FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Those Wild Black Ice Boys #2

Gallows Hearts

When Jackie woke up, he wondered if he had struck his head against the table. There was a flat throbbing at the side of his skull, his mouth seeming as though it was stuffed with cotton, and when he opened his eyes everything was hazed and faded in a beer-blur. He groaned, mentally berating himself; he knew that he couldn't handle his liquor. What the hell made him think he could drink so much this time and not suffer the usual purgatory? As he groaned a low sound in his throat it sent a rotten, cottony taste into his mouth, suggesting--merely suggesting--what he had poured into his stomach.

"Ugh, man," he grumbled, his throat dry and scratchy, the cotton mixing with steel wool. The lights above the counter were on, but the ceiling and walls were too bright--the shades were pulled up on the windows behind him and sunlight was filling every shadow. Jackie fancied he could feel every nerve in his brain pulsating painfully, jumping to the tempo of his heart. He stood up slowly, rolling on the heels of his boots.

The party had already passed its death throes, internment, and was beginning its autopsy. Bottles, cans, empty bags of chips and their contents, and other garbage littered the floor as did the party-goers themselves; some were lying prone on their stomachs, some resting against the walls, and some were sitting asleep on the stairs. There was a huddled group of maybe five or six by the stripper poles, a cacophonous snoring issuing from the mass of limbs. He tried to remember what had happened last night, catching snippets out of the fog. He knew he and Rob were seated at the counter, Vince kept pouring the drinks, round after round, and the music kept changing. It was silent now, only a few birds conversing outside, probably laughing at the spectacle of idiots inside.

_ Why didn't I stop?_Jackie wondered, rubbing at the one side of his head that ached. He had never conceded to the thought that he had a drinking problem, but every time Vince hosted one of his famous parties he always woke up wondering what was so wrong that he had guzzled himself to unconsciousness. It was as if that thought was totally incapable of entering his mind whenever he had a bottle in his hand. The fox meandered through a trashy maze into the main living room, his boots crunching down on popcorn and small forgotten trinkets. He felt something bounce against his chest, his amethyst; he grabbed it and stuck it under his shirt.

Never again.

He hoisted the strap of his canvas bag over his shoulder, checking to make sure that everything that he could remember was in there exactly as it was. Scratching an itch by his tail, he turned and began looking for Rob.

_ What the?_

His fingers came away wet and cold, kind of sticky. He stared at them, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. He caught a whiff of something alkaline and familiar--He shifted his body around and looked at the back of his skirt, curling his lip in disgust when he saw the stain on the black fabric, small gobs of white flecking and half-dried.

"Oh, godammit, Rob..."

The faded and pained buzz in his head was like a thin screen, diffusing his anger and leveling it off at a percentage of what he would have normally felt. Jackie rolled his eyes, knowing that once he managed to stabilize himself he would give the wolf the full force of his mind. He changed course, searching for the bathroom instead of his boyfriend so he could clean himself up. If Rob wanted to do that, why did he have to do it while he was unconscious, and why did he have to do it on his new clothes?

---

Where am I?

Rob's eyes opened slowly, a grey haze fading into color and shade, outlines gradually appearing to form silhouettes and shapes. He stared up at the ceiling, aware that his body was pressing deep into the confines of a couch. The couch was beige, or some kind of yellowish brown. Like chocolate champagne.

Chocolate champagne? Where the hell am I?

The wolf's ears twisted around to catch anything he could hear; wet and raucous snoring, the broken twang of morning bird-song, silence filling in the intervals. He could see sunlight coming in through the window behind the couch, painfully staining the world with rosy gold. He followed the lines of the tiles in the ceiling, sandy brown like baked cookies, the array leading his eyes downward, where he saw that his pants and boxers were bunched down around his ankles. A used condom was resting against his stomach. Like a falling boulder, a single thought fell hard in his mind:

What the hell did I do last night?

Rob, a Romani beat pounding inside of his skull, tossed the condom off his belly and pulled his boxers up, followed by his jeans. Some night, he marveled; he had no recollection of making out with Jackie. He remembered fondling the fox's cute butt, listening to him moan, there was a flash of light coming from the other room, and then his memory faded into a misty blob, submitting only maybe-shapes.

He stood up on pasta legs, suddenly remembering that he was in Vince's house--he could tell because this was usually how Vince's place looked after a regular night of fun. Garbage littering the floor and the walls, even some forks were stuck in the ceiling, which was of no particular concern. Somebody in the same room gave an especially sonorous noise, driving an expressly thick railway spike into his brain. The wolf groaned, which made the spike inch out and back in.

He zipped up and set the button in place, clutching at his head, trying to force his mind to see through the mist. Where was Jackie?

Instinctively, his hands went to his pockets to make sure that he still had his wallet. He couldn't remember exactly what had occurred last night, but he sure as hell could remember what happened the morning following one of Vince's past parties, when he had woken up to discover that all his cash was gone. He considered himself lucky to have had the shortsightedness to leave his driver's insurance and credit cards in the car, but the loss of some ninety dollars was like a bur constantly niggling at the back of his mind every time he attended the coyote's shindigs. His fingers touched the obtuse angles of the faux brown leather, and relief flooded his mind.

Wait a minute...

Rob's eyes narrowed; his wallet was stuck properly in his left rear pocket, but something was making his front left pocket bulge out, pressing lightly against his thigh. He reached inside, pulling out a pair of orange silk panties.

"What the hell?" he mumbled. He unfolded the undergarment, exposing letters and numbers written with a black sharpie marker, a phone number and the name "Anisette." The handwriting was small and spidery, rather elegant, but still legible. At that moment a flood of events slipped into his memory; the taste of Pabst Blue Ribbon over something pink and slick; a thin, sinewy, and very flexible body sliding over his own; a pair of small but firm breasts, rubbing softly against his muzzle; gray-and-black fur covering a long tail, wrapping around his waist as he slammed his cock in and out of a--.

"Oh, shit," Rob muttered, the realization of what he had done cutting through the post-inebriation mist. His head filling with further expletives, he stuffed the underwear back into his pocket, unaware of what he was doing. He grabbed at his head, cradling the offending hemisphere in his fingers.

