“Like I said, Mr. Bishop, the CT scan revealed no sign of internal bleeding,” said the doctor with the modest enthusiasm of a relieved professional. The rabbit tucked his file folder under his arm so that he could be free of any distraction and say what needed to be said. “Of all my concerns, that was the biggest. Intracranial hemorrhaging can be fatal if left untreated, so it was the first thing on my mind when you both walked in the door.”
The older raccoon stood upright with both his hands gripping the back of Tyson’s wheelchair. Luther Bishop was a man in his late-thirties, youthful yet accomplished. But today his normally vigorous form, short blond hair with an unchanging, business-casual charisma, had diminished under the stress of having to search all day and all over town for his son. He didn’t look so much disheveled in his jeans and button-down shirt as he did look drowsy following today’s events.
At one point during his search he had even come to fear that the absolute worst. But thankfully, those fears were assuaged when he received word from a Barkley park ranger who had found Tyson, bloodied and alone, wandering the forest several miles away out west of Ames. It had been an exhausting twelve-hour hunt that first began cold and clueless but ended abruptly when a phone call miraculously gave Luther Bishop the only real confirmation that his son had been seen in the area. Up until that moment it was like the young raccoon had fallen off the map entirely.
“It’s just good to know that the worst of it all is behind us,” said Mr. Bishop with equal parts relief and exasperation. “I won’t mince words. Today has been awful, and I’m glad it’s nearly over. I damn near filed a police report. I never would’ve thought he’d be thirty miles from home. Jesus.”
His dour demeanor uplifted at once when he looked down upon his son. The older raccoon first went to tousle the boy’s blond hair but then paused the second he saw the gauze hiding the nasty wound. Eventually he found a happy medium and let one hand perch on Tyson’s shoulder.
“I want you to know, Ty, that I’m not angry with you,” he said to his son in a low, soothing voice that was nonetheless brimming with parental distress. “I’m just happy that you’re all right. I was scared that somebody might have taken you; and I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. I’m just so very happy you’re safe, Tyson. You have no idea.”
The younger raccoon winced at his father’s touch but returned the man’s warmth with hesitant reciprocation. Tyson’s thoughts then turned to the ermine standing attentively near the wall directly behind his father. The boy then swiveled slightly in his seat so he could see Trace in more detail. Thankfully, Trace’s visage, especially his blue eyes, had reverted to its once kind, protective warmth by the time the park ranger discovered them.
The ermine had kept the same calm, cool expression throughout each inspection from the forest to the hospital, but that same serene detachment was now faltering under the bitter weight of aggravation. He now thoroughly examined everyone who passed him by to see if that simple act would be enough to goad a reaction; but it was no use. Nobody would even spare a single glance his way.
Trace abruptly raised his arms in disbelieving irritation when one last nurse completely circumvented him like one of the many fixtures that filled the hospital hallways of Mary Greeley. He let out one gruff, incredulous sigh. “This is ridiculous,” the stoat said in a husky, quiet voice laced with fear. Even then Trace didn’t feel like screaming at the next person who happened to ignore him, but that graceful patience was soon fleeting. “I’ve got to get to the bottom of this before I lose my mind. I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take. And where the hell is that noise coming from?”
The sound in question was not like the shrill wail Tyson heard upon recovering from the fugue state. This time the persistent sound was a rumbling, warbling hum that had pursued the two with a low, portentous drone since the boy’s rescue. And its foreboding omnipresence had begun to claw and scrape its way deep into the stoat’s psyche.
“I think I heard it first when we were in the squad car. I know I didn’t hear it when that thing attacked us. It was long gone by the time we got to Fraser,” murmured the ermine, his thoughts drifting back to the living fire that nearly killed him hours ago. He then deliberately took a moment to see if anyone had heard him speak, but still the only one who seemed to notice him rambling was Tyson. The rest kept the conversation alive as if no one had interrupted. “And what was that all about? What was that thing?” Trace compulsively looked at his arms for any sign of damage, but everything appeared as it should with no singe marks that would’ve told a tale of tremendous violence. “Will it come back?”
It’s not like Trace’s frustration was purely rooted in reactionary backlash. He didn’t fail to try and tell the same story the second they were both found. It was that nobody listened. It was almost like they were all unable to perceive his presence even in the slightest sense. No matter what he said, all the adults paid him no mind as they went about their business. The ermine was truly a ghost to these people.
