Shadows in the Darkroom

As Danny stared at the photo that was developing, a look of fear and confusion spread across his face. His hand shook as he touched the edges of the picture as it became clearer and clearer.

Luckily, Danny’s darkroom was in a secluded part of Varunkirk university, behind the costume department’s closet, because when he sprinted out of it no one saw from whence he came... he thought.

I’d better rethink where I keep my equipment, he thought to himself as he ran to the college newspaper office. It was after hours, but chief editor Amber was always there.

Amber, a meerkat bestial, ran to the glass window that Danny was furiously rapping on. She always had time for her strange human friend.

“Danny! What’s going—?”

Danny pushed his way through and slamed the office door behind him, almost carrying Amber - who was only two-thirds his size - back into her office.

“Do you know where I keep my photography equipment?” Danny asked, a wild look in his eyes.

“Not yet,” Amber chuckled. “You’re the one human sneaky enough to—”

She sniffed a hint of a slightly familiar musk on him - he had been too busy to clean his jacket before visiting her. He must be really disturbed this time. Danny interrupted.

“Do you know anyone who does know where my darkroom is?”

“Jeez Danny, what’s going on?”

Danny flumped himself into a leather chair across from her cluttered desk. “I was developing my roll of photos for that spread on the rash of graffiti that’s been going on when I came across a picture...” he sighed. “...that I didn’t take.”

The young meerkat was about to suggest that Danny had simply had too much to drink the previous night, but the meticulous human never drank.

Her ears twitched as she held up her clawed hands. “Hang on. What do you mean you found a photo you didn’t take? Like, someone else used your camera?”

“Yes, Amber,” Danny said. “But the fact that they found my little safehouse isn’t the most worrying thing about this: It’s... it's what they took a picture of.”

The meerkat scrutinized the picture closely, her muzzle opening in shock. 

“It looks like... a picture of a locker?”

“Yes, locker #541 at the bus station on Fifth! I could tell because that’s the only station with that emblem on front.”

Amber’s tail swished back and forth as she tilted her head, before grabbing a gummy worm from a jar on her desk.

“So it seems to me,” the meerkat started as she chomped down on a gummy worm. “That we need to do some investigating.”  

“Good enough for a cover story tomorrow, you think?"

Amber shrugged. “Let’s just see where this leads. Gummy worm?” 

“Sugar. Gets the glucose in the brain going,” Danny said dryly, taking the lime worm Amber offered and popping it in his mouth. A few smacks and a disgusted look flashed over his face. “Lime, Amber? Seriously?”

“What? It was a variety pack.” 

Danny powered through as he made room on Amber’s corkboard. In the center of the empty part of the board he tacked the picture.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got copies. You’re the editor - how long do I have to convince you to make this the front page tomorrow?” Danny pulled another gummy worm and had it hang half-way out of his mouth. He was in full 1940’s-mode, now, Amber thought.

“You just really want to hear me say, ‘stop the presses’ don’t you? Come on, let's head down to the bus station.” She checked her purse and confirmed she had her pink pepper spray. Just in case.

The good part of living in a college town was the bus system was halfway decent. Amber and Danny stepped on to the bus, Amber getting the usual odd stares from passengers. 

“I miss the tram system back at Reach City,” Amber grunted.  

“Fewer stares?” Danny offered.

“Faster, with less stops.” 

“Heh,” Danny chuckled. “There are other bestials in Varunkirk, too. I notice you don’t collaborate with them as much. But yeah, just run for city council if you want a more efficient bus system, Amber.”

Amber nudged his arm. “Become a small-time politician? Eww.” 

Danny chuckled again. “Only the big time for you, huh?”

“No, I’d much rather air out politicians' dirty laundry.”   

It took the two journalism majors about fifteen minutes to get to the final destination - the central bus station - and as soon as Amber stepped off the bus she encountered an odd smell. It was faint but it made her fur stand on end. Danny noticed her nose twitching.

“What’s up?” He asked his bestial friend.

“I smell more than diesel fumes here, Danny.”

The two made their way to the lockers, to locker number five-four-one: one of the three-combination locks. Farah could tell the scent was emanating from it, but it wasn’t strong. Just faint enough for her to tell. It was a bad smell - like rotting meat. But not just any meat - meat that she was not familiar with the decay of. Danny noticed her sniffing and snuffling.

“What is it, Amber?”

Amber looked around nervously. There were a few passengers, but no one suspicious. “I smell… uh… carrion.”

“You sure?” Danny prompted.

Amber’s tail fidgeted. “Trust me Danny. That’s a smell you can’t forget.” 

“Carrion?”

“Sure smells like it.” 

Danny looked around as well and leaned down and whispered to his friend. “What... what kind of animal?”