"There you are."

Rob wheeled around, almost tripping over himself and falling onto the floor. Jackie was standing at the entryway, on the threshold between the living room and the kitchen, scratching at the back of his neck. His eyes looked dry and tired, his black hair was mussed and wiry, and he leaned heavily against the wall. He wondered if he looked just as bad, or if Jackie had seen him with the underwear. Rob went to his boyfriend, stepping as slowly and as quietly as he could manage. He tried to look Jackie in the eyes, but he couldn't.

"How did you get all the way over here?" Jackie asked.

Rob shook his head, remembering striped black-and-grey. "I have no idea."

The fox looked through his messenger bag, giving it a brief once-over. As Rob came closer the fox turned with him, yawning and rubbing at his temples as they walked through the kitchen, crunching over party carrion. Rob heard him say "Never again," curling one thin arm around his waist. Smiling, he threw an arm over Jackie's shoulders, trying not to feel the cold thing that came up between them, the wall or hedge-like thing, but it was there.

"Ready to head out?" he asked, clearing his throat.

"Mm-hmm. You still have that bottle of Advil in the dash?"

"Always."

"Good." Jackie tightened his grip on his bag, brushing away a strand of hair that fell over his eyes.

They surveyed the damage as they walked together out of their friend's suburban house. Vince himself was nowhere to be found, likely gone off to work already, or sleeping it off at his girlfriend's place, formulating an alibi for his disappearance or acquisitioning funds and materials for the next bacchanalia. Rob tried to fight off a combined wave of nausea and head pain, just barely succeeding. He belched, and Jackie gave him a disgusted look.

Had he not been imbibing the night previous, Rob would have said that the morning was beautiful, but as such he felt it was one massive headache. The rosy sky and the sunlight flared into his eyes, piking his skull and making him wish he were in bed already. There were plastic cups and aluminum cans dotting the lawn, a dark blue recliner that had somehow found its way outside, a single occupant snoring loudly in its plush embrace.

As they neared Rob's Cavalier, the wolf broke away from Jackie. He pressed a button on his key to unlock the doors, walking around the front to the driver's side. As he opened the door, he heard Jackie's voice over the roof. "By the way, I'm mad at you for what you did last night."

A chill passed through Rob, rippling down his spine. He asked Jackie what he meant, but the fox had already slipped down into his seat.

"What're you talking about?"

The fox gave him a hard look, piercing him with his eyes before turning in his seat, facing the window and exposing his rear. He grabbed at his skirt, gesturing toward a decent-sized stain. It looked like he had tried to wash whatever it was out, but the fabric was still flecked with white. Rob's gaze switched between the fox's skirt and his eyes. "You know, I really don't mind that you did it, Rob, I'm okay with it, but you shouldn't have done it while I was fucking senseless."

"Oh, right. Sorry about that."

"I mean, you should at least control yourself long enough to ask."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, Jackie, but if you could just talk a little softer, please."

As the wolf fumbled with his key for a moment Jackie started massaging his temple. He mumbled an agreement, bitterly conceding, but Rob knew Jackie was committing the incident and his anger over it down to memory, keeping it close, waiting to unleash it on him at a later date, after they had recovered a bit.

He watched, rubbing his eyes into wakefulness, as his boyfriend opened the dash and grabbed the bottle of Advil, taking out two and downing them both before throwing the seatbelt over his chest and loudly clicking it into place. His fear of Jackie discovering he had cheated on him had for one short moment been supplanted by the angry wonder over who had really rubbed one out on his boyfriend's butt. That thought whirling bitterly in his aching head, he stabbed the key into the ignition and twisted it.

The stereo was still set at the same volume they had it at last night; Judas Priest howled from the speakers, making the windows beside them and the nerves in their heads rattle painfully. Jackie shouted something, holding his head--Rob's hand shot out, turning the knob and dropping the volume to nil. Stinging quiet filled in the awaiting space, morning stillness, though a few birds had been startled into irate warbling from their perches. Rob closed his eyes, his mouth still dry, slowly putting the black Cavalier into drive.

"For future citation," Jackie said quietly, "Eighties metal isn't acceptable hangover music."

Rob grinned, feeling no humor in him as he drove off of the curb and into the empty road. The wolf checked to make sure he had enough gasoline; Jackie lived approximately forty-five minutes away, a mile out of a tiny town that just barely registers on any map, not exactly jogging distance. Analyzing the gauge, he happily concluded that he didn't need to stop and fill up. A streamer of mucus fell from his nose, making him sniffle, wiped it away, hoping that it wouldn't get any worse than a measly sniffle. He shot a careful glance at Jackie, who stared silently out the window, his forehead resting on the cool glass as he watched the blur of spruce, pine, birch, and oak pass by, an occasional road sign momentarily breaking the hypnotic motion. It was ten minutes to eight, and though there was some traffic--a school bus or two, a few drivers on their way to work--the roads for the most part were devoid of life, lonely and littered with fallen leaves, browned pine needles, and acorns.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Rob thought. Why couldn't I control myself? Well, the alcohol, yeah, but I can handle my liquor better than Jackie, better than Vince. I had some control, didn't I? Jackie's going to kill me if he ever finds out. I can't tell him, not right now. Later, when we're both feeling better. But even then...shit.

_ No, Jackie will never know. It was my mistake, one single mistake at a party that should have never happened. I'll take that secret to my grave. But there was a lot of people there...they could have seen, could have taken photos or footage. Who doesn't record people having sex at parties these days?_

"Shit."

He saw Jackie turn his head in the corner of his eye, fixing on him, boring into the side of his skull. "Did you say something?"

"No. I don't know, I'm kind of hungover."

He heard Jackie hum a note in his throat, probably sounding like empathy, but in Rob's ears it came out as an accusation.

Never again, he thought.

