Three years ago they found a dead body at the edge of Plano Drive. The body was a nondescript middle aged Caucasian man. He looked like he could have been named “Dan” or “Jon” but there wasn’t anything on his body to identify him. There wasn’t anything at all. Except for the claw marks. There were three savage rents down his right side— a blacked entry into his entrails. The blood had stained the snow around him. His skin the color of the cloudy sky above.

Three years and all Micah had pieces together pointed to it “might” being an escaped animal. Private stock, most likely. You’d hear about the zoo losing something. No leads, thinning hair, and a sour gut, Micah paced across the worn patch of linoleum between his desk and Glen’s. His partner hadn’t made it in yet— no surprise there. Yesterday had been the bookmaker conference in Kenosha. Lords only knows why he went— Glen was more of a boilmaker man than a bookmaker. But every detective has their Vice— Micah was glad it wasn’t strippers or codeine like the rest of their ragged department.

The clack of short heels pulled Micah out of his head. They approached him from behind and he kept his head forward— knowing what came next.

“Why are you wearing a hole in my floor, detective Summers? Aren’t you supposed to be out in Colbath with the rest of the unit?” His captain, Gwendolyn Spears took a step towards his desk and tssked. “I told you to keep this in the cold cases.”

“I’ll go return it right away,” Micah said without any conviction. He wouldn’t and they both knew it.

“I don’t need you chasing after moonlight when I’ve got real cases open. Finish your fantasy some other time.” She walked away, leaving Micah to his weathered linoleum and dark thoughts.