Amber shook her head. “I’m not sure, the stench is all I can focus on.” 

Danny licked his lips and tried smelling it too. “All I can smell is the bus depot. It all smells like... crap.” Amber seemed amused by the ‘crap’ comment “Should we call the cops, or—?”

“No way!” Amber hissed. “It’s just a three-digit combination.”

“We can’t stay here all night guessing combinations,” Danny said as a transit authority officer walked by on the far side of the room. “...As you can see.” Danny snapped his fingers. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

“Sure thing ace. What’s your idea?” Amber asked.

“Well obviously the... whoever-it-was... wanted us to find this locker. The only clue we have right now is...?”

Amber thought for a second. “The locker number?”

Danny got a little grin on his face. “And who knows the most about numbers?”

Amber rubbed her fluffy temple. “The mathematics department?”

Danny gently tapped Amber’s shoulder. “You got it!”

Another fifteen minute bus ride and a walk across campus brought them to the Math, Science, and Engineering division of buildings.

“She’s not going to be there, Danny,” Amber said.

“Hush,” the human said. “This isn’t about her. This is about the truth.”

“Suuuuure,” Amber said, reaching into her purse and taking out the last gummy worm. Grape and orange.

The code on the pad to the Math building was the first five numbers of the Fibonacci sequence: 

1-1-2-3-5. 

Amber was the one that deduced that: when they were on the heels of the exam-cheaters’ ring. The trail ran cold in the math department, but Amber was always proud of discovering that detail. When the duo walked down into the subbasement, where the math majors and PhD students ran theories across each other in the dark, there was only one student there.

“H-hey Malina!” Danny said delicately.

Malina Whisperfur was there, her glasses perched delicately on her snoot. She looked up from her page of equations.

“Danny!” The vixen said, excitedly but softly, her brush wagging in a perfect sine wave pattern. “And Amber...”

“Malina,” Amber greeted. 

“What brings you around? Still looking for the cheating ring?”

Amber shook her head, “Nah, we got the lid on that one. We actually need someone who likes numbers and codes.”

“Well perhaps I can assist for the time being,” Malina said warmly, her tail still wagging in a perfect sinewave pattern. “What seems to be the issue?”

Amber nudged Danny, “Go ahead ace, it’s your case.” 

Danny gulped and sat across from Malina at the long table. “H-hey Malina!”

“Hello Danny. It’s very nice to see you again.”

“Heh... I know... It’s... it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Danny replied shifting nervously.

“Indeed it has.” the vixen replied her ears twitching.

“And-And your studies? They’re... they’re going well?”

“As well as could be expected,” She replied.

“I bet you know exactly how well they should be going, huh?”

Amber rolled her eyes where the two couldn’t see.

“I try my best to predict things,” the vixen said, grinning.

“Cut to the chase Danny, this ain’t a singles bar.” 

Danny turned to Amber, who was pretending to admire the complicated equations on a chalkboard on the other side of a room. He cleared his throat.

“Malina, do you know anything interesting about the number five-hundred-forty-one?”

The vixen bestial cocked her head to the side and thought for a moment. She flipped over the paper she was working on and did a few calculations. “It is the sixth Fiboni number?”

Amber looked at Danny and shook her head, holding up a three with her paws - indicating they needed a three-digit number to correspond to the locker combination.

“Anything regarding a three-digit number?” Danny prompted.

Malina looked up and gasped. “Well, it may be a little plain, but it is the hundredth prime number.”

Danny looked at Amber who shrugged. Danny looked back at Malina.

“Malina?”

“Yes, Danny?” She said warmly, her big violet eyes looking up at him.

“I- Thank you.”

“Come on, Ace!” Amber yelled, her paw already on the door out of the room.

Another thirty minute ride and already it was eight in the evening before Danny put one, zero, zero into the combination. This time when it was opened, it truly was a horrific sight.

A severed human hand, old and burnt to a crisp.

Amber pinched her nose and slammed the locker shut. She spoke in a nasally voice as a result. “Oh, god. How and why did someone take a picture of this with your camera? This is probably evidence for a murder somewhere.”

Danny was caught completely off guard, grabbing Amber’s paw and trying to hurry himself out of the station. When they were out in the night, Spring air, Danny gasped.

“What was that, Amber?” He wheezed. “What was that?!”

The meerkat shook her head, “A severed burned hand. I… I don’t know how old it is, or why it’s there. Or even why you had a photo of that locker.”

“Someone had to have found my camera,” Danny muttered.

Amber rubbed her paws together, future journalistic accolades dancing in her meerkat eyes. 

“Well as the cliche goes, Danny: ‘the plot thickens.’”