Three Furs, One House
#11 of Three Furs, One House
Three Furs, One House- Chapter 11
I stood in my driveway, staring down at a US Army postmarked letter with tears dripping down my muzzle.
To Richard Rifenbark,
I most sincerely wish that I didn't have to write you this letter, but it is my solemn duty to report the death of your sister, Corporal Sasha Leigh Rifenbark. She was killed in action on March 4th of this year, 2013.
Corporal Rifenbark was an outstanding soldier, an Army Ranger of the highest caliber. It was my honor and pleasure to serve alongside her for several years, and it is with the greatest regret that I must deliver this news.
She will be honored and remembered for her sacrifice for our country, and yours as well.
Yours most sincerely,
Captain Alexander Eblen United States Army Rangers 75th Rangers Regiment
With subdued actions, I folded up the neatly-creased sheet of paper and slipped it back into the envelope. My paws shook as I tucked the letter into the stack of others I had in my grip and slowly walked back into the house.
My coffee mug rattled in my paw as I poured myself a steaming mug of coffee. My paws were shaking so much that the coffee carafe slipped out of my grasp and shattered across the floor, showering my footpaws with shards of broken glass and scalding hot coffee.
"Shit!" I jumped back out of the splash zone and reached for a dishtowel to wipe my fur off.
"What happened?" asked Swiff blearily, who had clearly just woken up, if him rubbing his eyes and yawning was any indication.
"Nothing, Swiff," I snapped, instantly regretting the tone. I softened it for the next sentence. "I just dropped the coffee pot."
"You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
I stooped down to clean up the spill while Swiff went and got himself something to eat out of the fridge.
That task done, I threw the-now-coffee-stained rag into the hamper in the garage and set about making a new pot of coffee with the spare carafe that I had just for this purpose.
"Ricky, you don't look so good, man," Swiff remarked, noticing my shaking. "What's wrong?"
In response, I pulled the Army letter out of my pocket and held it out to him.
He took it and I heard the rustle of paper as he unfolded it and read it.
"I'm so sorry, bud..." he whispered, putting a comforting paw on my shoulder.
"It's okay," I murmured, striving to control my emotions.
To hide the tears welling up in my eyes, I busied myself with breakfast; scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits. The menial tasks didn't do anything to dull the pain throbbing in my heart. As though the funeral wasn't enough, it had taken the arrival of a letter, written by Alex nonetheless, to fully drive home the realization that I'd never see my sister again. I'd never have her unexpectedly pounce me again, or be able to go to her birthdays. Sasha was dead, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
My paw idly traced lines on my iPhone's screen, pulling up the music app and tapping on a song, the one track that she could always be counted on to have blasting through her earbuds.
_ _
What time is it where you are,
I miss you more than anything,
Back at home you feel so far,
Waiting for the phone to ring
_ _
Getting lonely living upside down,
I don't even wanna be in this town,
Trying to figure out the time zones,
Making me crazy.
_ _
The fast-paced guitar and light lyrics brought back the memories of the Simple Plan concert Sasha and I had gone to the last time I had seen her. Simple Plan was her absolute favorite band, and her leave had happened to coincide both with her birthday and a show in Harbor City, so I took her. It had been a spectacular show, with Evanescence opening.
I could never again go to a Simple Plan concert, just because of Sasha. It wouldn't feel right without her in the crowd next to me, cheering and singing along with a beer in her paw.
"Fuck this," I said, turning off the song before it got to the chorus.
Food forgotten, my claws clicked softly across the mahogany floors as I went to a nondescript door set in the wall just outside the kitchen. On the wall next to the handle, I saw the faint outline of a paw drawing and I pressed mine against it. The hidden reader hummed as it scanned my paw before unlocking the door with a solid thunk.
I reached out for the handle, then hesitated. I wasn't sure I wanted to go in there, but then decided to do it. The door swung slowly, heavy steel swinging evenly on perfectly weighted hinges.
I stood in the doorway a moment, just staring into the inky blackness of the vault. It wasn't actually a vault. That's just the best way I could describe it. It contained all of my firearms and ammunition, and the things that I held dear.
With practiced ease, I slapped at the light switch behind me and winced slightly as the powerful halogen spotlights flickered to life.
Laid out before me were several long steel racks that held nothing but weapons, empty clips, and various attachments for them. The far wall held massive boxes of bullets, shotgun shells, and replacement parts for each weapon in the house. This room contained enough firepower to arm a small army.
In one corner was an actual vault, an eight by eight by twelve foot steel box with a biometric scanner and a 6 digit combination lock.
