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CHAPTER 10

A SUDDEN DEPARTURE

Frank was waiting in the parking lot, near Jeb's truck, for Mort to come out. He had been told, at the last minute, that this trip would have a tag-along, who needed a few more minutes to make herself presentable. He had opted to remain outside to enjoy the colder weather while it lasted. He had always liked winter and, with his thick fleece, was able to go out and take part in it easier than most. Summer was a different story. Frank melted like an ice cube in a volcano in anything warmer than 75?, so he was not anticipating his first Kansas heat wave, which he heard could make even long-time residents of the south turn into walking puddles.

Frank was doing a little dance to keep the blood flowing in his lower body when Mort walked out, accompanied by Sara, making Frank heave a sigh of relief. Even though she was no longer mad with him, Frank had no desire to share another cramped ride with Ana. The trio exchanged pleasantries briefly before climbing into the truck's only seat together. Sara wanted to take the middle, but Frank insisted that he should, feeling it improper for a woman to be sandwiched in between two men. Fortunately, since Mort and Sara were much smaller than Jeb and Ana, the ride was much less cramped than the first had been, though Frank still had to hold onto his elbows in an odd manner to avoid constantly nudging his riding companions.

The skies were clear and the roads close to empty as the truck made its way onto the highway. The suspension had been tweaked recently, by Mort himself, making the ride smooth enough that Frank almost nodded off, tired from the loaded schedule he had been given this past week, when Sara asked him a question. "Sorry, what was that?" Frank asked, rousing from his half-asleep state.

"I was wondering if you had that dream again today," the wolverine repeated. "You know, now that you're finally getting your table?" The question drew a snort of amusement from Mort. "You've been having fantasies about buying a table? Why not a car or something?" Frank had no interest in letting Mort or anyone else know that he suspected his dreams were being controlled by some sort of centipede-demon, so he simply shrugged his shoulders and made a noncommittal sound to answer the polecat's question. "But did you have it?" Sara asked for a third time. To his own surprise, Frank had to say he hadn't. "It's a pretty rare dream, now that I think about it. I've only had it..." Frank paused as he thought back, staring out at the alternating brown and gray of passing buildings. "Nine times, since coming to Kansas."

"How many times before that?" The enthusiasm in Sara's voice made Frank turn his head sideways, giving the older woman a questioning look. "I've been reading this thing online about dream interpretation," Sara said, turning a bit red. "Sorry. I don't mean to pry." Frank shook his head, laughing at her nervousness. "It's fine. I get worse from May. It's hard to keep secrets from that woman. And I've never had the dream before moving. May thinks it's stress from being in a new environment. She says the dreams might go away if I start doing things to normalize myself or whatever. Being able to eat at a table is pretty normal, so that's where I'm starting." Frank doubted the dreams would go away that easily, but it never hurt to try. Plus, he really did want to start sitting down for meals. He felt like a stranger in his own room every time he had to eat a cup of ramen while pacing back and forth in his minuscule excuse for a kitchen.

As they got closer to their destination, Frank thought they would have to make a long hike to the pawn shop from wherever Mort managed to find parking, but Sara knew a secret place hidden behind a closed Waffle House. It was still too far to lug a table to, even a small one, so Mort would need to find a place on the street he could stop for a minute to load up once they made their purchases. Walking up to the store, the trio was greeted by a saluki that Frank felt he should remember the name of who was outside adjusting some signs declaring a sale on CDs and vinyls. If it had been twenty degrees colder, the young-looking girl would still have been overdressed, wearing a puffed jacket with a hoodie poking out from the top and bottom, a scarf, hat, and thick woolen gloves.

Stepping in ahead of the group, she only removed the gloves and jacket, tossing them on a chair behind the counter. Sara explained that her friend was looking for something that might not be in the main room, asking her to go and fetch the catalogue they used when selling the bigger items. The process of asking took nearly fifteen minutes, since Sara and the dog seemed to want to catch up on personal affairs, so Mort and Frank drifted off to browse the selection on the floor before the two women stopped talking. Mort went to a rack of clothes and started examining a fluffy pair of blue pajamas with a floral pattern, almost definitely a gift for Adrianne. Remembering the signs out front, Frank went looking for the CDs and was luck enough to find a copy of Lateralus.

"Would Ozzy think I was being weird if I bought this for him?" Frank asked, turning to Mort. "Since we're a week away from the holidays and all." Dropping the sleeve of an orange nightgown, he stared Frank up and down for a moment before shaking his head. "Ozzy won't think you're gay just because you bought him something for Christmas. He's not that kind of guy." Frank folded his arms and gave the polecat a flat stare. "Okay, thanks, but that's not what I asked. I asked if it would be weird."