Rob continued heading straight on I95, stopping when he saw the sign marking the town of Thunder up ahead. He slowed, turned onto Everson Road, and followed it for five minutes until the pavement gave way to rocky dirt and sand. He drove up the hill, took a turn, and made a right onto the path that didn't look like a path. It was a strip of sandy dirt bisecting the grassy ditch, leading directly into a corridor of trees. It was obvious when you looked at it directly, but the only way one could have known for sure the path would have led to a house was the mailbox standing beside it, leaning dangerously to the side.

Jack had a beautiful house (of course, Rob thought, compared to my crappy place anything would look beautiful, but it's still pretty amazing); it was a tall two-story structure built into the side of a hill, with light log-style siding that made it seem as though it had been constructed out of cedar logs. In the morning glow, the walls had the color of frozen amber or maple syrup, and the eaves of the pine green roof hung out and over watching windows. There was a porch on this side of the house, but a rocky path wound down and around it to the left, a few short steps leading to a concrete-tiled terrace at the foot of the hill and the lower entrance. Meanwhile, a few feet ahead of the driveway, a thin walkway linked the front of the house with the small one-car garage. The building looked out over a large rectangular field of some eighty acres like a gentle forest guardian, cradled on all sides by pine, oak, spruce, birch, and other trees that whispered a morning welcome in the breeze.

Nothing was wrong or bad here on Jackie's property. Even the thistles had their own place on the outskirts of the woods, some standing proudly at an impressive seven feet, their purple flowers browned and drying, but still irascibly clinging to life. Jackie could complain about the property tax as much as he wanted, it still looked amazing.

Rob had been inside of the house several times, and he felt that it matched Jackie's personality one hundred percent. Outwardly, you saw only one facet, only one visage, but inside there was a whole other universe of ideas, thoughts, and potential appearances. He wondered why he had ever broken up with the fox, and when was that? Couldn't have been all that long ago. And if he ever knew about this new debacle, the chances of Rob ever seeing Jackie again would be minus nil.

_ No. Jackie will never know._

The fox yawned as he got out of the car, shutting the door as softly as he could. Rob got out, too, and walked over to his boyfriend, ignoring the invisible thing that felt like it was trying to keep them apart; he grabbed Jackie and pulled him into a hug. The fox stiffened for a moment, but eventually softened, sinking into his embrace. Rob felt Jackie take a deep breath, let it out, and he almost felt like crying.

Jackie pulled away but kept his arms locked around Rob's waist. Rob stared down into Jackie's green eyes, hearing the trees muttering around him.

"Do you want to come in for a bit? I'll make us some breakfast."

"No, no. I really should be getting back and sort out my answering machine. Wouldn't be a bother if I took a shower and slept for a while as well."

"Are you sure?"

Rob smiled. "Don't try to charm me, babe, or you'll never get rid of me."

Jackie gave him a nice, soft smile, making the wolf's heart ache inside his chest. "Alright," he said, almost in a whisper, as though the trees might gossip. "I don't have to work until Tuesday, so you're free to come over whenever you want. Just give me a call before you do."

"I will."

The fox leaned in, planting a lightning-quick kiss on Rob's lips and retreating before the wolf could return it. He was about to turn away, head back into the warmth of the Cavalier, but Jackie continued to hold him close; he looked curious, his eyes scrunched down and his head tilted slightly. Rob had always found that expression adorable, but now it seemed dangerous, awful.

"Is something wrong, Rob?"

"Wh--no. Why?"

"It's your ear. It's been fidgeting for the last half hour. That usually happens when you're not feeling well, right?"

Rob smiled nervously, trying to keep his eyes locked on Jackie. If he looked away, the game would be over; Jackie had already caught a scent, and he didn't want to tell him which way to go. "Just a cold, is all," he said.

Jackie jerked out of the wolf's arms, rocks and dirt complaining beneath his boots. "Oh, thanks for that! That's outlawed by the Geneva Convention, Rob. Go on, get out of here, scram!"

The wolf chuckled as he stepped back to the car. "Have a good one, Jack. Try to get some sleep, please."

"I will, I will. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Jackie stood still for a moment, watching as the Cavalier pulled back, turned its rear to the trees, and headed back down the path. He waved, heading around the house to the lower entrance. "Nice day," he said out loud, looking at the sky. There were clouds coming down from the north, dark like thick and heavy cloth, swollen with rain. They seemed to laugh in the distance at Jackie's statement.

He looked at his gardens, a pair of large adjacent ovals a few yards past the octagonal gazebo, one devoted to herbs and flowers and the other to vegetables. The crops were already dying, rows of green and other bright colors faded into dark travesties of their former beauty. He shook his head, his hair brushing coolly against his shoulders. He had planted too much too late; in two weeks, they'll be covered by the first ejaculations of winter. Come March, they'll be submerged under six inches of water.

Much too much, much too late.

He walked along the patio, breathing in the fresh October air. As he put his hand on the doorknob, he felt a tiny but powerful wave of serenity wash over him, making each muscle in his limbs and body loosen, disentangle. Every bump and edge felt like it was smoothing out, sanded down and polished. A smile broke over the fox's face. There was nothing like the feeling that you knew you were home.

There were a number of names for the basement level; when his parents had lived in it, they called it an activity room, recreation room, living room, theatre room, and so on in the same vein. When Jackie claimed ownership, he began referring to it as his study. When he opened the door, the smell of flowers rushed out to meet him like a pet, yesterday's bouquet, and Jackie happily stepped into his house.

The floor was tiled in a sandy brown to compliment the cedar-paneled walls, grouted in a darker, mud-like shade. At one end was a combined bar and kitchenette, made of a short wall of rocks and a single thick slab of oak, while a flat screen television was flanked by pale brown furniture and a coffee table at the other end. A quad of smaller rooms rested along the far wall; the mechanical room which housed the switchboard, plumbing arrangement, and miscellaneous mechanical objects; the bathroom; Jackie's sacred room in the middle, closed off not by a door but by a heavy dark blue curtain; and a spare bed at the far corner by the television, all closed off to one another and parallel to the longer single area. The open ceiling offered a tall and lofty quality, the rafters dusty and pockmarked with screws from the upper floor that he never wanted to remove. A pair of thick square support beams rose up from the center of the floor, supporting a single long crossbeam.