The opposite corner from that held what I had come in here to look at. Hanging below a painting spotlight was a portrait of Sasha. She wore her best smile in the photograph, managing to look both intimidating and sweet at the same time.
Above the picture was the American flag that had come back with her, and below it was a small shelf. The shelf held only four things; her service Beretta M9, an extra clip for the pistol, a small velvet box containing the Purple Heart she'd acquired during her first tour, and a second velvet box that had a necklace I'd bought for her in it. It was a sterling silver chain with a silver and titanium pendant shaped like a paw. I'd bought it for her twenty-fifth birthday.
Absentmindedly, my paw went up to the necklace around my neck. It was an exact copy of it, a gift for my twenty-fifth birthday.
That day, only a few years ago, was the last birthday that we had shared together. When she was overseas, our shared birthday was held over the Internet, but it wasn't the same. Being twins, it was kind of hard to have birthdays without the other there, and there wouldn't ever be another shared day like that.
I slipped a paw into my pocket and withdrew the letter I had gotten in the mail. With tender, loving care, I set the letter on the little shelf and propped it up against the wall.
I hesitated, then picked up Sasha's pistol.
Alex had retrieved it that day he'd gone to Sirhan Shavo, digging it out of the sand near the destroyed Humvee. The pistol was still coated in sand, and a large clod of it clogged the barrel and chamber of the nine millimeter pistol. I knew I'd never clean it, because I wanted to keep it that way as a memento of what war could do to a family. That handgun was my prized possession.
Out of slight curiosity, I thumbed the magazine release and dropped the clip into my other paw. The steel magazine only held two bullets, the two shots that she never got to use.
I tenderly slid the clip back into the gun's receiver, sending it home with a soft metallic click.
As I held the gun, I could start to imagine what her final few moments would have been like. The gunfire, the sweltering heat, the panic. My vision started to fade away, replaced by what I imagined she saw. A jackal with an AK running towards me, only to fall on his front with two bullet holes in his chest. In my minds eye, I looked down at my paw and saw that it was grimy and covered in sand.
"You'll never take me alive!" I shouted, I thought in my mind. I know, it sounds so clichéd, but it's the best I could do.
The next thing I knew, I was laying on the floor, still clutching the Beretta and crying. There was a loud thumping of paws and then I saw Alex crouching next to me.
"Ricky, babe, what's wrong?"
I don't know if I responded. But what I do know is that Alex took the gun away from me, put it back on the shelf, and literally picked me up off the floor and carried me out of the vault. The last thing I remember is being set down on our bed and crying myself to sleep.
* * *
When I woke, the sun was starting to set, which tinted everything in the room a pleasant orange color.
I sat up groggily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. At some point while I had been sleeping, Alex had stripped off my shirt and jeans, leaving me in only my boxers. I found my pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, along with the Zippo lighter I'd bought the other day.
I lit myself one and held it in my paw as I tried to calm my breathing. Fragments of a dream came to me; a dimly lit cave that smelled of rot, the stench of gunfire, and the gleam of silver.
I took a deep drag on the cancer stick and held the smoke in my lungs. The nicotine served to keep me sane, otherwise I'd have gone crazy long ago and gotten locked up in an insane asylum.
Finished with my smoke, I stubbed it out and pulled on a ratty pair of jeans with holes in the knees and went out into the kitchen. I tugged open the fridge door and snatched up a beer and used one of my claws to pop the cap off.
"Ricky?"
I turned to see Alex, Swiff, and Reks sitting at the table, which was set for dinner.
"Hey, guys," I muttered, taking a swig of the beer.
"You feeling okay?" Alex asked, getting up and coming to give me a hug.
"A little. It's just hard, ya know?"
"I know, hon, I know."
"You feel like taking your mind off it?" This from Reks, who was sitting and twiddling his paws.
"How?" I asked.
"I invited Charlie and James over. They said they'd be bringing some good stuff, and I think that might be just what you need."
"I'm not in the mood for company."
"Come on, sheppie," Swiff said. "You know you want to."
"I'M NOT IN THE MOOD FOR IT!"
The house went silent. Even the subtle background noises of the refrigerator and air conditioning seemed to stop.
The other three watched silently, ears pinned back, as I went back to the icebox and grabbed one of the six-packs of Guinness out of it, then snatched a fifth of Jack off the bar.