"I know what you said," Mort responded, closing his eyes solemnly. "I also know what you meant. I know you up north have certain opinions of us down here, but we can be just as accepting as anyone. There's no need to worry." Frank rolled his eyes and turned back to the CDs, hearing a snicker coming from behind. As he turned, he caught John Stellers, the owner of the store, wearing a beige suit made of tweed and holding a fat binder with a laminated cover. "Are you Mr. Hale?" the terrier asked, smiling formally behind his mustaches. He tapped on the binder with a clawed finger, declaring that despite being a pawn shop, Frank would be able to find furniture as good as new. "May I ask what size room this is going in? Also, your budget?"

"It's an apartment kitchen, so something small. I'd like to spend less than one-fifty, if possible." Frank had been working hard these past three months, but his job paid poorly and the rent, food, and paying back debt came before luxury, even if "luxury" just meant being able to sit down and his meal. "I need chairs to match." Stellers hummed his agreement. "Of course. Sara tells me you moved here recently and that you'd be needing to fill up your room. Tell you what," he said, fingering through a few pages in the binder before finding the section he was looking for. "If you find a table you like, I'll take 20% off a pair of chairs. And I'm sure you will find something you like. Please." Turning the binder around, the terrier handed it to Frank, already opened to a table the right size and price for him.

Honestly, the first table he saw was perfect, but Frank made a show of looking through the others anyway, not wanting to appear impulsive, which might have driven up the price. He still wasn't sure how pawn shops worked and whether the price shown next to the picture was final or if there would be a negotiation. Frank only browsed the contents of the binder for about five minutes before returning to the first picture he was shown, a sturdy mahogany with a small coffee stain on it, apparently enough of a disfigurement to drive the price as low as $110. Without thinking, he handed the binder to the person in front of him, which had changed to Mort when he wasn't looking.

"Why me?" asked Mort, waving the binder at Frank. "Uh," said Frank, feeling embarrassed. "I...wanted a second opinion. I'm going to be stuck with thing, man. It has to be right." Mort wrinkled his nose, again muttering, "Why me?", then opened to a random page and began flipping around haphazardly. Frank noticed Stellers standing a few feet away, hands clasped together in front of him, all smiles. "I assure you," he said, "We check the for damage, stains, mold, anything we know you wouldn't want. There might be a scratch here or there, but otherwise all our furniture is good as new." Frank nodded to Stellers with a smile, not knowing what else to do while Mort perused the options.

Mort caught Frank's attention by laughing at something. "Hey, Hale, check this out. Don't it suit you?" Mort passed the binder back to Frank, open to a picture of a well-made oak table, on the smaller side, with barely enough room for two to eat at it. At each corner was an intricately carved ram's horn, in a style that could not be describe as either masculine or feminine. "Ah," said Mr. Stellers, coming to peek over Frank's shoulder. "That one might isn't for sale. It has some nasty graffiti on it, and I wouldn't want to sell it before we can sand that off. My apologies, it shouldn't even be in the catalogue."

Frank stared up at the terrier, struggling to breathe. It felt like someone had stabbed an icicle into the base of his spine. "This graffiti," Frank began to ask, sweat beading on his brow, "is of a praying face, right?" There was silence for a long moment, neither of the two men standing with Frank knowing how to react. Mort glanced from Frank to the picture in the binder, still held open in the sheep's hands. "What the hell is that?" Mort laughed, a bit forced. "Was that supposed to be a joke? Is it a northern thing? Or is that a meme? Are you the kind of guy who uses memes in real life?" Still laughing, Mort's attention went to Stellers, at which point he stopped.

John Stellers stared, wide eyed, at the sheep, not daring to blink. He felt like his throat was closing, reaching a hand up to massage his windpipe. He opened his mouth, breathing heavily, trying to force words out. "It's...praying?" Mort eyes moved back and forth from Stellers to Hale. The erratic behavior from these two was starting to unnerve him, so he took a step back, unconsciously holding the binder tight to his chest. "Yes," said Frank, sounding manic. "I'm sure it is." Stellers shook his head, a frightened chuckle coming up. "This table used to belong to you, then?" he tried to reason. "Or a relative?" Realizing what he had just said, Frank decided that a lie would be his safest bet in this situation. It would be bad if this Stellers kicked him out of his store for being a psychotic. "My aunt's."

