Audio version of the original edit read on The Voice of Dog

Twenty minutes outside town, where silent woods mark the edges of dutifully kept farmland, a badger lives, haunted by constant ticking of the clock. On a calm October day, he looks to find colour beyond the dull hues of his stripes.

Edited by  wellifimust and  Psydrosis.

Thumbnail artwork by  RoSphix.

My tip jar.

Word count: 4,184

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My doctor told me badgers aren’t supposed to hibernate through the winter. I’m proving him wrong.

I’ve been writing a lot about Arthur this week. Some of those journals were letters for him.

My doctor told me it would help. I’ve found it among the few reasons I get up once the leaves fall and the days grow short. Those words offer a rehearsal for things I could say. With the aid of time and thought, they turn me into a poet like Arthur. I could never be half the man Arthur is.

I write about the numbness in my arm. The doctor suggested a nerve problem.

Could be. It comes and goes, acts up when I roll out of bed and thaws once I stretch my claws. The next thing I notice is the sun through the blinds, tracing long bars over an empty pillow. The rays meet my striped black-and-white pelt. My knees always twinge the same way when I drop out of bed.

I’m afraid of feeling broken.

I can fix other machines, but if my own engine sputters, it might take days for someone to notice. That’s life in the countryside. A morbid idea, but I’ve thought a long while about what else could go wrong without Arthur.

But finally, these thoughts meet with a faint hope in the back of my mind. Escape–a loose thread dangling at the seams of my everyday facade. Me, a badger finding grey hairs splitting the black-and-white, worrying about my health. Me, entrusted with a secret.

It was a fall morning, about two months ago to the day. A loose thread hung under the collar of my bedrobe; I snagged it off with a claw. The sun rose too high to draw itself on the bed. Instead, it paved a road along the carpet to the fuzzy pink slippers discarded beside an open closet door. Arthur loved to make fun of this clashing attire. That teasing only reduced the chance I’d ever let them go. I put on the offending items and shuffled my way to the mirror.

Muzzle—still striped like usual. Always had to check these days to make sure my eyes weren’t going. I tied the robe up front, before raking a claw through dark fur to give it that combed-back look. Arthur called it my “fifties bad boy style”, like I was one of those rock ‘n’ roll heartbreakers picking up ladies. I guess I had one thing in common with my parents’ lifestyle after all.

The great pilgrimage from bed took me straight to the holy coffee machine. I set it to brew for the usual amount. With the coffee on, I strolled over to the calendar beside the backyard door.

October was always a dull month. Weeks in our little hollow counted themselves in cars pulling into my shop. It isn’t too hard to get here on foot. Climb the nearest mountain range by the airport, walk along twelve miles of sparsely-paved road, trespass through some farmland, and you’d soon find yourself at this stodgy roadstop. There was still something in this month, right around the time the first leaves fell. I looked away from the circled date in favor of breakfast.

I always loved mornings, but I wasn’t a breakfast guy. I looked at those fancy rich guy hotel breakfasts the same way I saw a slice of toast. I remember one time before we got engaged, Arthur took me to a ski resort up north. I woke up to some kind of mixed fruit tray in the morning. I pretended it was a breakthrough just to see the look on his face: wide-eyed, with a rare, childlike excitement over his cool reptilian appearance. He must’ve thought he finally solved ol’ Gord. I found myself fiddling with my ring.

He might’ve been putting it on, though. Arthur always told me that was part of what made me sweet: the sacrifices, large and small. I could bottle up emotion to replace a starter or patch a tire, but Arthur knew the right words to release that valve.

The pop of the toaster wrenched me back in the moment. I buttered it and crammed it into my mouth. Then someone knocked on the door in three quick raps.

The butter dripped down my chin. I shot an instinctual glance at my parents’ old broken grandfather clock. They offered it to me if I could repair it, and I stuck it in the kitchen. It never seemed to keep working no matter how I fiddled with it. I knew a customer wouldn’t poke a badger at this hour, but I scrambled to the counter to grab anything to wipe my mouth.