A large pentagram Jackie had fashioned from flexible sticks and brush hung from the crossbeam facing the door, dangling gently at the cold breeze that came in beside him. He spared it a single glance, still smiling, and went to the couch, tossing down his messenger bag and scratching away an itch on his nose.

He knew he had far too much work to do, no time for sleep--his publisher was going for the record with two phone calls and four emails each day, lacing every compliment with subtle urgency to get the next book finished and edited in time for the deadline. He had dishes to clean, groceries to get, laundry to do, and he had to see if there were any vegetables that could be salvaged...there would be no time for a daily blessing. Blowing a sigh through his nose, Jack headed to the kitchenette to make himself breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later, with a bowl of oatmeal sprinkled heftily with brown sugar and cut bananas, he stepped into the bathroom. Stripping as he ate, he tossed his clothes into a bin beside the towel cabinet. He stood under the showerhead, mapping out the day as he incrementally cleaned his body, watching yesterday swirl down the drain between his feet.

Suddenly, he saw something small and black dart into the corner of his vision. He turned his head, seeing a little black wood spider about as long as the top two digits of his forefinger. It scrabbled over the porcelain with little success, straining to get purchase and slipping down when the water slapped onto it, dragging it down.

Jackie turned off the water, clearing his throat. He set his hand beneath the arachnid, letting it fall onto his finger, fuzzy spot of dark. He could feel its weight, just barely; there were bigger spiders, but this one clearly had been eating well. It made a hesitant sprint up to his thumb, stopping in uncertainty.

"Hey, little guy," the fox said--he knew it was a male because of the gentle grey concentric rings dotting its legs and body. Jackie opened the shower door and stepped out into the cool air, droplets of water slapping loudly down on the sandy tile. He set the spider gently down onto the dark marble counter of the sink, stepping back to look at it. It looked at him for a moment, shifting expectantly on its legs, little spheres of moisture beading on the fur of its cephalothorax, before it ran down the side at an angle, heading for the wood wall.

Satisfied, Jackie stepped back into the shower, letting out a considerable yawn.

It had been a long night, but he didn't feel tired at all. Certain in his mind that he was going to finish everything he had planned today, he left the shower with a black towel wrapped around his waist, blinking heavily. He walked up the stairs to the bedroom, stretching in front of the mirror, letting his eyes follow the borderlines where orange met white on his face, neck, chest, navel, and inner thighs, and where orange met nutmeg brown on his elbows and knees. He looked at his eyes, seeing the beginnings of shadowy bags beneath them--a trivial matter. He put on a pair of white briefs, blue sweatpants, and a lilac t-shirt with a large white lotus flower design by the shoulder. He slipped on a fresh pair of socks and allowed his hair to remain spidery and wild, grabbed his laptop and stepped quickly back downstairs to get to work. This was going to be a good day.

Sitting at the couch, he fired up his laptop, breezing through the startup and password screens. He clicked on the necessary files, first the stepsheets for his project, and then the project itself--Cold Dare, his third novel. With seventy pages cradled tightly under its title the file took a moment to open; Jackie grabbed a remote during the pause and turned on the television, just to listen as he worked.

"Okay..." Scrolling down, he started reading the last page he had written.

"...beginning eight hours ago. It appears that the shooters had been ransacking the building and when they discovered another company worker hiding behind a desk, they had mistaken him for a cop and summarily executed one of the hostages."

Jackie stopped, his hands hovering over the keys and his emerald eyes locked on the television. A bright red bar at the bottom of the screen said "Breaking News;" a brown wolf with dark close-cut hair stood as still as he could, but Jackie could see that he was shifting nervously on his feet as he spoke quickly into a microphone. Behind him, a row of tall buildings stood like monstrous colossi, like a giant's watchtowers. At their feet, miniscule from the cameraman's vantage point, were several semi-circles of black vehicles, flashing red and blue.

"We have no word yet as to the identities or the whereabouts of the shooters, Ryan. All that we know at this time is that there are plenty of men armed with automatic rifles, that there are a lot of hostages inside, and that all of this was allegedly in response to Harold Verity being elected mayor of the city several months ago."

The screen cut to the main news anchor, a sharply dressed feline who seemed fairly nonplussed by the unfolding incident, though his expression seemed well practiced.

"Alright, thank you, Tom. We will be staying there on the scene and will be reporting more to you as the scenario continues. In other news, a woman was arrested Thursday night in Alabama for drowning her three children in their backyard pool. Susan Chan has more."

As the screen cut to another reporter in the field, Jackie felt every word fall down hard on him, seeping through his skin and tightening around his heart. The laptop screen went black into sleep, unnoticed and forgotten. Jackie grabbed one of the pillows, clutching it to his chest as he stared at the television, raptly listening to every tale of terror, shame, and destruction.

Is there no good news? he thought to himself. Twenty minutes later the program ended, answering Jackie's question.

---

As Rob opened the door to his single-floor suburban home just outside of White Hill, he was greeted by the smell of something fruity and rotting somewhere deep in the building's shadowy rooms. He stood for a moment, quietly wondering what it was before realizing that he had forgotten to toss out the trash. That was the most likely culprit, some bulky mass beneath a black bag, gradually filling the whole house with its stench.

He stooped on the doorstep to grab the mail from off the floor, isolating the junk mail and useless advertisements from the bills, newspaper, a National Geographic magazine, and a bank statement. Tiredly reviewing his haul, he walked into the kitchen, tossed his keys onto the table, continuing on into the living room. His head didn't nearly ache as it had ten minutes ago, but there was still a fuzziness inside, cottonhead.

He fell onto the pine green couch, the springs beneath his rear whining loudly. He took off his jacket, turned on the television, and promptly fell asleep.

A short time later--Rob knew, with no small tinge of annoyance, by looking at the clock on the wall above the television that he had slept for a mere two hours--the wolf woke up. Heaving a sigh, he sat up and rubbed at his eyes. To his amazement he felt refreshed, as though he had slept for days.

