Prologue
The wolf
was panicked in his seat. Tears made matted, salty lines down his black fur.
His arms were shackled to the arms of his chair just like his ankles and
thighs. He tried to turn his head but the restraints there, too held him firm.
He couldn't budge an inch. His breath caught in his throat and he had to gasp
for each one when the doctor raised his 'ice pick' and positioned it above his eye.
He glanced back toward the one-way mirror lining the wall behind him and
addressed a hidden audience.
"Time:
Nine O'Four on the Eighth of January, on the year Twenty Twenty. Patient Number
- No improvements over nine months of extensive treatment. Over the
course of his stay he's urinated on three orderlies, bitten four of them, and
near-fatally injured one."
The doctor was almost beautiful,
like his John, but he always kept a nasty attitude about him. He was always
sneering at his patients, including the wolf. He imagined the doctor was the
type that liked to touch himself while thinking about the torture he'd put
others through.
The doctor paused for breath and
looked back to the wolf, giving him a hint of a wide-toothed grin with his
bright muzzle. "Aversion therapy, hypnotherapy, and electroshock therapies have
all failed to deter his vile behavior. The only other available treatment is
full-frontal lobotomy."
He
turned to the audience again, as if casting his eyes on their own hidden pairs.
He raised the mallet he held and the wolf shrieked. His toes curled and his
muscles bulged as he tried to shy away from the doctor, to melt through the
chair and escape. His heart was nearly audible as it fought to burst from his
chest. He would have lost his bladder if he hadn't already been forced to void
it.
"John!"
came his voice, and he barely had enough breath to not pause between words to
gasp for more air. "John I'm sorry! I'm sorry John! Please! I'm sorry!"
His eyes
locked onto the mirrored glass, his own reflection staring back at him looking
more panicked than he felt. He knew he
couldn't escape. This was the end. His end. He'd never see John again.
"I'm
sorry John! I'm so sor-" The wolf fell silent as the doctor's mallet slapped
the steel pick with a loud, sharp ping. His jaw fell open in a silent scream as
the white-furred wrist of the doctor rotated. His fingers twisted. Drool fell
from one corner of the wolf's muzzle.
Somewhere behind the glass, a sigh of relief fell over a
tiger's features. He felt as a weight had fallen off of his chest. The past year flashed before his eyes and he
finally felt he could relax. Maybe his nightmares would cease. He'd have to
visit Kyle in the hospital to tell him the news.
Maybe he'd wake up. It had been almost a month since his
gunshot wounds had healed. John had visited him every day and held his hand. Told
him stories. Sometimes Kyle twitched a black-gloved paw, other times his red
fox-marked muzzle moved just a little. The nurses said that was just reflex,
but John liked to believe it wasn't. That his baby was fighting to come back to
him. Now he had a reason to.
John stood and looked away from the wolf who had tormented
him for so long and grunted. That wolf was gone now, replaced by a living and
drooling zombie. Good.
It was almost over. Kyle just had to wake up.