Nobody had acknowledged the stoat apart from Tyson. The park ranger, policeman and doctor had all ignored him as he silently shadowed Tyson from one location to the next. Everyone, even hospital staff and strangers off the street, acted as if he didn’t exist. They seemed to bypass the ermine like he was an object in their way. More than that, they actively denied his existence even when he was standing right there for the whole world to see.
Tyson found this discrepancy to be deeply disturbing. He had tried to tell anyone who would hear that he didn’t act alone, and that Trace was the one who helped him reach civilization. But nobody listened. Every one of them dismissed his talk of a rescue as the raving of a confused child. For the most part, the adults who treated him wouldn’t listen even when Tyson begged them to look for his friend, Daeja.
To his credit, however, the on-duty officer really seemed to take the time to investigate into the matter. But even then Tyson feared that more could’ve been done. The young raccoon remembered trailing her into the forest and the fear she held in her eyes, yet the policeman returned with the news that nobody of her description had been reported missing. Even with the impairment of head trauma, the boy knew intuitively that each of them were all humoring him in their own way. Tyson could tell from his face that Trace, too, must’ve felt like the object of condescension by those tasked to help. Either that, or the ermine had been locked in meaningful contemplation since their rescue. Restless and paranoid, Tyson fidgeted in place as his focus turned again to his father.
Luther’s smile faded when his son’s anxious episode drew his attention back down. “Are we out in the clear? Did the scans show you anything we should worry about?”
“Mr. Bishop, I don’t think there’s much cause for alarm,” the rabbit answered with an encouraging grin. “Thankfully, it also appears that his spinal cord didn’t suffer any noticeable damage from the impact. It’s remarkable, really. I expected so much worse given that his injuries facilitated the use of surgical staples. But if there’s any damage anywhere, it’s likely insignificant.”
It was then that a cacomistle in her mid-thirties appeared around the corner with a young child in tow. The ringtail cat took brisk, determined steps as she headed in their direction with a clear sense of purpose. The little girl who tailed her, a raccoon roughly six years of age with shoulder-length blonde hair, had no difficulty whatsoever maintaining the same pace. In fact, by the time they’d joined the other party, the girl had made her way out past the cacomistle and over to Tyson’s side. Trace stared at the new arrivals with mounting vexation as neither the cacomistle nor her young charge, like all the rest, bothered to act as if he was even there. The ermine bit down on his lower lip to stifle a scream that would surely come if he didn’t get a handle on his emotions soon enough.
“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that. I’m glad to know Tyson’s injuries aren’t that severe. I feared they’d even be life-threatening. Sorry,” she said with concern, her hand now outstretched. “I’m Kyla, Luther’s wife. My daughter and I just got back in town. As soon we heard the news, I rushed on over.”
“Hey Tyson,” said the little girl in a caring, inquisitive intonation. She leaned on one of the chair’s armrests to get a closer look. “Mom says you got metal in your head. Does it hurt?”
“Yeah, just a little,” the boy blushingly replied, somewhat embellishing the truth. “Not enough to make you worry though.”
Luther bent down and stepped in between the two children before she could climb over Tyson’s wheelchair while inspecting his injury.
“Sasha, honey, now’s not the time for that. Your brother’s really hurt.”
“And this is Sasha, Tyson’s sister,” said the ringtail cat. “I couldn’t keep her away once she knew what was wrong. Not that I would try. Once she knew her brother was hurt, that settled it.”
“Oh my, it’s a real family affair tonight. And I’m Dr. Kelley,” said the rabbit with marked diffidence, self-consciously fine-tuning the fabric of his navy-blue scrubs before he shook the woman’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Bishop.” Dr. Kelley then turned to face the girl who was distinctly displeased to be confined to such high places. “And it’s also a pleasure to meet you, too, little lady.”
The rabbit curled his hand into a fist and then presented it to the girl as a peace offering. Sasha first pursed her lips with indecision and then reluctantly gave the doctor the warm recognition of a fist-bump. The six year-old smiled weakly as she looked into his eyes and gave the doctor a polite, perfunctory glance before moving away from him to seek safety in her father’s embrace with newfound enthusiasm.