Being the owner of a pawn shop, Stellers senses had been finely tuned over the years to detect lies. People always came in claiming that this family heirloom had been around since the civil war or that piece of jewelry was pure gold. Approaching his sixtieth year, John had gotten so much practice that he barely ever had to check the object in question to know whether a person was being honest about it. So, when he saw what was definitely a lie in the tightness of the sheep's jaw, he felt a wave of nameless dread crash into him. How did this kid know about the face, then? There were a million explanations, if John thought about it. The person who carved the face could have been a modern type who posted pictures of their work on the internet, available for anyone to see. It could have been an art trend, with scratches depicting the face mirrored on the arms and legs of furniture across America.

John didn't want to think about it, though. Even thinking about that awful drawing sent a shiver of revulsion along his spine. Getting rid of that ugly thing was best, and the sooner it was gone, the better. It was a challenge to regain his composure, but Stellers managed to keep his voice from trembling as he put his formal smile back on. "I see! Well then, if you want your aunt's table back in spite of the damages, I'd be willing to give it to you for ninety dollars." That was still fifteen more than he had bought it for. If a fear of potentially cursed inscriptions could get in the way of making money, he would have been out of business a long time ago. Frank agreed to the price without thinking and Mr. Stellers quickly moved to the register, eager to be done with this transaction. Frank followed so close it almost seemed like he was the one leading, while Mort kept a fair distance, still clutching the fat binder.

"Hajira?" Mr. Stellers said to the saluki standing behind the glass counter. "Could you ring this fellow up while I grab something from the back? Thank you." The terrier darted away to the back of the shop as the words left his mouth, moving at close to a run. Haj watched him leave with a look of surprise. "Didn't know he could move that fast," she murmured. Mort observed Frank carefully as the sheep went up to the register, no longer sure what to make of the man. The two of them had hardly spoken to each other since Frank had moved in. Had the kid always been this odd? Mary didn't have the best taste in men, but Mort couldn't imagine a girl as down to Earth as she was sleeping with someone totally unhinged. Still, he felt he should tell Adrianne about Frank's behavior today, just so she knew.

Sara came up behind Mort as Frank was making his payment, humming an upbeat tune. "I found a new comforter, but no dice on the--Oh!" The wolverine stopped short when she saw the wide-eyed look on Mort's face as he studied Frank. "Is something the matter?" Mort jumped at her question, only now realizing that she had been standing right next to him. The polecat shook his head, more to clear his head than answer Sara. "It's nothing," he said, then walked off. Sneaking up to the counter, Mort quickly threw the binder he had been carrying down next to Haj, who gave him a perplexed stare, then he made his way toward the exit. "I'm gonna go get the car," he said to Sara on his way out.

Ten minutes later, Mr. Stellers had wheeled out the table on top of a pallet. Sara noticed that the old owner of the store seemed unusually spry this morning as she rested against a wall, watching Mort and Frank strap the table onto the bed of the truck, along with a plastic bag containing her new comforter. Not a word was said during the process, nor once the three of them had climbed back in the car and began driving to The Homestead. Any attempts by Sara to start a conversation were met with a brick wall, until finally, nearly all the way back home, she asked what went on when she was away.

"Nothing," came Mort's reply. "Nothing," Frank said a moment later. "For heaven's sake!" she cried, fed up. "Obviously something happened. Frank, you forgot to buy your chairs. Mort, you didn't buy anything at all! Are you two fighting again?" In return for her question, all she got was a matching pair of shrugs. "Did one of you bang the table against something when you were moving it? Is that why there's a piece of duct tape on one of the legs?" Frank glanced at her sideways for a second, then nodded. "That's it," he said, unconvincingly. Giving up, Sara turned to face the window with a sigh. "Men!" she muttered.

Frank felt bad for not giving Sara an explanation, but he didn't know how to explain what was happening to himself, either. Dreams bleeding into real life. The first thing that happened in the dreams was that Frank took the table upstairs by himself. Then, Frank set it down in his kitchen. Then, he made his presence known. Him. Kane. Was he already there, waiting in the walls of Frank's room? Had he been there the whole time? Frank hadn't wanted to buy this damned table, but he had to know. What he wanted to know, he wasn't sure, but he had to find out, whatever it was. Was that desire Kane's doing, his buzzing reaching Frank's mind from this far away? Frank suppressed a wave of nausea as Mort pulled into the parking lot.

Mort helped Frank carry the table as far as getting it inside, then said something about not wanting Adrianne to see him straining himself and getting worried over him. "I hurt my back last month," he said. "I don't want her to think I'm not taking it seriously and get mad." Obvious bullshit, but Frank couldn't blame him. Besides, Frank had already known he wouldn't get any help getting the table to his room. Sara gave Frank another searching look as he struggled with the heavy piece of furniture. The floors were all carpeted, so he could drag it without worry of damage, for the most part. The wolverine considered giving him a hand at least as far as the stairs, but the intense look on Frank's face made her think better of it.