I hauled the alcohol back to my bedroom and slammed the door, flipping the lock with my thumb. The beer went onto the nightstand and I just tossed the whiskey onto the bed as I lit a second smoke. The last two cigarettes in the box rattled around and I went and got an unopened pack out of the carton in my closet before flopping down onto the bed on my back.
I downed the beer I had gotten in the kitchen and set that one aside, popping the cap off a second with my thumb. The thick Irish beer tasted good going down and soon the second bottle was also empty.
Lost in my haze, I didn't hear the front door open or shut, or the Chevelle, but I did hear a loud pounding on my bedroom door and Charlie's voice.
"Ricky, come on out, man. We want to talk to you."
"Go away."
"Dude, you need to talk."
"I said go away."
They said nothing more to me, but I could hear them talking as they set up shop right in front of my door. Soon the babble of high-versation drifted through the door and my haze.
"-and then it's like, what the fuck, right?"
"Yeah, bro, the cops are retarded."
Now on my fourth beer, I could feel what the alcohol was doing to me. My vision had gone fuzzy and my motions weren't anywhere as coordinated as they usually were.
Mid-drink, I set the bottle of Guinness down and turned to the Jack. I used my claw to slice a jagged line in the plastic wrap over the lid and tore it off. My paws fumbled, unscrewing the lid and tossing it into a corner.
The harsh booze burned its way down my throat, making me cough loudly.
The aromatic scent of pot burrowed its way under my door and to my nose. I inhaled, taking in the scent and thinking that it was Pineapple Express. Charlie and James could always be counted on to have that shit.
I hesitated, then stood up and grabbed the opened Guinness that I hadn't finished.
Out in the hall, Alex was taking a huge hit off the bong Charlie had brought over; a foot-tall piece of black and green glass that had been crafted perfectly. The bubbling water and the heat of the smoke lent an almost ethereal feel to the scene, like they were out in the jungle or something.
My paw went to the lock on the door and scratched at it, trying to make it open. The first try didn't really work, but the second did, and a moment later, I was standing out in the hallway with my eyes watering from the bright light and the smoke.
Alex made to stand up, but before he could get to his paws, Charlie already had and was in the middle of giving me a hug.
"Alex told me what happened, dude... I'm so sorry..."
"It's not your fault, Charlie, you know that. But I appreciate it just the same."
"Want to join us?"
"Yeah."
So I sat down in the circle next to Alex and he handed me the bong. My first hit off it made me cough, but after that, I was able to take the big ones and not hack my lungs out.
After a bit, I saw Charlie pull a small pill bottle out of his pocket. The translucent orange bottle appeared to be filled with white powder.
Charlie unscrewed the cap and dipped his paw into the bottle, then brought his now white-dusted finger to his nose and inhale sharply.
"Charlie, I thought you got off that stuff?" James asked him sternly.
"Babe, it's a party. Besides, I think he needs a bit."
"Ricky?"
"Yeah, Ricky. You know as well as I do how well it works."
I was sitting there, listening to them talk about it for a few minutes. The bong came to me and I took my pair of hits off it and passed it on before I spoke.
"Charlie, is that what I think it is?"
"You better believe it. I got it from Oz."
Charlie tossed me the bottle, which bounced off my muzzle before falling into my lap.
"Oops, sorry."
I picked it up and examined it. There were the remains of a label still stuck to the bottle, and it appeared to say 'Trazodone'. I popped the cap off and took a long look at the powder. I wasn't sure that I wanted to do this, but then decided to do so anyway.
"Ricky, be careful. This shit is addicting," warned Alex.
I took a book off the built-in shelves outside my door and tipped a small measure of the powder onto it before capping the bottle and tossing it back across the circle to the shepherd.
"I will, hon," I said, using a credit card out of my wallet to put the little amount of coke in a straight line.
Then I held one of my nostrils shut and dragged my nose across the book, inhaling sharply.
My nose stung from the drug, but it kicked in and then I was riding on a cloud. All my worries, all my stress, all my sadness at Sasha's death were gone.
"Where'd Reks and Swiff go?" I slurred slightly.
"They ran off to bed."
I nodded once to show I understood, and then promptly forgot all about it.
The cocaine coursing through my system released a HUGE rush of endorphins from my brain, and all of it served to chill me out until I can't move.
My eyes, lacking anything to really look at, roamed around the hall and lit on a dull shape leaning against the wall near my door. It took me a few seconds to identify it as Charlie's guitar.
"You brought your guitar?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I thought I might have wanted to play some while I was here."
"Let me see that shit."
Charlie wordlessly opened the case and handed the expensive instrument over to me. I took in its exquisite curves and beautiful black and white ceramic body before nestling the instrument in my lap.