Dr. Kelley, unfazed by Sasha’s cold compliance, let his bright eyes and warm smile drift downward toward Tyson as he finished speaking with the boy’s parents. The young raccoon felt uneasy almost instantaneously. It was at that moment when the boy immediately understood why his little sister chose hesitation over excitement. It was nearly impossible to define, but the man’s face, for all its supposed warmth, conveyed with it an aura of inaccessibility that was simply unsettling.
“But yes, I think Tyson here really lucked out. His motor skills and cognitive faculties have been impaired by the ordeal, but that’s to be expected from a concussion. Such symptoms are not uncommon. Honestly though, as I said before, I expected so much worse, and yet there’s really nothing amiss aside from the wound itself.”
“That’s good news. Honestly, given what my husband told me, I feared the worst, but it’s good to know that the injuries could’ve been much worse given everything Tyson’s been through today.”
Suddenly a quick flash of light captured Trace’s interest. The light emanated from a thick leather bracelet stamped with a large metal plate that Tyson wore on his left wrist. “How did I not see that before? Was it the hoodie? No, he shouldn’t have it at all.” The ermine stayed by Tyson’s side the entire time, and at no point during admittance did anyone around them make mention of it. Nobody said a word when they fit the boy into his hospital gown.
The stoat clearly remembered a nurse tell the boy’s father that any jewelry would negatively affect the CT images, yet nobody bothered to make Tyson remove his bracelet. Trace ventured closer and saw that not only were there arcane markings on the metal plate but that a single glint of light traveled the course of each symbol at erratic speeds. “Is this where that sound is coming from?”
“Is there anything we should do in the coming days?” Luther interjected. “I want to make sure we can do the most to spur a speedy recovery.”
“Yes,” Kyla chimed in, tenderly kneading her stepson’s shoulder muscles, “what can we do tonight to help Tyson along and make him feel comfortable?”
“This might sound counterintuitive, Mr. and Mrs. Bishop, but right now Tyson needs rest. He’ll need time to rest and recuperate in the coming days. A full recovery may take anywhere from two weeks to about a month. I advise that you both reduce his amount of physical activity. Keep it to a bare minimum. I’d even recommend that Tyson be kept away from the computer or anything that would cause much in the way of mental strain. At least for a few days. Best to play it safe until we’re completely sure we’re safe; but I’m not too worried. Feel free to call me if he’s still dizzy in a couple days or his headache persists beyond the standard recovery period.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Bishop, “we won’t hesitate to call if anything goes awry.”
“As should be expected. Anyway, I’ll meet you all up front in a few minutes, and we’ll get Tyson promptly discharged in short order. I just need to have a word with one of my colleagues, but it shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes. It’s been a very long day for you all, I’m sure. And I don’t want to keep any of you here longer than absolutely necessary.”
“Sounds good to me. I need to tend to my family while you’re away, anyway. We should be ready by the time you get back,” the older raccoon said, lowering his daughter onto the ground. Sasha then scampered to her brother’s side while Luther took the wheelchair by the handles and waited for his wife to join them. “Oh Kyla, were you able to reach Marie? I was hoping she’d be free to watch Riley tonight, but she never called me back.”
“Dad? Can I please use your phone?” Tyson asked pitiably as his father slowly wheeled him down the hall. The young raccoon was about ready to fall asleep, but even then the boy hadn’t forgotten the reason why he’d been so upset for all this time. “Please. I need to call Daeja.”
“I got ahold of Marie through her mom,” said the ringtail cat reassuringly as she hugged the man she loved around the waist with one arm. “Don’t worry about it, Luther. I would’ve brought Riley along if I couldn’t get anyone else to babysit. Thankfully for us, she didn’t have plans. She came over right away.”
“Dad, please. Can I please use your phone? I have to make sure she’s okay!”
“Hold on, Ty,” said the older raccoon, abruptly changing the conversation. “Make sure who’s okay?”
“Please, dad. Please let me call Daeja,” the boy begged.
Luther Bishop furrowed his brow and stared at his son with the look of dismissive befuddlement.
“I have no idea who you’re talking about. Is she one of your friends from school?”
He was almost speechless. The implications of those words echoed in the recesses of the boy’s mind with promises of one last horrifying surprise to come. Tyson was about near the end of his rope, and the young raccoon felt that he’d let go entirely if they soon began to act like Daeja LaBrie, his best friend for the past four years, didn’t exist.