Suddenly, the awful cooking program on the television cut away to show a Breaking News report. A brown wolf was looking nervous in his dark suit, his hair out of place, speaking into a microphone but a strong wind was making a distorted buzz. He was throwing around words like "terrorist," "hostage," and "executed." With the wind blowing louder than the reporter's voice he couldn't quite hear what was going on, but they put up a small photograph in the corner of the screen, hovering over the wolf's shoulder like a little morality spirit. It showed a red fox, male and youngish, with black hair and nice eyes hidden behind thin spectacles. It looked like a graduation photo.

Looks like Jackie, he thought.

Jack...Rob saw Jackie in his mind's eye, small and delicate as he was. He was strong, yes, in some ways, but he was too sensitive, too easily terrified. He wondered if he had done the wrong thing leaving the fox alone, if he should have stayed. Jackie might live in the woods, way off the beaten path, but where do criminals find shelter? Who makes the best target for an up and coming sociopath?

Rob stood up, stretching out his legs as he headed into the kitchen to grab something to drink, preferably something that didn't kick back. Afterward, glass in hand, he went back to the couch, the news reverted back into another morning cooking show. He sipped from the glass, thinking about his fox. He looked at the newspaper, and suddenly the idea came to him.

Rob yawned and sniffled as he walked to the kitchen, where the phone rested on the counter table. He grabbed it and punched in Jackie's number, hearing the dial tone hum in his ears, hoping inside that he wasn't too busy.

The dial tone cut off, and an instant later Jackie spoke through the mouthpiece. "Hello?"

Rob caught the shakiness in his boyfriend's voice; something was wrong, he knew it. He shouldn't have left.

"Hey, Jackie. It's me."

"Oh! Hey, Rob, were you going to stop by or something?"

"Um, no, Jackie...actually, I was wondering if you wanted to go see a movie today. I'm looking at the papers and there's a good selection at the Premier."

"What's playing?"

"Cobra and Billy Jack. I know you love Cannon films."

"Yeah, I do..."

Rob waited impatiently, pursing his lips when he felt that too much time had passed. The silence between was filled with the wolf's anxiety; he could tell Jackie was having a bad moment, could hear it in his voice. He needed to know Jackie was going to be alright. Just as he was about to urge him into it, he heard him say "Okay, I'll go. But only on one condition, Rob."

"What's that?"

"You don't mind if I drive myself, do you? I know you need to save on gasoline."

Rob took a breath, tapping his fingers against his thighs. "Are you sure? You're place isn't that--."

"Come on, Rob. If I don't drive the Nissan, it's just gonna stay there and rust until I can't do anything with it and I'll have to take out a big-ass loan to buy a new car. You don't want that, do you?"

The wolf smiled, shook his head. "Alright, fair's fair. You remember where the place is?"

He heard a distorted sound in the earpiece, Jackie scoffing loudly. "You mean where we went on our first date? Yeah, I kind of remember."

"Okay, I see you've got things under control. I'll see you there at four?"

"Sure."

"Be careful."

Another distorted snort. "I will, Rob."

The wolf set the phone down into its cradle. It didn't occur to him until he was in his car to say anything else.

---

The wolf checked his wristwatch, breathing softly through his nose before a streamer of mucus forced him to sniffle. He stood in the parking lot, bundling his russet jacket closer to his body; White Hill was already enshrouded by spidersilk tarpaulin, but it didn't feel like rain or snow was coming for a while. The sky was just putting on a mask to scare everybody, October shenanigans. Well, it's working, he thought bitterly; he cleared his throat, watching draconic fog blow out from his nostrils to fade away, ghosts vanishing into nowhere.

He leaned against his Cavalier, watching a few couples and groups walk into the Premier Theater complex, eager to see either of the current features on its twin screens. Large arrows lined the marquis, comprised of large blinking light bulbs, aged fogies still standing strong against the new green energy movement. He watched the blinking pattern, feeling himself become mesmerized by the rippling currents of light and the scent of popcorn.

"Hey, Rob!"

Rob turned his head, his ears swiveling to catch where and who the caller was. It sure as hell wasn't Jackie. After a moment he saw a tall black fox, his dark brown hair long and woven into perfectly aligned dreadlocks. He was wearing a white shirt, tight black cargo pants, and brown fingerless gloves. He had a crooked smile like he had just slept with the devil's wife and stolen his credit cards and no one's the wiser; his shirt said in a fancy scarlet scrawl "Duck and Cover."

Ah, crap.

The fox stepped up in front of him, hooking his hands into his pockets. Rob forced a smile, wishing he could have told Jackie to meet him at a different time.

"Hey, Swan."

"Hey, bastard. What's shaking?"

The wolf nodded politely at his old friend, wishing either of them could be anywhere else but here, at this one point in time. Swan

"I haven't seen you since Moondance two years ago. You still look ugly as ever, even without the plaid fuckin' jacket."

Rob sniffed. "You remember that? I thought you were whacked out on rum shots from the bar."

"I was, but you keep forgetting that I'm very perceptive. I fuzzily remember that you had found some sweet thing around the time The Damnsels came on."

"Yeah, I did--uh, are you here for the movie?"

"Hell yeah. Haven't seen Billy Jack in a while. So are you still seeing her or did you fuck it up?"'

"Swan, seriously? What're you doing?"

"I'm catching up with old friends about old times, Rob. Don't be an ass."

"I'm not being--."

Just then, he saw Jackie walking up toward him. He had pulled up his blue Nissan in a space closer to the entrance. It took him a moment to recognize the fox, as he had decided to doll himself up for public infiltration; he had his hair hidden by a denim cap; a little makeup sifted through his fur, he didn't need very much; a black leather jacket over a black Nirvana shirt; tight-fitting blue jeans tucked into calf-high cowboy boots. His amethyst necklace bounced against his chest, matching the lilac-colored circlet he wore on his tail. The conversation ceased when he came up and stood beside the wolf, filled with polite acknowledgement.

Rob saw the look Swan gave Jackie, that filthy crooked I-know-everything smile of his. He cleared his throat before making the introductions.

"Swan, this is my boyfriend, Jack."

