In this chapter, Jack and Rayne reconcile with one another and reevaluate what exactly just happened. Jack is weak but growing strong and Rayne is no longer as distant. Finally both meet at a very accepted midpoint and begin to plan to move on into the future.

Alright, I'm not sure why this chapter took so damned long, it just did. School's been a bitch, with two books to entirely read, five essays to do, a bunch of book work, several tests and a couple other papers all due in just two weeks. It's been hell and I'm just glad I got this done. This is probably the chapter that most of you will like, though I'm not exactly sure if I'm entirely happy with what I've got done. Anyways, there isn't much left of the novel and I'll probably be looking for an agent/publishing company soon. I just want to thank you all, for those of you who have been able to keep up, for staying with it. It's a feat that anybody reads anymore and when I see that 70 or however many people have read it, it makes me smile. With each favorite it makes my hope in humanity grow a bit. Every comment is special. So anyways, for those of you who have the time, leave some suggestions on how to promote this thing. The furry community is really what I want to focus on. I want to be the first furry novelist who is respected, who presents the fandom in a good light and who makes us all seem like normal people, just with different interests. With your help, I think I can do that. Thank you.
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Chapter 17: And In The Morning, When I Rise . . .

It was a really strange dream that I had, which is strange in itself because I don’t ever have dreams. I remember riding through a blackened forest upon a rickety carriage. The carriage, made of fine wood which had been aged into disrepair, was a rotting old thing styled somewhere between a brougham and a full coach. Its heavy four-door body rested upon a creaking iron leaf spring suspension weighted down onto four high black wheels. It had many windows on the side but none on the back, but it didn’t really matter, they were painted over black anyways.
The paint had been nicked so many times that the wood showed through. Even on the cracked glass, the paint was wearing away, some of it appearing as if the fingernails of a man had ratcheted themselves down the surface. The metal was entirely rusting off, the leather covering where the baggage would be stored in the back was flapping in the wind and the yoke appeared like it would break.
The carriage was led by a team of six night-black horses, all of them as big as truck and with power in each enough to rip the brick wall out of the side of a house. Their long hair, miserable and unkempt, waved as their muscled bodies dragged the carriage along at breakneck speed. Wind whipped from their nostrils, casting out black smoke like that of a steam engine. Their eyes were bloodied and red, their teeth yellow.
In my hand was a long bullwhip which would make Henry Jones smile, and on my head the wide-brimmed Stetson taken from Bill Hickok and my back was covered with a leather jacket borrowed from James Dean. I was crouched down in the very center of the driver’s seat, my hand twisting and turning over the leather strap that attached me to that team ahead. I could feel something terribly wrong. There was a tension in my muscles, an ache in my head, and a pop in my ears. A thick air rushed in and out of my lungs and a cool chill ran over my skin with long, prickly fingers.
Lifting my eyes up, I stared upwards towards the trees that lined the solitary dirt road along which I sped. The trees were tall, immensely tall, and their branches which stuck out over the road like razor blades cut out the sky from my sight. Their trunks were planted so close together that spying anything between them was impossible, yet there was a strange sense of being watched emanating from them.
The horses all screamed and bulked their heads backwards, prompting me to turn my eyes back to them. I stared forward and could see something in the distance. There was a bridge reaching over a ravine nearly twenty feet across. On the other side, the grass was green; the sky shown a marvelous navy blue and the road was paved with marble bricks. Reeling back my arms, I cracked the whip three times and demanded the horses continue forward.
Suddenly something made me turn my head and stare over my shoulder. I have the overwhelming feeling that something was behind me, chasing me, dogging my heels and ready to take me down like a Thompson Gazelle. But the blackness, which slammed down onto the ground just six feet behind the charging carriage, hiding whatever deadly entity skulked there, was too thick to even peer through.
Whipping my head back, I focused on that bridge out in front of me. The horses charged on, driven by whatever it was they held within their mind, be it avoiding the whip, or getting away from the same thing that I wished to escape. The black tunnel which seemed to be closing as we neared the bridge narrowed and seemingly stretched itself out.
I watched the bridge ahead begin to narrow and shake before finally crumbling and disappearing down into the shadowy ravine. Now that twenty foot gap was impassable, but I did not slow down that team, though I thought of it. Glancing over my shoulder, I knew that I couldn’t stop, but I also knew that I couldn’t keep going. I was stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea.