“Dad, it’s Daeja. She’s always at our house. What do you mean you don’t— “
“Tyson, you’re tired, and it’s very late.” the older raccoon interrupted. “You can call this girl in the morning. Right now, you need rest.”
The boy, with mouth agape, shrunk in the chair’s seat in the hope that he might disappear completely if he made his body small enough. Tyson was afraid and defeated. Now the raccoon’s own family wouldn’t listen. There was little else the boy could do until the new day dawned. All he wanted to do since they were first found was to get anyone in authority to help him find his friend. In Tyson’s mind that was now becoming one more lost cause, and it almost sent the boy over the edge with tears. Sasha sensed her brother’s overwhelming apprehension and hugged him while she tenderly kissed his forehead.
“You should take me with you the next time you run away,” Sasha asserted. “I’d keep you safe, Ty. You wouldn’t have bumped your head if you took me with you.”
Trace hung back, stood still and gazed upon the Bishops from afar with a loving yet concerned countenance. The ermine was glad to see them all together even under these trying conditions. He was just about to head down to meet them at the main desk when Trace was suddenly struck by the vacantness all around him. For the first time since they both surfaced from the depths of dense wilderness, everything was ruthlessly silent. His eyes frantically searched the room when that quality finally registered.
“The hum’s gone.”
“So, Trace, how do you think I did back there?”
It was like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. For a second the ermine just stood there, unable to comprehend what he just heard. Everything below the neck remained completely still as he slowly turned his head to face the rabbit. His eyes now wide and full of disbelief.
“Excuse me?”
Dr. Kelley then looked up from the open file folder in dramatic style, tilted his head and gave the ermine the same unseemly smile he’d given Sasha minutes earlier. And with its unsettling warmth he acknowledged the stoat with a keen interest that bordered on the obscene.
“I didn’t think I’d pull it off so well, but it sounds like they bought it. Anyway, I’m glad this fucker knew all the right things to say because he did not make it easy. I had to beat the right lines out of him. It’s irritating.” The doctor sighed with exhaustion and let the folder fall to the floor where the CT images scattered in every direction. The passageway that was once bustling with staff was now eerily deserted. “In fact, none of them made it easy: the cop, the ranger, the doctor. None of them. They all fought me in their own way, and it pisses me off to have wasted so much energy battling them individually. Like Kelley, for instance. The guy’s been screaming in here,” said the rabbit, now pointing to his head, “for two hours.”
“What are you?” Trace asked in a low voice full of frightened fervor.
The unseemly warmth then took a turn for the savage. All pretense of kindness had suddenly vanished with swift, cruel rapidity. What was left was a mischievous sneer that bore only the wickedest of intentions behind rows of glistening white teeth.
“Is this what you’d call method acting? ‘Cause you’ve been acting this way ever since I found you again, and I’m not sure just what to call it. Honestly, I thought for the longest time that you were ignoring me, but now I see what you’re up to. I’d love to see how far you take this thing, Trace. You’ve got big plans for the Bishops, I can tell, and I want to be part of the action. So, once we take what we came for, why not have a little fun?”
The ermine summoned his strength and forced the rest of his body to turn around to confront the rabbit with renewed confidence. “You won’t get anywhere near those people if I have anything to say about it. I don’t know what you are, but I’ll do everything in my power to keep them safe from people like you. I’ll put you down myself if you get too close. Count on it.”
The rabbit chuckled with flippant disregard. “I will say this, Trace. I do admire your commitment to this role. You’ve got some real talent here. You almost sound convincing.”
For whatever reason, the ermine was offended. It wasn’t so much that his threat wasn’t considered. No, it was as if the stoat was slighted by the very fact that this thing, whatever it was, could ever speak to him in such a friendly manner. Trace instinctively recoiled at the idea of having Dr. Kelley, or whatever this creature was that had stolen his identity, as an ally.
“I want to do some more shit around here before I up and jump ship. I just got here, and it’d be criminal to leave this place in such pristine condition. There’s so much you can do with all these sharp objects lying around. It’s beautiful, man,” said the rabbit with alarming alacrity, his bright eyes now luridly cheerful. He then shrugged off the rhetorical question and winked slyly at the stoat with the same previous perverse interest he’d purveyed the moment he first spoke. “But I’ll manage for the time being. Anyway, I need to take care of a few loose ends around here before I head your way. I’ll see you real soon, okay? Catch ya’ later, killer.”
