TRUTH TO BE TOLD
My story…
My story begins a few years ago. Before they catch me.
Once upon a night, when the stars were clouded by the filthy air of the town, when the moon was hidden, when only silence reigned in my house…
A door slamming closed. A black-haired Fox enters the house, whistling some CCR melody. Brushing his hair, the Fox reveals the scar that runs between his eyes. The Fox smiles, as he has passed a good day and is happy to come back at house.
-“I’m here, sweetie!”
Only silence greets him. The Fox chuckles, guessing that his mate had prepared a trick of some sort… However, he looks around, frowning. Something is odd in the place, but he is unable to put his finger on it… It’s calm and quiet, and the declining light of the day seems to cover everything with a layer of age. The Fox notices the kitchen door slightly opened, and grins. His mate has quite a sweet tooth… Maybe he was just preparing some cake?
The Fox walks calmly toward the kitchen door, noticing that the TV is on, but with sound shut down. The remnants of a sandwich on a plate on a nearby piece of furniture. A book opened, but placed face down. One of the Fox’s mate favourite…
The Fox puts his paw on the doorknob of the kitchen…
… And notices the drops of blood on the floor.
Terror suddenly overflowing his mind, the Fox slams the door opened…
Blood everywhere…
Footsteps in the grim stains…
Jars broken here and there…
And the corpse of the Fox’s mate, leaning on the wall and floor, his face lowered over his stabbed chest…
The Wolf’s grey fur tattered with blood, his hair, black and white, and a real mess.
-“Noooooooooooooooo!!!”
The Fox screams in horror and disbelief, running toward the now cold corpse of his lover, extending his paws toward his face, but stopping soon, his paws shaking… Ears flattened on his skull, crying and sobbing loudly, moaning in despair… And howling all his pain, all his angst, a long howl, a long shriek that leaves him without any strength, without any more feeling…
The Fox stays in the corner of the kitchen for half an hour, curled up, gazing at his dead lover’s body. The very instant the Fox saw him, he knew that he was dead, that nothing could be done to bring him back, and that it has been so for the last few hours.
Then, the Fox uncurls himself, and walks slowly, drone-like, toward the phone. His fingers automatically dial the number of the police station.
The Fox stays silent, totally crushed down, under the crude and aggressive light of the lamp in this dull and grey room, with one wall being a huge mirror; holding a cup of coffee in his paw. He has not said a single word besides those he managed to gush out on the phone. Since then, silence… After a moment, a grey door opens, and a brown furred, long black-haired Folf enters the room, flicking a silvery lighter and lighting a thin brownish cigarette. The Folf, clad in a typical long beige trenchcoat, stays here, smoking a bit, not looking at the Fox, as he was not here. Then, the Folf takes a chair and sits down in front of the vulpine.
-“Hi. We have many things to tell to one another.”
The Fox does not answer at all.
-“I’ll begin. You call something like…” The Folf looks at his watch with a large move of his arm. “… Twenty minutes ago, to signal the death of your mate, a wolf.”
Not a word. The Folf takes a breath of his cigarette and blows the smoke away.
-“I know this is a hard blow, pal’… But you’re not helping staying silent. We won’t be able to find the bastard that did it if you don’t tell us a single thing.”
The Fox still looks down, the light smoke of his coffee being clouded by the smoke from the Folf’s cigarette. After a moment, the Folf takes a block of paper from his pocket, and a pen, pushing the button at the end of said pen, producing a light ‘click’…
-“Fine…” The Folf says, while scribbling something on his paper block. “Here’s the address of a nice hotel. You’ll stay there for the night.”
With that, the Folf tears the page, and hands it toward the Fox. This one raises his head and gazes blankly at the paper. Then, he looks at the Folf. Blinking twice, the Fox looks again at the paper taking it with his free paw. Slowly. As if he fears to break reality by a way too fast move…
-“See you tomorrow, pal’…”
With that, the Folf gestures at the mirror. Seconds later, the door opens again, and another policeman enters.
-“Guide our guest to the address on this paper, will you?”