Rob didn't need to look at Jackie to feel his eyes boring into him, a look of confused anger and worry; when Jackie went out like a girl, he preferred to keep the act as solid as possible. He had never foreseen the possibility of Jackie and Swan meeting, and hadn't seen the necessity of telling Jackie about him. He gave him a look that said "I'm sorry," and "I'll explain later."

"Jackie, this is Swan Jättiläinen, a colossal pervert that I happen to know."

The black fox proffered one hand, his fingers long, nails cut short. "Hi," he said, his smile changing from something arrogant into something more pleasant and accepting. Jackie took the hand in his own, giving a weak handshake.

"Hey," he said, immediately looking around to see if there was anyone who had heard him speak. Rob kept his eyes on the black fox. If Swan found Jackie's actions curious, he didn't show it.

"What Rob won't tell you is that we were friends in high school," Swan said.

"Back when you did things that made sense," the wolf countered.

They bantered for a little bit longer until Rob decided they had spent too much time bullshitting outside; he ushered everybody into the building, making sure Jackie was close by. This is not going as planned, he though bitterly, keeping his eyes on Swan's back. When he took Jackie's hand, the fox gave him a strange look, a "What're you doing?" kind of look, and Rob tried to ignore it.

At the counter, Swan bought a ticket for Billy Jack, setting off a charge of satisfaction in Rob's chest, seeming as if to relieve a fraction of the headache he had been harboring. He bought tickets for himself and Jackie, giving a polite smile to the bored tiger woman behind the table. He bought a pair of cokes and a large popcorn so they could share it. He hoped he was doing everything right.

There was hardly anybody else in the room; the lights were up, illuminating the silhouettes of maybe some six people filtering throughout the front and middle rows of seats. Rob led Jackie to the seats nearer the back.

"How come you never told me about him?" Jackie asked in a stage whisper, folding down the seat and sitting down.

"It slipped my mind. I never think of anyone else when I'm with you."

"He seems nice."

"He's not, Jackie. Believe me, he's insanity in a six-foot wrapper."

A hissing shush came from the shadows in the seats closer to the screen. Rob fell deeper into his seat, a little abashed. Jackie smiled at him and patted the wolf's hand, holding it as the lights above dimmed down and the screen came alive. There was a large stain or a rip in the material off in the lower right corner, but it was a minor thing, unimportant.

The film began, music blaring from overhead speakers, and Rob and Jackie sat quietly, watching. Somebody up front began coughing, making Rob happy they picked a spot in the shadowy rear.

When the shotgun maniac started his in on the supermarket, Rob stole a look at Jackie. He was staring up at the screen, and Rob could see he was taking in everything as he did. He knew of course that it was all an act, but the imagery and the story took precedent over reasoning. He was absorbing every look of fear and pain, the hatred and righteousness from the killer, blood and murder, and Rob wondered if he had done the right thing. Jackie was a sensitive guy, and he wished for a lot of good things to happen in the world, things that Rob knew were just, ultimately, impossible.

Jackie didn't have anyone else he could really depend on or trust. Rob knew that he preferred to live his life sheltered and hidden away from popularity, but things always had a way of getting out; tongues slip and minds forget. He needed to be protected.

Rob was a Stallone fan; he had every minute memorized, and he knew when the more violent sections were coming up. He knew how Jackie would react, and secretly he hoped the fox would be terrified so he could comfort him.

Midway through the film, he felt Jackie's hand slip away from his arm. He had been too entranced by the film to notice until he felt pressure on his crotch. He jumped, looking down and seeing the fox's hand, gently rubbing back and forth in his lap. Jackie looked at him, a soft and devious smile playing on his lips. The fox tipped him a sly wink before dipping down into the shadows below the seats. The wolf quietly asked what he was doing, but he knew what he was doing, knew damn well even before he felt fingers in the dark undo his belt, a soft jingle in the dark, then the button and zipper of his jeans. His pants fell away into the shadows, exposing his legs and his boxers.

"Not now, Jack..."

"Sssh!"

Rob tried to slip down deeper into his seat, blood rushing to his cheeks and his eyes darting to the aisles. Jackie's hand was rubbing forward and back over the bulge in his lap, electricity between his legs. The wolf glared down at the silhouette below the seats, shaking his head, but Jackie continued his actions, sliding his palm over his length and rubbing the head of his cock with his thumb.

The wolf shifted uncomfortably in his seat, certain that eyes were watching from everywhere. He told himself it was impossible, since he and Jackie were the only ones in the back and everyone was watching the screen, but the feeling wouldn't leave even after Jackie had hooked his fingers into his boxers and slid them down around his ankles. He felt a familiar ache in his groin as Jackie started kneading him harder and faster, clever fingers touching off every pleasurable nerve. He was already hard, his member hot and humid against the cool fur of his stomach.

"We're gonna get caught," the wolf said as quietly as he could.

"Stop talking," Jackie replied. Rob felt Jackie's tongue, a long strip of hot_and _wet, run along his testicles, leaving a trail of saliva that chilled him on the open air. The fox pulled his shaft down to meet his open mouth, and all at once Rob felt lightning spark from his loins up to his head. Instantly, all the control he might have felt was transferred over to Jackie. He knew that Jackie could make him beg, and he probably would have if he wasn't in a _public_theater complex. The fox began tracing each vein with the tip of his tongue; Rob rested his head back against the seat, breathing heavily through his nose to keep himself quiet.

He felt Jackie's teeth graze his most delicate areas, the pressure building as he sucked and bobbed his head faster. He held the armrest in a death grip, his fingernails loudly scratching at the burgundy plastic. He was breathing hard and fast, and when Jackie pushed forward, putting his hands on his thighs and rubbing, he felt the pressure building up.

When he climaxed, he let out a clenched groan, his shoes slipping on the floor, and someone in the rows up front swore angrily at the sound. He felt Jackie stop moving, saw a hand appear and grab his plastic cup, heard him spit, jingle of ice. Rob tried to suppress his heavy breathing, his heart beating in his chest as his lungs started petitioning for a higher ratio of air. He felt his boxers pulled back up, felt a hand pat his thigh, then Jackie reappeared from the shadows, sitting back in his chair.

