One “cool” evening old England got us accustomed to, when all you had to do was stay inside your warm house roaming the land of dreams, Officer Gangsley Taylor, and two other Scotland Yard officers, wandered the dark streets of London.

Beside them there was nobody there, which was more than normal on such weather and at such late hour. It wasn’t their wish to walk down the streets. Still, to achieve their goal they had to take this unusual action.

They were wet to the bone because of the water flowing from the dark sky, ceaselessly hit by huge drops of rain stinging them like needles. To their distress, the gusty wind blew off their cap of police community support officers. The three ran towards Moon Street. They knew nothing about this street. It was a line on the map for them, very far from the city centre on the outskirts of London.

Scotland Yards were used to such unpleasant moments. Yet, walking down the darkest and strangest streets of the city on such night it was too much even for them.

Considering the weather, it was clear that anyone except the Scotland Yard officers minded their own business. One could say the weather was triggered by unusual happenings, mysterious, meaningless recent events. Something at least as puzzling as horror stories often shared by folks who like scaring people.

Officer Gangsley Taylor and probably the other two joining him, Jones W. Carpenter and Smith Smithson, have seen far too many atrocities in their career to scare them off. They took part in real events, when the only strange thing was how humans could express so much hatred, violence, indifference, throughout history. Therefore, they left without hesitation for the place of their mission.

They faced heroically the rushing stream coming from the sky. Rain wasn’t an enigma at all. It was common for that April time when customary rainy days settled over England. Still, the three were increasingly impatient to reach the location they were looking for.

That road was so badly cobbled that one risked breaking leg at any step taken. It was flanked on both sides by tiny houses looking as if they were built just before Stonehenge. They were crummy and sloppy, crammed as if trying to transfer heat to one another in the wind blowing harder and harder. The shape and appearance of the houses killed any passer-by’s mood to visit a friend or someone in the family living in this slum.

Even Scotland Yard officers didn’t want to be in the middle of that incipient apocalypse. However, they didn’t give up.

“Good evening ...” Gangsley said, surprised at the sound of his voice.

He didn’t realize at first that it was neither the place nor the moment to be polite. The officer got silent because he noticed there was no one in front of him. He just seemed to have seen someone.

Anyhow, he saw someone's face before him. His gaze met a face so beautiful and young, like a fairy face. Despite that, it was so white, foreshadowing death, bloodcurdling only thinking of it. Not to speak of really seeing it.

Yet, Gangsley smiled as usual, somewhat calmly, for that face seemed far too odd; therefore, it was just a product of his mind.

“I think I’m going mad because of the weather”, he mumbled. “That must be!”

Officer Gangsley looked at the other two officers who almost ran in front of him and had no intention to look back, so he shook head as if he wanted to let go a disturbing thought and hurried up to catch up with them.

He looked once more behind in the dark to be sure no one passed by him and continued walking with the other two. In order to calm down, he shifted thoughts to the heat and the cigars waiting for him in the office he left for some time.

The darkness so deep, luckily for the officers, was lightened up here and there by the glow of some lamps, surviving the tempest and the bitter weather out there. At any rate, the lamps could go out at any time, like other dozen broken lamps on the side roads leading to the main street. These roads were so inky that they seemed to show them to the end of the world.

Taking advantage of those small sources of light the officers tried to read on the signposts the names of the streets they were on. Though, this wasn’t easy at all because hardly anyone could see at a distance of more than a yard, two in front of him because of the heavy rain. And for this reason, until they could read the text on the panels, they managed to absorb more and more cold and unwanted water, to their despair.

Around such a light one could see that Mr. Gangsley was as tall as a tree, a young poplar to be more precise. He had a moustache and handsome sideburns usually neat, but now they formed the background needed for the mini rain-waterfalls flowing from his cap.

In his daily life he was considered for sure a funny and charismatic guy. Even when no one saw anything exciting, he could make a little joke, taking the best of an unpleasant job.

“We can’t stop, Jones W. Carpenter. We can't drink coffee and smoke a pipe, because I didn't take any with me. Maybe next time, I'll take both. Per contra, now let's move more airily. We almost got there.”

Gangsley Taylor's sober, firm voice somewhat revived Jones, so the officer regained his strength to go on with the same efficiency, along with the other two fellows in misery.

The officers looked for the house at number 3, on one of the most insignificant and unknown streets, Moon Street, a street down which neither of them had ever walked before. Someone else would probably look for it in the morning, waiting for daylight to come and maybe with a little luck the bothering rain to stop.