The other one nods, and walks toward the Fox. This one stands up, and follows the policeman. Still holding his coffee and the paper. Once they both have left the room, the Folf leans in the chair, reclining in it, while putting his legs on the desk, and blowing up smoke, before taking another breath on his cigarette. The Folf stays there, thinking…
The Fox enters The Golden Feather, the hotel the Folf offered a room to stay in to the Fox. This one seems to live on some out of phase plane of existence; walking in the hall as if he wasn’t really there. He hands the paper at the receptionist, who nods, and guides the Fox in the corridors, until he arrives at his room. Door 61. The Fox puts the keys he has just received, and hesitates a moment, the paw just over the doorknob… And he opens the door.
Blood everywhere…
Footsteps in the grim stains…
Jars broken here and there…
The metallic sound of a knife hitting the ground…
The Fox feels sick immediately and lays on the doorframe, shaking and gasping, closing his eyes. Breathing hard, the Fox opens his eyes, and looks around. The room is a regular one for a hotel of that class: Not fabulous, but neat and spick and span. The Fox breathes hard, and steps inside, tossing his piece of luggage containing a few clothes on the bed. And eyes at the door leading to the small bathroom. Approaching it slowly, his paw shaking a little, the Fox is about to grab the doorknob…
… When the phone rings. The Fox yelps and jumps in surprise, his heart racing… Looking at the phone as it rings again, the Fox sighs and closes his eyes, feeling rather stupid. Taking the phone, the Fox says, in a rather shaky voice…
-“Yes?”
-“Ah, you’re arrived Pal’! I hope you’re not lacking anything.”
The Fox can’t prevent himself but smiling at the care of the Folf.
-“It’s okay. I have everything I need…”
-“Good. Some words finally! I’ve taken a room with TV cable. Don’t hesitate to wash out your head, okay?”
-“Huh, I… Thanks.”
-“Heh, I want you in good shape for tomorrow. I still have questions to you, you know.”
-“Y, yes… Sure.”
-“Good. Have a good night, Pal’.”
With that, the Folf stopped the communication. The Fox smiles a bit, his heart feeling a bit lighter. He returns to his suitcase, opens it, and starts unpacking. Among his clothes, he finds an envelope. Puzzled, he looks inside, and finds two airplane tickets. Two airplane tickets for Venice. The Fox blinks a little, before shrugging and putting back the airplane tickets in their envelope, and the envelope, back in the suitcase.
It takes a moment for the Fox to relax enough in this alien room. He stays still in his bed, his eyes opened. Gazing in the void. Gazing at the empty screen of the TV. Gazing at the VCR under, and all the other elements assembled here…
I told ya…
The Fox blinks and looks around… Did he really hear that voice…? A bit worried, the Fox looks around. He is alone in this room. Alone, in a cold bed. Desperate, the Fox grasps a bit of blanket near him, wishing so strongly that his mate would be there, near him… Wishing to smell his scent, to caress his fur… Feeling a tear rolling down his cheek, the Fox looks at the shadows…
The metallic clink of a knife hitting the ground echoes in the air…
Blood everywhere. Splashing on the walls.
I told ya…
The Fox yelps and opens his eyes; the dream vanishing immediately. Breathing hard, a thin layer of sweat covering his skin under the fur, making him shivering. Gasping, the Fox looks around, trying to spot the source of the angst that twists his guts and makes his mind reels… It took a moment for the Fox to calm down, but, finally, the Fox, unable to fight against slumber, falls in a dreamless sleep…
In the morning, the Fox is sipping a hot bowl of coffee, in the restaurant of the hotel. The Folf is sitting down in front of him, waiting patiently for the Fox to finish his breakfast. The Fox takes his time, trying to sort out his feelings and thoughts, trying to muster his thoughts and to recollect his memories. Then, he puts the bowl back on the table, passing his tongue over his lips to lick the drops of coffee on his fur.
-“I… I came back at home, after my day at work. I didn’t spot right away why, but the house felt weird when I entered.”
The Folf simply nodded. He has put earlier a tape recorder on the table, and the device is currently recording the conversation. Speaking with that device in front of him is making the Fox a bit ill-at-ease, but he is fighting the feeling.
-“I… I spotted the kitchen door being slightly ajar. I thought that… That…”
The Fox gulps, and lowers his face, trying to prevent his voice from shaking too much.
-“I thought that he was preparing a cake. He likes… He liked preparing cakes.”
The Folf looks at the Fox with an understanding gaze.
