Okay, this is the fic in its original form. I may eventually make it longer and turn it into a chapter story, depends. shrugs

Unsolved

I can never forget him. I won't let myself. Zak was the closest person I had to a friend. He helped me solve the murder cases and saved my life. So why wasn't I there when he died? Why wasn't I there to protect him when that jerk shot him? I can never forgive myself for that, so that's why I remember.

My name is Matthew Hurst. I always saw myself as an average person with an average life, nothing to go for me, but at least nothing going against me either.

That changed when I met Zak. I could tell from the start he was unique. And mysterious, very mysterious. Just what happened, you ask? Well, I'll tell you, right from the beginning.

Again, no trace of the murderer. How on Earth am I gonna find this guy?? I growl, frustrated. "Hey Matt, chill would ya?" Sheryl asks, giving me a worried look. Yeah, like I'm gonna flip out on her... "This is what, the fifth case? And still no clues? I think this one's just gonna end up in the garbage, like the rest. We'll never catch him, no one will."

Sheryl rolled her eyes. "Matt, you're such a pessimist. Really, why do I put up with you?" I opened my mouth, and she glared at me. "Don't even answer." I obliged and continued my duty.

That's when I saw it. A bundle of rags sitting atop one of the run- down apartment buildings. I peered up at it, wondering what a pile of rags was doing up there, when it moved. And I don't mean a few rags blew off in the wind or something, I mean it actually got up and moved. Pretty quickly too.

"Matt?" I jumped. "Oh, Sheryl. Don't do that!" She looked at me curiously. "Matt, what were you staring at?"

I pointed to the top of the building. "Something up there moved."

"What? I don't see anything." She was right; the person was gone. Just my luck.

"Quit bickering, you two." John scolded, finishing collecting the small blood sample off the ground. At least this time we'd be able to identify the victim. "Any ideas?"

I folded my arms and almost pouted like a kid. "I still say it was that psycho that escaped last month." Sheryl and John shook their heads. Okay, so I'm new to this kind of stuff, I'm not a detective, just a cop. Usually I'm out pulling people over for speeding. Of course, having no CSI in our tiny town, we cops have that job too, I suppose.

"Come on Matt, let's go, there's nothing else here." I caught a hint of boredom in Sheryl's voice. Not that I blame her. I climbed into the passenger's seat of John's car and waited patiently to get back to the station. I hate being on the edge of a city. They get all the exciting stuff and we sit around bored all day. And now that something exciting actually happens, I'm clueless. Yay me.

'Course, I don't feel too bad about it, it's not like John or Sheryl or Robbie back at the station have done anything like this either. Ah, finally, we're back and my shift's over. I can go home and sleep and not worry about this any more, it's frying my brain. But one thing still bothers me, why was that person on top of that building and who was he? Assuming it's a he, anyway. Dressed the way he was, I came to the conclusion he was homeless. Oh yeah, I'm smart.

Anyway, it's nearly 10 at night, so I'm going to bed.

Joy, it's almost time for work. I glance at the clock. Okay, enough time to go back to the site and see if I can find the mysterious person again. I got there in no time (my house is close) and looked around. Quick scan, and no sight of him. I looked harder, and still didn't see him. What was I thinking anyway? He certainly wasn't going to just sit on that roof for the rest of his life. I sighed and walked back home to shower and get my uniform on. My shift started in half an hour.

"About time you got here, you were almost late." Sheryl growled at me. I sighed. No use giving excuses, they wouldn't work anyway. Unless I was the boss' pet, which I'm not. Thankfully. That guy is just scary... "What are we doing today?"

"I'm doing the paperwork, and you're back on street duty for today. Not much to do." What fun, street duty again... Back to pulling people over. At least it's not hard. Maybe I'll catch a glimpse of that mysterious person while I'm at it. But I had no such luck. I worked a little later than usual even. Sheryl called me crazy for it, but I didn't care.

I stepped up to my door to unlock it, but froze as I heard a soft noise behind me. I turned, and there he was. We stared at each other for a bit, then I motioned toward the door and unlocked it. He followed me inside. He had deep blue-violet eyes. I've never seen eyes that color before. "Who are you?" I asked, and didn't get a reply. I noticed his eyes shift down a little bit, as if he was ashamed of something. An idea hit me. "You can't talk, can you?" He shook his head 'no'. That explains it. "You have a name?" Again, he shook his head.