The ermine glared at the rabbit with wary, vigilant zeal as the doctor smugly sauntered down the hall to turn a corner at its end. Trace had been so preoccupied with the man’s every movement that he was caught off guard when somebody from behind forcefully bumped his shoulder, a gray fox with medium-length silver hair, as they forged their own course down the same path the doctor had just taken.
Trace could see that this person hadn’t even bothered to turn around to make amends. He had kept his course, and it seemed nobody could distract the man from his mission. Trace’s curiosity and suspicion peaked after the stoat briefly observed the stranger’s clothing. He didn’t seem out of the ordinary with his ripped blue jeans, gray sweatshirt and yellow beanie cap. Unlike the others, this person was the only one that night who had interacted with him as if he were there. From his fleeting glance, the stoat didn’t see anything to cause an alarm, but Trace didn’t linger long enough to see if either would return. He simply took off in the opposite direction with great haste, suspiciously watching as hospital staff began to file past him. And like before, nobody seemed to notice.
***
Today’s events had left quite an impact on Trace’s psyche. The stoat had stood watch near the window which overlooked the driveway for the past hour. He stood there like a silent sentry as the young raccoon was fitfully put to bed by his doting stepmother. There was no way he was going to leave Tyson unattended now that the rabbit’s parting words had so thoroughly infiltrated his consciousness. He had to be ready for anyone or anything that might come after Tyson and his family now that such grave promises were made. They were both restless, and there was very little anyone could say that would get Tyson to calm down even as he was slowly blinking into unaccepted sleep.
“Trace, can I ask you a question?” Tyson meekly asked above the stuttering dial tone of the cordless phone the boy had cast off at the foot of his bed. The recording’s composed delivery droned constantly in the background, and its polite chanting was now drowning out what little the ermine could hear of the boy’s whispers:
‘I’m sorry, you’ve reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.’
“Yes, Tyson,” said the ermine with a small laugh as he moved away from the window. He wandered over to Tyson’s bed, his yellow Chuck Taylors creaking on the wooden planks, and took a knee so that the boy could see him at eye level. “You can ask me a question.”
“This might sound weird, but— “, the boy paused with palpable regret. It was clear that Tyson had wanted to ask this question for some time now but feared the response he’d get if his prying got the better of him, “—are you a ghost?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, I don’t feel like a ghost, but I really don’t know why all those people couldn’t see me. I wish I knew what to tell you, Ty, but I don’t have a clue. I don’t even remember my life before the forest. It’s all a blank.” Trace’s eyes landed on the phone, relentlessly directing the listener to a dead end street. “I know you’re eager to help your friend, but there’s very little you can do for Daeja right now.” The ermine leaned to snatch the cordless phone and craned his head back over to see that Tyson had fallen asleep in those brief instants.
“He did not just fall asleep on me. What a little shit,” Trace chuckled with incredulity as he gently placed a tender hand on Tyson’s head. “Man, he must’ve been out of it.” Trace took one last look at the noisy phone, and the orphaned number displaying on screen, before he mercifully silenced it.
—you have reached this recording in error, please check—
His heart dove down his throat the second he recognized the familiar hum that now filled the empty space. The polite chanting from the phone’s receiver and Tyson’s sleepy whispers had both masked the sonorous hum that was escalating with the fullness of a petrifying clock alarm. Trace gulped down any lingering fear, rose from the hardwood floor and headed straight for the closed door as the warbling sound intensified. The ermine steadily turned the knob, opened the door and peered cautiously into the unyielding darkness that now awaited him.
Trace knew where he had to go and what he had to do. The ermine closed Tyson’s door and calmly walked past the other sealed bedrooms and many family pictures that ornamentally hung with care from each wall on either side. He knew that his best view of the house interior from a guarding position would be from the top of the carpeted stairs at the hallway’s end. From there the stoat could see everything that might scurry its way up. Trace was wholly determined to reach this checkpoint at any cost.
In fact, the stoat’s determination to get there was single-minded that he was taken by surprise when Luther Bishop, in a muscle shirt and sweatpants, pulled him from behind the corner and thrust the stoat by the collar into the wall with a resounding thud.