The fox wiped the corner of his mouth and adjusted his cap. When Rob looked at him, his eyes were glued to the screen again, like nothing happened. Rob adjusted himself and pulled up his pants, locking the belt back in place.

"What was that for?" Rob whispered, but Jackie didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed the wolf's hand and held it.

---

Back in the parking lot, the sky was already beginning to darken, the north-bearing cloudcover becoming heavier and heavier, precipitation swell. Rob shivered in his jacket. "That was fun," he said, throwing his arm around Jackie's shoulders. Their footsteps resounded on the pavement, bouncing off the vehicles.

"Uh-huh."

"By the way, Jackie, I was hoping you'd come with me to the store. I have to get a few things, won't take me very long."

The fox cleared his throat, glancing around and tilting his cap down over his eyes. "I don't know. I'm kind of tired, Rob."

"Come on, Jackie. It'll take like ten minutes."

"Rob, no. I have to get back home."

"Jackie..."

"No!"

Jackie pulled himself out from under Rob's arm. He gave the wolf a dark look, glowering from under the bill of his hat, emeralds sparkling bitterly. "Damn it, Rob, I have things to do."

The wolf scoffed through his nose. "What? I just want to hang out, Ja--."

"We were, and we did, and now I need some time to myself. What's with you today, Rob?"

The wolf gave Jack an incredulous look, as though he had said something that made absolutely no sense. "What's with me? I thought you'd want some company today is all."

"And that's fine, it really is, but there is such a thing as too much company. I just want to spend a day by myself, Rob. I need to be alone."

"Come on--then what was that back in the theater?"

"Oh, please; I just did that so you'd stop doing this! Hauling me around places that I don't want to go! I did it so you'd maybe back off and give me some fucking space! You've got to stop trying to control things!"

Rob stared at the fox, his mouth hanging open. "What!? Jackie, I'm not trying to control you!"

"Yes, you fucking are! You do this every time, you press and you push me until I say yes and you get to have that stupid smug look on your face. It's too much, Rob, way too much."

"Jackie, I'm just asking you--."

"No!"

At this point, the fox became aware of the passersby; a small mob was gathering at the door of the Premier, gawkers watching, pointing, and whispering. He felt his heart pulse inside his chest, adrenaline framing his eyes in his anger. "If you can't accept that I need some space, then I think you need some time alone, too. So you can at least think about what you're doing."

"Goddamn it, Jackie!"

The fox began walking away, feeling the blush spread across his face like a fever, like a rash. Rob watched him walk away, shaking in his anger as he slipped into his car, checked the mirror, and pulled out of the parking lot. He gave Rob a worried look, as if this whole situation was his fault.

Rob swore and turned, seeing the staring eyes aimed at him. "The hell're you looking at?" he shouted, and stomped heavily to his Cavalier.

---

Some distance away, behind the wheel of a white sedan, Swan adjusted his rearview mirror, watching the pair argue. He raised his eyebrows when Rob clenched his fists, his heart beating fast, feeling only a splinter of relief when the fox...what was his name? Jackie? When Jackie started walking away, back to his car. Rob stood where he was, watching his boyfriend leave, turning around to berate the vulturous onlookers.

"Hmm..." the black fox hummed out loud, picking between his fingernails with a small screw. After a moment, he turned the car into ignition and began bobbing his head to the bass rhythms of Black Sabbath. Sticking the screw between his teeth, he drove out of the lot, thinking loudly.

---

"Goddamn it..."

Rob's fury had not abated by the time he returned home; his hands were shaking so violently that the key kept slipping in his fingers and he could only stab at the metal doorknob with a solid clack-clack-clacking.

Fuming, he entered the darkness of his house, smelling trash and must, but what caught his immediate attention was the bell-like clatter of the telephone pealing throughout the shadows. He raced through the entryway and the kitchen, reaching the living room--he bumped his leg against the couch, making him trip over himself, swearing loudly. After steadying himself, he flipped on the fan lights and jerked the phone off of its cradle.

"Hello?" he said, too gruffly.

"Hey, bro."

Rob mentally let loose a string of expletives when he recognized the voice, feeling a throbbing in his head begin to develop. "Sorry, Lucy, I don't have the time right now--."

"Like fuck you don't. We have to talk, right now. I'm at the bar now, that pissant little hole called Lucky's; get your shit together and come over."

"No. I don't have anything to say to you, Lucy, or to dad for that matter. If you remember, I told you both to go to hell when I left, and I'm telling you again. Go to hell, Lucy."

"Dad's dead, Robert."

He had just barely heard his sister's words, he was midway in slamming the phone down. The uncertainty of what she said mingled with the fear that he had heard her correctly. He raised the phone back to his ear, clearing his throat. "What?" he said, too quiet for his own ears.

"Dad died, last Friday. He'd been in the hospital with atherosclerosis for about three months, and for a couple weeks he seemed like he was getting better. Then, the aneurism popped--" at this, Lucy made a sound over the phone, a hideously perfect imitation of a bubble bursting. "His body seized up and he couldn't reach the call button. The doctor's say he was like that for, maybe, six minutes before he finally died."

"Oh," was all Robert could say.

"I'm at Lucky's, Robert. We have to talk."

There was a click at the other end of the line, leaving Rob alone and cold. He stared at the blank white wall, trying to see his father's face, coming up with little more than angry eyes and bared teeth.

"Shit," he muttered. He grabbed his keys from off the shelf and made for the doorway, not bothering to lock it on his way out.

---

Beer, piss, cigarettes, and sweat...Why do these places always smell the same?

Rob grimaced as he glowered from under his Megadeth hat, meandering his way through a group that was leaving under a cloud of alcohol fumes. He scanned the establishment, peering into dimly lit corners and smoke-hazed booths. Whispers of multiple conversations droned into a single rambling noise, a dozen vocal chords murmuring nonsense. Finally, he saw Lucy, seated at the bar and taking quick, calculated swallows from her glass. He couldn't tell what she was drinking, but knowing her, it was probably the harder stuff. With the recent situation, he felt that a bit of the harder stuff wouldn't be a problem.