I stumbled my way through the hallway in my dumb slippers as several more knocks banged the door. An agitated growl rose in my throat. Then it stopped, and my heart almost did too. I almost ripped the frosted glass door off its hinges.

There, a slim teal lizard stood in his usual orange coat. He wore a shrewd grin and held a palm of pink flowers behind the netted screen door.

“Happy anniversary!” he announced in that rich, gravelly voice of his. I met his eyes, narrow enough to hide his orange scleras. He wore a possessive smile.

I was already crushing him in a hug. “Oh my god, Art.”

His arms found their place under mine, breath raspy as we clung to each other. “Oof. I got you some, uh—” he tapped my back, so I loosened my grip and leaned back enough to look him in the eye. “I went...scavenging...a bit, and I picked you some peonies. I thought they looked delightful in the dew.”

I pressed against him and closed my eyes, as if he were a mirage that would fade between my fingers. He held the embrace, if softer, before we broke apart and I yanked him inside.

He gazed around the front hall. I took one last close look outside, scouring for his tracks, finding nothing obvious. I let the screen door swing shut as I turned back.

“Ah, I…” I hesitated, scanning up and down his worn, dirt-stained clothes to his scuffed black shoes. “I can vacuum later. You sit down in the kitchen and I’ll get you warmed up.”

His analytical look turned into a compassionate nod. As he strode along, I set the lock on the door.

I ambled my way down the hallway behind him, fixing myself in the mirror, when the coffee machine beeped. In the kitchen, Arthur sat in the far chair of the dining table, spinning the peonies between his fingers. His eyes fixed on the ticking grandfather clock.

“I figured you’d already have some flowers on the table.” He inclined his head to the kitchen counter. “New coffee machine, though?”

“Yup, got it a month ago.” I made a beeline for the cabinets, fishing out the first jar available and setting it under the tap. “Old one was acting up. Could’ve fixed it myself, but I figured it was ancient, and I wanted to give ourselves a little treat.” With the jar filled halfway, I made my way to the table and set it down so he could put the flowers in. “Does that make us old? Being excited over appliances?”

His scoff made me light up like the first sight of spring. I was pacing like there was a lightning bug buzzing around in my chest. Arthur flashed amusement.

“You want coffee?” I asked, drifting back to the machine.

I was already grabbing two mugs by the time he could agree. I measured spoonfuls of sugar over his trademark “World’s Best Dad” mug (we didn’t have any kids, but he thought it was funny). When I finished, I carried them to the table and set them down, taking the seat closest to Arthur.

His slitted black irises glimmered. “You brewed all that for yourself?” His hand felt cold when he found mine and squeezed it. “No wonder you’re getting fat.”

“Hey!” I slapped his hand. “I planned to smuggle some of it in! You think I’d forget our dear old anniversary?” I sent him a wistful look.

Arthur blew the faint steam of his mug. It took the slight twist of his wrist before I noticed the red staining the handle.

“Wait, hun, you’re bleeding.”

He swallowed, then set the mug down with a sigh. “Damn it. I was trying to hide it. It’s not that bad.”

He stretched out his hand to me. A shallow gash ran through his scales from his palm to his lower wrist. It wasn’t that bad, but I missed this feeling. “Here, let me—”

“No, wait.” His face lost its mischief. “If they caught me with anything…” his glance flicked away. “They wouldn’t do anything to me, but with evidence you helped…”

“You think our hick sheriff’s gonna DNA test some bandages?”

He reeled back and hissed. “I can’t make things worse for you two.”

I squinted at him. “They’ll find out the same if you bleed on the table.”

“Fine,” Arthur sighed. I took a long sip of coffee. “I can’t imagine you getting caught and still climbing out with me. At least not as long as you drink four cups a morning!”

I strode to the linen closet and scoured for something I didn’t mind staining. Reaching for a suitable towel, I pondered what he said. Returning, I watched his vacant stare out the window. “You climbed out again?”