“I want you to know, Trace, that I’m not angry with you,” said the older raccoon pressing the tip of his muzzle so deep into the ermine’s personal space that there could be no chance of any miscommunication. There was no doubt about it. Trace knew instantaneously that Luther Bishop was not the man now threatening his life. “I’m fuckin’ livid.”
With one ferocious motion, Luther tightened his grip and flung Trace down the stairs where the stoat’s body rolled then banked off every other step while wildly swerving into the railing’s stationary façade before crashing to the floor below in a bleeding heap.
“Now this is a suit. He may not look like a thug, but this kid’s pappy is very scrappy. Oh, and if any of the girls down at the salon ask about your cuts and bruises, just tell them you fell down the stairs. At least then it’d be fuckin’ accurate!” the creature screamed once it strutted over the last step. It kicked Trace square in the ribs and stomped all over his back with feverish ferocity as the stoat desperately tried to stand. The creature then lifted the ermine by the throat as it barked, accentuating the end of each sentence with punches to the stoat’s face and body.
“I want you to scream my name so the neighbors will hear. They sure as hell won’t hear you upstairs. I made sure of it. We have the house all to ourselves. I’ll take care of the Bishops later. You won’t keep all this fun to yourself.”
Battered and broken, the ermine raised a stubborn fist and was about to deliver a retaliatory blow when his conviction dithered suddenly. Trace knew deep down that this creature was not the same man who had embraced his son in a wheelchair. This person, this imposter, was not the same man who’d spent all day searching hither and yon for Tyson all over Ames, Iowa. It wasn’t the same man, but this thing would use the man’s body to not only kill Trace but likely everyone Tyson loved and held dear. Even then, even when his survival depended upon swift action, there was no way Trace could just as easily send one more of them back to the same hospital. He just couldn’t do it.
“C’mon, azazel, where’s your lust for battle? Where’s your rage?!” the creature joyfully yelled as he threw Trace across the room, where the ermine’s body slid against a glass coffee table next to a large plush couch. The creature casually strolled over and once more yanked the ermine up by his shirt’s collar. “Don’t tell me that you’re still acting! You can’t possibly want to hold back from striking down this yuppie cunt. C’mon, take a good swing!”
But the imposter didn’t even give him the chance to retaliate. The creature inhabiting Tyson’s father, without warning, brutally sent Trace’s body thundering right through the glass. The creature stood victoriously over Trace’s limp, decrepit body, beaten up and tattered in a myriad number of ways.
“I’m sure the Bishops must’ve wondered what happened to the good doctor after he didn’t bother to show his face,” it said quietly with staggering self-discipline. The creature didn’t take this time to gloat or revel in Trace’s defeat. Surprisingly, its voice became more controlled as it took on the timbre of a man betrayed. “I’m sure they wondered if he’d been called away on assignment. But you were all waved out the door, regardless. Am I right? Your friend just about smote me, you know that? I barely got out of there alive. I mean, you had to have seen him come my way. There was no other corridor. It was a one-way street. He likely manifested long before his little sneak attack. So where were you, Trace, huh? Where were you when I needed you the most? I thought we were in on this together. Did you ever mean what you said to me all those years ago?”
Trace stared up at the creature with profound confusion as his arms and legs began to twist and shake as if they were tethered by unseen strings. The stoat could feel an inexplicable energy surge first from his heart, reach his fingertips and then rush up to his mouth where it honed his teeth into long, serrated points. This resurrection the ermine felt was now building into a colossal powerhouse of strength that was quickly rejuvenating his weary flesh. He could feel this surge of raw power flood his veins with seething fury as the thing raised him up from the pile of shattered glass.
“And you may have missed him entirely. Who can say? At this point it doesn’t even matter. I just want somebody to hurt. And you’ve given me plenty of good reasons over the years to set my sights in your direction. I guess for now I’ll just have to settle for you as my tar—”
But the imposter would never finish his threat or bark back at anyone else who’d ever slighted him. There was no way he’d ever speak again now that the ermine had lunged his sharp teeth deep into his soft throat and buried them like an anchorage. Bright sparks of electric discharge spewed forth as Trace ripped the invading spirit out from its stolen home by the throat, allowing the raccoon’s body to fall onto the plush couch unharmed.