In whatever way, not Gangsley Taylor. As he got that desperate call from a Mrs. Stone, who said she heard people yelling and screaming in the apartment above her home, he and his aides headed to the address mentioned.

Another conflict between spouses that I have to calm down. The third one I go to this week. You’d say I’m a social worker for family conflicts. And this weather ...”, Officer Gangsley complained to himself, because he had no one else to complain to.

Even though he could stay at the warm headquarters with his cigars, he decided to leave with the other two without saying anything. When he took the oath to protect anyone in need, he didn’t set the condition to be there only when he liked it, or when it was clear and warm outside. No, the condition was: whenever needed.

And anyone would agree with him - who could live thinking that he could rescue someone in a difficult situation, but he decided not to do it? Any situation, even trivial at first, could eventually degenerate remarkably, so Mr. Gangsley decided to do everything in his power to save that misunderstanding between spouses.

Not only once had he saved a man's life, arrived in time where his presence was necessary. And on top of that, these two - he pointed to the two officers – can’t find their way when the sky is clear, map in their hand, not to mention this kind of weather, thought the experienced Scotland Yard officer, Gangsley Taylor.

Suddenly, Officer Jones began to express anger and his thoughts moved lips surrounded by beard and moustache, in the rhythm of cold drops fallen from the clouds, colour of darkness.

“I don’t get the point of these people who, although they hardly manage to support their families, always find money to buy liquor that takes their minds. Then they can't help blowing off steam on each other. I feel like ...”

But he stopped. He looked confused left and right, then questioningly raised his narrow shoulders, as he did almost every time they went on a mission, trying to tell the others they were a little lost.

Officer Gangsley, with his calm nature, never discouraged, restored hope to the other two:

“We turn right at the first crossroads. We’re close. My senses don’t deceive me.”

Mr. Gangsley's senses were based in fact on the information he got from Mrs. Stone, who carefully told him that to get to the house where the two spouses argued, it was necessary to take a turning to the right in Sun Street, at the junction of Sun Street and Constellation Street. When they reached the end of the former street they definitely found Moon Street. And they could soon arrive to the house in question.

“So you’ll be quickly here,” said Mrs. Stone. And she also told them to hurry.

The discussion and indications from police station callers like talkative Mrs. Stone’s encouraged Mr. Gangsley Taylor to boast with fine smell and sight like a feline’s.

But even so bragger at times, Officer Gangsley always managed to show the two disoriented guys the way. He was sometimes surprised himself about his ability.

Who knows, maybe I really have some qualities of a feline, he giggled whenever everything went well.

After all today, if these skills really existed, they were deeply lost somewhere in Mr. Gangsley's persona. They didn’t help him too much, because he didn’t notice that curious apparition whom they overcame running and who was now at about fifteen feet away from them.

And that dubious shadow that seemed to be man, came now unobserved behind them, taking advantage of the dullness when no one could notice him.

Even if something urged Gangsley Taylor to stop from time to time to look back, as he still felt there was a presence behind them, he quickly came to his senses and continued his journey without doing that. He had no time for nonsense thinking they’re chased by ghosts or other baffling, evil creatures.

So he stopped only once to see if there was a man following them, because it couldn’t be something else. Withal, as he couldn’t see anything but only remained behind the others, he gave up doing that.

There’s no point, Gangsley, you fool. Surely your mind is playing tricks on you because of the weather ... What kind of human has the courage to venture outside in this weather and try to mess with some law enforcement officers from Scotland Yard? Who are also armed above all ..., the officer reproached himself for the crap crossing his mind at that time.

However, if he noticed around the still lit streetlights that shadow moving gingerly not to be seen behind them, perhaps he’d change the opinion deeply imprinted in his mind. He’d think again if he really saw that morbid face.

As for the views, they might change both in his mind and in others’, taking into account the events that would follow that rainy spring night.

That dead silence was finally interrupted by Officer Jones:

“Here we are. Moon Street. You’re a true phenomenon, Gangsley”, he squeezed out a smile that seemed to say we are saved, buddies.

After glancing at Officer Taylor, as if he hoped to discover miraculously, his peculiar ability, to lead them to the right destination every time, the officer continued:

“There must be number 3. The lights are on.”

Gangsley gazed at the indicator at the crossroads right next to him, barely clinging to a screw, about to fall at any moment. Indeed, the sign said Moon Street.

“I told you,” the sneaky weasel said.