At the very foot of that cliff I could see from the seat of that carriage what appeared to be a large indent. It lowered itself nearly two feet down before lifting back upwards as it came to the edge. Swallowing hard and pushing that hat down onto my skull, I decided as to what I would do.
I reeled the whip back like a fishing rod and whipped it down onto the team again and again, somehow believing that this thing could go faster. The carriage lurched forward, thrusting me back into the wall of the cab. The coach dashed forward, the only sound the crack of the whip, which with the right interval, sounded like the clickity-clack of an Underwood.
The team bore down on its target and as we neared it, I hunkered down in my seat and just hoped to whatever entity would be listening that we would make it. The horses delved down into the rut and then leaped forward, the heavy carriage following just moments afterwards.
My weight could be felt in my gut as the carriage dived down and then sprung up out of that hole. Then my weight couldn’t be felt at all as the entire train leaped out over the hole. Halfway across, I dared not to turn my eyes down and instead looked across to the beautiful land in which I would land. But as the train approached its landing, the first hooves of the leading horse landed down and prepared to lead the entire vehicle to safety, I heard a crash and my entire being jerked itself.
My eyes open gently and I feel my lungs convulse, spitting a lot of water out into my mouth to be swallowed with a cringe. Thunder rolls through the darkness and then the light sound of rain tapping on the roof can be heard from all around me. My eyes take awhile to get used to the darkness, but I feel almost surprised that I have darkness to get used to.
My cold body returns to realm of my conscious and the chill makes me shiver. A blanket which has been rolled up and over me becomes something of security to me and quickly I hug it tightly to my body with tired, weak arms. The drying fur of my body crunches as I roll onto my side to stare forward, the darkness becoming clear.
I see the metal wall of the inside of the camper, up where the bed is in the large compartment above the cab. A wooden floor, which creeps from the wall all the way up to the edge of the mattress, wraps around the entire bed. The mattress itself is sunk down into the floor. A window which looks out onto the motel parking lot shows me the gentle, pouring rain outside.
Slowly my mind begins to come back and the thoughts begin to pour out. First of all, I can’t believe that I didn’t die. I can’t believe I screwed that up, he was right! Or was he? I feel so strange now, like a huge boulder has been lifted from my aching back. I don’t feel his presence anymore. It’s like he’s gone, finally gone after so many years.
I breathe a sigh of relief at that thought and then close my eyes to lie in comfort. From the bottom of my heart, I feel a gladness rise up, a thankfulness that I have been saved from my own confusion and sorrow. And I know exactly who did it, though why she did it is still a profound question.
A rustling sound reaches from beyond the end of my feet and I hear gentle footsteps coming towards me, making the near silent scraping of paw pads against wood. Rolling back onto my back, I lay flat against the mattress, my arms still grabbing onto that blanket and my head propped slightly against the pillows shoved beneath it.
Rayne, disturbed by the noise I no doubt have made upon awakening, has begun to come towards me. The scraping of metal reaches my ears, telling me she is climbing the little ladder to the loft, and suddenly I realize that I have been stripped. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I pull my legs together, my tail rising up to cover myself up. Then I hug my arms together over my body and pull the blanket taut against my fur.
“Jack?” I hear her voice ask through the darkness. “Are you . . . are you awake?”
I lick my lips and take a deep breath, not knowing what to say, or even how to say it. How could I possibly explain what I did to her, or ask why she did what she did in response? A few moments ago, I desperately wanted to speak with her, see her, be with her, but now I feel stupid and selfish, wishing only to be isolated once more. Not hearing an immediate response, she climbs up the steps and then sits down, letting her legs dangle over the edge.
“I . . .” I suddenly squeak out. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no, please.” She says softly. “I don’t want to understand what you did or why you did it. The things we feel inside can be so overwhelming that we cannot think of anything but what you did. I don’t need to know.”
There is silence for a little while, the awkwardness covered up by the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof. The weather, which is most likely exactly the same as before, now seems more benign than it was before. Has the rain gone down, or has my perception of it changed? I don’t really know, everything has been so confusing lately, so unreal.
“Thank you,” I say, almost ashamed of myself for having to do it, “for saving me. I know it was you, grabbed my arms.”
She chuckles a little bit but covers it with a fake cough. I lower my muzzle and peer at her, scooting backwards somewhat so that I can see her a bit better. She sits with her back towards me, her head bowed down and her arms clasped together in her lap. Her eyes do not look directly at me, but the corners twinkle, letting me know she has her pupils pinned on me.
