should feel at that very moment.

Thankfully, it wasn’t fear. Seeing that man thrust through the door, Alister felt his anxieties all wash away. For a single moment, his lips attempted to form a soft smile. Instead, his mouth curled to a frown. What Alister felt stood opposite to relief.

It was guilt.

The man stretched his arms out wide. Like a bear, about to devour its prey. But instead of crushing his pitiful prey, he lumbered towards the unmoving Alister, and hugged him tightly. “Alister!” He yelled, his voice overflowing with cheer. “I knew you’d be here!”

“Could you tell me a little about your son, Mrs. Moore?”

Harry sat in a well-lit room. His ass itched from the rough fibers of the beige couch. The fragrance of rosemary overwhelmed, the scent originating from a purple candle. Dark clouds filled the skies, yet it stayed bright outside. A mahogany coffee table dominated the center of the living room, an old CRT television standing behind it.

An elderly woman re-entered the room. She slowly lowered a tray onto the coffee table. “Here’s your tea.” She said. “Well, I can’t exactly refuse, can I?” She chuckled nervously.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Harry replied, picking up his cup. “I’m in no position to force you into anything, but it’d help our investigation greatly if you’d comply.”

Mrs. Moore inhaled deeply, held for a moment, and released. She stilled her shaking hand with the other, and a single tear formed in her eye. “Oh, I just can’t believe this is all happening.” She said. “Poor old Alister, just what have you gotten into this time? If only Richard were still here…”

Harry quietly brought out his notebook and pen. “Richard… Your husband, is that right?” He asked.

“That’s right.” Mrs. Moore said. She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “He’s passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Moore.” Harry said. “Could you start by talking about Alister’s personality?”

Mrs. Moore contemplated for a moment. “Alister was always a good kid.” She said. “Not the kind of honor-roll student a parent would wish for, but a son I could be proud of. He was just your average boy, if you understand.”

She paused. “I think the only thing that made me worry was how impulsive Alister was. I always knew he’d get into trouble eventually - it happened often before. But that died down as he grew, and recently, he’s been a lot more calm. I thought it’d done him good.” She sniffled. “Now I’m not so sure. I can’t believe he’d go on and do…”

Harry’s hand danced across the paper. “I see.” He finally said. “How long has it been since you’ve last heard from Alister, Mrs. Moore?”

Mrs. Moore checked the calendar briefly. “It must’ve been a month ago,” she said. “He’s always been awful at keeping up, but over the last year or two, it’s been very erratic. I didn’t worry too much, though. I just figured he’d need some time.”

“Time?” Harry asked, looking up from his notes. “From the…”

“From the accident, yes.” Mrs. Moore nodded. “Seems like you’ve done your homework. It was nothing major. The doctors assured us there wasn’t anything wrong with Alister. They released him after only two weeks, and he seemed as fit as ever.” She sighed. “But you know how these things go - I guess he must’ve been feeling off. He’d been a bit distant since.”

“I understand.” Harry said. “You mentioned Alister used to get into trouble?”

Mrs. Moore took a sip from her tea. “He used to be a lot more impulsive.” She said. “As a kid, he’d often get into fights with older children - bullies, mostly. It was a fright for me to see him all dirty and hurt. But he’d always smile.” She said. “I remember that time he got involved with a peace rally in university. He’d been pepper sprayed by a policeman.”

“Although,” she added quickly. “It’s always been especially bad when his friends got involved. Especially George. I can’t believe the things they’d do together. They tried to chase down a burglar one time, you know? They were twelve then.”

“By George, you mean George Miller?” Harry glanced up.

“Yes, that’s right.” She said. “The neighbourhood troublemaker. Alister and George were like two peas in a pod - they’d always wind up together. Mostly just to get punished.” She said.

“Could you describe Alister’s political leanings for me, perhaps?” Harry asked, staring blankly.

“Alister wasn’t too into politics. He didn’t talk too much about it.” Mrs. Moore put her cup down. “He didn’t like politicians, I knew, but not enough to... “ She gulped. “He just didn’t want to get involved with it. I think he leaned vaguely to the left.”

“Just to clarify,” Harry paused. “You do not know where Alister currently is, or could be?”

“No.” Mrs. Moore shook her head. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

Harry finalized his notes with a dot. “Well, that seems about it.” He grabbed his cup for a sip, but quickly let it down, noticing how cold it had gotten. “Just one more question, Mrs. Moore. You mentioned Alister had been settling down recently. Just how recent was this?”

“He’d been calming down over the years.” Mrs. Moore said. “I think spending less time with his friends and all really helped with that. He’s been very quiet over the last two years specifically.”

Harry slowly rose from his seat. He checked his wristwatch. “Thank you, Mrs. Moore.” He said, offering her a handshake. “I really value your cooperation.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, standing up. “I still don’t believe Alister’s the one you’re looking for. I’m really looking forward to this whole misunderstanding being cleared up.” She sniffled.

