//------------------------------// // 11 - Backup // Story: Pinkie Pie is Dead // by chrumsum //------------------------------// I wake with the lightning. Sleep leaves me like a flightful lover, and I’m back in reality. For better or for worse. My cheek sticks to the floorboards when I pick myself up off the ground. A dream. But how much of it was just that? The inside of my mouth tastes like paste. I press my hoof against the bridge of my muzzle to try to numb the throb in my head. It aches in time with the crackle of thunder like a marching band. How long have I been out? Only a quick glance out the window tells me the nightmare hasn’t ended just because I woke  up. The glass is streaked with water from the passing rain, but the rumble in the dark sky threatens more to come. The town is drowning, and all I’m doing is treading water. I can’t see the moon through the opaque skies. But Luna’s parting words pulse through my head like the blistering headache that I damn well deserve. My two closest friends wait for me on the desk. One, a rambunctious pal, always giving me what I want when I need it. The other, the tough-love type of guy who never says anything but speaks to me more than the other ever will. I pass on the whiskey and pick up my notebook. Another roll of thunder, and I start from the beginning. My old friend brings it all back for me. Fact: Pinkie Pie was killed in her room with a kitchen knife. The struggle was brief, but one-sided. Killer struck her when she wasn’t expecting it, silencing her and finishing her off. It doesn’t tell me much. I bite my quill. All it means is that Pinkie either knew the killer or was surprised. I flip through my notes for more. Fact: The murder weapon came from the Cake’s kitchen. The knife found with Pinkie’s blood still on it was a match for the missing knife in Sugarcube Corner. Moreover, the handle was in good condition. It had never been used by somepony who could only hold it with their teeth. That cuts it down quite a bit. In fact, it cuts it down to unicorns. The wounds were too deep and too violent for the killer to have covered it up with a cloth. If they hadn’t the teeth marks would have been pretty clear. I scratch my muzzle. Unicorn. That cuts it down to two of my suspects, only one of whom has a motive. But Rarity... I still don’t believe it. Something in my gut tells me that just wouldn’t be right. Even if she’s still hiding something. Rarity isn’t dumb enough to keep a murder weapon lying around in her kitchen, much less one that’s still covered with blood. Getting ahead of myself again. I back up and flip to my notes on Sugarcube Corner. Fact: The door had been kicked in when we got there. No funny stuff with the lock, and the windows opened from the inside. That pretty much leaves just one method of entry and exit: teleportation. Rarity couldn’t possibly have that kind of skill. But Twilight Sparkle on the other hand... she could do it in her sleep. That and more. But why? All for some experiment on necromancy? Would she ever risk the life of her friend for something like that? I don’t believe it. It comes back to the knife again. The Cakes were working all day in the kitchen. Anypony coming in or out would have been noticed immediately. Does Twilight know an invisibility spell? That... or that Cakes are lying through their teeth. I banish the thought. The motivation just wasn’t there. Pinkie was a model employee and an asset to Sugarcube Corner. She took care of their kids. Killing her would bring them absolutely nothing. And I know they weren’t lying. I press my head against the wall, and it trembles from another burst of thunder. This is perfect. Too perfect. The killer knew exactly when Pinkie would be alone and knew that she was vulnerable. But who would know that except for... Fact: The last pony Pinkie Pie talked to aside from the Cakes was Fluttershy. Eerie, distant Fluttershy, who knew her friend was going through a rough patch. Such a close friend would know how she would react, shutting herself off from the world and leaving herself totally open for somepony to take her out. On top of it all, she’d know exactly who she could frame. But how? It comes back to that damn room again. Nopony ever came in or out. The doors and windows locked from the inside and were locked when the door was kicked in. Pinkie was the only pony in that room who could’ve opened up for anyone. And no one would be able to lock the door behind themselves when they left. Then how? How did the killer get the knife, come in, kill Pinkie, leave without touching a single lock, and have the murder weapon somehow end up at the Boutique? It doesn’t work. Not unless Pinkie... No, never. I despise myself for even thinking of it. Those wounds could never be self-inflicted. Think. Put yourself in the horseshoes of the killer. Either he either knew Pinkie Pie or was an expert in stealth. He knew when Pinkie would be alone, knew who to frame, and was able to get in and out of a locked room without touching a single door. And wouldn’t you know it, that doesn’t match a single one of my suspects. It doesn’t even come close. The whiskey looks more and more inviting with each passing moment. Nothing adds up. I re-read the notes over and over again, like a school colt desperately looking over a test for maybe just one