This question is really starting to eat away at me. "Are you a guy?" He glared at me, as if to say 'duh!'. "Sorry, it's just hard to tell with all those rags... Now, what am I going to call you?" He watched me expectantly. "Um... How about Zakary?" He nodded vigorously, obviously happy with his new name. "Um, no offense, but you look like you could use a shower..." Zak nodded. It wasn't fair that he couldn't talk, it was very frustrating. I hate lack of communication. He merely nodded and cast his gaze to the floor again. "Do you ever take those off?" His eyes snapped back up with a horrified look. Was he hiding something? Instead of asking about it, I merely said "No offense," and showed him the bathroom. He dropped his rags outside the door and I decided to wash them, not knowing what size he wore and more personally not wanting to lend my clothes to a homeless person. Besides, he seemed quite happy with the rags.

About an hour later I was satisfied with how clean I managed to get the rags. Once the dirt and grime were off, they were no longer drab shades of brown and gray, but bright, clear colors. And Zak seemed happy with his bath or whatever he did in there, because he soon opened the door and slipped a slightly muscled arm out, holding his hand open for his clothes. I obliged and handed them back. The arm retracted and he came out five minutes later, fully dressed. I noticed something a little different. Earlier he had some of the rags draped over his head and across his face so all I saw were his eyes, but now I could see his whole face. He smiled at me and held out my new (and previously unused) toothbrush. I didn't mind, as long as he was clean. It was also now obvious that he wasn't that old either, no more than his mid-twenties perhaps. About my age. While I wondered what to make for my snack, he searched my house and came back to the kitchen with a pen and a piece of paper. What a curious young man.

'Thank you.' He wrote. Oh, that's what he was doing. "You're very welcome, Zak." He scribbled something else down.

'I want to help.' Help? Oh, the murder case. I was truly amazed. How did he know how to write? Maybe he'd had an education somewhere in his youth. "How will you help?" More scribbling. If this wasn't the only way to communicate, I would have found the noise annoying.

'I can keep watch. I know the streets and the people, and I'm much faster than a phone call.' Hmm, he has a point. He'd already be out there. Maybe I should give him my camera or something. No, if it happens at night the flash will give everything away. "You any good at sketching?" Another smile, and more scribbling. This time there weren't any words, but a perfect sketch of. myself. I laughed. He was good. "Fine Zak, you're hired." I joked. "Think I should tell the others I'm letting an outsider help?" I didn't see any harm in it. He may have been mute, but he made up for that with his intelligence and talent. I finally decided on my snack and made a turkey sandwich.

Zak stared at the food in my hands, obviously hungry. If I didn't have my hands full, I would've smacked myself for being so inconsiderate. I made another and handed it to him, but he didn't inhale it as I thought he would. Instead he took nibbles and small bites, taking his time. Good thing too, I didn't want to have to clean something else. I noticed a faint noise, like purring. Maybe the neighbors were watching monster truck rallies again, that was so annoying at 11:30. Speaking of time, I desperately needed to get to bed.

"You can stay on the couch if you want." I yawned as I headed for my bed. I heard a squeak as he jumped onto it happily and curled up, soon fast asleep. After that I tuned everything out and got my much-needed rest.

"Matthew!! Where have you been? You're late and we need you!" Sheryl screeched irritably. I glanced at the clock. 2:05. "Sheryl..." I rolled my eyes. Not commenting... "What's going on?"

"There was another murder last night." Was that why Zak was gone when I woke up? "John already left. I stayed to wait so I could take your sorry rear end when you got here! Now let's MOVE!" She grabbed my arm roughly and shoved me into her car, not even giving me time to buckle up before we took off. See, this is why I ride with John, she's a maniac. She filled me in while she drove, but my mind was elsewhere. I wondered how the victim's family felt, why these murders continued nearly every night, what Zak was up to. A piece of paper was shoved into my lap.

I picked it up. "What's this?" My question died on my lips when I saw it was a sketch. "Last shift found that at the site. They believe someone may have seen the murder, and we have to find them. This person's a witness." Zak's a witness... I paled.

"You okay Matt? You look sick." I nodded. "Fine, just fine... Sheryl, can I trust you?" She snorted at me, her own little way of saying 'of course, you dolt!'. Thanks a lot, that makes my life better. "I think I already know who it is." I could see she was struggling not to slam the brakes. Yup, news to her. She trained her eyes on the road, not stopping until we reached our destination. "Who was it Matthew?" Uh-oh, she's using my full first name... I'm in serious trouble.

"Well... Remember that thing I saw on top the building the other day? He followed me home last night. His name is Zakary. And he can't talk."

Sheryl rolled her eyes. "Lovely, our witness is a dumb homeless person who can't talk."