Pushing the table into the common, Frank noticed a buzz of activity around the couches, with Jeb bringing out an unopened bag of chips and Mary setting down coasters. It was another game night tonight and, even though their team wasn't playing, the residents of The Homestead still wore team jersey and made a small celebration of the thing. Other than the three who had gone out, everyone was already getting comfortable with a drink or a snack. Frank knew they had left late, but had they really been gone that long? The whole trip felt like it had taken no time at all.

Though everything had been lively just a second before, the mood in the room seemed to dim as Mort, Frank, and Sara entered, as if they had dragged the dour atmosphere from the car ride in with them. Feeling awkward, Sara ran off to her room, while Mort wandered over to Adrianne, who asked if he was able to find anything good. "I didn't get a chance to look," Mort said, taking a seat next to his wife. Adrianne gave him a look that was a mixture of confusion and concern, then turned her attention to Frank, who was nearly to the base of the stairs. "Do you need any help with that, honey?" she asked. Frank shook his head vigorously. "No! I mean, no." He never took his eyes off the table as he answered. "I have to do this alone."

Adrianne frowned at the sheep, her look of concern deepening. May and Mary had also had their attentions caught by Frank's strange answer, sharing a perturbed glance. Even Ana was staring at Frank with an unreadable expression. "Hey," she asked, seeming genuinely interested, "How was it?" Needing to take a breath, Frank dropped the table. "The shopping?" Frank stared up the stairs. There was no way he could carry this thing up there by himself. The steps were narrow, so he'd need to hold the table over his head the whole way up if he didn't want it to get stuck. "Not the shopping," Ana said, shaking her head. Frank turned to look at Ana, lost as to what she could be talking about. "How was it," the jackal asked, "cumming inside a girl for the first time?"

"What?!" Frank nearly screamed, voice going shrill. Ana's face split with a wide grin. "You can hear me, I can hear you, remember? And I definitely heard the sound of you and Mary going at it last night." Ana's cackling laugh was cut short when Mary's palm collided with the back of her skull. "You little brat!" yelled the wolf. Adrianne folded her arms and shot a hard glare at the jackal. "Honestly! Ana, you're not a teenager anymore! Know how to behave yourself." Frank thought the Adrianne would have made a good mother, as the barely contained laughter barely undercut the authority in her voice.

"Christ," Frank said, needing to rest against the nearest surface to recover from that verbal sucker punch. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Rubbing the back of her head gingerly, Ana sat up from the hunched over position she had taken to defend herself from further attacks. "What the hell is wrong with you? You came in here looking like someone died! And when I try to lighten the mood, I get assaulted for it! There's no justice in this world." Still whining under her breath, Ana took a beer from a nearby cooler and pressed it against the back of her head. Frank was shaking his head, thoroughly amazed that Ana could say things like that without a hint of irony, when Sara returned.

"Did I miss something?" the wolverine asked as she came down the stairs, having to press her body to the wall to get passed Frank and his table. "Ana pulled an Ana," Frank said mildly, turning to face Sara, who wore a loose-fitting jersey showing her team spirit. There was something off about that, and Frank had to stare at the shirt for a minute before he realized what that was. "Your shirt fits," he said to Sara. Then, it was his turn to get smacked. "What the fuck!?" Frank turned to see Mary towering over him, arms folded beneath her breasts, giving him as sharp a look as he had ever gotten. "Don't just stare at a girl's chest!" said the wolf before stalking back to her place at one of the green couches, keeping an eye on Frank over her shoulder the whole time.

"Your shirt fits, too!" Frank cried, pointing an accusing finger at Mary, who raised an eyebrow at the outburst. "No shit," said Mary. "Why would I only have shirts that didn't fit me?" Ana took the beer from the back of her head and opened it, taking a long sip. "You can't tell me you seriously thought every woman in this building kept shirts two sizes too small," she said, then proceeded to empty the rest of the can. Frank was glad for the support of the table, as the last few minutes of nonsense, combined with a blow to the head, were starting to make him feel dizzy. "Wh--But you said--" Frank was still trying to make sense of it all when he felt Sara's hand on his arm.

