Chapter 178 - The Third One!!11!!

Sheldon the hedgehog is beneath the Mobius City Bridge, by the shore of the river that separates the west side of the city from the east on a calm, breezy Thursday night. It is the night before Sonic's murder and he is alone, but, expecting somebody.

He takes his cell out and checks the message again – yes, he said underneath the bridge at checks the time again; he had been waiting here for thirty minutes.

"Where is he?" Sheldon runs his hands through his spikes, agitated. He walks around in circles, becoming anxious. "This isn't the type of thing he should be playing around with, and end up coming late." He kicks up the sand; it gets blown away by the light breeze, twinkling like shards of crystal, or the stars that were absent from the city sky.

"Hey Sheldon, I'm here." Sheldon hears someone say from behind him. He turns to look, and can just make out the shape of a person walking down the hill toward him, from the street up ahead. Sheldon throws his arms out as if to say it's about time, and puts his phone away.

"Sonic!"

…

His name is Sheldon the Hedgehog, and he has just woken up since losing consciousness after his encounter with Dusters, no more than an hour ago.

He recognizes immediately that he is now in his apartment on the East side of town, lying in bed. In trying to sit up, he feels a great pain in his chest and reactively grips it, groaning. He notices that his chest is wrapped with bandages. Not long after, the door opens, and Babe walks in, carrying a wide bowl of hot water and a rag. She stops when she sees that he is awake.

"How are you feeling?" She asks, in an obvious sarcastic tone.

"It's like I got hit by a truck, multiple times." Sheldon says, moaning.

"Maybe if you weren't so stoned before, you would have been better able to defend yourself." Babe scoffs, dipping the rag into the bowl repeatedly.

"Well, it's not like I expected to get into a fight with Dusters today."

"I didn't expect any trouble today either, but I still brought my gun with me." Babe walks over to Sheldon's bedside. "You should feel lucky. It certainly took care of Dusters earlier."

"You shot him?!" Sheldon yells, rising up a little. It hurt. Babe gently places a hand unto his chest, and lays him back down.

"Oh come on Sheldon, are you really that high?" She slaps the wet rag unto his forehead and spreads it out, for complete coverage. "It only scared him away, hun, the way I was hoping it would."

Sheldon gazes up at his ceiling. It is covered with posters promoting his favorite music bands: Dir en Grey, Brokencyde and Linkin Park, they were all up there. Oh how he wished to just throw on his headphones, pop in one of their CDs, and completely forget about today ever happening.

Or if I could forget about yesterday too, I would. He thinks, sadly.

"Is it still hurting, while you're lying down?" Babe asks Sheldon, noticing his eyebrows tightening, as if due to some pain he was experiencing. He shakes his head.

"I don't think this is a pain that will ever go away, Babe." He responds, and turns his head away from her. He shuts his eyes.

…

Meanwhile, on the other side of Mobius, Spacio has returned to the crime scene to check for more clues. Cammy is in tow, buzzing at a respectful distance behind the seasoned investigator. They are in Sonic's kitchen, the checker tiles on the floor stained by a trail of drying blood and bile leading from the bedroom.

"So Spacio, why did you bring me with you today? I thought it was just my job to cut the dead bodies open." Cammy asks, but is ignored by Spacio, who is at the moment observing the kitchen sink. At Spacio's request, the bee had come with his hands full of empty bottles. Cammy glances at said bottles, and then shoots Spacio a questioning look, curious of their intended purpose.

"Well, you said that dysentery comes out of drinking contaminated water, right?" Spacio asks.

Cammy opens his mouth as if to answer, but stops midway, his eyes widening with the epiphany he has in that moment. "So you want to collect samples of Sonic's tap water?"

"Yes Cammy, and not only his tap water, but samples from any water source he may have come in contact with, prior to his death." He turns the tap on, and beckons for Cammy to hand him one of the bottles.

"You think it has something to do with the murder, then?" He asks as he hands over a bottle.

"Let's just say I don't think the first recorded case of dysentery in Mobius occurring hand-in-hand with one of the most brutal murders in the history of Mobius is entirely coincidental." Having filled up the bottle, Spacio covers it and hands it back to Cammy. "I want you to take it back to HQ and examine its contents. See if it has what we're looking for."

"What about you?" He asks, before exiting the front door to the apartment.

"I have some more business to attend to here." Spacio says, walking around the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, into the area where Sonic's body was found and where the highest concentration of blood and vomit could be found. The vomit was so caked unto the floor here that footprints were able to form in it, directed toward the front door.

His eyes focus unto one footprint in particular.

…

His name is Spacio the chameleon, and by this time tomorrow, he will have made two defining insights into the case of Sonic's murder.

Dusters the echidna is not happy.

It was not just because of the affair with Sheldon at the casino either, but that, if anything, it made him realize something. He had realized that he needed to find the truth about who murdered Sonic himself – he was not content with waiting on the Mobius police force or even the Chaotix detectives – no, he would have to take matters into his own hands.