"He's not dumb!" I snapped defensively. "He can write perfectly well, and this sketch should be proof enough. Maybe you didn't notice this." I pointed to the bottom right corner, and his name was written in tiny letters. "He's perfectly competent, and he's the one who said he'd help out if we let him." Oops, me and my big mouth.

"And did you let him?"

"I suggested the sketching bit..." The car rocked, though neither Sheryl nor I had moved. A familiar bundle of rags hopped off the car without a sound. Odd, I didn't hear the roof buckle when he landed... He slid off on my side and looked at me expectantly. My gaze slid back to his drawing. "Sheryl... I think I recognize this man." Zak grinned, obviously proud of himself. Sheryl could only stare at him. "That's Zak?" she finally managed, and the young man moved aside to let me out.

John stepped up to the car. "Again, only a spot of blood. Oh hey, who's this?" He looked Zak over, and the latter backed up a step wearily. "A friend of Matt's. Zak or something like that."

"Zakary." I confirmed, and he looked at me. I handed the drawing to John. "He's the one who did this." John glanced at the paper then looked back to Zak. "You're our witness?" Zak nodded. A pad of paper and a pencil were shoved into my hands. I looked back at Zak, who was looking down, a little guilty. Ah, I wondered where he got the paper. "No, it's okay, you keep it. I've got plenty more." I handed it back to him. "Only a spot of blood? At least this time we have a face too." John nodded.

"You said you recognized him, Matt." Sheryl reminded me. "Um, yeah... He's some rich guy who lives in the city. He was in the papers a few months ago, for some award. I can't remember which one, he's pretty popular." Sheryl shook her head. "Matt, your memory astounds me... You can't remember what was said five minutes ago, but you remember an article in a newspaper a few months old?" I smiled sheepishly.

"It doesn't matter." John interrupted. Ah, my savior. "Let's just get back and find this newspaper so we can identify the guy and make an arrest."

Oh yeah, this was gonna be some pretty hot news. And Zak and I were probably going to be in the center of the mess.

Christopher Keats watched as the furnaces roared. "Don't miss a single ash," he warned, "I want every last ounce of gold." He chuckled to himself. He was going to get impossibly rich off this. And the police had no idea...

He decided it was a good time to catch up on the news. It didn't hurt to be informed. He walked up the stairs to his living room and switched on the television, turning it to the news. Not what he had expected.

Chris tightened his grip on the remote. How could they find out?! A witness... He smiled. A homeless witness. How convenient. No one would miss him. But how would he find someone as silent as the night sky? Maybe he'd just get lucky. He decided to go out again that night.

Well, now Zak was under was our protection. Whoever this 'Christopher Keats' was probably wouldn't let my new friend live. And he'd find it very convenient that Zak was homeless and mute. Sheryl, John and Rob would only keep a standard watch on him, but I'd guard him with my life. Since moving to this tiny town, I hadn't made any real friends. Even Sheryl and John were more like older siblings, which got quite annoying at times. I hate being the youngest.

Zak was enjoying our pizza immensely. Jeez, you'd think he'd never tasted it before. Maybe he hadn't, or maybe it had been a very long time. Either way, he was loving it. I had only three slices; he finished off the rest. What a metabolism... I was broken from my thoughts of 'no fair' when a loud belch sounded through the kitchen and a very embarrassed Zak slid under the table. I laughed. "Okay, no more Pepsi for you, pal." I peeked under the table. "Don't sweat it, 'kay?" He nodded and climbed back into his seat. He seemed to have a very cat-like manner about him. I found it peculiar, but it fit him. Whatever.

He jumped as my phone rang. I quickly checked the id, and it was Sheryl. If she was calling my house from her house, it was definitely bad.

"Matt?" I heard as soon as I hit the 'talk' button. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Matt, keep a close eye on Zak. That Keats freak-" She used the word 'freak'? "-wants him dead. We need him, Matt. Don't let us down." I nodded. Duh, she can't see me. "You can count on me, Sheryl."

"That's what I'm worried about, Matt. I mean it; Keats is headhunting as we speak. He only knows Zak is mute and homeless so far, so until he catches a glimpse of him Zak's only relatively safe."

Zak looked worried. Man, even with his ears covered (I've always wondered why he did that), he had an awesome sense of hearing. I could faintly hear the scratch of a pen on paper as Sheryl rattled on. "Yes Sheryl, I told you I'll watch him. All right! I'm hanging up now."

"You're so rude Mat-" Click. Yeah, I'm rude, but I swear she doesn't know when to shut up. Zak shoved the piece of paper across the table. 'I'm sorry I dragged you into this, Matt. I'll be fine on my own.' I shook my head. "No way Zak, you're my friend and I'm gonna stick by you. And don't argue with me, you won't win." He smiled a bit. 'Thanks.' "No problem."