-“I… Opened the door…”
Quick flashes run through the Fox’s mind. Blood everywhere, splattered on the floor, walls and cupboards.
And, ringing in the back of his mind, the clatter of a knife falling to the ground.
The Fox’s ears twitches a bit, as the Fox frowns. The Folf looks at him, intently, but peacefully, listening carefully.
-“It was awful. He was there, half on the ground, half leaning on the wall, with… With all those… Holes on his chest…”
The Fox closes his eyes and bites on his fingers, sobbing a little. After a moment, breathing deeply, his eyes wet and his body shivering, the Fox looks at the Folf in front of him.
-“I ran immediately near him. I think I’ve walked on the blood… I was so…”
Another silence.
-“I didn’t touch him. I was unable to do that…”
The Folf simply nods, waiting for the Fox to continue his story. The Fox takes a great breath before continuing.
-“There were… Smashed jars here and there… I think he… I think he fought against… Against…”
The Fox is unable to continue past this point, and he closes his eyes, biting on his lip… The Folf moves and takes the tape recorder in his paw, still looking at the Fox.
-“You were busy that day at your work?”
-“Yeah, pretty much… I had to drive here and there the whole day… I was happy to come back.”
-“Hmm, I see… Do you think that there was anyone wanting his death?”
-“N, no!”
-“Hmm…”
The Fox looks at the Folf, his fists clenching on the table.
-“I assure you, he was the sweetest guy around!”
-“I believe you.”
The Fox blinks, and unclenches his fists. He was feeling bad, the whole of this having awoken awful memories… Blood… Everywhere.
Ears drooping down a bit, the Fox makes hard efforts to not cry.
-“Please, I… It’s too much…”
The Folf nods slowly, rubbing his chin.
-“Alright, that’ll be enough for today. Well…” The Folf says, his pen making a light click, before scribbling down on his paper block. “…If you remember any other detail, don’t hesitate to call, okay, Pal’?”
The Fox agrees, and smiles weakly at the Folf. The Folf smiles back, before departing, flicking his silver lighter, and starting to smoke another thin brownish cigarette. The Fox looks at him.
The noise of a knife falling on the ground.
I told ya…
The Fox shivers, and quickly stands up, paying for the breakfast. He feels… Weird. Details on his mind keep nagging him. He climbs up the stairs leading toward his room. Door 61. He hands his paw toward the doorknob… And hesitates a bit.
Grabbing it firmly, the Fox opens the door, and steps inside quickly. Leaning against the now closed door, the Fox raises his head toward sky and sighs deeply. After a moment, he moves toward his suitcase, opening it to grab a shirt.
That’s when he notices that the suitcase is, actually filled with his mate’s clothes. The Fox freezes a moment… Then, he caresses a shirt, and takes it in his paws… Holding it to his snout, the Fox inhales deeply, taking in the remnants of his mate’s scent. He then kneels at the feet of the bed, on which the suitcase was placed, and starts sobbing softly.
After a day, the Fox has been authorised to return to his home. The Fox enters, ears flat on his skull. The place is so much filled with memories of good times. The Fox passes near a sofa; the one on which the Wolf liked to seat down to read… The Fox brushes the table near it, as if to grasp back something of the past. The Fox walks around a bit, collecting back old memories. His mate flashing a charming grin at him… His weird habit of him to light on the TV, only to make sure the house wasn’t silent… His love for rice cakes… The Fox approaches the kitchen, and he freezes in front of the door. He looks at the doorframe, as if trying to look through it. Gulping, he raises his paw toward the doorknob… Taking it, the Fox opens the door. A loud creak echoes in the air.
Blood everywhere…
Footsteps in the grim stains…
Jars broken here and there…
The metallic sound of a knife hitting the ground
I told ya…
His mate howling in terror and pain…
I told ya…
Blood dripping down from walls and cupboards.
The Fox shrieks, his heart racing, breathing harder and harder, stumbling away from the nightmarish scenery, falling to the ground and crawling away, crying and panting in horror, curling up in a wall, whining pitifully.
It took half an hour for the Fox to recover…
The Fox looks at the slightly ajar kitchen door, from his corner; his curled up form almost invisible. There was something on his mind. Something that he feels like he must discover. Uncurling, the Fox slowly approaches the door, looking away from time to time, feeling it difficult to look at it directly… His breathing becoming a little faster and harder, the Fox grabs the doorknob…
… And turns it.