He looked at the house that was different from the others. A nice, well-kept house. Moreover, it had two lamps in the small, crowded courtyard, gracefully arranged. Even number 3 that was now in a reversed position, who knows why, forming the letter m, looked in good shape, as if someone recently clasped it to the little gate at the entrance. Very clean, as if it were new, but still predicted something sad, since it was overturned.

It was impossible not to notice, at least on a sunny day, that the rest of the houses in the area were plastered so badly that even the bricks could be seen. If by chance you had a look at some of them, you’d wonder how come the light beyond them didn't get through the holes in the walls so old and damaged they were.

All the same, something was strange to even the most rational people on Earth, like Officer Gangsley Taylor when he looked at that house. It seemed to him that in front of the house there was a wolf. No ... I don't think I can see well. First that apparition ... and now. It can't be possible ... it’s a huge dog for sure, so old that he can't move anymore. That's why he seems to be seated, looking at the lighted windows, with closed curtains, apparently trying to make out what is going on behind them - the officer thought. Damn weather, it makes you go crazy, Taylor. Snap back…! he kept arguing with himself.

Meanwhile, something didn’t allow him to properly snap back. And that something was the image probably common any other day, not that rainy and cold night.

Near that dog there was a frightened cat cramped in a small crack in the old, mouldy wall, at less than three steps away from him. The cat looked at him with fear as if she thought her end was there. Still, the hound didn't even care about her, which was strange.

Instead of doing what any canine representative of the species would do - actually crazy enough to sit outside at that time - try to warm up his body running after that cat or at least bark and howl at her to keep alive the never ending game between dogs and cats, this strange big guy sat quietly, spying the house at number 3 on Moon Street. As if the fate of humanity depended on that.

Howbeit the strangest thing was that the dog seemed to be hiding from someone. Probably from the people inside, because when the curtain was touched letting sparks of light from inside out, the wolf-dog pulled away into a murky corner so he couldn’t be seen. After a few moments, he returned to the same place where he was a few moments ago.

An event, somehow interesting for Gangsley, in which if he let himself trapped, he’d surely go insane. Fortunately, everything ended when the three officers got close to the animal less than twenty steps, and he, feeling spotted, briefly looked at the officers and went away as if his reaction were normal.

Impossible to be a wolf, because there can’t be wolves there, not even on the outskirts of London. And in no case so gentle. But ... if I were to think better ... his behaviour was unusual, even for a dog, Officer Taylor kept getting lost in his thoughts anxiously.

Nonetheless, he calmed down and interrupted his overwhelming thoughts when the two flashes in the beast’s eyes went out completely. And with those flashes, every evil thought in his mind faded away too.

He couldn’t feel nervous anymore. He didn’t even hear Jones who was frightened.

“Wolf ...” Jones said.

“Wolf my ***. Do you think a wolf is so sweet?”

“Yes, if he were under a spell ...”

“You speak rubbish about enchanted and cursed stuff. There’s no such thing. He was a dog, so get your mind right because you're not a kid anymore. You’re a real man!”

But Officer Jones couldn't calm down.

“Nowadays, when people disappear without a trace, when they’re found after months, dead, without wounds or bleeding, even something commonplace like ‘dog’ which doesn’t behave normally, sitting in a cloudburst like this has to terrify us. You are the only blind, Gangsley...”

"Quit fooling around," snapped Officer Taylor.

At any rate, if Gangsley Taylor saw the creature that just left, without skin and flesh he once had, on muzzle, ribs and back legs, he’d surely agree with Jones. Anyone would agree with him ...

“This cold freezes our mind and eyes. We’d better get inside,” officer Taylor suggested, given that in the obscurity over England, he couldn't see what kind of creature was around them a short time before.

“Two features of forensics guys,” the third officer remarked with pain in his voice ... Smith Smithson.

“I hope we haven’t got here too late. I know we came quickly ... as quickly as we could. I hope who once loved each other didn't get to hate each other. I know booze takes over minds, but ...” Jones mumbled almost for himself.

Still and all, Officer Gangsley's face seemed to respond to the other two. It looked like displaying the entire sad event that occurred that horrid, depressing night. A night that opened the door to misunderstandings and covert events, a night when innocent people left this world.

The three officers entered the small door creaking from the joints as if it broke into pieces at any touch, and entered one of the most arranged houses in that neighbourhood of London. The house at number 3.

---

Inside a small apartment there were several forensic officers equipped with all sorts of tools and gadgets needed for their job, gathering evidence of a homicide case.

