One Rainy Night
 Stormwolf
 
 
 
The sky cried. At least it seemed that way for Detective Jim Ellison as he 

trudged through a seemingly empty street. Rain plastered his short brown 

hair against his skull. His eyesight faded in and out so that at times he 

could see clearly as if it were a sunny day, and other times he saw nothing 

but darkness. Jim Ellison was neither concerned for his condition, nor did 

he care. His shoulder rammed into a lamppost, but still he continued, 

staggering a bit as if drunk.



He supposed he was drunk, anyway. He had already visited two bars that night 

in the worst part of Cascade, throwing back shots of whiskey as if it were 

water. Or perhaps his salvation.



He stopped and leaned against the wall of a building. //Oh God// He thought, 

//please make the pain stop.//



But no God or angel came to take the pain that penetrated the Sentinel deep 

inside.



"Give me your wallet." A voice said as something sharp pressed into his 

ribs.



Jim blinked away rain and salty tears trying to focus on the mugger, but all 

he could see was a dark blur.



"Fuck you." Jim answered hoarsely.



"What did you say?" the mugger asked in a surprised tone.



"I said fuck you, punk. Is that clear enough for you."



"Listen old man..." the mugger was interrupted as Jim lashed out with his 

fists screaming in almost feline roar. Normally the former Army Ranger had 

no problems in defeating opponents but the combination of alcohol and his 

warped senses allowed the punk to get in a good cut with his knife before 

his neck was snapped by an enraged sentinel.



Jim staggered against a wall, left hand clutching his right shoulder as 

blood seeped through his fingers. Rain watered down the blood shapeshifting 

it to a pinkish hue. Jim watched the blood flow and the tears began again. 

Pushing away from the wall, Jim continued his solitary trek through the 

rain. In the distance he heard police sirens, and only vaguely wondered if 

someone was searching for him.
 
Instinct or pain, Jim wasn't sure which, guided him through the streets to 
his destination. The rain had slowed to a soft mist, and the sentinel's 
sense of touch was used to pick the lock of the massive iron gate before 
him.
 
He walked through the grass, trudging slowly leaving a trail of blood that 
dripped from his now useless arm. When he tripped over a stone, Jim 
continued his journey by half crawling through the grass, right arm 
dragging, moving like a wounded panther as he continued his dark journey.
 
The smell of freshly dug earth filled his nostrils, and Jim Ellison fell on 
his side in the mud. He reached out, eyes now blind, and his enhanced sense 
of touch, fading in and out, traced the lettering carved in the stone before 
him.
 
 Blair Jacob Sandburg
 April 12 1969-January 6, 2000
 Beloved son, friend and guide
 
Tears fell freely as the lost sentinel curled up into a fetal position in 
the mud of the grave of his Guide, partner and friend.
 
Memory flooded his mind and Jim Ellison saw the face of Blair's killer. One 
gunshot to the chest, shattering the guide's heart. That bullet had also 
shattered a sentinel's heart that day, and Jim Ellison, Sentinel of the 
Great City, had emptied his gun into the body of his guide's killer, a bank 
robber who had already killed three people.
 
The sirens were getting closer, and Jim knew that Simon had sent them for 
him.
 
Reaching behind him, Jim pulled his 9mm Smith and Wesson semi-automatic from 
its holster at the small of his back.
 
The barrel tasted metallic, with the taste of oil, and gunpowder mixed in. 
He had loaded his weapon that afternoon before going out on his drunken 
spree with hollow tipped bullets. He placed his finger on the trigger, as 
tears fell from his face.
 
Captain Simon Banks stopped his car in front of the gates of the Cascade 

Cemetery, and stepped out of the car into the misty rain. Behind him five 

patrol cars and an ambulance pulled up behind him, and officers stepped out 

of their patrol cars. Banks stepped up to the gates, and found the padlock 

unlocked and the gates standing partially open.



"He's here." Simon said to Joel Taggert who walked up to stand beside him.



Joel nodded, and turned to call the officers to him. A shot rang out from 

somewhere inside the dark cemetery, and all officers drew their guns from 

reflex. Simon Banks, however, turned pale as he realised what the shot 

meant, and he holstered his weapon and rushed into the cemetery.



A white sheet covered the body of Detective James Ellison as it lay over the 

grave of Blair Sandburg. The gun with its hollow tip points was inside an 

evidence bag. Police officers swarmed over the scene, though, there was 

little doubt that the detective had taken his own life. Simon Banks stood 

with Joel Taggert a little ways off, unshed tears shimmering in his eyes, as 

he tried not to look at the white mound that had once been his friend.



No one saw the shadowy form that moved slowly through the cemetery, limping 

over to the grey form that awaited it.



The wolf whined deep in its throat as the wounded jaguar limped forward. 

When the wolf's nose touched the jaguar's muzzle, the animal became more 

animated, and placed its wounded paw onto the ground. The wolf turned and 

trotted into deeper shadows with the jaguar, now healthy, and no longer in 

pain, at its heels. And the rain continued to fall.