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Zachary Parker took in a huge breath, letting it out slowly at first, and then the rest with a wry chuckle. "What am I doing that for?"

"To calm yourself, I would expect."

The young Akita looked at the great crimson dragon sitting next to him. "Benedict, we're in a white room that's inside my head, or my mind at least. It's not like we're really here, much less really breathing in here."

"But your actions follow a consistent process," the drake explained. "You listened to me when I taught you about deep breathing as part of a process to relax your body and, thereby, your mind. We may be in your mind, Zachary, but we're still acting upon one measure or another of physical reality as well. In my den, in my home your body is safe, breathing quietly, and probably much more relaxed now for your just having done the equivalent of thinking about trying to calm yourself."

"What happens in my mind affects my body." The athlete nodded slowly. "Like visualizing having a good game, or worrying about something and giving myself a headache or something."

"Exactly." Grinning, Benedict mirrored the young dog's nod. "Where's that dumb jock now?"

"Out getting hot tea and Pocky." Despite the impossibility of the situation, the outright danger of the task before him, Zachary managed to bark a brief laugh. He looked to the one open door in the room, once again noting the tiny, shallow closet with a wedding gown spiked to a wall, then to the other two closed doors. "Loss and truth."

"Which next, do you think?"

The shimofuri-tora brindle of his fur shimmered in the whiteness of the room as he felt every hair on his lean body shift as if shaking off fear. It was exactly what he was doing, no "as-if" about it. He brushed a forepaw self-consciously (_in more ways than one,_part of him realized) over his forehead, considering the dragon's question. "No matter which of the three doors I chose, I would have gotten 'control' first, since that's what Konstantin would have arranged. I don't think he would let me find out the truth until last, so 'loss' will come up, whichever of these two remaining doors I pick."

"Holmes couldn't have done better, and that's no sarcasm, Zachary. I know how anyone under the age of 30 hates the word 'potential,' so please forgive me for saying that you truly are living up to your own."

The sincerity on the dragon's face could have been as made-up as this whole "mental construct" thing, but the Akita didn't think so. "Thank you," he said, then swallowed. "What do you think 'loss' is supposed to mean?"

"I'm sorry, Zachary, but I don't have any idea. The best I can tell you is that, whatever you find behind that door, it's not true. It will most likely be meant to frighten you, and I'm sorry to tell you that it will undoubtedly do so. I won't leave you. I won't be able to go with you, but I won't lose you. I made that promise, and I swore by it. Not to mention that, if I did fail you, there are several people in my den who would quite likely thrash me to within a centimeter of my life."

"Fat lot of good that'll do me." He rose to this hindpaws, making the room seem smaller, less intimidating, as he had discovered before. It didn't matter which door he chose; perhaps some sense of trying to balance himself made him choose the door to the right. _Let the road to truth be the middle course,_some faintly poetic thought in him suggested. He moved to the door he had chosen and touched the knob as if testing to see if a stove were hot.

only way out

He knew Benedict didn't hear it, so he repeated it aloud.

"Zachary," the dragon intoned softly, "I think we both know what that phrase portends."

"Yes." Again, the Akita swallowed. "Is there any way to prepare for this?"

The silence seemed long. "I don't think that I can prepare you against your own fear, and that is what he will use against you. As before, I can't go in with you; I was able to help you find me in that world, to keep that link with you, because you had already felt the gaps starting to form. It was a beautiful dream, and you didn't question it until later in the vision. This world will try to keep you too frightened to feel its gaps. I can't give you any armor for it, Zachary, but I can give you something that you can hold onto, to find in this scenario, that will help to bring me to you. I want you to lock this in..."

The athlete blinked. He knew that he had been told something, a word or something like one, but he couldn't remember it.

"You're ready. I need you to trust me. You can do this. I won't lose you, Zachary."

After giving himself over to a few more clichés, just to delay a little longer, the Akita swallowed, took a deep breath, and touched the knob again, gripping firmly.

no way out...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The ragged-looking face in the dingy mirror told him the truth again and again, over and over, like some unholy litany. It wasn't true, so long ago, when he was still young and pretty, but now... The sunken-looking eyes; gray bristles on his muzzle that came not with age so much as hard use and bad living; the jaw that had been broken more than once, and the spaces where the outer skin showed the places where teeth had been lost; the spots where his fur had not grown back properly (if at all), and the sickly hue of what was once a beautiful brindle; the rattle in his breathing that had forewarned him of just one of the medical conditions that he had brought on himself...

He staggered out of the tiny bathroom and threw himself onto the half-rotted mattress on the floor. The smell of stale sweat, piss, cum, musk, some of it his, some of it from who knows how many other males by this time, all came wafting up like ghosts and old demons. It ground at his mind, raking furrows of claw-marks in his brain. It was time. It was past time. The pain was too much, too fucking much, no way, no way out, no way out...

Rolling off the dozen centimeters to the floor, he pushed the flat mattress aside, found the broken bit of molding next to the floor, and pulled out the works. The space probably belonged to some other junkie, from some other time. Cops wouldn't have to search far, if they were looking, but no one looked here, except maybe another junkie. He never went out when he was holding, and so far, the meager lock on the door had held against local intruders. He cooked and served, more a snack than a meal, enough to dream, as habit more than curse controlled him now. Managing to clean up first, he rolled back onto the bed and, for better or worse, let the old visions come back.

He'd barely been 15 years old when it started...