“I was just . . . I was so sad.” I confide with her, softly at first. “When Dad died, I didn’t know what to do. I blamed myself because it was summer and he promised to go to the races with me. But work called and . . . and he broke the promise. I didn’t make him stay . . . I didn’t know. He never came back. He was crushed in a machine that makes I-bars at the steel mill. We didn’t even have a funeral . . . there was nothing to bury. Mom tried to hide it from me for awhile, but I knew. I was twelve, I knew better. I knew instantly and it . . . it ruined me. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“No, I know you didn’t.” Rayne says, rusting her arms as she rubs up and down her exposed forearms, finally taking a glance towards me. “The reason I went to Blackjack was because my Dad died. My Dad was a really rich man, a really rich man, a developer. He and Mom split when I was eight and she went to live in Myrtle Beach, took half of everything, became a drunk. He remarried and two years ago he died. He had cancer and after two months, I held his hand as he went cold and passed. My step monster took everything, nailed down or not. She kicked me out, said the streets would teach me a lesson like it did to her. She gave me a backpack of my clothes and a bus ticket to my Mom’s house. She even took things that were mine, the bitch; I hope she gets hit by a bus. I traded it, went to Texas and found Blackjack. Been with him ever since.”
I suddenly feel a little bit better, knowing that the both of us have something in common that I would never have guessed before. Sitting up a bit more, I pull one of my arms out of the blanket, no longer feeling cold, having had already most of the water run out into the sheets and mattress and dry up. Rayne pulls her legs slowly up onto the ledge and wraps her arms around them, her tail slowly wiping clean the wooden floor which wraps the bed.
“I went there because my Mom who wants to remarry to get us out of poverty is about to marry a slime ball. She’s sacrificing herself to save me, but, I don’t want her to. She sent me away so I wouldn’t kill him.” I say a little louder, with more confidence, but still feeling ashamed somewhat. “Well, since Dad died I . . . I must have developed some disorder. This other person would talk to me, one only I could see. But I could only see him in mirrors, polished metal, anything that could reflect something and he always looked like me, no matter what. He was nice at first, this mirror-self. But then he became abusive, revealed all the things I hated about myself, became them. Finally he became so abusive that he pushed me to the edge and beyond.”
Rayne lifts her chin from her arms and turns towards me, her black hair bobbing around in the darkness, juxtaposed against that almost luminescent silver fur. Her big blue eyes bore down on me and she tilts her head gently towards the side.
“Was that who you were screaming at in that church awhile back?” Rayne asks me.
“Yeah, it was.” I say. “I know . . . I must have looked like a whack job.”
“Yeah, you did.” She says with a playful chuckle. “It was pretty scary, but, it didn’t sound like you were saying horrible things, only the other person, like you were arguing against everything he said. Is he still here?”
“No.” I say quickly. “No he’s . . . I feel like he’s gone. After I fell in . . . the river, that is . . . I passed through the shade he had become. I don’t feel him anymore, weighing down on my heart. It’s like he’s finally been conquered.”
“That’s good.” Rayne says, letting her arms relax at her side to come down and support her sitting position, straightening out like a bipod behind her back. “And I’m sorry I got angry at you, for demanding you to kill family. I didn’t know about your dad and I’m sorry I ever demanded anyone to kill family for any reason.”
We are both silent for the longest time, a thick, hazy, uncomfortable silence. I lie, watching her turn her head and begin staring off into the darkness down in the main area of the camper. What little light there is which the night makes by itself, glimmers off of her fur, off every little grain of silvery dust pulled to cover her beautiful body. Her chest rises and falls, moving completely independent of the rhythm of the rain outside, while mine almost copies it.
Her long, sinewy arms stretch down to the ground, the light dipping down into every curve and rising up over the hills, caressing each muscle as she were pure silk. The claws at the end have been filed down and well kept, gray and black pervading them. The natural curvature of her form strikes me and holds me down. I swallow a tennis ball and feel it roll down into the pit of my being.
“Why did you save me?” I ask my lips and tongue saying the question that has been clawing at the walls of my subconscious.
Suddenly Rayne slowly turns her head around and those big blue eyes are planted onto mine like spotlights from a prison guard tower. The pupils shake around as if she wasn’t expecting those words to utter from my lips. Her whiskers turn south and then her jaw opens up, her lips pursing to try to form words which refuse to come.
