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1. The Expected Guest

Two years ago.

Jet stumbled along as the snow fell around him, silently gathering in the storm drains and on the curbs; piling up against the cars parked on the street; in the corners of windows and doors; each mound a little spectre, watching with unseen, sadistic grins on featureless faces at the shark slowly freezing to death, standing by and waiting for him to succumb and fall so that they could pounce, covering and consuming him.

Winter had been unusually harsh and unforgiving in Upper Portdam that year - usually it would get cold, sure, but never this cold, and it rarely, if ever snowed. The fog was heavy and thick that night, and the glow from the street lamps and neon signs made visibility worse - blurring, distorting, and shrinking shadows as each point of light spread and bounced around millions of tiny drops of water and snow fluttering through the air. He’d already tripped twice, first by slipping on a patch of black ice, and second by stumbling over a bag of trash he couldn’t see.

But walking kept him warm - warmer than sitting down doing nothing, anyway. His jacket billowed in the wind and he cupped his hands around his mouth, blowing into them and pressing his warm palms against his face. His legs, feet, and tail had long since gone numb, his pants having been drenched by snow and runoff when he’d slipped. He held himself, arms wrapped around his torso, ears flat against his head, eyes little more than slits as he walked.

I need to rest, he thought, eyes darting around looking for something, anything he could prop himself against or shelter himself under.

Numb or not, he could still feel his gait becoming more and more unstable as his legs wobbled from exhaustion. He sat down on some steps and huddled over, drawing his knees up against his chest, his tail curling around him. He rubbed his hands up and down his legs, trying to force warm blood back into the muscles. Behind him, he could hear the faint, muffled sounds of people talking, television shows, and children laughing and realized he was sitting on the front stoop of an apartment building.

Great, can’t wait for some asshole to come out here and run me off, he thought, clenching his teeth as his fingers struggled to ignite his lighter. Fucking work, you piece of shit.

As if on cue, the door to the building opened. Jet jerked his head up and looked at the man standing there: a massive black wolf, staring down at Jet with glittering hazel eyes. His face wasn’t particularly nice, but not outwardly hostile, either.

Grumpy, that’s it. That’s what he looks like. A big grumpy wolf. Kinda hot, honestly. Though, I’d be grumpy, too, if I was you; if I had to come down here in my boxers and kick out the loser on the street.

They regarded each other for a long, silent moment. The wind picked up, whipping a cold gush of air over the wolf who didn’t so much as flinch as it ruffled his fur. Jet shuddered, lowering his head and shutting his eyes.

When the wolf finally spoke, his voice was deep and gravelly, his words slightly slurred, “Are you drunk, or high?”

“Right. Of course,” Jet muttered and shook his head, laughing bitterly. He stood up and turned away, staring off into the distance as he continued, “Neither, dude. Look, I’ll fuck off in a minute. I just needed a moment to-”

From behind him, Jet heard, “In.”

“What?” he asked, his voice small, eyes wide with disbelief as he spun back around to see that the wolf had stepped to the side to allow him entry.

“I said get in here.”

Swallowing hard, Jet climbed the steps, his heart pounding. As he breached the threshold, hit foot caught a warped, raised floorboard and he toppled over onto his hands and knees. He looked up at the wolf staring back at him and averted his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice small and mortified.

Growling and sighing, the wolf stepped to Jet’s side, kneeling down.

“You lyin’ to me about not being drunk?”

“No… just cold. Promise,” the words came out as a shaky whisper.

“Put your arm across my shoulders.”

“What?”

“Are you deaf?”

“Sorry.”

Jet lifted his arm and the wolf slid under it, putting his own arm across Jet’s shoulders, tucking his hand into Jet’s armpit.

“Bend your leg and move it there. Up there. No. There. Okay. Three, two, one. Up.”

With a grunt of effort, Jet, hoisted by the wolf, stood upright once more. The wolf leaned Jet into his side to brace the shark’s footing and keep him steady as they walked.

Holy shit, Jet thought, his eyes wide and his heart somehow pounding even harder. The wolf reeked of beer and nicotine. Jet’s cheeks burned, the warmest they’d felt in hours. He dared look no where other than straight ahead and swallowed hard.

“Name’s Rakkarth.”

“Huh? Oh, uh, Jet. I go by Jet.”

“Right.”

Rakkarth guided Jet up the flight of stairs to the second floor and unlocked the door. There, before his eyes was the apartment that he would later come to know all too well. Rakkarth continued and led Jet to the bathroom, sitting him down on the side of the shower tub. He grabbed a towel and wet it in the sink, wringing it out and handing it to Jet.

“Here. Wash up and get warm. I’ll go find you some dry clothes.”

“Okay.”

When Rakkarth left, slamming the bathroom door shut as he departed, Jet undressed and wiped himself down. His gaze was vacant, distant, as though he was trying to focus on something miles away; to see beyond and around whatever illusion this clearly was; the dying synapses of a brain freezing solid; one final hallucination of kindness and warmth and peace before it all went dark; but no, this pain he felt all over his body; his legs full of pins and needles; knees and elbows scratched and skinned; fingers and toes aching; tail stiff and laying heavily on the ground behind him; head throbbing, swimming; privates having long since gone numb; no, all of that pain was the proof this was real; or was that logic reserved solely for dreams?