Behind it, a regular kitchen. The floor has been washed. There are no visible hints of the amount of blood that has been spilt here. The Fox walks around, trying to remember something. Anything…
When he entered, there were footsteps in the blood, yes. He has forgotten to tell that to the Folf. Although they must have been erased when he ran in the kitchen. Or maybe not. He’ll have to ask the Folf… He runs a finger over a cupboard, trying to click something on in his mind. Several jars were amiss… Probably the ones that were shattered when he entered the kitchen. He then looks at where the corpse was lying. Kneeling, the Fox observes the spot carefully. He was feeling really bad to contemplate it now, even if no more any sign of his mate’s death is present. He extends a shaky paw, and puts it where the body of his mate was lying.
The clatter of a knife hitting the ground.
The Fox gasps and turns away quickly.
Black boots, and the lower parts of a black trenchcoat. On a floor soaked with blood.
The Fox turns his head away, shutting his eyes down hard. Whining, the Fox stays like that for a moment, before opening his eyes again. Looking at the kitchen around, he tries to sort out his thoughts.
He was present. When his mate was killed. He does not know how or why he has forgotten it, but he was present.
And someone else was here.
Quickly standing up, the Fox looks everywhere in the kitchen, hoping that the policemen would have forgotten a hint, something that could tell him what happened…
The phone rings.
The Fox looks at it, surprised. Who could call him? Running from the kitchen to answer the phone, the Fox nearly fell on the ground, his knee hitting a piece of furniture, slightly moving it. Groaning, the Fox grasps the phone at his fourth ringing.
-“Yes?”
-“Evening, Pal’.”
-“Oh, that’s you.”
-“Yep. You sound disappointed, Pal’…”
-“Oh, no! Not at all! I… I was to the point to call you. I… Think I have new elements.”
-“Great. I was calling you to invite you at the police station. I have a few questions…”
-“Ah?”
-“Yep. So, could you pass, say… In 20 minutes?”
-“Alright. I’m on my way.”
-“S’okay. Pal’. See you soon.”
With that the Folf interrupted the call. The Fox wonders for a moment about the questions the Folf wants to ask him… That’s when he notices the piece of furniture has moved when hitting it. There is something square and shiny behind it. Frowning, the Fox approaches the piece of furniture. He kneels and extends his arm between the wall and the wooden object, trying to get the object. It feels cold under his fingers, cold and thin. Frowning a bit more, the Fox, puzzled, drags the object back to him. It’s a picture of a nice female Cat, with grey fur, green eyes and two stripes of a darker grey on each of her cheeks. The Fox frowns, and turns back the picture. A few words are scribbled down.
The Fox stares at the words. Stares at the heart drawn under them. His mind racing, the Fox stands up and walks out of the room, directing toward his car. Quickly opening the door, he jumps inside, tossing the picture on the passenger’s seat, slamming the door closed; and, without glancing on the rear seats, the Fox drives toward the Golden Feather.
After having convinced the receptionist to get back on the Room 61, pretending to have forgotten an item of him inside, the Fox enters the room, and immediately start scanning it. The receptionist told him that no one entered the room since he has left it, so he hopes to find something interesting… He walks to the bed and ruffles the blankets, lifting the mattress and looking under. Nothing. He opens the cupboard in the bathroom, trying to find a secret cache somewhere. To no avail. Finally, the Fox opens the cupboard, and starts ruffling through diverse clothes… Waitasec’… Clothes? The Fox looks more closely at them. A black trenchcoat. And a pair of boots. The Fox kneels down and looks at the evidence in front of him…
Black boots and the lower parts of a long black trenchcoat.
The clatter of a knife falling on the ground.
The Fox shakes his head, and grabs the garments, before shutting the cupboard closed. That’s when his gaze is allured by something. The TV and VCR set. The Fox eyes them curiously, for he has just noticed an odd shape in the mass of cables. The Fox approaches the devices, and move them a bit, fishing for the weird shaped object.
A camera.