Now that its presence had been forcibly purged from Luther, the stoat could see the thing’s true form as a nebulously constructed humanoid shape with vaguely defined features. It was like he’d wrestled to the death with the ghostly vestige of a three-dimensional shadow. In the end, its appearance just wasn’t an issue for the stoat. Trace didn’t care what it looked like.
All that mattered was that the sweet taste of its blood had bound him body and soul. The black bile’s nourishing nectar seeped into his body from the vein and caused a frenzied reaction from deep within to roar to life. Trace tore away everything his claws could grasp. He tore skin from muscle and sinew from bone as the remnants of his kill disintegrated before him in a black cloud of ashy debris and glistening light that obscured his face with soot. Trace didn’t even notice or care that the end had come. He rocked back onto his feet and reeled wildly as he howled maniacally in an ecstatic trance.
Trace had been so spellbound by the black bile’s venomous effect that he’d lost track of his bearings. He failed to notice the hand that yanked him by the scruff of his neck and teleported the ermine to what appeared to be the neighborhood basketball court. Trace only took an interest in anything else when a blinding burst of white light exploded in his field of vision. The flash caused the ermine to tumble back onto the concrete. The trance was broken, and it was undone by the same unwavering individual who had bumped his shoulder in the hospital. The ermine could now see him, a gray fox around nineteen or twenty years-old, with every detail now revealed underneath the halo of a streetlamp.
“I really don’t know what to make of you, Trace. I don’t even know if that’s your real name, and honestly, I don’t care. It really doesn’t matter,” said the gray fox in a deceptively effeminate voice. He stood over the stupefied stoat in a commanding display of might, his eyes positively scorching with an irradiant violet. “But this has got to be the strangest day I’ve had in a very long time. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you’re going to leave. And I will gladly kick you out if you won’t go quietly. Give me one good reason for me to walk away.”
“Oh, just you try, motherfucker. It’s you, isn’t it? I knew you’d come back eventually.” The stoat strove back up after a great effort and swayed from side to side as both feet regained steady ground. “I don’t care if it kills me. I’m not going to let you hurt Tyson.”
“Just who are you trying to convince here? Who? Dude, you are not going to fool me, so just drop the act.” With the gray fox now scoffing at Trace’s act of defiance, at last, perplexity had given way to righteous anger. “Tyson’s not here right now, so why are you still acting like you’re protecting him? You will not convince me—even for one second—that our roles have been reversed. And don’t try to make me out to be the bad guy like you did back in the forest. You’re the reason why Tyson got hurt in the first place, so don’t make it seem like you bear no responsibility for what happened.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything! I was just trying to help and then suddenly you show up and attack us. How was any of that my fault?!”
The fox was deflated and taken aback by the sincerity he’d detected. The anger fell from his voice and was replaced with honest astonishment. The iridescent violet of his eyes had lapsed into a plain hazel hue. “This isn’t an act, is it? You really have no idea. If you do, then how can somebody like you ask that of me with a straight face? It makes no sense.”
“Somebody like me? Just who the hell do you think you are? You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
“You might be right, Trace. In the end, I think I may have done the right thing after all. I knew it was weird when Tyson cried over you. I’ve never seen anything like it. He didn’t think it was oppression. He really felt like you were protecting him.”
The ermine silently scrutinized the gray fox as he slowly walked closer, his eyes resuming their old violet credence. When the fox spoke again, his language reverberated with a bellow of numerous people speaking at once, and they grew louder with each ensuing second.
“It’s not often I get the chance to show a person like you any mercy, but it was the right choice to make. But there’s a chance I could be wrong. So, know this, Trace: if you lay a finger on him, if you harm him in any way, then I will hunt you down and finish what I started. Have I made myself abundantly clear?”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” said Trace through clenched teeth, grabbing the fox by his hoodie. “Tyson’s in good hands with me around.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I think you’ve given me one good reason,” said the mysterious fox with a kind grin, his original, effeminate voice now restored.
Those words were his last before the mysterious fox departed the scene like a gust of wind. The sudden change in weight distribution made the ermine fall back onto his bottom. For a moment, Trace sat there confounded by all things big and small. He looked directly into the radius of the halo and asked himself aloud, “G-g-g-g—od, what the hell is going on?”
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