She smiled at him for a moment with the sort of look in her eyes normally reserved for those who were explaining to a child that the tooth fairy wasn't real. "Frank, please don't take this the wrong way, but me and the girls, we--How should I put this?" Frank was staring at Sara, lost like a ship in the middle of a storm. While Sara was searching for a polite way to phrase what she had to say when Ana piped up. "I'll field this one." Feeling like a spinning top, Frank turned again to Ana, who had thrown up her hands at a hard stare from Mary. "I'm just going to tell the truth," said the jackal. Mary shook her head emphatically. "What good would that do?" the wolf asked, sounding uncomfortable.

"Enough with the subterfuge," said Frank, tired of being tugged around. "Just tell me. I won't get mad." Ana smiled at Mary, who simply looked away, studying some spot on the wall. "The three of us--Me, Mary, Sara--had a wager. Have a wager, actually," Ana began. "Whenever a new guy moves into the apartment, we see who can get him to sleep with them first. Whoever wins gets $40." Frank felt his mouth drop open. Forty dollars! He had lost more to Ozzy in one night! Was he really worth so little? Sara, of the three of them, at least had the decency to look abashed. "Sorry," she said weakly. "I'm not," scoffed Ana. "The man got his dick wet, didn't he? He should be thanking me. You know, since it was my--Ow!" Another smack. Ana should probably learn to stop talking when Mary starts walking in her direction.

For his part, Frank didn't know what to feel. He bent double over the table in front of him, resting his head on it like a kid sleeping on his desk at school. "So, that's it? I'm used like a game piece and then thrown away, never to be spoken to again? That blows." Mary bent down to the cooler, grabbing a drink for herself and one for Ana's head. "No," said the wolf. "I wouldn't mind going out for another date every once in a while. Nothing with the other two, though, or we're off." Frank raised his head, ears perking up. "Really?" Then, faking a cough to hide how happy he was, "I mean, I would never! I would never two-time a girl!" Ana graciously accepted the can of beer from Mary, pressing it against the new injury. "You wouldn't be one-timing a girl if it wasn't for me," the jackal said, then threw up a hand in surrender when she saw how Mary was looking at her.

There was laughter coming from every face in The Homestead. Frank was laughing, too, when he noticed that he had been hanging off the supposedly cursed table for a while without any fear. It was all so stupid. The table wasn't cursed, the drawing was something a bored kid had made, and there was no demon-centipede hiding in the walls of The Homestead. After all, even a demon would want to stay as far as it could from someone as obnoxious as Ana. "You sure you've got that by yourself, Frank?" asked Mort, completely freed from whatever had been dampening his mood earlier. Frank waved the offer away. "No, you enjoy the game. I'll come down as soon as this thing's in place," he said, rapping his knuckles against the wood for emphasis. Mort gave a smile and a thumbs up, then sat back with an arm around Adrianne's shoulders.

Ozzy looked up from his phone to see what was going on with the game. Neither team was putting on a terrible show, but it was hard to care about the Blackhawks. The hyena twisted in his seat to look at where Frank still stood at the foot of the stairs, contemplating his table as if it were a puzzle to be solved. "Come on, man," Ozzy called out. "I'll help you with that as soon as the game's over. Come and sit." Frank politely declined as he stepped around the table, staring at it from the side for at least the fourth time. "Let him go," said Adrianne with a yawn. "I need entertainment and this game sure as hell isn't providing."

"I'm glad you like the show I'm putting on," came Frank's voice from somewhere halfway up the stairs. Walking back down, Frank squatted on the second step from the bottom, using the railing to keep his balance. "Excuse me," said Sara, coming down with a hotdog on a paper plate. "Can I get back down?" Frank shuffled to the side to make room, needing to stand. He eyed the table, growing frustrated. He had done it alone in his dream, so it must be possible. Thinking like that remained stupid, but he couldn't get the thought out of his head. Maybe he just needed to focus on something else for a second. "Hey, Sara," Frank asked as the woman passed him on the stairs, "How did you come by those other shirts? Aren't they expensive?" Sara stopped next to the table, putting the paper plate on it. "I get them from Goodwill. Nothing I get there fits me perfect, but I get close enough." Frank nodded as she spoke. "That makes sense," he said. "But then why do Adrianne and Mort wear those smaller ones, then?"

"Most women have a decent pair," Adrianne said, indicating her chest. "Well, I don't. I have one really, really good one. Excellent, even." She snuggled closer to her husband. "Right, Morty?" Mort flushed, muttering something Frank couldn't hear over the announcer on TV. "So, I've got to show it off. I'd be doing the whole world a disservice if I didn't," Adrianne finished proudly. Frank stared a question at Sara, who merely shrugged and took her meal back to her seat. "Okay. What about you, Mort?" The polecat turned a deeper red, turning his head to the TV to avoid Frank's gaze. "Adrianne, you know, she..." Mort trailed off weakly, prompting Adrianne to give him a little squeeze. Most of the residents rolled their eyes at the couple, but Jeb and May shared a knowing look before nodding in approval.