The Fox frowns. Who would have placed a camera there? And to which purpose? Feeling obscurely that it is an important item, the Fox puts the camera in his pocket before departing from the room. Thanking the receptionist, the Fox exits the Golden Feather, and climbs up his car, tossing the garments on the rear. He then drives home, feeling more and more worried at what he might discover now. To help him passing time, he flicked on the radio on his car. Sweet music started to fill in the car. He smiled when he recognised a song by CCR.
The Fox sings along with John Fogerty. That’s how the Fox arrives at home, feeling a bit better, his mind clearer, and ready to solve some mysteries. Opening the door of his car, the Fox grabs the trenchcoat and the boots on the rear, and notices a metallic object on the floor of the car. Some kind of tool… The Fox enters his home, and tosses the trenchcoat and the boots on a table. The Fox slams the door closed, and sits down in front of the table, examining the objects here. The Fox quickly sets aside the boots, as he is sure he won’t get anything from them, and starts searching through the trenchcoat pockets. A few coins. A lipstick. A ring of keys, that looks oddly familiar to the Fox. And a wallet. The Fox immediately opens it, trying to find something interesting. A bill or two, numerous papers with phone numbers and some scribbling. And an identity card. The picture on it was exactly like the one he found earlier behind the wooden piece of furniture. The Fox looks at the identity card, and the neutral expression on the Cat’s face. The Fox frowns, and, standing up, looks for the other picture. Remembering where he has left it, he gets out, walks to his car, opens the door and fishes the picture. Slamming the door closed, he walks back to his house, ignoring the metallic shine inside the car.
Once back inside, the Fox compares the two pictures. Yes, it was the same Cat. On the one he found, the Fox notices how pretty she was, when smiling. The Fox looks at the pictures, and at the trenchcoat. He rubs his chin. Looking at the pair of boots, he takes on in his paw… Weighing it, the Fox approaches the kitchen door, putting his paw on the doorknob.
The clatter of a knife falling on the ground.
The Fox’s ears shoot up, and he looks behind him.
Blood everywhere…
Footsteps in the grim stains…
Jars broken here and there…
Black boots in the puddle of blood, a knife near them. A delicate gloved paw taking up the knife. The noise of the knife rattling over the ground is almost unbearable.
I told ya…
The Cat smiling warmly holding the bloodied knife in a gloved paw…
The Fox gasps and let the boot falling to the ground. Clutching his head with both paws, the Fox whines…
The Cat smiling warmly at him, holding the bloodied knife in her delicate gloved paw.
I told ya he wasn’t worthy of you.
The clatter of a knife falling to the ground.
The Fox breathes hard, on the ground, still clutching his head, tears soaking the fur on his cheeks… After a moment, he recovers enough strength to stand up. He’ll have to tell the whole of that to the Folf. Now… But, first, he’ll have to change clothes, he has sweated heavily, and his shirt was reeking. Taking the suitcase in one paw, he put it on the table, and opens it. He immediately notices the envelope containing the two airplane tickets. Puzzled, he takes them, and looks at them. Airplane tickets for Venice. For today. The Fox frowns and set them aside.
I told ya he wasn’t worthy of you.
Ears twitching, the Fox chases those thoughts from his mind and takes one of the shirts that formerly belonged to his mate. He grabs the phone and dials up the number the Folf gave him. Soon, the Folf answer.
-“Yes?”
-“Hello, sir, do you recognise me?”
-“Of course, Pal’! Why the phone-call? We’ll see one another quickly, no?”
-“Yes, but I wanted to tell you something…”
-“And what is it, Pal’?”
-“I know who killed my mate.”
-“Hm, hm…You have evidence?”
The Fox takes a sharp breath.
-“Yes.”
-“Okay, bring them with you, alright, Pal’? And come here quickly, will you?”
-“I’m arriving as soon as possible…”
With that, the Fox cuts the call, grabs his keys and heads toward his car. He is on the point to open the door on the driver’s side when he notices the shine under the rear seats. Puzzled, and feeling now more and more worried, he opens the rear door, and lowers himself to inspect it. The eyes of the Fox grows wider as he takes in the object…
The fox re-enters the house, his heart racing, a thin sweat covering the whole of his body. He tossed the object over the black trenchcoat, and paces nervously in the room… He eyes at the airplane tickets, the boots, the trenchcoat, and the pictures…
I told ya he wasn’t worthy of you.