Luckily, he knew just who to turn to for some much needed assistance.

He had been driving his rusty pickup all Sunday morning, to a location in a far corner of West Mobius, Station Square. Decrepit, over-populated tenements line the narrow street he is on. A Mexican market is opening up for the day, and the scent of corn tortillas being crisped in oil is distinct, overpowering, even, and combined with the ever present smell of carbon monoxide that plagued the area, gave the area a unique scent makeup.

This was the ghetto, make no doubt about it, but to Dusters it is home sweet home. He passes by a basketball court with only one hoop that he recognized from his childhood based on the graffiti still scrawled across the tarmac. This meant he was close, so he pulls over – making sure to lock his windows – and sets out on foot.

…

Thirty minutes later, Dusters is knocking at a door on the fourth floor of an apartment complex.

"Come on, I don't have time for this. It's important." He knocks on the door harder, but there is still no answer. "Alright, I'm coming in!"

He rams against the door with his shoulder, and it opens easily.

He enters into a plain living room; with only a small dresser to one corner and a sleeping mattress that was laid out on the floor in the center of the room. Of course, Dusters is not here to make observations about the interior design of the place. He was more interested in the person sitting, cross-legged, on the sleeping mattress, staring intently into the screen of a laptop.

"Jesus, Jake, It's dark as shit in here." Dusters grumbles and strides across the room. He throws open the curtains that were covering the two windows and turns around. He is shocked a little by the appearance of the boy looking up at him.

Jake Tornbright had changed since Dusters last saw him. His orange-brown hair is grown out to his shoulders, greasy and unwashed. He blinks his eyes in the wake of the light – large, round eyes with bloodshot pupils and thick purple bags underneath them, and he holds out two bony arms in an attempt to shield them from the sunlight.

Glancing to the right of Jake, he sees two half-open plastic bags on the ground next to each other, both filled with a white powdery substance.

You have got to be kidding me.

"Hey, Dusters." Jake greets him, slurring his words slightly. "I haven't seen you in forever."

"Jake." Dusters crosses his arms. He massages his temples with one hand, trying hard to retain his composure. "Please tell me that isn't cocaine on the floor next to you."

Jake opens his mouth wide and peers at Dusters, as though stuck on what to say.

"I need you Jake man, but look at you!" Dusters turns his back and punches a wall. "Coke? For real? What the hell happened to you?"

"It's baking soda." Jake says, scratching at his unshaven chin.

"What?"

How is this kid even still alive, then?

"I can't afford the real stuff anymore. So I use baking soda." He begins to dip his hand into the bag closest to him, but Dusters kicks the bag away. He pauses. Then, he reaches for the other bag. This time, Dusters stomps down on his hand. Hard.

"What the hell was that for, asshole?!" Jake screams. "It's your fault I'm like this, for leaving me behind in the first place!"

Dusters's face darkens, and he looks down. He lifts his foot and Jake backs away from him, rubbing his injured hand, his face flushed red. He stabs a finger at the Echidna, and continues his angry rant. "You said we would leave this place together. But you lied. We were gonna take on the world together!"

Shut the hell up, Jake.

"It was gonna be you, me, Buzzy, and Sonic. That's what you said!"

"Sonic is dead." Dusters says, simply.

"It was going to…" Jake trails off. What Dusters said slowly begins to process in his inebriated mind. "What did you say? Did you just say what I thought you said?"

"Sonic was murdered, two days ago." Dusters walks away from Jake, arms propped on his hips. Jake is horrorstruck, and can only gape in disbelief. As off-kilter as he is, the impact of the news was still groundbreaking.

"I think you can safely guess about why I'm here, now."

…

His name is Miles Buzzy Prower, and he has invited a grieving Lanie Rose to his suburban home for a meal. Little does he know, he will be getting much more out of this experience than he previously bargained for.

"Buzzy, I can't thank you enough for having me today." Lanie says, as Buzzy closes the front door behind her. "I honestly haven't left my house since I heard the news."

"Err, no problem. I haven't left my house in a while either." He shrugs, and then coaxes her into the kitchen.

The sweet smell of a late breakfast fills the kitchen. Buzzy directs Lanie to a room attached to the kitchen, the dining room, and pulls out a chair for her at a gleaming ebony table.

"I guess being a system manager at Megtech has its perks, after all, huh Buzzy?" Lanie says, and rubs the lean surface of the table, looking impressed. Buzzy nods limply, and ducks into the kitchen, to get the food.

…

If he had stayed in that room for a second longer, Buzzy might have noticed a change in the pink hedgehog's demeanor. Chances are he would have seen the sudden, sinister sparkle in her eyes.

...

His name is Milton Buzzy Crower, and he is going to lose his virginity by lunchtime.