question he can answer. I guess I just haven’t been studying. Pinkie. Damn it all, Pinkie. Who could’ve killed you? Who could hate you enough, who could be so cold and so cruel? I’ve killed a monster once, and that cost the life of an innocent. Who do I have to kill for the beast to die this time? Wait. The thunder echoes again. The breath is ripped from my lungs. No. It couldn’t be. That’s insane. Completely insane. But then again, so am I. I tear through my notes, desperate to prove myself wrong. Then I find it. One little sentence. One little bombshell, one little cruel twist of nature. Right there. I know who killed Pinkie Pie. I’m out the door before I’ve even finished pulling on my coat. The mud pulls at my feet, the earth trying to swallow me whole as I gallop. Ponyville is dark and quiet, shivering with anticipation, waiting for the storm to end. The big one’s coming. I can feel it throbbing in the air. The rush of blood and adrenaline pounds through my skull. I can barely tell one street from the next between flashes of lightning. Mud’s bogging me down. Holster’s digging into my ribs. Hard to run. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my heart begs for me to slow down, that I’m not used to this kind of exertion anymore. Can’t stop now. Lightning flashes, and I reach Sugarcube Corner. A cop’s asleep in front of the door. At least I hope to Celestia he’s only asleep. I recognize him. Officer Rocky. I shake him, and I can’t help a sigh of relief when he wakes up. “Whuh... Who... Oh, uh, Detective Sideways!” he jumps to his hooves, speech slurred with sleep. “I was just–” “Has anyone left?!” I demand, sticking my face close to his. “What?” he stammers, shying away. “Sugarcube Corner? Has anyone left?” “Uh...” he glances over his shoulder at the building. There’s a flash of lightning. It outlines the shadows of the street against the door. “I... I don’t think so, sir. Is something wrong?” I shove him out of my way. Another flash of lightning. The door is locked but something’s not quite right. The front window is open just a crack. I’m too late. I slam my hoof against the wall in anger. Officer Rocky looks up to the thundering skies nervously. “Look, sir, I don’t know what’s wrong but–” “Rarity!” I shout over the thunder. “Where’s Rarity?!” “Muh-Miss Rarity? She should be back at the boutique. The Chief said there wasn’t enough to have her arrested. Princess Celestia also vouched for her.” “Officer Rocky, listen very closely to me,” I hiss under my breath, grabbing him by the collar of his uniform. “Get to the station. Find anyone who’s awake, and get them to Carousel Boutique as quickly as possible. Get another few officers to guard here. Got it?” “Y-yes sir,” he answers, nodding eagerly. “What about you, sir? What are you going to do?” There’s a deafening peal of thunder, and my voice gets lost in it. The skies open, and like a screaming army of angels, rain descends upon Ponyville. I tear through it and into the streets. My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest and my hooves are like lead. The water seeps through my skin and numbs my bones like morphine. I don’t stop running, even when I’m gulping down air so thick with water that I feel like I’m drowning. The mud soaks through my trenchcoat and notebook. But I don’t stop until the Carousel Boutique appears, lost in the rain. Front door is locked. I know how he got in, how he framed her. I know I’m probably out of my damn mind, too. A voice in the back of my head, distant and hollow, screams for me to wait for the damn backup. But the rain falls too fast, and I know this place. I kick the door in. Carousel Boutique is absolutely silent out of the roar of the rain. The only sound is my ragged breathing and the steady plip-plip as the rain rolls off my coat and onto the floor. I draw my revolver and hold it in front of me like a shield. Absolute silence. Either there’s still time or I’m far too late. There’s a flash of lightning, and the inside of the boutique briefly looks like the like the inside of an old comic book. I watch the shadows, stepping around every corner as carefully as possible. Heart’s going too fast. Everything seems so damn familiar. I round the corner and find myself in the kitchen. Empty. My eyes go to the knife rack. One of the pearl-handled blades is missing. The bastard. He’s already here. I take the stairs. Never been up here before. Everything seems unfamiliar and my heart’s beating so fast. Head’s going light. Not now, Sideways. Get the hell over it. Not now. Top the stairs. Clear left. Clear right. I should be waiting for the damn backup, but there might not be enough time. One of the doors is open. I kick it in. My gun goes first. I follow. A square of pale light coming in through the window illuminates the bed. It curves around Rarity’s form, deathly still. Her eyes glimmer and lock with mine. Still alive. She doesn’t say a word, only watching, pleading. Her breathing comes in terrified rushes. And there he is. Standing above her with a knife clenched in his mouth. He watches me as I enter. He doesn’t have to say a word. He probably can’t. We both know the score. Lightning flashes, and I see his face. I’m insane. By Celestia, I’m out of my fucking mind. But there he is. I keep my gun trained on him. Gummy. You son of a bitch.