The Fox looks around, anxious and desperate. How long did it take? 10 minutes? 15 minutes? More? When will the Folf react?
The Fox tries to think clearly, pacing more and more nervously. A repeated clinking at his paw makes him raising it to the level of his eyes. That’s the keys. The Fox is on the point to toss them aside when something weird attracts his attention. The keys… They aren’t his… Looking at the black trenchcoat, a cold shiver running his spine, realisation washed over his mind.
Those were the keys he found on the Cat’s trenchcoat. And he opened his car with them without problems…
Afraid, he throws them on the table.
I told ya he wasn’t worthy of you.
The Fox looks at the other object, the one he has just found in his car.
A knife…
-“No…”
The Fox walks toward the table, and grabs the wallet, before heading toward the kitchen, grabbing the doorknob…
-“No…”
The Fox opens the door of the house. He has pretended to his boss that he was away to reach a client. He has a jar containing rice cakes in one paw. His mate is here, reading a book, with the TV on, loud enough to wake up the dead. His mate looks up and flashes him a charming grin.
-“Hello! You’re home early, today.”
The Fox smiles, also his heart is filled with poison. He has seen the suitcase. He has seen what was inside…
-“I managed to get my afternoon.” The Fox says, lifting the jar. “I brought back a treat for my wolfy!”
-“Oh, my! Gimme, gimme!”
The wolf puts his book face down on the table, standing up and approaching his mate, paws already extending toward the jar. The Fox grins and takes the jar away.
-“Tsk, tsk! Patience’s a virtue, they say… On to the kitchen, will you?”
-“As you wish, as you wish.”
The Wolf is smiling and enters the kitchen first, leaning over a cupboard, arms crossed over his chest, smiling at the Fox. This one, smiling coyly hands him the jar. The Wolf, tail wagging, takes it, opens it and grabs a rice cake, eating it ravenously. The Fox waits for the Wolf to eat three or more rice cakes before talking.
-“You didn’t tell me you have projects…”
-“Projects?” Another bite of rice cake.
-“Yeah, projects…”
The Fox stays silent for a moment, waiting for the Wolf to eat the last rice cakes, before continuing.
-“Projects for Venice…”
The Wolf’s head immediately shoots up. The Fox’s gaze is now one of pure hatred. There are knives near his paw…
-“What do you mean?”
-“Don’t LIE to me, bastard!!! I’ve found your suitcase! Ready to go, aren’t you? Ready to dump me like… Nothing!”
The Wolf simply looks at the Fox, his gaze stern. And then, he chuckles.
-“You’re taking it real bad, aren’t you?”
The Fox feels angrier and angrier. The Wolf has a coy smile.
-“So? What’s now?”
Unable to restrain himself any more, the Fox grabs a knife and leaps at the Wolf, snarling. The Wolf instinctively throws the empty jar at the rabid Fox, but too late… The Fox dodges the jar, and, in one swift move stabs the Wolf in the chest. The wolf howls in pain. The Fox snarls again, and stabs, and stabs, and stabs again and again, among the howls of pain and moans of agony of the Wolf. Blood splashing everywhere, dripping from the cupboards, forming puddles on the floor… And then, it’s finished. The Fox’s anger has gone away. The Wolf’s still twitching a bit, bleeding from dozens of wounds; his fur tattered in red… The Fox sighs deeply and let the knife falling on the ground.
The clatter of a knife falling on the ground.
The Fox hears the TV being muted. He turns around, and sees the Cat entering the kitchen, smiling warmly. The Cat takes a jar or two, and throws them to the ground.
-“Like that, they may believe he fought back…”
She steps in, leaving grim footsteps.
She bends over and takes the bloodied knife in a delicate gloved paw
-“I told ya he wasn’t worthy of you.” The Cat says, still smiling.
-“Yeah. You told me.”
The Wolf gurgles a bit, and finally dies. His whole body seems to deflate. The two furs look at the dead body.
-“Nobody could have heard us when I stabbed this bastard. The TV was so loud, I wonder why the neighbours didn’t complain.”