Three loud thuds from behind the door snapped Jet back to his senses. Rakkarth opened it and stepped inside.

“Had to fish these out from the back of the closet.”

He held out a dusty pair of lounge pants, a wrinkled tee shirt, and a pair of boxers and handed them all to the shark. Jet stared blankly at him and clutched them against his chest.

Rakkarth blinked slowly at him, a cigarette smoldering between his lips. He dragged from it and lifted it away between his fingers, pointing it at Jet as he spoke: “I’m not helping you get dressed, and you’re not walking around here fuckin’ naked, so figure it out.”

Jet shook his head and turned his body away from the wolf. He quickly got dressed, finding that while, yes, the clothes were dusty and a little stiff from being in storage so long, they were still rather comfortable, if a bit tight. He couldn’t help but wonder why Rakkarth, as big as he was, had clothes so many sizes smaller. He pushed that thought out of his mind, trying very hard not to think about the fact that these were definitely the clothes of one of his previous victims and he was definitely some kind of crazed serial killer.

Rakkarth had disappeared while Jet dressed himself, and so the shark ventured out into the hallway, looking left and right. He felt the carpet between his toes, tickling the tip of his tail as it swished back and forth. The warmth of the room and the smell of cigarettes and a dinner cooked hours ago filled his lungs.

I don’t even remember the last time I felt any of these things, he thought.

The wolf leaned his head around the corner to Jet’s right. “In here,” he said before disappearing.

Jet stepped into the larger room, finding that his walking was already growing easier as warmth and blood returned to his limbs. He closed his eyes and sighed in relief. The wolf stood there to his left in the kitchen, leaning forward and peering into the fridge. Jet looked into the den and saw the coffee table blanketed with empty cans of beer.

Oh, yeah, he was definitely unwinding.

The wolf brought up a foam box and opened it, sniffing it and tossing it onto the counter with a scowl and a gag. Finding another, he did the same, then again. When he finally found one that satisfied him, he spoke:

“You like Chinese?”

“Huh?” Jet looked at Rakkarth and then the box in his hands. “Oh, yeah… thanks.”

Rakkarth stuffed it into the microwave and nuked it for a minute, growling as he dragged it, steaming and boiling, onto a dinner tray. He fished a fork out of a drawer and stabbed it into the mass of noodles and vegetables, handing it to Jet. Rakkarth dropped himself onto the couch and kicked back one of the cans, a rumbling burp escaping through his teeth. Jet sat down next to him.

“Thank you. For doing all of this for some asshole you found on the street,” Jet said as he began to eat.

“Mm-hmm,” Rakkarth lit up a smoke. He offered one to Jet who accepted and lit up as well. “You get lost or something?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Hm.”

“I had a camp set up under that really tall pier over at the beach, hidden in the posts and weeds. Was nice until the weather got so shitty and the wind wouldn’t stop.”

“Right. You’re a little far away from there, now.”

“I mean, you don’t have to believe me.”

Rakkarth shrugged.

“I was walking around to try and stay warm and I just kept going until, well, you saw.”

“You ain’t got family?”

“Mom’s gone, dad kicked me out three years ago.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Your dad didn’t boot your ass out at eighteen?”

“No, he wanted me there to make sure I was studying. And I definitely was studying, but not what he wanted me to.”

Jet flushed, but somehow found that the words flowed freely regardless of his hesitation or fear, bursting forth from his heart and mouth faster than he could stop himself:

“He came home early one evening and found me with my head between my friend’s thighs - and he lost his shit. He threw him out, kicked my ass, and then threw me out. I did everything he wanted - years of my life - was going to join the firm he worked at - was getting prepared to go to college for it - and boom, he finds out his son’s a… a fuckin’ faggot and there will be no faggots in his house - and then the guy, the fuckin’ guy I thought I was my friend, or more, or whatever, shuts the door in my face when I came begging for help-”

“You’re screaming. Stop it.”

Jet trembled, panting heavily. His face was flushed and twisted in anger and pain, eyes glassy, tears running down his cheeks. He sniffed and took a drag of his smoke, wiping his face. He set the dinner tray on the coffee table and rest his head on his hand, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, closing his eyes as he continued:

“So I hitchhiked here to this city because that’s where my mom’s parents live. Thought they’d help me out, or give me a place to stay and I could do odd jobs for them, but when I knocked on the door, some dude I’ve never seen answered it. Said he and his family had been living there for a few years. He didn’t recognize my grandparents’ names, so I guess they moved away and just never said anything.”

“You try talking to your dad?”

“Of course I have. For the past three years! Every Christmas, I’ll give him a call and he hangs up on me when he hears my voice.”