That line of questioning ended quicker than Frank had expected, with no new ideas on how to transport the table popping into his mind. Accepting that he wasn't going to be moving this thing anytime soon, Frank used the table as a seat, hopping lightly up to sit on it. The next instant, he was on his hands and knees. Looking over his shoulder, Frank saw that one of the legs had broken off. The one with the duct tape on it, of course. "Son of a bitch!" Frank said, scrambling to check how bad the break was. Hopefully it could be mended with nothing more than a bit of glue. Picking up the leg, Frank saw that the area of the end of the stump was cleanly sanded. It hadn't broken; the legs were designed to come off!

It took a bit of jimmying to get the other legs to pop out, but soon Frank turned one cumbersome table into five easily carried parts. "Look, Frank solved the puzzle!" Adrianne called out. "You go! Whoo!" Mort and Ozzy twisted in their seats to check out Frank's accomplishment, the hyena going as far as to give a round of applause. Mort simply gave a sniff and turned back to the game. Frank blushed at the attention, then stared picking up the pieces of wood. "Tell me if you need any tools to get that back together," Jeb yelled up as Frank headed to his room.

For a surprise, the table fitted back together nicely once he was in his room without calling for tools of any kind. Simply lining up the legs with the holes in the bottom of the table and using his body weight to force them in was sufficient. It might have been better to do this once in the kitchen, however, as Frank now had to carry the table over from where he had assembled it by his front door. Careful not to let the table damage either the floor or the cabinets, he managed to get to the center of the kitchen. With one final grunt of effort, Frank managed to settle his new table into place without scuffing the floor any more than it already was. He took a step back to admire his handiwork.

Nothing happened. No Kane. He stared at the spot above the light switch, seeing mold eating away at paint whose color had faded to the point where it was difficult to tell what it was supposed to have been originally. That meant there was no demon. His dreams weren't supernatural. The reason he could understand languages he had never spoken before was because of radiation from cell towers or something. As if, Frank thought. The fact that nothing was happening was making him more anxious, not less. The weird dreams, finding this table, understanding Chinese. There might have been reasonable explanations for the first two, but there was no scientific or psychological explanation for the third. Mary had heard him speak Chinese, too, so there was small chance he was just crazy.

Yet, again, no Kane. Frank wanted desperately to just wash his hands of the incident. To say that this whole affair was the result of accumulated stress manifesting in strange ways, like May had suggested. He wanted to believe so much that, in fact, he did. If Kane was here, he would have popped out by now or started clawing through the wall or began making a buzzing noise that Frank could feel in the back of his head. Something. Instead, the only one trying to go through his walls was Mary, who went about it via the more normal method of knocking on his door. "You need any help getting that thing together?" she asked once Frank had let her in. "Guess not," she said upon seeing the table. "Did you not get a chair?"

Frank sighed. He had gotten himself all worked up over a guy who didn't even have the decency to show up. He made a mental note to call at least two hours in advance if he ever had to cancel a date with Mary. "Well, whatever," the tall woman said. "Let's get back before the commercial ends."

"With how sports are, that'll be another half hour."

"Then just come down to come down. I want to spend some time with you."

Frank felt his anxiety melt away somewhat. "I'd like that," he said, smiling up at Mary. She reached out a dark-furred hand to pat him on the head playfully, then turned and headed out the door, speaking over her shoulder as she went. "You might want to bring your phone down, though," she said, stifling a yawn. "This game's so boring I'm practically--Shit!" With her attention focused behind her, Mary hadn't been looking where she was stepping, causing her to stumble when she kicked a corner of Frank's bed. She stuck out a hand to catch herself, thudding against the wall with a grunt.

"You okay?" asked Frank, stepping closer and holding out a hand, which Mary refused. "I'm fine. I--Aw, fuck." Mary swore as she pulled her hand from the wall, a part of the wall coming along with it. "Shit, man! Fuck! I'm so sorry. I'll pay for that." Frank wanted to tell her that it was fine, that he could cover it himself, but that simply was not the truth. "You're not cut or anything?" Frank asked and Mary shook her head. Satisfied that she was fine, Frank stepped back to assess the damages. It was a large hole, the size of Mary's whole palm, irregular in shape and about four feet above the floor. If Mary's hand had been a few centimeters lower, she would have hit the light switch.