-“Excellent… Excellent…”
With that, the Cat grabs the Fox’s arm and walks him out of the kitchen, toward the bathroom. The Cat removes her boots before stepping outside the kitchen, inviting the Fox to do so with his shoes. Soon, the two were naked and having sex furiously. The Fox snarling, letting his predatory nature taking control. The Cat being as nasty, clawing and hissing.
The Fox is now laying still in the bed, while the Cat is having a shower. The Fox spotted the Cat’s trenchcoat. Moved by mere curiosity, the Fox stands up and grabs the trenchcoat. Searching through the pockets, the Fox finds a few coins, the set of keys he has given her, and her wallet. Smirking like a young boy, the Fox opens it.
And several pictures fall on the ground.
The Fox, puzzled, looks at them, picking up one at random. It shows the Cat, smiling. Behind is scribbled Room 61 The Golden Feather. Frowning, the Fox looks at the other pictures.
And freezes.
For they all shows the same thing.
The Cat. And the Wolf. Engaged in wild sex.
The Fox looks at each of them, taking them up and replacing them, one after the another, in the wallet.
Once they are all back in the wallet, the Fox looks at the door leading toward the bathroom.
And, soon, he walks toward it, the knife in his paw. Soon, he approaches closely to the shower booth, where the Cat is washing herself. She spots a shadow, and smirks, thinking that the Fox has some naughty ideas… She turns back. And yells when the knife stabs her once… Twice… Three times. Blood splashed over the walls, but the Fox isn’t worried. He stays there, naked in the shower booth, over the corpse of the Cat, a blood-dripping knife in his paw. The Fox then spends his time washing carefully the bathroom, transporting the dead Cat away. He packed the corpse in his car, tossing the knife somewhere, and forgets about it. Then, he drives to the Golden Feather. Wearing the black trenchcoat and lowering his head, he passed in front a half-asleep receptionist, and walks toward room 61. There, he deposits the trenchcoat and the boots in the cupboard and departs, walking calmly in the hall, after the receptionist has gone.
And then, he sits down in his car, driving to his work place, telling his boss the client was a loss, and merging himself in his work.
And he then walks calmly back home, the recent events erased from his memory…
The Fox is now crying in the house, crouched near the sofa on which is mate used to read. He has opened the wallet and is seeing the pictures taken by the camera in the Room 61 of the Golden Feather. He let them fall on the ground, and let his head rests on the sofa. After a moment, he hears a car parking near his home. A car door is opened and closed. The door of the house is creaked opened. The Fox opens his eyes and look at the Folf that has just entered…
This is my story. It happened so long ago…
Since then, I’ve never spent a single day, a single hour, without mourning the loss of innocence, the loss of love, the loss of trust…
Lomstat, a Folf, smiled and looked at the chair in front of him, the back of it turned toward him. It was a large and comfy chair, hence preventing him from seeing what was inside. But not preventing him from hearing.
A delicate gloved paw flicked a silver lighter. A grey furred Cat with piercing green eyes lit on a brownish cigarette and smoked on it a little. She was wearing a beige trenchcoat, and was currently observing at the Folf in front of her, scribbling notes on a paper block. After a moment of silence, disrupted only by the light scratches of the pen over paper, she said in a rather neutral voice.
-“I do not understand what you find in him, Pal’…”
The Folf smirked, still scribbling down.
-“You won’t understand, Miss Iwakura. Let’s say that he is a fascinating subject of study.”
Jedi Iwakura groaned at Lomstat’s remark, and smoked her cigarette again, letting the smoke clouding her a bit.
-“I’ve met him dozens and dozens of times, Pal’… And each time, he comes up with a new story. How do you feel having been added in this one?”
Lomstat smirked again.
-“Flattered, to say the least…”
Jedi shook her head, and smoked again.
-“I don’t understand him…”
-“I think I begin to understand, Miss Iwakura…”
-“Hmmm?”
-“Well… Maybe he is simply wanting to teach us that the truth to be told is just a question of perspective…”
Some keepers of the asylum entered the room on which was placed the chair, and motioned the sat down person to stand up and follow them. A grey furred Wolf with black and white hair stood up and turns his head toward Iwakura and Lomstat.
He smiled coyly at them, before following his keepers.
This fiction is nothing more than that: A fiction. No offence was intended; to any people.
This fiction was inspired by the movie ‘Exit’.
Darthen Wulf
2004-02-17