“I mean, I don’t understand.” I continue. “I treat you like shit, curse at you, try to force you out, put you in danger and still you risk your life to save me from myself. I can tell that you don’t really want to be with me, God knows nobody does. Why didn’t you let the worst thing to scathe the face of this planet drown? What redemption do I deserve?”
Rayne’s lips clamp shut and I see her eyelids go taut around her eyes, as if she wants to slam them shut, avert her face from my view and weep. I see that I have yet again brought her some pain, the only thing that I seem to be able to do adequately. But then her eyes become clear and she turns her body around entirely to face me. Once she puts her paws down onto that floor, her arms holding her steady, she stares at me with complete confidence.
“Because people aren’t always what they seem to be and the things they do aren’t always their own faults. Freud said that people take the vast failures of their parents and anguishes of experiences and turn them into common unhappiness and anger. I feel like I’ve done the same thing, only with isolation from the world. The reason I came to you was . . . was because I felt like we both had something in common which no other people can possibly share. When Blackjack turned me into this monster, I was shocked, but I became used to it. It was like what was outside finally reflected the inside. It was weird that he did the same thing to you and . . . you caught my eye.
“You were miserable to me, sure, but you weren’t hateful. You were angry at me for being there, but did everything to try to make it up. I felt comfortable around you and when I left, so did the comfort and confidence. I met a man in town, a young man with long black hair, a thick moustache and a matching goatee. He was wearing bell bottom white pants, black leather shoes and a broad-collar shirt, like right out of 1972. He stopped me without ever seeing this furry body and asked me what was wrong. I told him and he said that if I left now, that both of us would suffer, but you more than I. He told me if I didn’t go back and reconcile now, that you would forever be under the earth and I forever above it. He pulled a pocket watch, stared at it, told me to wipe my face of tears and when I looked back up he was gone. I came back at the moment you jumped. I just didn’t want to see you die, not now, not this way.”
I think about what she said and wonder if that man was the same that I saw, another magic man, or maybe Blackjack playing another sick game. But it’s weird, the way she described the person she saw, he seems familiar to me as well. Both of them seem so close to my mind, yet far enough away that I’ll never think of the name. C.W. is such a strange thing, I don’t know anybody by those initials. Then I look to Rayne and scoot upwards almost entirely into a sitting position.
She has turned her head down since, her eyes staring between her legs, which are making a little bridge onto the end of the mattress, and has begun staring into the floor. I’m not sure what to say anymore, no amount of thanks could even describe how I feel inside. So instead, I lean forward and reach my right hand out across the blankets.
Touching the edge of her shoes, curving around her paws, I grab the edge and get her attention. She whips her head up and looks to me with a surprised glance. This is the first time that I have even touched her in a meaningful way. She wipes her eyes with her exposed arm and then sniffles.
Lifting my arm upwards, I turn the black pads of my fingers and hand towards the roof of the camper and invite her hand. Slowly she reaches out, her fingers shaking, and lays her delicate little hand within mine. Gently I wrap my fingers around her hand and begin to sit back against the pillow. Her arm lifts out and she leans forward, finally moving her legs beneath her and beginning to follow me.
She crawls like a dog across the mattress and covers and then lies herself down right atop of me, not stopping until she is almost entirely upon me. As the warmth of her body pervades into mine, she stares down at me with trembling eyes, her breaths short and choppy.
I stare up into those sapphire eyes hidden behind silver pulled to an airy thinness to cover her angelic form. She puts her arms down onto the pillow beside my head and gently I run my arm up her frame before touching her cheeks, my face almost like the marble of the David, solid and unmoving.
“No one has ever said or done such kind things as you have.” I say with a confident, truthful calm. “And no one has ever tolerated me in the way you have, in the way that I am, let alone care for me as you have. There are no words which I can use to thank you. There exists no term which expresses how I feel. All I can is that I love you.”
Slowly I lift my head up off of the pillow and slip my black lips around hers, feeling her gasp an initial breath in shock. But holding her there, I feel her hands begin around my body. The warm, wetness of her lips and tongue touch mine and I feel a stinging heat in my heart begin to explode.
As her hands wrap around my chest, her entire body lying atop mine, the rain outside has begun to pick up. The wind howls, whistling through every crack and crevice. The rain pelts the metal and window and the lightning flashes just momentarily. The eerie arctic white which lights up the room shows me how things really are before everything fades back into darkness.