Arthur shrugged and let me dampen his injury. His gaze fastened on my ring. “Wasn’t my best work. It’s always the barbed wire that’ll getcha.” His smile grew into an infectious toothy grin.

“That’s kinda how barbed wire works!”

“Didn’t work well enough this time.”

I sat back down beside him while he savoured more of the drink. “It never does, huh?”

“Well, they shouldn’t’ve built a fence if they didn’t want me to climb it!”

“The fools they are.”

Arthur chuckled. Then a sharp buzz made me jump. Immediately, I shot a glance at the backyard. No movement. Just leaves. Tornadoes on the grass; I squinted to the distance. Nothing. I still didn’t trust it. Arthur followed my look, before he swallowed and peered at the phone rustling on the counter. I walked over, hesitating before peeking at the number. I had a feeling. I didn’t want to confirm it. Before the ringing could subside, I did. The rugged edge of a growl scratched against my throat.

“Answer it.”

Arthur leaned forward, arms on the table. Slow breaths. I nodded and picked up the phone, ignoring my heart rate and the caller ID. “Good morning!” I whistled. “This is Flynn’s Auto—”

“Gord, you have your radio on?” a gruff voice cut in.

Elbows perched on the counter, I scratched my chin. “No, I don’t have any replacements on me right now, though I can check in the shop.”

He ignored me. “Three inmates broke out earlier. I’m calling to let you know.” He paused, then went on. “One of them’s the lizard.”

All it took was that growl. Every time, it reduced me to a kid getting caught with the cookie jar. It didn’t matter how far I got from him in life. I planted my feet to keep my legs from shaking.

I scratched my arm, working myself back up to break the silence. “That’s terrible.” I met Arthur’s eyes across the room, which flicked from the table to me. “I’ll keep an eye out for ‘em. I, uh...how’s Mom’s wrist doing?”

“We didn’t see ‘em leave, but they were missing from their bunks this morning. They might’ve crossed the creek.” He trailed off before his voice lost some of his guardedness. “Oh, Hilda’s doing good. Only got four weeks left in the cast.”

“Tell her I love her when you get home.”

“Sure.”

Every second I stalled felt like its own arduous lifetime. The phone was a weight in my hand, and I couldn’t stand another second imagining the other end of the call. So I gazed over a sitting Arthur, cozy in his chair. Light grazed the tips of the pink peony petals and dimmed as the clouds passed overhead. I closed my eyes as a wave of emotion gripped me.

“I love you, Dad,” I said. “I love both of you.”

In the returning silence, I caught an expletive growled away from the phone speaker. His voice returned rough and raw.

“I love you too, Gord. We’re coming over.”

I clicked off the phone and let it slip flat on the counter.

My stripes peered back disappointed in that empty black screen. I tried to compose myself before I could plod back to the table. “So, what do you wanna do?”

“Hm, not much we have time for,” Arthur mused, setting his drink down and tapping the table with his long fingers. “I’d love to head into town, stop by some brunch buffet, and go shopping. We could buy something to replace this heinous jumpsuit.” He picked at the orange fabric on his chest.

“Aha, I’d love to! Next time I’m down there I could grab something for the drawer.” I enunciated it all nefarious, like I always did talking about my stash of birthday gifts for him each year.

His gaze softened. He stood up and nudged the chair back. In an instant, he slid onto my lap, wrapping his uninjured hand around my neck and leaning against me. He kissed me, and I imagined the things I would do with him if we could. Somewhere in the distance, our future someplace free, where quietness refreshed the senses. Somewhere warmer—a climate he could better stand. He’d made the sacrifice to stay once upon a time. I’d say we’re about even on sacrifices. But I’m always stuck in my mind. With him in my lap, I let myself slip back into reality. We broke away for a moment.

"Six more years,” I groaned.

Arthur’s mystical black eyes looked away, measuring a thought, before focusing back on me. “As I was frolicking about through Mr. Miville’s farm, finding my way here…” He looked down the front hall and back outside. “I was thinking about how nice of a place we chose to call home.”

I watched him, cherishing his presence.