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.” Harry tipped his hat. “We’ll find out the truth soon enough. It’s nothing certain yet, in any case.” He lumbered slowly towards the door. “I hope you have a nice day, ma’am.”

Harry opened the door and stepped outside, shivering momentarily as the freezing wind greeted him. He watched as Mrs. Moore waved goodbye. The sunset neared in the horizon, and the dark clouds ominously hinted at the oncoming storm.

He quickly shuffled inside his Ford. A warm breeze blew from the vents. Harry carefully unparked his car and headed for the road.

He grimaced. The entire day had been incredibly exhausting. Stories with much publicity always incited the interest of the vultures, pecking at the police for a sensation. He preferred smaller cases. He spent most of the day interviewing people close to Alister Moore, starting with family members.

On the surface, Alister was just another office worker, like the millions that came before him, and the trillions that will come after. He led a very mundane life. No prior records, no known incidents. Small fits of rage, but nobody ever harmed.

The journal posed more questions than answers.

Only a small section had been released to the public. It wasn’t for any special reason besides protocol. In a normal case, there would be no such release of information - the publicity of this specific situation had forced their hand. The higher-ups were very keen on keeping a good reputation.

The manifesto contained more information than the deranged scribbles of a lunatic. It explained, in certain terms, what the author had set out to do. Brian Fox, the republican candidate. Part of his platform was the disbandment of various social security services for the city, as well as a reform of all workers unions. Alister clearly disagreed, and he felt that Brian was evil.

He’d encountered such cases often. A deranged man, unhealthily transfixed on a target he really had no business getting involved with. But Alister leaned neither to the left nor right, and rarely spoke of politics. All family members confirmed that fact so far. Of course, that proved nothing. Many people kept their delusions private.

Harry scratched his chin and lit a cigarette. He took a deep breath in- and out.

“No point overthinking this.” He told himself. All he could - and would do - was investigate. Eventually, the truth would reveal itself. He grinned morbidly. In any case, the investigation finally had some traction and a clue to latch onto.

George Miller. That name seemed to follow Alister’s everywhere. Nobody knew ‘just’ Alister Moore, they also knew George Miller. From what little work he’d done on the man so far, George seemed like a rather simple fellow - a carpenter, following his father’s footsteps. Harry planned to meet the man as soon as possible.

Suddenly, small droplets descended down in rapid succession. Water splattered against the windscreen like a machine gun, the constant rat-tat-tat playing a soothing rhythm. Harry quickly enabled the windscreen wipers. He set the GPS for home.

His radio starting blaring. Harry sighed. He’d had his personal vehicle fitted with a police radio. It helped with investigation. He tried his hardest to ignore the sound, but gave in, picking up the receiver.

“Harry Jackson speaking,” he said. “What’s the situation?”

“Harry? That you?” A familiar voice came through the speaker. “This is Jordan. We’ve got an issue here at, uh, Maple Street. We’ve been looking for anyone close by…”

Harry took a glance at his GPS. “Seems like I’m ‘bout half a mile away.” He sighed. “You boys need a hand?”

“Would appreciate, Harry. I’ll buy you a drink.” Jordan said. “We’ve got some a public disturbance here… Just come. It’ll be over quickly.”

“‘Aight. Harry out.” He said. He roughly shoved the receiver back into its slot and adjusted his GPS.

It took only five minutes to Maple Street. He grimaced at the prospect of getting wet, watching as people ran frantically for cover in the rain. As he arrived, he immediately saw what caused the trouble - a large, private bus, blocking the traffic.

He parked his car nearby and grabbed a small umbrella.

Jordan stood next to the bus, frantically shouting at the driver, his voice muffled by the splish-splash. Harry walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“What’s goin’ on?” He asked. “This guy giving you trouble?”

Jordan turned around, looking relieved. “Thanks for coming, Harry.” He said. “It’s… Slightly complicated. You wanna have a chat with the driver? I’ve gotta contact HQ for confirmation.” He pointed at the driver’s seat window.

Harry glanced at the driver. He was a gruff looking man, just like your average trucker. He grimaced, a cigarette bit between his lips. “What’s this all about?” Harry asked.

“You tell me,” the driver said, looking annoyed. “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong, an’ your friend here stopped me an’ the boys for no goddamn reason.”

“The boys?” Harry tilted his head. The driver pointed backwards.

Covered by the faint mist of the rain, an entire caravan of large busses filled the street, many cards honking and blaring behind them. Harry stared, surprised at the commotion, and turned back to the driver.

“What’s all this for?” Harry said, alarm filling his voice.

The driver stared blankly. “I don’t know ‘nuffin. I just got paid to be here.” He said. “Me an’ the boys are truckers, y’see? They got us these big ol’ busses an’ told us to ship some people here.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Harry asked, taking a look at the back of the bus. People filled the seats of the bus - most looking disheveled, dirty, and hungry. “Who are these people?”