We had him. We finally had him, trapped in his home, but we wouldn't get him out without a fight. Our entire police force was there, along with the city's cops. I ordered Zak to stay home; Christopher Keats' home was the last place he should be right now. As of right now, the only thing on my mind was finding the psycho and cuffing him. Well, I was certainly proved wrong, the 'psycho' that escaped from the asylum was captured again the next day. I hadn't heard that until Sheryl informed me this morning.

I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, and my mind raced. What if it was him, and he shot me before I even saw him? I heard he had been pulling traces of gold out of his victims' bodies. I shivered. This guy's just plain-out creepy. Why couldn't he get the gold some other way? Maybe it was just for some sick amusement. I kept moving, having no desire to have my 'valuable' body killed and burned.

"Matthew Hurst, I presume?" I heard a mature man's voice. Okay, again, no fair... I can sound like such a kid sometimes. Enough with the complaining, Matt, you're about to get killed and all you can think about is how this guy's voice sounds. "Are you Christopher Keats?" I peered through the dark. We had been searching for the jerk all afternoon, and I was the one lucky enough to find him. Joy.

"Excellent guess, Mr. Hurst. Too bad you don't have your amusing friends here to help you." Sheryl and John, amusing? Now I know he's lost it.

"If you come without arguing, I won't have to hurt you." Can you tell how confident I feel? That sounded sooo lame... I heard him chuckling. Now I'm being laughed at. Joy again. I really ought to quit this job.

"What if I don't want to come?" Now with the mocking! I was furious. "You're going to anyway! I'm not putting up with your games!" He moved, and I fired. I heard a slight grunt; apparently I only grazed him, because he was still moving. "Foolish child, you should have known better than to come here and risk your life." A shot, and I ducked. Good thing too; the vase across the room that was level with my head shattered. Another shot, and I took off running. Stupid, really stupid Matt, now he can hear you! But now I also heard him as he gave chase. I heard another shot being fired, and the window beside me shattered as I was tackled to the ground. My burden hissed in pain.

I looked up, and my gaze met blue-violet. Great, he followed me anyway! "Zakary!" I shouted without thinking, and heard Keats' pistol click as he set it again. "Zakary, is it? You saved me the time of finding him."

Zak panicked. I could tell by the way he suddenly tensed. I blinked, and he was gone. I think Keats and I were equally shocked. My mysterious friend had launched himself directly up and landed on top of a high shelf on the wall. I watched in surprise as he ran on all fours, moving amazingly quickly.

A shot broke me from my stupor and I grabbed my own gun, aiming it into the darkness and squeezing off a few shots of my own. I heard Keats growl in pain, followed by a soft thump, and guessed I got him in the leg, immobilizing him. But it didn't stop him from shooting at Zak. He aimed carefully and pulled the trigger. I covered my ears and shrieked, surprised as the bullet flew through my hair and hit its target. Everything fell strangely silent as Zak fell from his perch, his blood staining the ceiling and wall where he had previously been.

"No..." Oh my God, Zak don't you dare die! DON'T YOU DARE! I breathed a sigh of relief as he scrambled to get up, but choked when I saw where he was hit. I could hear that creep behind me laughing insanely. "I finally got you!!"

"No..." I whispered again. Zak... Blood trickled from a tiny hole in the left side of his chest. I had never seen him so frightened before. And I couldn't help him. I cursed my stupidity and crawled over to him. Keats' maniacal laughter had ceased, and I guessed he passed out from the pain.

"Zak, you can't die, we need you!" I saw his fingers move lightly, as he traced 'I'm Sorry' into the carpet. And that was it. I would be famous for the capture of the unconscious maniac behind me, but I had lost my only friend in the process.

Fame isn't as great as it's made out to be, when you don't have your friends to share it with. I remember quitting soon after, and taking up being an artist. It took me a long while and lots of frustrating hours to get as good as my friend had been.

"So Matt, you listen to me boy. If you ever find a special friend, keep them close. You'll only find one in all the wide world." The boy nodded, holding his grandfather's hand. "You'll see him again Grandpa, I know you will." He smiled, and his grandfather turned toward the window, a look of surprise taking over his face. Matt looked over. "What's there? I don't see anything."

A familiar pair of blue-violet eyes stared back at the old man, and a piece of paper moved into view. 'Time to go, Matt.'

Ok, I went through and fixed all my previous mistakes ; I type too fast for my own good...