Jet could hear and feel a low growl rumbling up from within Rakkarth. The wolf’s expression was still mostly grumpy, but now, there was something else there, too, actual visible anger; a small narrowing of his eyes; lips pulled upwards into a snarl to reveal his sharp teeth; the way his hand curled into a fist.

The shark raised his hands, sliding backwards away from the wolf. “Look, man, I’m sorry. I’ll stop bitching your ear off.”

Rakkarth jolted ever so slightly, and slumped back into the sofa. He looked sideways at Jet, eyes peering at him over his glasses.

“You’re fine. Your dad’s a piece of shit.” He gulped down the last of one beer and cracked open another.

Jet chuckled softly. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Nothing, nevermind.”

The wolf was silent for a long moment as he closed his eyes, taking a drag from his smoke. He exhaled it with a sigh.

“Was in prison for six years.”

Jet’s shoulders dropped and his ears lowered. He looked down at the clothes he was wearing and that thought he’d had, (half-jokingly, right?) of this guy definitely being a serial killer flooded back to his mind.

“Oh, uh, heh.”

“Found my wife in bed with one of her coworkers. My bed. Our bed. The next bed the guy woke up in was in the hospital.” Rakkarth huffed. “I got arrested, charged, and she took my son and served me divorce papers.”

Rakkarth thumbed towards Jet. “Those clothes you’re wearing, I bought them in case my son ever came to visit. He doesn’t. Haven’t seen him since he was sixteen, he turned twenty-two in August.”

“I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you.”

The wolf slipped his glasses off and set them on the coffee table, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes. His hands lay, fingers laced together, on his belly.

“Good for both of us to get it out, I guess.”

Jet nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

* * *

When Jet came to, the first thing he noticed was his eyes, stinging and misty with tears. He wiped them dry with the back of his hand.

Why did I dream about that night?

He awoke with his jacket bundled up and laying over his head to block out the rising sun in much of the same position he had been when he decided to lay down and sleep - reclining against a sand dune; not too far away from the place under the pier he’d camped at; legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded behind his head which was nestled among the tall beachgrass; having wriggled his tail down just a bit to tuck it into the soft sand. He thought of how strange it must have looked to other beach goers, to set off to an early, peaceful morning at the beach, and the first thing you see when you crest over the hill is some stranger sleeping there, like a bum or vagrant.

Or, I guess, a dumped corpse, heh.

He sat forward, breaching upwards through the sticks and weeds and stretched, plucking a few leaves from his hair. Drawing his knees up, he rest his arms on them, hands dangling loosely, feeling the soft and constant breeze flowing in from over the ocean between his fingers. The smell of salt and seawater filled his nose; the sun warm on his arms and shoulders and face; steel blue eyes twinkling in the morning (or afternoon, he wasn’t quite sure) light. He was pleased to discover, however, that despite napping on the ground, nothing was stiff or sore, or hurt any more than it usually did anyway.

For a while he simply sat and watched the people at the beach, tanning themselves, going for a swim, or snoozing beneath a large, brightly colored umbrella. Down the shore, a few played volleyball. A couple were jogging parallel with the waves, kicking up splashes of water. A group of people sat and meditated and did yoga, twisting and stretching. He could smell someone grilling something. A fisherman cast his line out from the pier.

Once he’d had enough of the people watching, he stood up, brushing sand off his shorts and shirt, thumping his feet against the ground to try and knock it off his calves, and slapping the base of his tail to shake it off there, too. He tucked his bundled up jacket under his arm, lit up a cigarette, stuffed it in the corner of his mouth, and started on the long walk back to the apartment.

As he reentered the concrete, plastic, and glass labyrinth of the city, the sounds of the beach faded out behind him, replaced instead by honking horns, rumbling engines, and the general din of crowds of people all talking at once as they walked the streets; all one giant mass of bodies, like a free flowing amoeba; oozing and stretching around buildings. He cut through the crowds as best he could, sliding between people always standing shoulder to shoulder in a fuckin’ line taking up the entire sidewalk as they went; twisting and bobbing around to avoid those not paying attention who decided their not bumping into anyone was everyone else’s god damn problem. He came across a bus stop and sat down on the bench, turning to examine the route map and see if the next bus would get him closer to the apartment.

Well, fuck, not really. But at least it’ll get me closer, he thought, smiling to himself as he draped an arm over the back of the bench and crossed his legs.

For a while, he waited there, returning to people watching, smiling, waving, or even winking at those whose gaze met his own. When that grew boring, he looked upwards at the skyscrapers towering over him; head swimming with sudden vertigo; each monolith housing banks, marketing firms, advertising agencies; restaurants and clothing stores and even hotels - all in one building; a city within a city; where one could work and sleep and shop without ever going outside.

“Jet!”

A single, violent tremor erupted through Jet’s body, from his toes all the way through to his ears, now flattening against his head; out his arms and tail. His heart felt cold. He slowly tilted his gaze downward and saw Asher.

Staring at him from the seat of his car, grinning, his bright yellow eyes aglow, Asher beckoned Jet over with his hand, and Jet obeyed.