“I ain’t sure myself.” The driver said. “Actually, I’ve been thinkin’ these folks are homeless peeps. They smell a little, y’see? Besides, they said this was for a charity or ‘sumthin.” He whispered.

“Charity?” Harry’s eyebrows clenched. “Look, I ain’t sure how that stuff works, but this sure is the first time I’ve seen this kinda gathering. Who hired you?”

“Some foundation.” The driver said. “Uh, was it the-”

“Lincoln-Brown Foundation.” Jordan suddenly poked his head in. “I’ve got a confirmation from HQ. Apparently the Lincoln-Brown Foundation’s been cleared to bring these people in for some kind of charity drive.”

“That means we get ta go, right?” The driver asked, looking more than a little annoyed. “Finally. You coppers sure wasted my time.”

Harry glared at the driver, who flinched a little. He looked at Jordan. “Jordan, you escort this caravan, then.” He said. “Keep an eye on ’em.”

“Sure, Harry.” Jordan sighed. “Sorry for wastin’ your time, Harry. Turns out it was nothing after all.”

“No problem, Jordan.” Harry shook his head. “Makes more sense to call for backup. You can’t ever be too sure.”

“Yeah, yeah, great Mr. Jackson.” Jordan grinned. “Greet the wife for me, will ya?”

“Sure will.” Harry said, walking towards his Ford. “Good luck, Jordan.”

The rain splattered against the thin pane of glass. Alister shivered. The cottage didn’t have any isolation. A single gas lamp lit the insides of the shack, casting shadows of two adults against the walls. Occasionally, lightning crackled, drowning out the feeble light.

“That’s about it.” Alister said, covering himself in blankets. “That’s all that’s happened so far.”

The other stared blankly at the ceiling, lying absentmindedly on the floor. “Damn.” He finally spoke. “Must’ve been hard on you, huh?”

Alister sunk into the comforts of his sheets. “You have no idea, George.” He said, his voice shaking. “I barely slept the past week. I really thought you were a cop, you know?”

“Yeah, I noticed. I saw your face.” George sat up. He grinned. “Jokes aside, man, you should’ve come to me first.”

Alister choked. “I didn’t…” His voice muffled through the blanket. “Expect you to take it this well.”

George punched him on the shoulder. “What’s with that, dude? You know I’d believe you.”

Alister nodded. “Yeah, well, I did.” He said. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” George cocked his head.

“It’s been a while since we talked, alright?” Alister said, sighing. “I wasn’t sure that we were still on good terms.”

George laughed. “You’re an idiot, dude.” He said. “It’s been only like a year and a half since we last chatted. That’s like, nothing, man. You really think I’m that petty?” George looked disappointed.

Alister shook his head. “No.” He said, his voice monotone.

“I was just jokin’, man, relax.” George chuckled. “I’m not really mad. Can’t blame you for anything, really…” He paused.

“Blame me for what?” Alister asked.

“Y’know, not contacting me, I guess.” George said. “With the… accident and all.” His smile receded.

“It was just a car crash.” Alister grimaced. “That’s got nothing to do with anything. I’m fine, as always.”

“Yeah.” George stared blankly. He looked as if remembering something. “Yeah, whatever. Look, enough with the depressing shit. We’ve gotta talk.”

“About what?” Alister looked up.

George looked as if the answer was obvious. “We’ve gotta clear your name, obviously!” He said, a crackling thunder accentuating his point. “You didn’t do it, right?”

“Well…” Alister looked unsure. “I… No. No, I didn’t.” He said.

“Good.” George said. “So we’ve gotta find whichever son-of-a-bitch framed you, and kick his ass.” He grinned widely. “Just like the old times, eh?”

“You’re making this sound a lot easier than it is, you know?” Alister frowned. “How the hell are we gonna do that?”

“Enough with that loser talk. C’mon, Alister, show some teen spirit.” George said.

“I’m too old to play detective, George.” Alister said, looking away.

George sighed, and held Alister by his shoulder, staring intently into his eyes. “What’re you going to do, then?” He asked calmly. “Just give up? Roll over? Get arrested?”

“Of course not.” Alister shoved him. “I just-”

“Just what? Don’t think it’s possible?” George grimaced with a bitter undertone. “Remember who used to say nothing was impossible?”

“Fuck you, George.” Alister stood up, fists clenched. “It’s my fucking life, not a goddamn joke.”

George glared back. “Yeah, so you should give more of a shit about this than I.” He said. “You think you can hide here forever? You really think nobody’s going to find you?”

Alister stared angrily at George and trembled. Eventually, he sighed, and sat back down, lifting his head up with an arm. “Fuck!” He yelled, smashing his other hand against the floor. “I know you’re right, George.”

“I do, too.” George said, crouching down. “Look, Alister, we can’t just twiddle with our thumbs here. We’ve gotta do something before it’s too late.” He smiled compassionately and reached a hand out.

Alister looked back and gripped George’s outstretched hand tightly. “...Alright.” He said. "Let's do this."