Frank found that his whole body was trembling. His vision swam like he'd had an entire glass of straight gin. Dizzy, he put a hand to his head, feeling beads of sweat beneath thick layers of wool. Stumbling back a step, he was caught by Mary, who was looking at him with concern in her eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Look, I said I'd pay for it. No need to freak out." Mary flinched back when she saw how wide with fear Frank's eyes had become. Gripping her hand with a surprising amount of strength, Frank pulled her face closer to his. "What's in there?" he whispered. "Is there anything in there?" There was no one other than the two of them on this floor, with the rest of the residents of The Homestead sitting around a TV with the volume turned up, so Mary couldn't understand why Frank was whispering. Who did he think was going to hear?

Mary considered dismissing Frank's concerns, but something about the desperation in his voice made her think that she should at least humor him and check. "Alright," she whispered back, pulling his hand off hers. "What am I looking for?" Frank appeared on the verge of tears, so, instead of waiting for him to force an answer out, she went over and stared into the blackness of the hole. It was strange how little light was entering the hole, considering how well lit the wall around it was. Was it a deep hole? No, that couldn't be possible. Walls in The Homestead were barely thick enough to muffle a sigh. Pulling her phone out of a pocket, Mary turned on the flashlight and pointed it into this tiny abyss.

Frank held his breath, quaking, as Mary slowly leaned toward the opening, face nearly touching the wall. She angled her phone this way and that, as if searching for something. Frank supposed he told her to, yet he wished she would step back and declare the hole empty, and soon, because he felt he couldn't stand this waiting much longer. Mary eyed Frank sideways for an instant, giving him hope that she hadn't found anything, before reaching her free hand up to the empty space. As Mary began to move, Frank had the impression of being trapped in molasses, every inch of movement taking a year to complete. He wanted to scream, to warn her against touching whatever horrible thing hid in there, to warn her not to look at Kane's true form, surely a hundred times more abominable than the vague impressions Frank had gotten from his dreams.

"The hell is this thing?" Mary asked, showing Frank the small, oblong object she had retrieved. The object was made of a black material, which should have been reflective, but only absorbed the light in the room, refusing to give it back. What appeared to be a button rested in the middle of what Frank could only assume was Kane's true form. "I-I don't know! It's not mine!" Frank cried out, stepping away from Mary. The wolf cocked her head at him, then looked at the object, turning it over in her hands. "But it has you name on it." Frank put both hands on his head, shaking it side to side. "I said it's not mine!" he yelled.

"Okay, Christ," Mary said, putting up her hands in mock surrender. "Must be Ozzy's, then." Frank was shaking like a leaf at this point, breathing heavily and near to crying, but Mary's comment shook him out of it somewhat. "What do you mean?" Frank asked, on the very brink of a full-blown panic attack. "The back of this thing says, 'When found, please give to Frank'," Mary explained. Taking his hands off his head, Frank forced himself to look at Kane, still not entirely believing he was here, in real life. "Why would you give it to Ozzy, then?"

"That's Ozzy's name. Frank Osmund." Frank waited for Mary to tell him she was joking. When neither of them spoken for a solid minute, Mary turned on a heel and took off. Frank dashed after her calling out, "Wait! Hold on, seriously!" Mary didn't look back, having learned her lesson with the corner of Frank's bed, talking to Frank without turning around. "Why? You said it wasn't yours, right?" Before Frank knew what was happening, the two of them had returned to the common room. "Hey, Ozzy, we found your..." Mary stared at the object closely for a second. "Remote, I think." She tossed the small black thing towards Ozzy, who caught it as it passed over his head.

Ozzy brought the object close to his face, turning it in his hands. Twisting, he rested an arm on the back of the couch, facing Mary and Frank. "It's not mine," he said, waving the object. Standing up, Jeb walked over to where the hyena sat, bending to examine what he held. "You said this is a remote for the old TV, right?" the bear asked Mary, who shrugged in response. "I got no idea what it is. Just found it in Frank's wall."

"In Frank's wall? As in, inside the wall?" came May's voice, sounding perplexed. Coughing into her hand, Mary flushed slightly as she explained how she had come by the object. "Right above the light switch?" May asked for clarification. When Mary nodded, she shifted her focus to Frank, who seemed to be frozen where he stood. "Frank," she said, causing the sheep to flinch like he'd been struck. "Do you know what that is? You look like it's making you nervous." May spoke gently, with the tone one would use when speaking to a frightened child. May's attempt to be calming backfired, as now everyone in the common room was looking at Frank, curious as to what was wrong.