“The orange-dyed trees, the rickety wooden fences, the golden seas of wheat stretching over hills of rising sunlight.” He wore a familiar smile. “It’s a shame we’ll be leaving it all soon.”

I held my grip on his back and closed my eyes.

“I broke out of there with Kenneth and Varden today. We split off to cover Ken’s trail. His daughter’s waiting at the eastern border, and all bets are off if he crosses near the sea.”

When I opened my eyes, I saw that passionate glimmer return to his.

“He never killed anyone. We’re gonna free him, Gordy. They aren’t catching him. He didn’t do anything.” His arm tightened around me and he massaged my shoulder.

We stayed like that for a while, free together. Right up until the turn of the hour.

The dull, repetitive droning of the grandfather clock sounded through the kitchen. It shook us out of our hug. He stepped off my lap, then offered his good hand to help me up.

“Your dad,” Arthur muttered, “if he finds me here…” he shook his head. “Thanks for the coffee, hun. If anyone smells me, say I held you at knifepoint.”

“I’m sure you would, had I given you the chance.”

He nodded. “I can escape as much as I want in this town. If they wanted to stop me, they’d try harder.” He removed the cloth, inspecting the cut again. “I know your dad, and I know what he’d do. But he knows me too.”

My glance shifted to the pink flowers peeking out of the makeshift vase beyond his side. Escaping never worsened a sentence. It was in our nature to escape from confinement. I found myself chuckling. “Never change, Art.”

He dropped the towel on the table and I followed him to the backyard door. When he turned around, his eyes glistened with the warning of tears.

“You too, Gord,” he soothed. “Hang in there.”

We met in another tight hug, shoulder-to-shoulder, our backs arched. I sniffed his scent, capturing as much of it as I could with the knowledge that it’d soon be leaving. The jumpsuit felt rough in my hands, but I let my fingers trace his back through the fabric. With it, a scarce memory drifted back to me. Far away, it was the first time I took in his scent like this and felt his back in a hug. It was us, a pair of friends from school—him, agonizing about whether to move back home. That moment, and the moment after that, and every choice to follow, would become our life. Mismatched creatures. He stayed for me.

Arthur squeezed me. I felt the breath of his sigh against my chest.

“I’ll make it out of there for good some day,” he whispered against my ear, “and we’re gonna move somewhere. It’ll be a while, but it won’t be forever. I’m gonna go free.” He exhaled, rustling the fur on my neck, “I’m gonna free you. I’m gonna free you too, Gordy.”

“As long as it takes.”

He kissed me again, picking at the fluff of my robe.

As we broke apart, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve, pulling aside the curtain with his other hand. He opened the door to the rush of a breeze, then glanced back at me before his first step back into the wild. “Love you.”

I swallowed. “Love you, too. And thanks for the flowers.”

He shot back a flimsy wink, then stepped out the door. He grasped the handle like he was about to close it.

“By the way,” he declared, “your slippers look ridiculous.”

The door flew shut as he sprinted down the porch. He waved and raced across the yard before ducking into the woods behind our house.

I smiled. On some days, he made me feel like ripping my fur out; on others, I would run across the continent for him. The time lost to our arrangement kept us from ever growing tired of each other. I’m sure he grew tired of sleeping on single-inch mattresses for the past half-decade.

I watched the soothing sway of trees, imagining Arthur returning with more flowers. Leaves fell, drifting onto unmaintained grass. Sure, I’d hire someone every once in a while, but I didn’t know anyone in this town. Not anymore. The work made me think of him and how lonely it could feel. I still thought about the empty pillow, the ski resort, and the classes we used to snore through together. With a shake of my head, I grabbed the edges of the curtains and closed them.

I drained my mug, staring down at Arthur’s half-finished drink. I was mindful of cleaning that up, washing our glasses and placing them back exactly where they were. I deposited the rag into the washing machine a couple rooms down. Only once I finished and crept halfway up the stairs to get dressed, three knocks pounded on the door.

My brisk walk to answer it slowed as I recognized black-and-white fur behind the frosted glass. I unlocked the door and cracked it open.