Two guys, who looked like senior officers in rank, showing off, noted what the other officers found. And up to that point ... it seemed they didn’t note anything except the number of people killed and that a four-year-old child was found in one of the closets in another room at the crime scene.

“I noted the names of the two. Eliot Edwards and his wife ...”

The second officer, who was believed to be just as important as the first, took a short break.

“And ... Rigantona Edwards. What kind of name is that?” he asked the other.

Whatever, the other officer didn't answer, maybe he didn't know what the other said, or because Gangsley Taylor and the other two appeared in that awkward little flat, still cosy and agreeably set up. Or rather it was cosy, because there was not much left of it.

“Hi, Taylor. It seems two people died, husband and wife. The Edwards. I remember you didn’t believe such things, but look. There’s no blood. Despite that, as you can see, the walls and the furniture are destroyed as if someone threw bombs everywhere.”

He showed Gangsley the damage to the flat, as if the latter couldn’t see that visible affliction.

“Of course, the couple was transported for checking. Curious that, although there was a big explosion here, they had no injuries. But…”

“They were ... sent to the other world”, the other hanger-on mimed the hint of the Edwards’ death.

“I also saw a wolf following you…”, Jones intervened.

“Yes ... much strange stuff. And the weather is as it is. I don't know what kind of ...”, that officer tried to continue chatting, but he stopped.

He said in firm and cold voice, turning to the guy who entered the flat.

“Excuse me, sir ... you can't go in. It's the scene of a homi…”

A harsh voice interrupted the officer.

“I gave him permission.”

A secretive gentleman entered, dressed elegantly, with long hair, slightly greyish and wavy, put in a ponytail visible under his hat. Probably the gentleman wasn’t that young any more, but his appearance and body posture revealed a strong, ageless man. When he entered, he had a small tattoo on his cheek, representing a dragon, but it disappeared.

He had a short staff in his hand, with a sculpture at the top, representing the torso of a creepy creature with huge fangs, a kind of werewolf or vampire.

The gentleman who spoke was behind him. A plump little man. Yet, the others looked up to him standing in line like a row of poplar trees on the side of a road, therefore his importance was inversely proportional to his stature.

“Good morning, Commander”, all the officers greeted.

The police commander was a high respect-breeding guy among the officers. Maybe because of his position or the frowning manner he looked at people under the huge glasses covering his eyebrows and almost his forehead. Maybe it was the tone of his voice. He definitely dominated them, in a game of cat and mouse.

The commander only looked for a moment with the same grim, fierce gaze at one of the police officers, a young man who just graduated the school that trained these criminal officers, for the simple reason that he just stood there, listening to their talk. When he caught the commander's sharp gaze, the young officer turned around startling, and accidentally hit a nightstand, off which several things fell, including a picture.

“You’ve got no business?!” the Commander took that little scared ‘mouse’ to task.”

When asked, the “little mouse” began to tremble with fear. On the spot, he went next to a colleague to ask for help, though he didn’t know what he wanted.

The commander watched the policeman only for a moment. Though, the young officer didn’t have the courage to turn his head again for several minutes. He constantly felt that sour glance thrown at him. He rushed to do something, too, anything.

The commander turned to the two “important” police officers and said in the same authoritative voice:

“He is Mr. Vlad Dragoesti. An important person ... very good friend of the British Empire. Give him any information he wants!”

He approached one of the officers and whispered:

“He has a paper signed by the prime minister ... With order to have any question answered.”

The commander spied several minutes, one at a time, on the officers investigating the crime scene. Pleased that everyone got involved in their work, he gave talk to that elegant guy, Mr. Dragoesti.

“Mr. Vlad, I turn you over to my officers Will Blanc and Kevin Wheatstone. They’ll answer any questions you have. I'm sorry, but I have to leave. I have a serious problem just a few blocks away. You got the idea...”

Surely anyone wondered what could be more important than two people’s death, but perhaps the Commander’s walkout wasn’t a loss at all; on the contrary, it was to hasten the completion of proofs and evidence collection.

The Commander left. After that the police officers breathed a sigh of relief. Even the guy scolded by the Commander cracked a smile. Everything went better now, because the short and dumpy Commander, their stress, left them alone.

“Mr. Vlad ... the paramount question is how the two people died ... the Edwards? They were young; they didn't seem to be suffering. There’s no trace of blood, no weapon, no wound to the two. I'm curious if the doctors who do the autopsy find out the cause of the death”, Blanc started to talk.

“You won’t find out anything, sceptics... magic unbelivers,” Mr. Vlad whispered in such low voice, that none could hear his words.