"Are you alright, son?" Jeb asked, standing up from examining the alleged remote. "You look like you're going to sick up." Adrianne tried to get up and check closer on the panicking man, but Mort kept his arm around her shoulders, pulling her tighter to him. "What the hell?" Frank heard the fox whisper. Mort spoke without taking his eyes off Frank. "Just stay close to me for a bit, alright? I have a bad feeling." Adrianne gave a huff but remained seated, staring at Frank with a look of concern on her face. Sara had turned on her seat and was standing on her knees to get a better look at what was happening, while Ana put down her third can of beer, glancing between the two standing at the bottom of the stairs and the thing still in Ozzy's hand with a curious expression.

The sheep had been close to a panic attack before, but the added stress of being the center of attention was pushing him over the edge. His throat closed; his vision swam. Thoughts about what was going to happen now that Kane was out flooded into his mind, terrible thoughts, one after another, too fast to parse. "That thing," he said, with extreme effort, pointing at Ozzy's hand, which the hyena still held up like he had forgotten he had it. "That--he--it--" Frank stammered, his tongue refusing to act as he wanted. His face had gone white and there were lines of sweat running down any place that wasn't hidden by wool. Mary had taken a step back, unsettled by the short man's behavior. "Would you mind telling me what the hell has you so freaked?" Mary asked, moving backwards toward the couches.

"It's Kane!" Frank finally managed to force out, outstretched hand shaking as he continued pointing at the small black thing Ozzy held. The hyena looked at his hand as if he had never seen it before, then gave a nervous laugh, not knowing how else to respond. "It's a cane?" he asked. "Like a walking stick? Does it come out if I push this button?" Ozzy hovered his thumb above the round circle in the center of the object. "Don't!" Frank screamed at full volume, making Ozzy and most of the others jump. "Please don't! I don't know what'll happen if you do, but I'm sure it's something bad!" Ana snorted, picking her drink back up. "Gang, I think the sheep made a bomb or something," she said. "Were you going to use it on a Planned Parenthood? I knew you were the type."

"What!?" Frank shrieked, face blanching further. "I would never! What are you talking about?" May stood up then, shooting Ana a hard look. "This is not the time for jokes," the doe said admonishingly. May then made her way closer to Frank, having to climb awkwardly over the cooler, stopping at a distance from the sheep that was close enough to speak clearly without having to raise her voice but far enough to be non-threatening. "Frank," she said in the most temperate tone possible, "What do you mean, 'It's Kane'? Kane isn't real." The few murmurs that arose from the couches were quickly silenced when May whipped her head around to glare at each speaker in turn. When all was quiet again, her focus returned to the man quaking in front of her.

"But he's right there!" Frank said, voice pleading. "We have to get rid of him!" May spread her arms to show that she meant no harm. "You told me that Kane was a centipede, or maybe a demon of some sort. That," she indicated Ozzy with her head, "is a button. Not knowing what it does doesn't make it a threat. May I come closer?" May remained where she stood, though Frank still shook his head and retreated a step. Mary had back up to the point that she was now standing against the back of the sofa where Ozzy and Sara sat, her eyes still on Frank. Jeb had mover around the couch and was inching closer to May, ready to protect her if this crazy kid got violent. Mort squeezed Adrianne even tighter, covering her with both arms like he was shielding her. Ozzy kept staring between the object in his hand and where Frank stood at the bottom of the stairs, unsure if simply listening to the man and throwing the remote out or letting May handle it was the best way to defuse the situation.

Frank had become a brick wall in the face of May's endeavor to calm him down, merely shaking his head at any attempt to reason with him logically. Ozzy had never done hard drugs before, but he had been around people who had enough times to know what a bad withdrawal could do to you. That had to be what was going on here. It happened all too often in the poorer parts of this city. May was a licensed therapist, sure, but her specialty was children. Ozzy had experience talking friends down from episodes like this, so he knew that logic didn't work in these scenarios. Noticing that Ana had dug her phone out and had discreetly made a call to the police, Ozzy felt that he had to do something to help Frank before they arrived. Jail was no place for an addict.

Standing slowly to avoid startling the poor man, Ozzy raised his voice, careful not to sound excited, to catch Frank's attention. "This here," Ozzy said, holding the remote high. "This is what's bugging you, right, Frank?" All eyes went to Ozzy, May's narrowing with warning, as the hyena continued to speak. "Take a good look, okay?" Ozzy walked around the couch, keeping the remote held up and in plain view, until he stood next to Mary. "Nothing's going to happen. It's just a remote for someone's TV or garage or something." Ozzy hoped pressing the button wouldn't drive Frank further into panic, but he thought that seeing that the remote was nothing more than that was the best chance to bring the sheep back to reality. Doing his best to put on a reassuring smile, Ozzy thumbed the button.