On the other side towered a stocky badger in a brown leather jacket and sheriff’s hat. There was a police car behind him, pulled up on the pavement. A pair of bears in the same navy blue stood behind him, glinting badges. I knew this was coming, but my mouth clamped shut. I straightened myself up.

“Hey, son,” Dad grunted in his brusque voice. He was getting shorter with age, though he still stood a couple inches over me.

“Hey, Dad.”

His brown eyes studied my robe. “You get out of bed?”

“Slept in a bit.” I glanced toward some incoming clouds. “Hard to get up on weekends, y’know?”

“Not for church.” His face betrayed no emotion. “We scouted the area. Saw some footsteps heading north from your house.” One of his eyebrows raised. “Did anyone suspicious show up here this morning?”

“Hm? What? No, I—” An idea hit me. “Oh, I was out in the forest last night; I was trying to see the stars. You know which planets were overhead last night?”

He frowned. “Dangerous time to go out. You never know what’s out there this time of year.”

I shrugged.

“You sure you didn’t see anyone? Stan Miville said he thought he saw a pair creepin’ through his farm this morning.”

My heart pounded through my ribs as I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my robe.

“Nah,” I answered, forcing my voice to stay even and ears to stay up, “don’t you think they would’ve broken away from town? Doesn’t make a whole lotta sense to snoop around here—especially if they know I’ve got you on speed dial.”

His dull look didn’t change. “Why would they know that?”

I opened my mouth. Then I shut it. I tapped my hands against each other as I looked at his car.

“Mmm...no reason, right?” he grumbled.

“I—uh…”

“Nah.” He cracked a rare smile. “I’m teasin’ ya. Don’t take it personally.” His arms spread wide, beckoning me in. “Love ya, son.”

I hesitated for a moment before shuffling into the hug. His beefy arms slid under mine, clutching me while I squinted over his shoulder at his companions. They stared back at me, whispering to each other. When I was ready to break away, he held the hug for another moment, prodding his nose against my—

Panic clutched me and I squirmed. He took a deep, laborious sniff into the shoulder of my robe.

He let go and spun away from me in an instant. Once again reduced to a kid, I watched him step, step, step, ambling down my porch. At the bottom, he stopped. He stood tall with his hands in his pockets, surveying the land. I clutched the doorframe through the torturous seconds. I couldn't feel it anymore. I wanted to run away from him. I wanted to stand up and fight. I took a step forward, but he didn’t look back. He tugged down the brim of his hat.

“Nope. No one around here, fellas.” He waltzed all the way to the driver’s seat. The two other cops followed him: one waving at me, the other sparing a skeptical glance. Each of their doors slammed shut. Then the car was gone.

I breathed in and slumped back into the house. I still held onto the doorframe, shut away from the whirling breeze. The house lived in silence, haunted by the faint scent of Arthur. I followed the smell until I stood in the doorway, alien to my own kitchen.

My stride continued to the table, where I crept around to his chair, still pulled out, away from the others. I sat down where he did, working through it all, letting the feeling return to my arm. I stared around the kitchen. Funneled light traced the dead hands of the grandfather clock. Below, the jar of peonies caught my eye. I pulled out a flower between two fingers.

A wave of brilliant, frilly pink petals rose from its densely-leaved stem, protecting the stamens in the middle. For the first time, I noticed its scent over Arthur’s: faint, but sweet.

I closed my eyes, imagining Arthur crouching on someone’s lawn at the crack of daylight. He dirtied the shins of his jumpsuit, distracted by the sunrise, composing poetry in his head. I imagined him, indifferent to his own injury, strolling through the woods near our house. He knew that he’d make it in time to see me—still confident that he held the window open for someone else’s escape.

I thought about him sitting where I sat, teasing me as he did, satisfied that he outsmarted the system yet again. The warmth returned when I thought about him surprising me before I could even drive to the prison to greet him. But for now, I was alone, holding the memory of him against me.

I twisted the peony in my claws and took one last whiff before I let it slip back into the vase.