My index finger and thumb gently pulled the pick out of the strings and I manage to choke out the entirety of the Top Gun Anthem by Harold Faltermeyer and Steve Stevens.
"Not bad, hon, my turn," Alex said, taking the guitar from me. He slung the strap over his shoulder and went to go get the amp from the living room. We've also got a pair of guitars, one bass and one electric, and a drum kit in there as well. Me, Alex, Swiff, and Reks loved to just rock out sometimes, and even though we never bothered making anything of our own, it was still fun as hell to just play.
Alex brought the amp back, along with a wah-wah pedal and a distorter and quickly hooked it all together before jacking the cord into the guitar. His thumb flicked on the power switch and a light hum filled the air.
One moment there was silence in the house, the next a blazing loud guitar note filled the air. I watched, dumbstruck, as Alex's fingers flew over the frets and the pick blurred as he strummed.
The hard metallic sound echoed through my eardrums, and even in my current state of high and drunk, I picked out the song he's playing. It's Cry Thunder by Dragonforce, which is my favorite metal band after Chaos Theory. It's such a great song, but it's also evilly difficult to play. There's a part in the solo that REQUIRES two people to play it, and I've always thought that that was the most insane thing ever.
But I was wrong.
Alex ripped into the solo, fingers bouncing and plucking at the strings, and with no assistance whatsoever, shredded through it, breezing past the two-person part without a pause.
At that point in the song, I noticed that Charlie was eyeing Alex with a hungry look. Quite possibly, he was looking for another guitarist to add to Chaos Theory, but he didn't say anything.
Towards the end of the song, I noticed that Alex was starting to improvise, fingers and paw dancing over the strings as the song switched from the light metal sound of Dragonforce to the rougher noise of AD/DC's 'Thunderstruck'. Charlie's tail started to wag at the notice of that song and he stood up, resting a paw against the wall for balance, and began to sing.
_ _
I was caught in the middle of the railroad tracks
And I knew there was no turning back!
My mind raced and I thought, what could I do?
And I knew there was no... No help from you.
_ _
The sound of the drums
Beating in my heart
The thunder again
Tear me apart
As the song wound down, I saw tears beginning to form in Charlie's brown eyes. At the last note, the brown-furred shepherd let himself fall to the ground.
"Damn, hon!" I exclaimed. "I love Cry Thunder!"
"That's why I played it."
I hugged him.
"Ricky, you play anything?" Charlie asked me.
"I drum. We have our own little band with no name."
"You know, that's a name right there," he pointed out.
"What is?"
"'The little band with no name.'"
"Huh. Anyway, why do you ask?"
"I wanna rock."
* * *
Ten minutes later, the four of us were in the living room, strapping instruments onto our bodies. Charlie had hooked up his guitar to the extra amp, Alex had his own guitar out and ready, and I was sitting at the drum kit with a pair of dark wooden drumsticks in my paws.
"Charlie, take point," said Alex, who was tweaking the strings on his guitar.
Charlie thought a moment before beginning to strum.
I brought in the drums, keeping time perfectly with the guitar playing and noticing that it was a song I'd heard him play before.
I'm having trouble trying to sleep; I'm counting sheep, but running out. As time ticks by.... And still I try.... No rest for crosstops in my mind.... On my own, here we go,
I smiled at the irony that we were playing this. 'Brain Stew' by Green Day had been the first song he'd played with Chaos Theory, and it seemed just the same.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Swiff walk into the room, seemingly unperturbed by the concert going on in the living room at two in the morning.
He went and got a drink, and it was then that he noticed us. His face lit up in a grin and he ditched his drink, running up to shrug his bass guitar over his shoulder. His fingers plucked at the strings in perfect time, picking up the song at the exact moment. We played for an indeterminate amount of time, picking songs at will until we hit 'Seven Nation Army' by the White Stripes.
The song progressed to the solo, and when it did, I shouted, "Swiff, drop the bass!"
He did exactly that.
His paws left the strings and went to the strap. He pulled the guitar over his head and held it in front of him for a second before letting go of the instrument, letting it fall to the thickly carpeted floor with a thump.
We were stunned to the point of freezing. All of us, Charlie included, stared at him, our mouths open.
"What?" he asked defensively when he noticed us staring at him. "You said 'Drop the bass!'"
Charlie, Alex, and I looked at each other, then burst out into raucous laughter. It might have just been the high, but we couldn't stop laughing. I had no idea what was going to happen next, but I knew I couldn't wait for the morning...