She was seated right under one of the droplights, making her long hair seem more blonde than brunette. Her eyes were proof she was her mother's daughter; one was brown and the other was blue, equal in intensity and shade, and both were locked onto some point in front of her, somewhere between the shelves and bottles that she wasn't really seeing. Feeling the same wave of repulsion he always felt in his sister's presence, he went over and sat down next to her. She didn't even acknowledge him, as though she knew he'd show up anyway.

"Hey, Luce," he said, almost mumbled.

"Hmph," she harrumphed, taking another swig from her beer. Rob hailed the bartender and made his order, fidgeting with his sleeves, something to do.

"I heard you moved back to Wisconsin not long ago. You didn't call me then."

"Don't fuck around with small talk, Rob."

Rob hated Lucy; he knew that sounded terrible, a brother hating his sister, but it was the truth. Even though they shared the same blood, there was no way either of them could see each other's point of view.

The bartender plonked down a mug and Rob grabbed at it, needing something cool to wash down the past few hours and whatever he was going to face with Lucy. Her voice was still cool and satiny, but it was scoured cynical by her experiences in life.

"You still seeing that little faggot in Thunder?"

Rob took another gulp from the beer and slammed it down--heads turned toward him, he could feel the eyes on his back. He gave one dirty look at his sister, sour apprehension, before getting up out of his seat. "Goodbye, Lucy."

"Wait a minute! Just...sit down, please. Sit."

Against the aching voice in his head, Rob sat back down.

"Alright, listen to me, Rob. I just got back from dad's attorneys. He left us something in his will."

"Dad actually had the sense to write a will?"

Lucy glared at him, brown and blue anger. Rob felt a small stab of satisfaction, knowing that she hated being interrupted.

"Yeah, and I'm sure you'd be surprised to hear what it says. Dad's last wishes were that I would get the house, the truck, and the land, which as you can imagine is such a big fucking symbol of generosity."

And you can have 'em, Rob thought, remembering that squalid piss-pool of land they had grown up in, raked by trees and bracken that were dead or dying or concealing something that was slowly passing away; the house, no bigger than a mobile home, with its white paint faded to cadaver grey and chipping in the sun, mold growing in corners, trying to claim territory before the winter had set in. He remembered yelling, shouting, beer fumes, being struck for whatever meaningless reason, more yelling.

"Good for you," Rob said, trying to sound sincere and wondering how you can be sincere about this. Lucy stared daggers at him.

"Yeah, good for me," she said, taking another gulp. "But better for you, apparently. You see, what dad also had, apart from the stick up his ass about everything under the sun, was a very hefty chunk of cash, nicely tucked away in his compound interest account until this little eventuality came to pass. Eighty-five thousand dollars, Rob..."

"Holy shit."

"And it's all going to you." Lucy gave him a look, anger wiped away in favor of something more menacing, some kind of burning curiosity, watchful expectancy.

"What?" was all he could say.

"Yep, I get the honor of owning the birdshit place I grew up in, and you get to have dad's real legacy. Cheers, you filthy old bastard..." Lucy saluted the ceiling and took another gulp, her mug banging down hard on the table, and Rob saw heads turn toward her.

"I don't believe it," Rob said. At this, a smile broke over his sister's face, and he felt another wave of revulsion settle in his stomach. It was the same smile she wore years ago, back when she'd used to remove ladybugs from the windowsills with a sewing needle, when she had thrown rocks at that beached fish until it was finally dead.

"Yeah, and you probably won't believe the rest of it, bro. You see, there's a minor stipulation to the will. It says that in order for you to actually obtain the money, you have to be good and legally married to a nice, respectable lady."

"What?"

Her grin widened, a chasm showing yellow-white teeth, nicotine ivory. "Yep. Dad had only one sliver of hope left for you, and that was so you'd grow up, stop being a queer, settle down with a nice girl, raise a family, all that happy Leave It To Beaver shit. If a _year_has passed and that hasn't happened, then all that money goes to the only other thing dad cared about, the railroad."

Rob was flabbergasted and disgusted; even after his death, dad had to be an unforgiving asshole. His mouth hung open and he didn't know whether to bring his mug up to his lips or throw it against the wall. "That's bullshit..."

"What?"

"That's bullshit! How could he be such an arrogant, self-righteous, bigoted prick!?"

"It doesn't matter, Rob, he's dead. He can't fuck around with our heads any more. What does matter, what matters very heavily at this moment, is the money."

Rob stared at his sister, finally finding the strength to take another drink. "What're you getting at?"

"That's eighty-five thousand dollars, Rob--eighty-five thousand. Would you rather it go to you, or to the shitty company? We both worked there for how many years, and we know they don't deserve that kind of bread. Hell, what're they going to spend it on anyway? Company parties and CEO pay raises, that's what. Don't tell me that you don't need that cash. Everybody needs money these days."

Hint, hint, Rob thought. He realized that it would be easier for her sister to mooch off of him than the railroad.

"I'm not telling you what to do, Rob, I'm not trying to be dad; I'm trying to tell you that that is a metric fuck-ton of money that doesn't have anywhere to go. It's just lying there in the bank, waiting for your dumb ass to take it. I don't care how you do it, but just do it. For me and for yourself. You can leave the bitch if you want and get back to that pillow-biter of yours, I don't care, just. Fucking. Do it."

Rob stared at Lucy for a moment before shaking his head, not believing he was actually hearing any of this. "This is insane," he said. His head was pounding, he needed to get out of here.

"You've got a year, Rob."

The wolf took another deep swig from his mug and got up from the table, zipping up his jacket and lowering his black cap. He turned and headed straight to the door, feeling a hurricane in his stomach and in his head and devastating the regions in between.

From behind his back, he heard his sister shout through the bar-din. "Get it done!" she yelled at him, perhaps-accidentally-perhaps-intentionally mimicking their father's favorite phrase. He opened the door, feeling the cool succubus of the Minnesota air kiss his face, and he wanted to throw up.